#cause it's coming from alaska

[jacensolodjo]

i've earned more money faster and legit doing surveys than these 'play games on your phone' things i keep getting ads for lol

[throwawayasoiafaccount]

‘the black bastard of the wall’ moniker is the exact opposite of the ‘white wolf’ moniker and this perfectly highlights the irreconcilable differences between book Jon and show Jon

[willsolace-loml]

I HAVE ANOTHER HOT TAKE. UNPOPULAR OPINION!!!

hazel is not a cinnamon roll. HAZEL IS NOT A CINNAMON ROLL. this is a black teenage girl, who grew up in the 30s and into ww2, segregation was still happening, and women were still not valued more than a wife. she was also raised by a single mother with psychological problems who was very irresponsible. without all her godly happenings, her mortal home life was fucked up and she saw so much and was treated horribly. then she had to move away from her only friend to ALASKA and like a month later, she died, TAKING DOWN GAEA, SHE IS THE ONLY OF THE SEVEN (correct me if im wrong) TO TAKE DOWN GAEA SINGLE HANDEDLY. shes fucking powerful. then she spent over 60 years in the underworld, the only person who had any memories wutsoever, she couldn't interact with her mom and was completely alone, then some random as white boy comes and takes her out of the underworld and resurrects her. she has maybe a month of somewhat "peace" and then is pulled into a prophecy that causes a WAR and she is a child soldier, and one of the LEADERS in that war. and even if you ignore that and you look how "oh shes always bubbly and giggly and sweet" liek yeah smtms but even then she is cursing every 5 words in her sentence, so much that percy cant say what it is. i have a best friend who is the embodiment of a cinnamon roll, she has nvr cursed in her life.

HAZEL LEVESQUE IS NOT A FUCKING CINNAMON ROLL!!

[herpsandbirds]

May I request animals that were endangered but are now recovering please?

Was endangered, but has now recovered...

The first creature to come to mind is the American Alligator, which was in real trouble at one time, being close to extinction in the 1960s (due to overhunting and habitat destruction). Protection helped them recover by the 1980s.

American Alligator (Alligator mississippiensis), family Alligatoridae, Georgia, USA

photograph via: UGA Coastal Ecology Lab

Lake Erie Watersnake (Nerodia sipedon insularum), family Colubridae, found in islands of western Lake Eerie and in one county along the lake in OH, USA.

A subspecies of the Northern Water Snake.

Declared endangered in 1999, from habitat destruction, this snake had recovered by 2011, when it was removed from the endangered species list.

photograph by Jukka Palm

Bald Eagle (Haliaeetus leucocephalus), family Accipitridae, order Accipitriformes, Kachemak Bay, Alaska

Affected by variety of causes, overuse of DDT (a pesticide) hit them hard. The birds bioaccumulated the chemical through prey (mostly fish), causing the birds to produce thin egg shells, which would break easily when the parent sat on them.

Placed on the endangered species list in the 1970s, the birds had recovered by the 1990s, due to a ban on use of DDT in the U.S.

photograph by Andy Morffew

[callooopie]

NSWF MODERN CREGAN HEADCANNONS PLZZZZZ💋💋💋

Modern!Cregan Stark headcannons (pt. Smut)

Be like the love that discovered the sin — Be // Hozier

found time to finish this!! I had to take breaks and fan myself when writing this… but that’s what I do for all my writings oops I’m a silly lady who gets flustered too easily >~>

< currently unedited >

aw man guys… Cregan loves shower sex. ‘Cause to him? He’s strong enough to lift you up and press you against the shower wall, and very easy cleanup. At this angle with you held against the wall, Cregan can also watch as he drags his thick cock in and out of your hole. His hands? A firm grip on your ass, arms wrapped around the outside of your thighs as he holds you up. He’ll make you wash his hair in this position, wanting to see your hands shake or tremble as you reach up to lather his hair with shampoo. He was just outside all day, he doesn’t wanna be too dirty touching you.

Cabin is secluded enough to where you two could essentially do anything, inside and outside. Although in my professional opinion, summer mosquitos in Alaska? Hell on Earth. However, a bit of tent action now and then didn’t hurt (the bug bites sure did tho ouchh). It’s just nice being out there with you, a warm campfire going, your warm walls clenching around him as he pounds into you from behind. And you can be as loud as you want too.

I find it hard to think of specifics for Cregan here. Is lazy sex a term for it? You’re not fucking, and it could technically be classified as lovemaking. But really, you’re just talking about your day as you ride him while he sits in one of the chairs on the back porch. A beer in hand of course, his eyes never leaving yours as he listens intently. He has his other hand on your hip, not guiding you, only to hold. Being so comfortable with each other that you can have full on conversations even as you’re bouncing on his cock. There’s no rush to it and you’re both content with stopping, pausing, continuing. At the end of the day, Cregan just wants your skin against his in any way possible. It’s a peaceful feeling, having you and the sounds of nature. And then one or both of you will start to grow impatient, conversation running dry as you focus on chasing your impending orgasm.

Breakfast in bed, giving or receiving. Or both—Cregan would not mind you choking on his dick while he eats you out. But if he wants to wake you up something special like; he’ll be the one to get up first, make you an actual breakfast or just coffee. A refreshment for after. You’re still fast asleep, and the sun’s barely funneling through the early morning clouds. But Cregan will be awake, hovering over you, making sure not to let the blankets slip off of you as he inches himself lower and lower. A kiss pressed to your heart, and then your stomach, another kiss against your womb. And then finally a faint kiss pressed to your clit, followed by many more and a tongue that swirls around the sensitive bud. Tiny kitten licks to start out that are soon followed by long drags of his tongue up between the folds of your cunt. His arms are supposed to be gently wrapped around your thighs, however they lose their gentleness when Cregan starts to lose himself in the taste of your wetness.

If he’s on the receiving end though? Be prepared for his hand to latch onto your hair suddenly. Cregan’s a light sleeper. I feel like he’d have to be if he’s got a type of farm going, ready to respond to any threat or disaster at the drop of a hat—early morning or dead of night. So it doesn’t take long for him to be roused from sleep at the feeling of your tongue running up and down his length. He’s a little lost for a moment, only when he’s coming out of sleep. A tired and grumbled moan coming from him. But when he realizes what’s happening; his hand will grab your hair and force you down onto his cock, loving how your lips feel around him. He’s thick, he’s big, you can barely fit half of him into your mouth. More fun for him, watching you as you struggle and gag around him.

He’ll be more mean about receiving head. When you gag, he’ll make it his “secret” mission to thrust more into your throat. On accident he’ll say. Do not believe such falsities. His large hand will grab your hair, gripping onto your head almost as he shoves your head down. On accident! His hand slipped and got the better of him.

But what he does onto you, can be done onto him. He’s got such nice long hair, yank on it as he eats you out. It’s also nice how you keep his hair out of his way, nothing to interrupt or bother him as he tries to bury his tongue inside of you. Messy eater, so it’s even more important to keep his hair out of his food. He will spread your legs, actively pushing them apart or holding them in a way they can’t budge an inch. Even a twitch in your legs makes him wrap his arms around your thighs tighter.

Top. Even on bottom Cregan’s a top. He’s not a dominant top though. He’ll be nice. He’ll praise and compliment you as you ride him. He is bigger than you, he hopes you can handle him some more. You’re doing well as it is too, despite your complaints of your legs burning and your pace slowing; he’s very, very proud. He’ll get impatient maybe, a firm hand smacking your ass, his tone slightly more stern as he tells you “to get a move on” he’s gotta be up early, and you’re stalling just ‘cause your legs are tired? Fine, he’ll take over for a bit.

[bumblebeeappletree]

Every once in a while I’ll see some posts about everyone should become vegan in order to help the environment. And that… sounds kinda rude. I’m sure they don’t mean to come off that way but like, humans are omnivores. Yes there are people who won’t have any animal products be it meat or otherwise either due to personal beliefs or because their body physically cannot handle it, and that’s okay! You don’t have to change your diet to include those products if you don’t want to or you physically can’t.

But there’s indigenous communities that hunt and farm animals sustainably and have been doing so for generations. And these animals are a primary source of food for them. Look to the bison of North America. The settlers nearly caused an extinction as a part of a genocide. Because once the Bison were gone it caused an even sharper decline of the indigenous population. Now thankfully Bison did not go extinct and are actively being shared with other groups across America.

Now if we look outside of indigenous communities we have people who are doing sustainable farming as well as hunting. We have hunting seasons for a reason, mostly because we killed a lot of the predators. As any hunter and they will tell you how bad the deer population can get. (Also America has this whole thing about bird feathers and bird hunting, like it was bad until they laid down some laws. People went absolutely nuts on having feathers be a part of fashion like holy cow.)

We’re slowly getting better with having gardens and vertical farms within cities, and there’s some laws on being able to have a chicken or two at your house or what-have-you in the city for some eggs. (Or maybe some quails since they’re smaller than chickens it’s something that you’d might have to check in your area.) Maybe you would be able to raise some honey bees or rent them out because each honey tastes different from different plants. But ultimately when it comes to meat or cheese? Go to your local farmers. Go to farmers markets, meet with the people there, become friends, go actively check out their farm. See how the animal lives are and if the farmer is willing, talk to them about sustainable agriculture. See what they can change if they’re willing. Support indigenous communities and buy their food and products, especially if you’re close enough that the food won’t spoil on its way to you. (Like imagine living in Texas and you want whale meat from Alaska and you buy it from an indigenous community. I would imagine that would be pretty hard to get.)

Either way everything dies in the end. Do we shame scavengers for eating corpses they found before it could rot and spread disease? Do we shame the animals that hunt other animals to survive? Yes factory farming should no longer exist. So let’s give the animals the best life we can give them. If there’s babies born that the farmer doesn’t want, give them away to someone who wants them as a pet. Or someone who wants to raise them for something else. Not everyone can raise animals for their meat. I know I can’t I would get to emotionally attached. I’d only be able to raise them for their eggs and milk.

Yeah this was pretty much thrown together, and I just wanted to say my thoughts and throw them into the void. If you have some examples of sustainable farming/agriculture, please share them because while I got some stuff I posted from YouTube, I’m still interested to see what stuff I might’ve missed!

[endless-ineffabilities]

The Bolter (part four)

Steve Rogers x f!reader / (Bucky Barnes x f!reader)

synopsis : Steve carries out his decision to return to Peggy, aiming to live out the rest of his days with her. But this means he's leaving everything behind - he's leaving you. Did he make the right choice? Will there be anything left with you to come back to?

in this chapter : Steve realises where home is, both in 2017 and in the 1950s. The reader bolts, faced with the memory of the woman Steve cherishes. Bucky starts to find himself drawn to you.

themes/warnings : pining, unrequited love, angst

word count : 2.6k

main masterlist ▪︎ series masterlist

2017, a year after the Avengers' Civil War

It had been nearly four months of the arrangement that you and Steve shared. Hiding away in some remote cabin in Alaska.

Time was running out. You both knew you had to get a move on soon, as you can't stay in one place for too long.

If only you actually stayed put, and didn't cause Steve to worry almost every other week.

He quickly realized that you came and went when you pleased. A habit you must have picked up from your profession, one that Steve was sure would drive him to madness.

He was glaring at the newspaper he picked up from the nearest town when he made a supply run.

Your name was printed in bold lettering, along with your moniker, Huntress. Wanted for conspiring against the State, it read. You had been spotted in some other city, a blurred-out CCTV snapshot of your face included on the page.

If seen, please alert your local authorities. Suspected to be in hiding with Steve Rogers, famously known as Captain America. Reward to be disclosed.

Captain America. Steve never thought there would come a time when that name would leave a bad taste in his mouth, until now. He wondered what excuse you would have this time. Which person was it that you just needed to help? What was this important thing that justified suddenly leaving without telling Steve?

Steve hated your absence, but he knew he was being a hypocrite. He admired how eager you were to help your friends. If he was in your place, he would probably do the same.

He had begun thinking of the next plan. He knew he would always be welcome in Wakanda, but he didn't want to abuse their generosity. It would subject them to intense scrunity in the international political arena and they were already doing more than enough with just taking Bucky in.

No matter the next step, wherever the location, Steve found himself thinking of you. He would always think in terms of we, not I.

Where would we go next? Where would we be safe?

You were free to go wherever you wanted, of course. The others have been roaming different corners of the world, and maybe it was even safer that way, to spread out in those circumstances.

You could choose to go alone to a different hideout, and of course he would have to accept that.

But Steve didn't want you to leave him.

Why? What was he to you? What were you to him? Steve thought of how he never had the best timing. He knew there was something there, and you had to know it too.

He felt it whenever you would smile at him as he handed you your cup of coffee. He felt it in how comfortable it was when you would both read in silence at the opposite ends of the couch in the living room. He felt it in how much you cared, in how you understood his strong tether to Bucky.

And that small cabin was the biggest testament to it all. It was absurd, how much it felt like a home to Steve.

A home, while he was being hunted down and scorned by the country whose values he so proudly stood for and represented. A place of refuge, while everything else was in shambles.

He knew it was all because of you.

If only you would be quick in coming back home.

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You didn't mean to leave abruptly again, without giving any notice.

Really, you swore you didn't.

You were also lying to yourself. Because you knew it was all because of what Steve mentioned a few nights prior.

Or rather, who.

It was all going well, you thought. You were getting to know your dangerously attractive housemate quite well. So much so, that you had decided he would be the first one you'd call if you ever got into trouble or needed a shoulder to cry on.

Natasha would understand, of course. She had been in contact, updating on her whereabouts, and also checking in on her apparent ship.

"Ship? Here in the woods?" You had been visibly confused, stupidly glancing out the window as if that very ship would materialise.

"No, you idiot. Ship... relationship. A couple. All the kids are using it these days."

Oh. You debated acting oblivious but you knew that would never fly with someone like Natasha. Nothing really got past her, and you had to admit, your excitement flared up a little bit every time she hinted at something between you and Steve.

Nat was one of the shrewdest people you ever met, and she didn't have the habit of stirring things for no reason.

So you believed her, and you hoped.

In that cabin, in that isolated little bubble, Steve was really all you had and vice versa. Selfishly, you wished you never had to leave. You found yourself imagining that you were an actual couple, maybe even married. That you had chosen to live together in that place, and that circumstances did not just force you together.

That image quickly came crashing down, the curtains closing in the middle of a play. Because that was all it was - make believe.

You and Steve were sitting cross-legged in front of the fireplace one late night, your mind going haywire because his knee was pressed against yours. Your heartbeat skipping because he would pat your leg once in a while.

Maybe it was a Steve thing. Maybe it was just a gesture people make when they tell stories to their friends. But friends wouldn't lean in so close, would they?

He eagerly shared about his life in the 30s, when he was an asthmatic hundred-pound determined youngster. When he'd only ever been Steve. He kept a box of personal things that reminded him of his era, and the two of you perused through them. You smiled at the brochure from a museum exhibit that featured him and Bucky. Tried flicking on rusty old lighters. Jokingly saluted him while putting on the pins that were circulated when he was first introduced to the public as Captain America.

Your delusional self thought you noticed his focus drifting to your lips almost every time you replied to him, and that he got that look in his eyes.

But you reached in the box and picked up what looked like a compass. You pried it open, and one glance at his face told you everything.

In it was an image of Peggy Carter, you recognised. You knew all about her and her work for SHIELD. You knew her and Steve had been acquainted back in their day, but you didn't know how much.

He leaned back almost immediately, his touch no longer on you, looking like he was caught doing something he wasn't supposed to.

"Peggy Carter, right?" you offered eventually, balancing the compass in your palm. From what you can recall, she had passed recently. But clearly her ghost was still haunting Steve.

"Y-yeah," he stammered, strangely unable to look you in the eye. "I met her just before I was put to the serum, actually."

Well, that's definitely something. She knew him when he was just Steve, and she saw him. That must have left a mark.

"So... can you tell me about her?" you asked to fill the silence. To quell the barage of intrusive thoughts you had.

Steve noticed the difference in your posture, straightened back and stiff smile. You had been freely laughing moments ago, and he had been too. He wouldn't be able to remember what he said after that, distracted by the sudden coldness in your expression. He must have said something about Peggy being good at her job. About how big of an impact she made on SHIELD.

You didn't want to ask about the obvious thing, and you didn't have to. You could see it in his eyes.

You were also responding on auto-pilot. Like you were simply making small talk. The mood had changed, and you hated yourself for not looking into Steve's file with more detail. There must have been clues there about his past relationship with Peggy.

But if you had known... then what?

You would have fallen for him anyway. But at least, you would be aware that you were falling for someone who wasn't yours to keep.

Because if there ever was something, Peggy's unfading light is one you don't want to compete with.

You let the conversation go on for a few minutes more, to not arouse his suspicion, before making some excuse about being tired and needing sleep.

Hold on, you heard him plead. Maybe you can show him one of the movies you kept telling him about? The one with the Anakin character you liked?

You did your best not to cave in.

Even if all you wanted was to crumble, and kiss him hard enough that any remnants of Peggy Carter still lingering would dissipate.

When you heard that your friend Mason needed some help getting Secretary Ross off his tail, you jumped on the opportunity to leave. Even though Natasha already said she would be on it.

Of course, she saw right through you.

The task was quick and easy and soon enough, the three of you were sitting on lawn chairs in front of her cozy trailer in Norway, when Mason cheekily commented on the little arrangement you had with the Captain America.

"How do you do it?" he joked. "Being under the same roof as him, and not getting some of that? I mean, I know you're all international criminals right now, but even criminals need some loving once in a while."

"Leave her alone," Natasha quipped, pointing at him.

"We're friends," you said defensively, to which Nat raised her eyebrows at you.

"Sure, hon," she said, before taking a swig of her beer. "Shouldn't you be making your way back to him? Steve must be worried."

You shrugged, but you knew she was right. It didn't feel right being away from him like that. Running away like you were a teenager acting out.

It took you only two days to come back, with the help of one of Mason's many smuggled helicopters.

You felt his presence immediately once you stepped foot in the cabin.

Days old newspapers sprawled on the kitchen counter. Fresh coffee on the pot. The surprising but pleasant smell of baked goods coming from inside the oven.

He materialised from your periphery, wiping his hands clean on a towel. Clean-shaven once more, your eyes getting drawn to his pink lips now in clear view.

"Did you - "

"Oh, yeah," he said, gesturing towards the oven. "I tried making you something. Nat called me and said you were on your way back."

That traitor.

But then Steve added, "Welcome back," with that sheepish smile on his face, and you forgot what you were supposed to be pretending to be annoyed at Nat for.

It was comfortable, familiar, like home, when you both silently enjoyed the blueberry muffins he prepared.

You expected him to lecture you, to remind you of the dangers of running off by yourself again. But he took a gentler approach.

It felt good when he made sure you were okay, asking the same question but in three iterations. Are you okay? Did everything go well? Does anything hurt at all?

Did he know why you left so abruptly? Did he suspect anything?

Later that evening, he brought up the fact that perhaps you both should be moving on to another safe place.

You felt his eyes glued onto you, gauging your reaction.

Taking a deep breath, you said, "Okay."

Steve had been practicing what to say, how to ask you, while you were away. He would suggest that you were safer together. That the two of you could go see Bucky for a time. That it was probably smarter for you to stick with someone like him - if you ever got caught, he could use himself as leverage, negotiate in order to lighten your sentence.

But all that was no longer needed, because you asked, "Where will we go?", without wavering.

We.

It turned out Steve wasn't going to lose his home, after all.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

The 1950s, six months after Steve's arrival

Steve is certain that there must be something wrong with him.

Maybe he's just been in the fray for far too long, going from one fight to the next, that now he is supposed to settle and be at peace - he can't.

It disappoints him. He's frustrated with himself. He's become angry.

It's not fair. How does he still feel like a man out of time for someone who has returned back to where he supposedly came from. Back to where he belongs.

Peggy has noticed his frustration, so she suggested they head down to a local fancy restaurant once a week.

A recurring date of sorts, giving them the chance to spend one-on-one time together. They had both been busy - Peggy with SHIELD, Steve with his newfound job managing a local community centre.

His job was simple enough, definitely less demanding than what he's used to, and he's satisfied that he still gets to be of service. He's also refurbishing their home. Doing everything to keep busy.

Everything to keep you out of his mind.

But Hunter would stroll in when he would fit the new wooden panels for the back porch.

Hunter, his dog. Named so because Steve had the thought that Huntress would appreciate the tribute.

You would, but you aren't there.

He's supposed to be at peace now. He's supposed to finally feel at home.

But he wasn't called the man out of time for no reason, and he's come to accept that maybe they had been onto something.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

2024, six months after Steve's departure

Bucky's date is going well. At least he thinks so. Not that he would have much knowledge on how these things go nowadays.

His first date as himself, James Barnes, since the 1940s. Leah's a lovely girl, but it was mostly due to yours and Yori's instigating that he caved in and asked her out.

Well, he didn't really ask. You did. But Leah was kind enough to accept.

The conversation is fine, flowing smoothly, a couple beers shared between the two.

Leah asks how old he is, and he replies dryly, "106."

Bucky isn't sure she got it, but it's better this way. She doesn't need to know who he is, or what he's done. She wouldn't understand.

As they play a round of Battleship, Bucky wonders if you would be good at this game, if you would playfully stare into his eyes much like Leah is doing.

He thinks of how much he likes your eyes, and the way you look at him.

But he is 106 after all, so he's not some fool. He suspects that he might be a stand-in for his revered lost bestfriend. Do you see him, and only him, or is he partially hidden behind Steve's shadow?

Do you keep him around, because he reminds you of him?

Bucky decides he's not ready to know the answer to those questions. Not just yet.

Leah makes another move. He lets her win.

He calls you right after the date. You did say that he should tell you all about it.

"So how was it?" you eagerly ask right away, not even bothering with a hello.

Bucky finds himself smiling at your voice, pausing on the sidewalk on the way back to his apartment, "Have you played Battleship before?"

Read chapter five here ~

taglist (let me know if you wish to be added!) : @vicmc624 @littleliyah16 @babezawa @klammykayla @justsebstan @blue--ingenue @numblytemporary @bradshawass @delicious-xx @mrsevans90 @heartarianagran @tinystarfishgalaxy @kyoquixote @mochibochinochi @spngingerbread21 @zbeez-outlet @rena15 @raging-panda @marveldaydreamer

Happy TTPD release day! I just knew The Bolter would be one of my favourites!!!

The final scene is in reference to the first episode of The Falcon and the Winter Soldier. Lil bit of a spoiler!!!! -- We'll see them all back together in the middle of that series.

There will only two-three more chapters of jumping back and forth in time. I'm also worried I'll confuse myself with the timeline. If the months/years aren't aligned with MCU canon, please ignore it.

Also - if not in the next one, then there will definitely be smut in chapter six. But with who???? Steve or Bucky? I'll let you guys speculate... 👀

[missmarveledsblog]

A kind of sex education part 2 (platonic cas x winchesters x reader)

Summary : after the whole porn ordeal , castiel finds tumblr and the world of fanfiction has him asking more curious questions  which the residents of the bunker are not so happy to answer . 

warnings : mentions of smutty fics , cas being the curious baby in a trench coat we love .

After the whole angel porn ordeal , they were more careful with what cas was watching not wanting  history to repeat itself . Like monitoring a toddler on an iPad. Especially given that y/n wouldn't come out of her room for days not wanting to look any of them bar sam in the eyes .  Dean even limited his teasing when it came to the subject . Today he was luckily out while cas was on laptop , Sam and Y/N were looking over some incoming cases seeing which needed to be handled first .

" interesting this is very interesting " the angel spoke making them look over both slightly relieved not see or hear an explicit image on the laptop. 

" I've been on a interesting site that led me to many other over the last couple of days " he  spoke up .

" what was that buddy" she smiled over. Their joy short lived when he uttered the next few sentences out of his mouth .

" tumblr that led me to all these other sites , did you know there is fanfiction of us like the play we seen except it's classed as what they call smut " he looked up at the two .

" why didn't  I go on the supply run ,  why am I here when he finds this shit " she cursed up at the ceiling .

" could be nothing " sam offered a weak smile .

" did you know most popular is Dean x y/n fiction seems as though you are most shipped although there are some of Dean and sam with you too " he mused .

" but I could be wrong" sam winced taking the laptop off of cas completely .

" how do you find these things " he asked looking through the tabs .

" I'm very pop culture savvy now " cas said proudly . 

" what the hell man why are you reading all these " sam groaned wanting burning his eyes out seeing an explicitly  wrong image of Dean and himself (no to wincest) .  " you are actually popular with them Y/n " sam mused .

" that's after  that stupid ghost hunting  website and chuck " she grumbled  wondering where she was going to start her new life.

" hey there's even some with you and cas " he chuckled. 

" Alaska or maybe Australia would be better it further Away " she mused .

" wow these are extremely detailed " sam continued .

" would you call Dean daddy , the stories seem to think you would " cas asked .

" what the hell did I walk into " the man in question walked into the room .

" my resignation  " she mumbled hiding her head in her arms. 

" destiel  is another popular one " sam chuckled. 

" cas found smutty fanfictions " she looked up to see the clueless expression on Dean's face.

" they suggest that Y/n is a sub and you are a Dom " the angel stated.

" wanna see if they're right sweetheart " Dean winked .

" wanna kill me cause I can't be dealing with this" she countered wondering if she could also legally change her name.

" why are they so descriptive on the parts , have they seen them" cas sat looking between the three .

" the way Dean sleeps around they probably seen his " she reasoned.

" they also suggest you like..." .

" do not even finish that one" she growled .

"so many kinks cas did you google all these" sam asked eyes widening at the search history. 

" i was looking at chucks book and comments said to check out the tumblr versions " he said looking confused to what he did wrong. " they forgot to add that birthmark just below your tits " he added matter of factly .

" when did you see her ... what he got to see i didn't" dean turned to Y/n , who honestly rather be stuck with Crowley for eternity than this .

" he walked in while i was getting dressed and it not a birthmark it's a scar from a battle with an old favourite bra "she could feel her cheeks redder than they've been so far . "i'm going to my room to pack for my new life in australia" she stormed out her room .

" she's kidding right?" dean asked looking to the mean .

" you should dom her  and make her stay , they said she responds to good girl" cas explained .

" i wonder if she would let me come with her " sam mused walking out after her.  

another awkward dinner bobby was almost afraid to ask. Although dean was smiling more than the others.

" cas read fanfiction , pornographic fan fiction " dean explained .

" i've also read some theories too, like bobby is Y/N Dad and not her uncle" cas smiled making bobby choke on his water.

"  their theories cas they're not right ... right? " she laughed but stopped when she notice bobby expression or how he would barel look at her.

" i mean it's a possibility " he mused truthfully making her jaw drop

" great more daddy issue not like the place is drowning in them with these two " she pinched the bridge of her nose and point at sam and dean.

" so the theories of dean being her soulmate are true " cas asked.

" probably " dean shrugged winking at her .

" why did i ever come here, sam wanna move to australia with me " she ignored the other three men .

" look me and your mom had a brief thing , your dad well your dad agreed while he..." . 

" australia sound nice " sam agreed cutting bobby short .

" hey stop denying our love even nerds on internet think we'd be hot together"dean spoke up .

" cas from now on stop the curiosity or so help me i will make you eat the computer  " she  groaned learning too much information for the day .

"we need to do dna test " she turned to bobby .

" you can pick me up at 7 " she turned to dean before walking out leaving the men speechless . 

" i got punished" cas pouted .

" i got a kid  kinda " bobby gulped .

" i got a date " dean smirked .

" and i got a rock ... It's a thing on tiktok ... what cass isn't the only pop culture savvy one around here " sam shrugged .

part three

[dragonroilz]

lore written by Ccmaci:

She used to be your typical low brow Karen, but then she tripped into the rabbit hole of really fringe conspiracy. She didn't trust America to train her for the coming thermal nuclear crisis cause they put steroids in the military's food that down the line will turn their children into sleeper-agent-zombies, and she doesn't go to foreign governments because when you get your picture taken for a passport, the flash from the camera imprints your Social Security Number into your brain, a number she believes decodes the subluminal messaging in fast-food commercials that make you want to not question the yearly 0.50 cent price raises for a burger (burgers which are laced with micro-pathogens that cause you to love the concept of being called in for jury duty, obviously).

The only place that was safe place to acquire military training was [insert fake county name here], a legally unrecognized country off the coast of Alaska, with a population of less than 200 people. Obviously, all boats are rigged with ice-berg attracting magnets which go off incase an American hasn't had their daily intake of jury duty micro-pathogens, so swam the coast of Canada as to avoid crossing the boarder where she'd likely be asked to give the Canadian government a sample of her blood (cause we all know what horrors Canadian's can commit with 2 liters of blood from a woman born south of the global hemisphere).

Anyways, so she makes it to the unrecognized country, and thankfully they let her into their militia cause SHE GOT JACKED FROM LITERALLY SWIMMING FROM WASHINGTON TO ALASKA. Obviously she did her homework before this, and was already pretty knowledgeable on basic military concepts like rocket jumping, so this was really just to round out the edges on her proficiency's (that's what she thinks, in reality she really needed this training to be competent lol).

Sadly, after discovering the unrecognized country was literally planning thermal-nuclear-warfare, she decided to leave Alaska, which strangely after she did, all evidence of that legally-unrecognized country ceased to exist. She was later picked up by Mann-Co after being coerced into thinking that she was stopping the enemy from furthering the goals of the shadow-government-fast-food-conglomerate, and as been working with the fem-mercs ever since.

similar to how the mercs lie to normal soldier about all being american, the female mercs lie to female soldier about various beliefs like how they're totally not all vaccinated and all of the rations delivered to them are definitely not inspected by the government. shes particularly distrustful of the scout and medic, the former being a borderline material gorl, and the latter being involved with more than questionable medical practices.

[jewish-vents]

As a proud Jew and a member of the Iŋalit Iñupiaq people I have never felt as seen as reading a Choctaw Jew's post on here. Christian missionaries hauled my people off of our lands and killed most of us and they didn't even inhabit the land. They didn't even build shit there, they just took it to take it, and I'm supposed to go "ah yes America has no colonizers" and not laugh when these people say "Hebrew is a colonizer language"? Motherfuckers, MY LANGUAGE IS EXTINCT BECAUSE OF YOU! You know who didn't ever try and force a language on anyone? The Ashke Jewish man my great-great grandmother fell for and married. People really expect me to be onboard with their fact-free zero colonialism rewrite of history while my people's lands remain off limits to us, illegal to even visit, the US government holding onto it on the off chance there might be oil there even though they never bothered to even drill for it in over 70 years.

"No other religion acts like this" first of all please read up on Islamic imperialism and get your boot off the neck of my indigenous Middle Eastern brethren and secondly Christian-governed Alaska wouldn't let Native students attend school with "American" children - that is literally how the law phrased it - unless we abandoned our language, our clothes, our songs, our stories, our religion and even traditions as basic as sharing food with poor families in the community. You wanna know how my great-great grandmother met my great-great grandfather? They were both arrested for violating the law and "indoctrinating" children into "Native, anti-European practices" by which I mean THEY WERE BOTH ARRESTED FOR GIVING FOOD TO POOR PEOPLE. They were both arrested by CHRISTIANS!

And people mistake my brown skin for proof of goy status and want to talk shit about how the only good colonizer is a dead colonizer. You're white and you're in ALASKA, you might want to rethink the words coming out of your mouth when most of your ancestors came here to mine gold and get rich and mistreat indigenous people. Even if I accepted the idea that Israel is doing colonialism, which I do not, nobody moved to Israel to get rich and rape indigenous women with impunity to the point where there are words in Inuit languages for gangrape done by white men.

I don't want to hear another thing from a white goy in Alaska about Israel being colonizers when the US bought Alaska from Russia. We were colonized twice for you to get to be here and tell me to my face how colonizers are bad. AND THEN people want to say my Ashke ancestors were colonizers. Fleeing Russia is not colonization, one, and two, WHY DO YOU THINK THEY LEFT?! For fun? What, they heard our weather was nice and wanted to come visit?

I am going to need white goyim to learn US history before they open their mouths.

I'm sorry this is long and I yelled/capslocked but I have had to bite my tongue so many times to not cause a scene because I don't want the university to come up with an excuse not to let me graduate due to poor conduct. It is so tiring. I feel like I'm holding my breath all the time. Graduation is tomorrow. Shabbat shalom.

.

[pumpkinbxtch]

hi! I love your Apollo fics sm can I please request a fic we’re the reader is Percy’s older sister and she finds out there’s like a prophecy of her marrying Apollo and then like they eventually meet and fall and love and then what there marriage is like

𓇼 the sun & the sea 𓇼 〰✷〰

— apollo / lester x daughter of poseidon!reader

— part i | part ii | part iii | part iv |

☆ radiostar is playin': hot rod by dayglow...!

summary: There is a prophecy waiting for you to listen to it and although it may not be something you expect or consider possible. You know what they say about prophecies…they can't fail to come true.

warnings: none BUT long read, literally. got out of hand and i couldn't stop writing. that's bad? oh, fuck me, i'm sorry. a/n: i appreciate your request, thank you (although I think I changed it a little, sorry). HEAR ME OUT I feel like I owe a lot of love to those who love Apollo, so that's why I didn't entertain the idea of ​​making this long. Hope you like I know it's long, but I promise I did my best to make it bearable and fun, I swear. 😭

“The sea and the sun are not far away as they look…”

They told you to stay away from the attic of The Big House, but they never told you why.

“Only he can go up”, they said, and it seemed stupid to you because he was your younger brother; you were supposed to protect him.

“It's very dangerous”, they told you while Annabeth went up, even though you were a couple of years older than her.

“Only if you lead some quest, but…” but no, because as the years went by, they made sure to remind you of your place. They told you that you were powerful, smart, and capable, because, yes, you were Poseidon's firstborn, but not the chosen one. That was Percy, your brother. Did it hurt? Yes, as an older sister, you tend to aspire to greatness and be an example, but you didn't die; you got over it.

“What does it matter? Less work for me” you said as you watched your brother's back on all the missions. Anyway, you ended up stuck in his destiny.

“His destiny. But then, what's mine?” you wondered. Then, when you took a step near Rachel Dare's cave, they stopped you too.

“It's–”

“Dangerous.” You completed the familiar phrase with a look of disgust, avoiding Chiron's eyes. He just looked at you with pity, thinking to himself that if you went in there, you could cause more trouble for your father or Olympus… Or everyone; it would be a war among all the Olympians, something they didn't need with Titan Kronos already on their heels.

Dionysus gave you his typical mocking smile, the same one that made you want to grab the can of Diet Coke and throw it right at his disgusting Christmas-reindeer-red nose.

“It would be so interesting, but we don't need it,” he said as he dragged you away from Rachel with Chiron.

You weren't stupid, you knew there was some good reason. But damn, those fossils were sneaky and never let you get to your redheaded companion, who also avoided you like the plague. Between those two things, you never managed to achieve it. Even less so after you ended up fighting on the Argo II with your new friends, straight from real Greece.

Oh, man, if you had thought Kronos was a damn old grump, Gaea was an old ball-buster. You didn't even have time to think about your future when you didn't know if you had one.

After the second war is when you started to throw in the towel about the future. You realized that the last thing you wanted to know at that moment was whether you would have to fight against twelve more Titans, return to Tartarus, or travel to Alaska again.

New Rome became your new home, and you only waited for Percy to catch up with you along with everyone else. That is, until you returned home to pack new things and didn't find your brother studying just as he should be.

— Mom? — You asked when she came back from shopping.

She gave you that look, and you cursed.

— Relax, he'll be back in a while; he just went to drop off Apollo or well, now he's Lester because apparently he's no longer a god but Zeus…

— Wow. Wait, what?

As a hero of Olympus, touching, seeing, or talking to the gods was never impossible for you; in fact, it was much more usual for your taste, and although you had been through too much already, that was new. So, you found yourself immediately traveling to Long Island Sound on the back of a Pegasus, looking for your brother. You wouldn't let Apollo, Lester, or whatever he called himself now take your brother away to distract him with his godly stuff that surely wouldn't lead to anything good.

— Where's Percy?! — You shouted in the dining hall, making the campers flinch.

Chiron got up from his seat, and from there, he smiled at you, but it only put you in a worse mood.

— Dear, it's been a long journey. Please, sit and eat with us.

You lowered your head without taking your eyes off Chiron and tightened the dagger on your belt. There was no reason for it, you knew, but you couldn't help feeling that fury after knowing everything you had been through. Percy deserved a break.

— Where's my brother? — The pause between words made the campers squirm in their uncomfortable seats. They had heard about you, about everyone. to be exact, in the third lesson of history in their camp classes.

— He left Apollo and Meg in a field not far from here — Chiron decided to sit back down and began to spread the tablecloth nervously. — He probably should have already reached home while you were flying here.

You sighed, and as you relaxed your body, everyone seemed to feel relieved.

— He has exams, Chiron — He nodded, and you made your way to the table where he was.

— In fact, there are problems, and apparently, he promised to come back this weekend — Your eyebrows furrowed again, and Dionysus laughed.

— Girl, shouldn't you be in New Rome?

— I went home for a few more things, also taking the opportunity to see my family, and it turns out that my little brother was helping an ex god who can't fend for himself, risking his studies. — You replied without looking at him — And speaking of brothers, you should control yours, Mr. D.

The god of wine snorted, and you formed a mocking smile. — Insolent.

— Miss Jackson — Chiron intervened, and you softened your gaze toward him — You can stay tonight, you know you're welcome and after all, it's too late to travel on Pegasus.

You didn't argue with them; you'd never put your pegasus in danger. So, for the first time in a long time, you returned to your cabin, the same one you shared with Percy and Tyson for so many years, and you had to admit that you missed him. At dawn, you were preparing to travel, and you left at the moment you thought no one was watching you, how wrong you were because a few meters away, Apollo was hidden behind the cabin piles, admiring you from afar.

— She… — He felt his heart tighten, and his gaze unfocused. He cursed his mortal body for how weak it was.

— Pervert! — Meg shouted, alerting the other campers who turned confused, and Apollo blushed.

— Shut up, I'm not a pervert — He smiled exaggeratedly at the others, pretending a smile and letting them know that everything was fine.

— You saw her — Said a voice behind him once Meg was far enough away to hear. The brunette turned and smiled sheepishly.

— For a second — Apollo replied, avoiding his old friend's gaze; embarrassment nibbled at his body, and it became evident once his cheeks glowed.

Chiron had never seen him… like that, so young, embarrassed, and notably imperfect, but despite Apollo's opinions about his recent change, he thought it suited him well, even found it amusing.

— You remember…

— I remember it well, Chiron — Apollo blushed even more — That's why I didn't approach her; dealing with my father's wrath is enough. Now I don't want to annoy Poseidon or I'll probably wake up dead on the lake shore tomorrow.

He played with the tips of his sneakers as buried them in the rocks on the floor; he looked like a scared little boy, but Chiron didn't judge him.

— I think you know what it means when she's around when you're close.

The ex god didn't want to pay attention, but he knew he was right.

— Although I remember who she is… there’s a problem. I don't remember how to avoid her…— Apollo's blue eyes looked directly at Chiron's, and the urgency on his face told him he was telling the truth. — If I don't know now, it's going to be harder; all I can do is hide if she's near.

— We've lasted many years with this circus, and as much as I respect the lord of the seas, I don't think this will last long. And you know what's more stubborn than a son of the sea god?

— The sea god — Apollo raised his eyebrows in annoyance, and Chiron resisted rolling his eyes.

— Fate, Apollo. You know it well, things are written. The prophecy is still there; it exists, and all we've done is delay the inevitable.

The brunette nodded with annoyance and waved his hand dismissively.

Although he wanted to pretend that he didn't care, the anxiety of what was to come ate at him. He knew very well that it wouldn't take long for you to discover what all these years had been hidden from you. If Apollo reflected better on that, he wasn't sure he wanted to continue keeping it to himself, either, 'cause those years had been torture for him. Yeah, he knew that you weren't yet mature enough for your mind to be stained with the weight of a prophecy that, unlike the others, not had to do with some quest or some imminent danger that threatened the entire world; but now you are in college, he couldn't wait for you to know.

The thing was, your father thought that the one who could be in danger was you, his precious daughter since Apollo was selfish, arrogant, and immature to have been around for eons. Poseidon could not fully explain the reason The Fates had woven such a destiny for you. So, until things had and could happen at the right time, in the right way, he warned Apollo to be close to you and he knew so well that be such an idiot idea to make him angry.

Before his thoughts could swallow him, Apollo shake them off and sigh to Chiron.

— Right now, I have a bigger problem. I think we've found something.

— Where?

— Here — Chiron frowned, and Apollo looked towards the camp's forest. — My dear friend, you have the Grove of Dodona here, in your playground.

Apollo didn't know that of all the decisions he had made in his life, avoid you was the best one he could make, because even if you had met that day or before, with the things that were about to happen to him, he wouldn't come back as half the man he was.

“Things at the moment, in time” the fates whispered in some place.

[bethanythebogwitch]

So a while back I made this post

And it became very popular. While many people already knew, I did get some asking why humboldt squids are scary. So for this Wet Beast Wednesday I'm going to teach you why you should be afraid, or at least respectful, of molluscoid menace that is the humboldt squid.

(image: a humboldt squid)

Known to scientists as Dosidicus gigas and to many others as the jumbo squid, pota, jibia, and diablo rojo, the humboldt squid is the 5th largest squid in the world and the largest of the flying squids. Don't worry, it can't actually fly. They reach an average mantle length (tat's excluding the head and arms) of 1.5 meters, with some specimens reaching up to 2 meters (6.5 ft) in mantle length. The arms can reach up to another meter in length. Adults can weigh up to 50 kg (150 lbs), with females generally being larger than males. They live in the Pacific along the cost of the Americas, from the tip of South America up to California in North America. Some individuals have been known to travel farther north, up to Alaska, which is outside of their historical range. It is possible that as the ocean warms, their native range will continue to expand north.

(image: a humboldt squid releasing ink as a defense mechanism)

Humboldt squids reproduce in deep waters, and as a result we don't know much about their courtship. Males use a modified arm called the heterocotylus to transfer sperm into the female's mantle. She then lays a transparent, gelatinous egg mass that is left to float in the water column. These masses can range between 1 and 4 meters in diameter can can contain up to 4 million eggs. Hatchlings receive no parental care and most will die before adulthood. They grow extremely rapidly, likely as a self-defense against cannibalism by larger squids. Like many squid, humboldts only live for a year and die shortly after mating.

(image: a humboldt squid next to a much braver diver than I will ever be)

As with most cephalopods, the humboldt squid has cells called chromatophores that allow it to change color. Cameras attached to captured and released specimens have show two types of color-changing behavior: flashing and flickering. Flashing is when the animal changes rapidly between red and white. This is done in the presence of other squid and is likely a means of communication, possibly a form of courtship or warning to stay away. Flickering is when waves of red and white travel down the body. This is likely a form of camouflage to blend in with light flickering through the water. In addition to flashing and flickering, cameras have seen multiple forms of color changes and communication behaviors, indicating that they have a rich social life. The red color the squid turns when hunting contributes to its nickname amongst Mexican fishermen: "diablo rojo", the "red devil".

(gif: humboldts changing color)

So all that sounds pretty normal, why are they scary? Well that comes down to their feeding behavior and aggression. Humboldt squids hunt in shoals that can include thousands of members and go into feeding frenzies that can make shark feeding frenzies look like a child's tea party. They are infamous for their aggression and there are many stories of them attacking divers and fishermen. Not even they are immune to their predation, as multiple studies have found between a half and a quarter of all dissected specimens have recently fed on others of their species. Cannibalism may make up a major portion of their diet, though cannibalistic behavior seems to increase in response to stress. Their typical diet consists of fish, crustaceans, and other squids. Humboldts typically keep their two long tentacles coiled up between their arms, only for them to suddenly lash out and grab prey. These tentacles have multiple sharp hooks that have been reported to cause severe cuts in humans. Captured prey is then pulled in toward the beak and consumed. Feeding happens so fast that scientists need to us high-speed cameras to record the capture as the tentacles move so fast they prey can be caught and reeled in between frames. Eating is also fast enough that they can grab a hooked fish and skeletonize it in the time it takes a frustrated angler to pull their catch in. And if that wren't enough, they also engage in cooperative hunting, working together to catch prey. When not feeding or being hunted, they have been described as curious, though they often react to unfamiliar stimuli with aggression. Some divers have reported that humboldts will come investigate them and even act friendly, though I can't say I'd be willing to try it.

(gif: a squid attacking a camera)

(gif: hunting squid)

Numerous fishermen's tales and news stories tell of attacks on humans, but the squid do have a reason to not like us. They are fished heavily, especially off the coat of Mexico and are the most important squid for commercial fisheries. Humboldt squids make up about a third of all squid fished every year and are the most popular food squid. Squid meat is saturated with ammonium chloride, which they use for buoyancy, and must be prepared to remove the taste before eating. Not much is known about threats to conservation, though some speculate that overfishing and global warming disrupting their food supply could threaten the population. They are listed as data deficient by the IUCN. As scary as they might be, humboldt squids serve a very important ecological role in their territories, both as primary predators and as prey to sharks and toothed whales, and more research on their sustainability and conservation needs is important.

(image: a scientist attaching a crittercam to a humboldt squid)

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Social Security is class war, not intergenerational conflict

Today, Tor.com published my latest short story, "The Canadian Miracle," set in the world of my forthcoming (Nov 14) novel, The Lost Cause. I am serializing this one on my podcast! Here's part one.

The very instant the Social Security Act was passed in 1935, American conservatives (in both parties) began lobbying to destroy it. After all, a reserve army of forelock-tugging plebs and family retainers won't voluntarily assemble themselves – they need to be goaded into it by the threat of slowly starving to death in their dotage.

They're at it again (again). The oligarch-thinktank industrial complex has unleashed a torrent of scare stories about Social Security's imminent insolvency, rehearsing the same shopworn doom predictions that they've been repeating since the Nixonite billionaire cabinet member Peter G Peterson created a "foundation" to peddle his disinformation in 2008:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/I.O.U.S.A.

Peterson's go-to tactic is convincing young people that all the Social Security money they're paying into the system will be gobbled up by already-wealthy old people, leaving nothing behind for them. Conservatives have been peddling this ditty since the 1930s, and they're still at it – in the pages of the New York Times, no less:

https://www.nytimes.com/2023/10/26/opinion/social-security-medicare-aging.html

The Times has become a veritable mouthpiece for this nonsense, publishing misleading and nonsensical charts and data to support the idea that millennials are losing a generational war to boomers, who will leave the cupboard bare:

https://www.nytimes.com/2023/10/27/opinion/aging-medicare-social-security.html

As Robert Kuttner writes for The American Prospect, this latest rhetorical assault on Social Security is timed to coincide with the ascension of the GOP House's new Speaker, Mike Johnson, who makes no secret of his intention to destroy Social Security:

https://prospect.org/economy/2023-10-31-debunking-latest-attack-social-security/

The GOP says it wants to destroy Social Security for two reasons: first, to promote "choice" by letting us provide for our own retirement by flushing even more of our savings into the rigged casino that is the stock market; and second, because America doesn't have enough dollars to feed and house the elderly.

But for the New York Times' audience, they've figured out how to launder this far-right nonsense through the language of social justice. Rather than condemning the impecunious olds for their moral failing to lay the correct bets in the stock market, Social Security's opponents paint the elderly as a gerontocratic elite, flush with cash that rightfully belongs to the young.

To support this conclusion, they throw around statistics about how house-rich the Boomers are, and how much consumption they can afford. But as Kuttner points out, the Boomers' real-estate wealth comes not from aggressive house-flipping, but from merely owning a place to live. America's housing bubble means that younger people can't afford this basic human necessity, but the answer to that isn't making old people homeless – it's providing a lot more housing, and banning housing speculation:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/06/06/the-rents-too-damned-high/

It's true that older people are doing a lot of consumption spending – but the bulk of that spending isn't on cruises to Alaska to see the melting glaciers, it's on health care. Old people aren't luxuriating in their joint replacements and coronary bypasses. Calling this "consumption" is deliberately misleading.

But as Kuttner points out, there's another, more important point to be made about inequality in America – the most significant wealth gap in America is between workers and owners, not young people and old people. The "average" Boomer's net worth factors in the wealth of Warren Buffett and Donald Trump. Older renters are more rent-burdened and precarious than younger renters, and most older Americans have little to no retirement savings:

https://www.forbes.com/sites/teresaghilarducci/2023/10/28/the-new-york-times-greedy-geezer-myth/

Less than one percent of Social Security benefits go to millionaires – that's because the one percent constitute one percent of the population. It's right there in the name. The one percent are politically and economically important, but that's because they are low in numbers. Giving Social Security benefits to everyone over 65 will not result in a significant outlay to the ultra-wealthy, because there aren't many ultra-wealthy people in America. The problem of inequality isn't the expanding pool of rich people, it's the explosion of wealth for a contracting pool of rich people.

If conservatives were serious about limiting the grip of these "undeserving" Social Security recipients on our economy and its politics, they'd advocate for interitance taxes (which effectively don't exist in America), not the abolition of Social Security. The problem of wealth in America is that it is establishing permanent dynasties which are incompatible with social mobility. In other words, we have created a new hereditary aristocracy – and its corollary, a new hereditary peasantry:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/06/19/dynastic-wealth/#caste

Hereditary aristocracies are poisonous for lots of reasons, but one of the most pressing problems they present is political destabilization. American belief in democracy, the rule of law, and a national identity is q function of Americans' perception of fairness. If you think that your kids can't ever have a better life than you, if you think that the cops will lock you up for a crime for which a rich person would escape justice, then why obey the law? Why vote? Why not cheat and steal? Why not burn it all down?

The wealthy put a lot of energy into distracting us from this question. Just lately, they've cooked up a gigantic panic over a nonexistent wave of retail theft:

https://www.techdirt.com/2023/10/31/the-retail-theft-surge-that-isnt-report-says-crime-is-being-exaggerated-to-cover-up-other-retail-issues/

Meanwhile, the very real, non-imaginary, accelerating, multi-billion-dollar plague of wage theft is conspicuously missing from the public discourse, despite a total that dwarfs all retail theft in America by an order of magnitude:

https://fair.org/home/wage-theft-is-built-into-the-business-models-of-many-industries/

America does have a property crime crisis, but it's a crisis of wage-theft, not shoplifting. Likewise, America does have a retirement crisis: it's a crisis of inequality, not intergenerational conflict.

Social Security has been under sustained assault since its inception, and that's in large part due to a massive blunder on the part of FDR. Roosevelt believed that people would be more protective of Social Security if they thought it was funded by their taxes: "we bought it, it's ours." But – as FDR well knew – that's not how government spending works.

The US government can't run out of US dollars. The US government doesn't get its dollars for spending from your taxes. The US government spends money into existence and taxes it out of existence:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/12/14/situation-normal/#mmt

A moment's thought will reveal that it has to be this way. The US government (and its fiscal agents, chartered banks) are the only source of dollars. How can the US tax dollars away from earners unless it has first spent those dollars into the economy?

The point of taxation isn't to fund programs, it's to reduce the private sector's spending power so that there are things for sale to the public sector. If we only spent money into the economy but didn't take any out of the economy, the private sector would have so many dollars to spend that any time the government tried to buy something, there'd be a bidding war that would result in massive price spikes.

When a government runs a "balanced budget," that means that it has taxed as much out of the economy as it put into the economy at the start of the year. When a government runs a "surplus," that means it's left less money in the economy at the end of the year than there was at the beginning of the year. This is fine if the economy has contracted overall, but if the economy stayed constant or grew, that means there are fewer dollars chasing more goods and services, which leads to deflation and all kinds of toxic outcomes, like borrowing more bank-created money, which makes the finance sector richer and the real economy poorer.

Of course, most governments run "deficits" – which is another way of saying that they leave more dollars in the economy at the end of the year than there was at the start of the year, or, put another way, a deficit probably means that your economy got bigger, so it needed more dollars.

None of this means that governments can spend without limit. But it does mean that governments can buy anything that's for sale in their own currency. There are a lot of goods for sale in US dollars, both goods that are produced domestically and goods from abroad (this is why it's such a big deal that most of the world's oil is priced in dollars).

Governments do have to worry about getting into bidding wars with the private sector. To do that, governments come up with ways of reducing the private sector's spending power. One way to do that is taxes – just taking money away from us at the end of the year and annihilating it. Another way is to ration goods – think of WWII, or the direct economic interventions during the covid lockdowns. A third way is to sell bonds, which is just a roundabout way of getting us to promise not to spend some of our dollars for a while, in return for a smaller number of dollars in interest payments:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/04/08/howard-dino/#payfors

FDR knew all of this, but he still told the American people that their taxes were funding Social Security, thinking that this would protect the program. This backfired terribly. Today, Democrats have embraced the myth that taxes fund spending and join with their Republican counterparts in insisting that all spending must be accompanied by either taxes or cuts (AKA "payfors").

These Democrats voluntarily put their own policymaking powers in chains, refusing to take any action on behalf of the American people unless they can sell a tax increase or a budget cut. They insist that we can't have nice things until we make billionaires poor – which is the same as saying that we can't have nice things, period.

There are damned good reasons to make billionaires poor. The legitimacy of the American system is incompatible with the perception that wealth and power are fixed by birth, and that the rich and powerful don't have to play by the rules.

The capture of America's institutions – legislatures, courts, regulators – by the rich and powerful is a ghastly situation, and to reverse it, we'll need all the help we can get. Every hour that Americans spend worrying about their how they'll pay their rent, their medical bills, or their student loans is an hour lost to the fight against oligarchy and corruption.

In other words, it's not true that we can't have nice things until we get rid of billionaires – rather, we can't get rid of billionaires until we have nice things.

This is the premise of my next novel, The Lost Cause, which comes out on November 14; it's set in a world where care and solidarity have unleashed millions of people on the project of maintaining the habitability of our planet amidst the polycrisis:

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250865939/the-lost-cause

It's a fundamentally hopeful book, and it's already won praise from Naomi Klein, Rebecca Solnit, Bill McKibben and Kim Stanley Robinson. I wrote it while thinking through and researching these issues. Conservatives want us to think that we can't do better than this, that – to quote Margaret Thatcher – "there is no alternative." Replacing that narrative is critical to the kinds of mass mobilizations that our very survival depends on.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/intergenerational-warfare/#five-pound-blocks-of-cheese

This Saturday (Nov 4), I'm keynoting the Hackaday Supercon in Pasadena, CA.

[fishenjoyer1]

Fish of the Day

Today's fish of the day is the Pacific Hagfish!

The pacific hagfish, also known as the california hagfish, and scientific name  Eptatretus stoutii, is known for being the widest spread hagfish species, and one of the deepest living. Their range stretches from the Northern sections of Alaska all the way down to Baja, California, living at depths of 16-966 meters, or 50-3,200 feet. Along this range they prefer to live on fine silt and clay bottomed areas of the continental shelf, or upper shelves, their swimming skills are weak and so they spend much of their time along the sea bed. Although currently unproven, it is thought that during the fall these hagfish migrate to deeper waters, remaining until the winter, which is consistent with other hagfish migration patterns.

Hagfish first emerged in the fossil record as far back as 310 million years ago, with animals resembling the modern hagfish we know today 100 million years ago. To this day, hagfish still serve as a cause for confusion when it comes to defining fish as a taxonomic bracket. As a jawless fish that broke off just before the jaw was evolved, and sharing their infraphylum with lampreys, they break up a definition of fish that include the movement of the jaw as a definer. However, this lack of a jaw doesn't stop their hunting style from being just as interesting as us vertebrates who do contain a mouth that opens and closes.

Like all hagfish, the pacific hagfish establishes a hold onto prey before tying its body into knots and untying to generate a ripping force to tear off pieces of flesh. Due to this, a majority of their diet consists of already dead animals, forcing them into the scavenger role. Other than what the hagfish can scavenge, they also eat polychaete worms along the seabed, shrimp, other hagfishes eggs, and small cephalopods. Strangest of all, this animal can absorb amino acids through the skin. The other notable feature of hagfishes is their slime. When threatened, they can ooze a slime made of specialized mucus out of slime glands. This is known for expanding over 10,000 times its original size in less than a second. This slime can be used to slip away from predators who may have already gotten a hold on them, but also to clog the gills, choking out predators before they can get the chance to escape, and providing them with a meal.

The reproduction of hagfish is not well understood, but let's go over what we do know. Female hagfish will lay eggs within a muddy burrow it has formed or other structures it may find, and males will come to fertilize externally. After this, female hagfish will remain in the burrow to protect the eggs from any potential predators or other hagfish, until they hatch. Once they have emerged from their eggs, at a size of 6-8cm in length, they are already in the same shape they will remain the rest of their lives, as they lack a larval stage. Their life cycle lasts for up to 40 years in the wild, and they can get as large as 25 inches in length by sexual maturity, with a typical length of 17 inches.

That's the pacific hagfish, and have a wonderful Wednesday, everyone!

[slowburningechoes]

I was wondering if you could do something with like, maybe write a smut about Professor Reid x Female Student. Thanks <3

uhm, yes!!! professor reid makes me swoon cw: smut (18+, minor dni), brat!reader, unethical relationship (title ix is important babes), age gap (15 years), fantasization, mutual masturbation, oral (f!recieving), office sex, makeshift gag usage, exhibitionism, unprotected sex (pls wrap it up), breeding word count: 3.1k

secrets demand silence

Spencer knew this wasn't right - thinking of you, his top pupil, as he palmed the bulge growing in his slacks. It was an unethical and immoral concept at its core. After all, he couldn't have you and thinking of you this way just made his yearning even more unbearable.

He leaned back in his leather desk chair and tried to get the thoughts and images of you out of his mind, but the erection in his pants grew nonetheless. He couldn't help but think about the way you always sat at the front of the class wearing the cutest blouses and the shortest skirts. How you were always the first to chime in to answer his questions, rhetorical or otherwise. You had always done the reading and studied well for exams, but if you had to cram some last minute you would always come to class early with your hair pulled back with a claw clip and strands caressing the sides of your face as you stared intently at your textbook. There were so many times he wanted to bend you over the lectern right there and take you at the front of the empty lecture hall. Sometimes while he lectured, he would notice you biting down on your pencil and crossing your legs tightly and perversely, he hoped it was because you were soaking wet and thinking of him in the same inappropriate ways he thought of you. Spencer often wondered if you ever dashed to the bathroom or to your apartment to satisfy yourself from the tension those thoughts caused, just like he was doing now and like he had so many times before.

He tried to stop thinking of you, he really did - but it just didn't work. His cock was so enlarged that it was barely contained by the dark material - so, he decided to give in to temptation... once again.

Spencer knew the details of you from memory, but a little reference couldn't hurt. Thank god the institution didn't have access to his private browser history, he already had your social media pages pulled up from previous times he let his lustful thoughts control him. He had even decided his favorite picture of you: you were at some cozy little bookstore in between two aisles of shelves wearing a cream button down with a khaki v-cut sweater vest over top and a light brown plaid skirt that was just long enough to barely hit the middle of your thighs, your hair was wispy and pulled back by a matte cream claw clip and you were wearing the wide wire frame glasses that always made him take a second look. You weren't just standing there in the picture, though, you had your back plastered against one of the shelves, with your foot kicked up against the bottom and your eyes buried in a book. You looked so intelligent and beautiful, like you were in your natural habitat.

The last time he had touched himself to the thought of you was the first time he found that photo and he couldn't help dreaming about pinning you against that shelf and kissing you so deeply that the book fell from your hand and you were begging for him to touch you. That was a wonderful fantasy and one of his favorites, but after today's class Spencer's mind had created a new one.

He had started discussing a case that the BAU had worked in rural Alaska towards the end of lecture after one of your peers had asked about the places he had traveled during his work with the FBI. The conversation only scratched the surface, but it brought back the memory of the intimate homey inn and how there were limited rooms, so everyone else had to double up except him.

Now, so many years in the future, Spencer was wondering what it would be like to have to share a room like that with you. The inescapable proximity and the fact that you would be on the other side of the bathroom door with water dripping down your body as you dried off. How small the bed was and how close you would have to be because of it.

His imagination began to run wild as he freed his throbbing cock and wrapped his fist around it. He started to wonder what you wore to bed usually and how the fabric would feel when it inevitably brushed against his skin. He imagined waking up with the most strained morning wood imaginable and you making the softest whimpers in your sleep. He wondered if you would let him wake you up with a deep kiss and you would take him by surprise and straddle him.

Spencer was embarrassed that even the thought of kissing you made his dick twitch in his hand as he pumped it, but it did so desperately.

His need only increased as his imagination kept going, his eyes shut tight as he began to establish a rhythm. Spencer started to think about you grinding your core against his erection, moaning into his mouth and the wetness pooling on the area revealing that you slept without panties on. He would lift your sleep shirt to put your perfect tits on display for him before bringing one into his mouth as he bucked himself into you.

His fantasy hadn't even let him inside of you yet when his orgasm began to creep upon him at an increasing rate. Spencer's eyes were closed and his mouth was gaping as he increased the speed of his hand.

He couldn't help but let hushed mumblings of your name slip out as he worked himself with anticipation... what he didn't expect, though, was that you heard them.

You had just entered his office to see the shocking and glorious sight of Dr. Reid pleasuring himself. You hadn't knocked since he'd always said he had an "open door policy", but now you thought he may need to reconsider that. You had thought about what his cock might look like, but the reality of it was more than you could've ever dreamed of. He was lengthy, which was expected, but he was also impressively girthy. He would fill you up and stretch you out, the thought of which made your core begin to ache with a need that grew with every stroke he made down his member.

Before you could think consciously about your decision, you found yourself locking the door of his office behind you. Dr. Reid was so immersed in his self-gratification that he didn't notice the light "click" the lock had made.

The only thing that broke his trance was when you finally broke the tense heated air with a hesitant, "Doctor Reid?"

"F-fuck! Y/n?" his eyes shot open and he immediately began to panic, trying to maneuver himself back inside his pants and close out his browser before you made it around to his side of the desk - but to no avail. "W-what are you doing? Shit..."

You let your heart and sexual desire lead over your head as you came to the edge of his desk and propped your ass on top of him. Looking to your right, you saw your profile pulled up on his monitor. When you glanced down at him, his eyes were wide with shock, his cheeks flushed pink from embarrassment, and his cock still swollen and twitching with need.

"What am I doing? What are you doing, professor?" you inquire suggestively, spreading your legs open in the process, your skirt leaving little to the imagination.

"I-I," he attempted to begin his justification.

You flipped the bottom of your skirt upwards to reveal a pair of lacy black panties, which you began to rub your fingers down gently. Spencer couldn't help but suck in a tight breath and stare as you teased the outside of your need.

"Because it looks like you were jerking off to the thought of me," you hum, smirking down at him and pulling your panties to the side you reveal your bare pussy.

A hushed groan escaped him and his dick slapped against his stomach firmly. "I-I'm sorry, y/n."

"Don't be, professor... it's so hot," you dipped your middle finger between your folds and moaned softly for him, trying not to be too loud.

"Y/n..." he whimpered with a shaky voice, watching you intently. "T-this is wrong."

"Mmmm, but it feels so right," you sigh, pushing two fingers deeper inside you and moaning again. "Doesn't it?"

"Y-yes," he responded, beginning to palm his erection again.

"Don't be shy, Dr. Reid - I already saw your little show," you reassured, opening your eyes to smile at him devilishly. You circled your clit before choking out his name again with purpose and need, "Dr. Reid, please."

"Fuck, oh-okay," Spencer muttered before wrapping his fist around his length once again, pumping at a growing rhythm.

The sight of him stroking himself again made your wetness grow, your fingers motion in it eliciting the most delicious noises. The combination of those noises in combination with your moans made Spencer absolutely feral. Touching himself and watching you wasn't enough. Suddenly, he lunged forward towards you, spreading your thighs open with his hands.

"Professor!" you gasp, surprised by the contact and the strength of his grip.

"Can I taste you?" he blurts, his breath hot against your inner thighs.

You nod adamantly and begin to scoot your underwear down your legs to assist him. "Yes, please."

He hooked his fingers around the fabric and pulled them down the rest of the way before planting wet kisses along your inner thighs and up to your core. The feeling was like ecstasy, your mind was blank except for thoughts of pleasure and your body became tingly with anticipation. You were relieved when Spencer licked a stripe up your slit, dipping his tongue into you and gathering your arousal on his tongue. Just as he wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked gently, your legs snapped around either side of his head. He begin to switch between lapping at your center and taking the sensitive nub between his lips. It was excruciatingly satisfying, so much so that you gripped onto his locks firmly and subconsciously bucked your hips up into his mouth, demanding more as the pressure in your abdomen grew.

"Dr. Reid - I'm going cum," you whimpered, pressing his head against your core firmly. "Keep going, I'm begging you."

You feel him nod in agreement and moan into you as he continued to use his tongue strategically to motivate your climax. He began to devour you in a nearly animalistic manner, still methodic with his movements but with a desperation that made your thighs begin to quiver around his face. It only took him sucking gently on your clit one last time for you to fall apart, coming uncontrollably all over his face, grinding into it. You stifle your moans by biting down on your knuckle as he continues to lap at your pussy until you became numb from the excessive stimulation.

When he pulled his face from between your legs, his lips, chin, and the bottom bit of his button nose were soaked with your arousal. Plastered across his face was a mischievous smirk as he licked the arousal from his lips.

"You taste so... so fucking good, y/n," Spencer complimented, before leaning up to kiss you so that you could taste it as well.

You tried to respond as he moved away from your lips, but he was already working to remove your blouse. "I-is this okay?" he paused to ask when it was about halfway up your torso.

"You don't need to ask, professor. Anything you want to do is more than alright with me," you assure, peeling off your top to prove it to him.

Spencer stood there for a moment, staring at your breasts cupped by your beautiful black bra that matched your lacy underwear he had peeled off earlier. He reached around to your back to unsnap your bra, which he did so with ease. The fabric slipped from your shoulders and dropped from your chest, the cool air brushing against your bare skin causing your nipples to perk up and become hard.

"They're even more perfect than I imagined," he whispered, cupping them in his hands and bringing his thumb to caress your nipples.

"You've thought about them, hm, professor?" you tease, raising an eyebrow up at him. "Not a very appropriate way to think about your students, is it?"

Spencer cuts you a look of exasperation and snaps back, "Be quiet."

His demanding tone made your body writhe with warmth, "Oh, yes, sir."

"You act like you don't like me thinking of you like this, touching you like this - when you're the one who came over and put yourself on display for me," he growled.

"You were the one stroking your cock with a picture of me pulled up for reference," you responded with a sassy tone.

Your face was suddenly snatched between his hands, his thumb and fingers pushing your cheeks together. "And that made you so so wet. You know... after all the times I've fantasized about you, I never imagined you'd be such a brat."

You give him a smug look before biting you bottom lip and bringing him down for a deep passionate kiss. "Are you going to keep blabbing or are you going to fuck me?"

A loud huff came from Spencer as he leaned down to pick your panties up from the ground, stuffing them in your mouth. You gag around them slightly as they fill your mouth, muffling your teasing words.

"Since you're quiet now, I will," he whispered in your ear, sucking on your neck by your collarbone.

You moan in satisfaction, the sound barely vibrating through the fabric, your desperation making your professor chuckle smuggly. "That's much better. Can't have your loud mouth getting us caught, can we?" He spreads your legs back open, sliding the pads of his fingers in between your folds.

You shake your head "no" insistently, wanting to be good for him so that he would enter you. Your obedience worked, Spencer dropped his slacks and underwear to the floor and lined his tip up at your entrance. His dick brushing against your throbbing folds made you whine and grip onto the edge of the desk.

"I'm not even inside of you yet, beautiful," he hummed, enjoying your desperation.

He didn't wait an extra second to fill you, though, pushing his cock fully inside of you with one good stroke. You are stunned by the sudden force, his girth stretching you out with a stinging pleasure just as you had expected it would. He was much bigger than any other man you had been with and he knew exactly where to place his thrusts for maximum satisfaction for both of you. As he began to establish a pattern of his thrusts and their intensity, your walls began to squeeze around him for more. You wrap your arm around his back and scrape your nails down it with intense urgency, your simultaneous moans stifled by the makeshift gag in your mouth.

"You feel a-amazing, y/n - holy shit," Spencer struggled with his words, separated by quiet groans motivated by your pussy clenching around him. "So-so much tighter than I could've dreamt."

You smiled at his comment and looked up at his head thrown back and mouth gaping open as he fucked up into you harder. His left hand dug into your hip and the other came to tangle his fingers into the hair at the base of your head.

The deeper he pushed into you, the closer you became to reaching your second orgasm. The rhythm of his thrusts made your clit numb with pleasure, satisfying the nerves so much that you did not need external stimulation for your climax to rock into you. The grunts flowing from Spencer's lips in combination with the satisfaction made it come upon you quickly, your knees attempting to buckle together and your breaths becoming sharper. Your tightness increased, causing the cum to suddenly rush to the tip of Spencer's cock, causing his orgasm to rush into him as well.

The euphoria came crashing into both of you simultaneously, resulting in the most sloppy and melodic hushed noises you had ever heard. Your orgasm finished before his, your body tingling with satisfaction and your senses heightened.

"Y-y/n, baby - I'm going to cum in you," he muttered in between his struggled breaths.

All you could do was silently beg through the panties stuffed in your mouth, you wanted every drop of him inside of you. Thankfully, Spencer must have felt your body agree, your pussy opening deeply for his seed to spill inside. Within seconds, he was grunting lowly and coating your walls with his cum. The feeling of him flooding you was the greatest satisfaction you had felt before, warm and full.

As he came down from his own high, he looped his fingers into the lace embedded in your mouth, pulling it out slowly.

"How do you feel, beautiful?" he asks in a gentler comforting tone.

You latch onto his neck and pull him down to you for a sensual open-mouthed kiss. "Absolutely wonderful... I think I'll have to come by office hours more often."

"I think I'm going to have to change that open door policy, hm?" he suggests. "Only for you."

"Oh, you don't do this with all your students?"

Spencer responds with an eye roll and his thumb brushing down your bottom lip. "No, y/n... only you."

"What about outside of here, hm? You have some girls you meet up with when you get lonely?" you tease again, trying to gauge where this relationship was headed.

He lets out a sigh of annoyance, "Y/n. Only you - you're all I think about."

"You're all I think about, too," you blurt out in agreement.

"Mmm, so no hot college hook ups for you?" he decides to play your game.

"No... I-I've been waiting for you," you respond, tracing your fingers down his chest.

"I'm yours, if you'll have me, y/n. Let me make you dinner at my apartment," Spencer whispered, kissing your lips softly. "We - we have to keep this on the down low, but I can't go another day without you."

You smile at him and nod, "I'd love to have dinner with you, Dr. Reid. I'm yours, as well... don't worry, I graduate in May, but I'm good at keeping secrets regardless."

requests are open!

[safarigirlsp]

The Lovely Things I'll Show You

Flip Zimmerman x Siren

Word Count: 16.6k

Warnings: NSFW. Smut. Horror. Angst, maybe? Lots of Violence. Violence Against Women. Violence Against Men. Rage. Revenge. Drowning. This isn't dark by my personal standards, but it's fairly dark by fic standards, so be warned.

This is from Flip's POV, so there's no X Reader language. However, I left the Siren pretty vague and I think she can be read as a reader insert. At least by readers with enough imagination to assume they have a tail etc xD. Also, I don't consider this as 'Dark' Flip, but some people probably will, so consider that an additional warning.

Inspired by Lighthouse by Halsey Based on a request I butchered from @cas-backwards-tie

AO3 Link

Eastport, Maine, perched on the Northeastern most tip of the state like a mole on the end of a witch’s nose, was about as far away from the rest of the country as a man could get. Alaska might be further, but the strange daylight and dark hours that changed with the seasons wouldn’t do a damn bit of good for the mental state of a man already on the brink. On the brink of what exactly, Flip couldn’t really say and he wouldn’t hazard a guess. Things like that should be left to professionals high above his pay grade. Professionals Flip wouldn’t denigrate himself to consult.

Talkin’ about a man’s problems is for pussies and whiners, Flip would say. To his own reflection in his bathroom mirror, leaning over the sink, wiping the sweat from his brow after waking from another recurring nightmare. A shrink is a poor substitute for a cold beer and beatin’ the hell out of a punching bag.

That was back in Colorado Springs, back during the aftermath of the Pigman killings. Sure, Flip had solved the case, shot dead the bastard dubbed Pigman for his penchant for frying strips of his victims up like bacon. Flip resented it in ways deeper than he could ever express to a shrink, how that sorry bastard had ruined the taste of bacon for him. One of his favorite guilty pleasures was his heart attack special – a breakfast of bacon, eggs, and waffles, all slathered in genuine Vermont maple syrup. Flip hoped that pleasure would return to him. After he was able to purge his memory of the smell of human ‘bacon,’ harvested from plump victims, sizzling in a cast iron frying pan, human fat popping up from the pan and burning his hand as he crept past with his gun held at the ready. Firing a bullet into the Pigman’s head was a relief, something he deserved for ruining the taste of bacon for Flip, in addition to his other gruesome atrocities.

Focusing on bacon as the greatest tragedy helped Flip mitigate in his mind what had happened to his partner. Flip had taken that memory, crumpled it into the smallest ball of pain he could, and shoved it down inside his mind, into the darkest, deepest recess. He understood now the meaning of that shrink term ‘unpacking.’ Well, he had no fuckin’ intention of ever unpacking that memory again, or those emotions. There was nothing equal to finding a partner dead and half butchered like a prize hog. Nothing in a shrink’s handbook to undo the damage caused by the smell of bacon frying in a cast iron pan. Thick cut bacon, freshly cut from his partner’s flanks.

These days, that memory was left buried in Flip’s subconscious, coming to him in sweaty, pulse-thundering dreams. Flip was a mentally tough man, highly disciplined. He could keep that terrible beast caged. But everything about the Colorado Springs police station reminded him of his partner, a constant kick in the guts that made it impossible to truly repress. Even his favorite restaurants and bars, his own house for fucks’ sake. All of it was now full to bursting with painful associations. This pain came out as anger, which was really the best and healthiest reaction in Flip’s arsenal. It beat taking up drugs, drinking even more, or putting a gun in his mouth and pulling the trigger.

Before he lost it on some poor bastard who cut him off in traffic or an asshole who pinched a waitress’s ass in front of him, Flip decided a change of scenery was just what the doctor ordered. He wanted to get as far from anything familiar to him as possible. When he came into work one morning and saw a newspaper clipping advertising a small town in Maine was looking for a new sheriff, Flip didn’t think twice about where it may have come from. He didn’t give a damn.

After a long weekend trip to Eastport, Maine that served as reconnaissance, Flip found a nice cabin that suited him, far away from people, and even a friendly little mousy-haired schoolteacher who suited him too. Well enough for some entertainment, anyway. She had great tits and a face that gave Flip the impression she was the kind of girl who’d let a man do damn near whatever he wanted whenever he wanted, because she wasn’t overly burdened with beauty or brains and had the good sense to compensate in more tangible ways. He took her out for coffee and a stroll around the small, quaint town, having her show him what passed for the sights. Afterwards, she was very friendly and rewarded him handsomely and enthusiastically for her mocha latte in the backseat of her car.

Come Monday, Flip accepted the sheriff gig for a surprisingly good salary and made a deal on the cabin for a steal. Both for the same reason – the market was thin pickin’s for successful men with Flip’s level of skill, who were willing to move to a town of fifteen hundred people with a higher population of sasquatch than eligible singles. Eastport was a nice little town, what there was of it. Picturesque in that quaint, rural way that looked great on a postcard but didn’t hold one’s interest for long.

Three months in, and Flip loved it. The work was easy. He hadn’t had to use his brain on a crime since he left Colorado Springs, and the most stress he had was searching for a dumb kid who had gotten lost in the woods and escorting the little shit back to his mom. He’d only had to fire his piece once to scare off a bear that was rummaging through the sheriff department trash. Most of the ‘crime’ he’d been prepped for consisted of vandalism, DWI’s, animal attacks, domestic violence, and bar fights. Flip had already dealt with a few bar fights, about one a weekend. He loved that part of the job. It gave him an excuse to take out some aggression on some wannabe tough guys who could handle it, and who wouldn’t be the wiser when they sobered up as to whether their fat lip or black eye came from the sheriff or the other guy. And the floozy schoolteacher named Cristy gave great head and made few demands, aside from dragging him to church a few times to keep airs that she wasn’t a loose woman. That was a royal pain in the ass, but he could endure it.

He loved the pace and the seclusion. He was damned sick of cities bustling like ants, air that smelled like grime. Colorado Springs had that big city grime along with big city crime, and the punks and gangbangers that came with it. It was nice to have the freedom of driving less than thirty minutes from town and being out in the middle of nowhere. Forest or coast, he could take his pick. He could go whale watching or moose hunting; hiking or fishing; watch the golden sunrise at a local coffee shop and watch it set fiery orange over the ocean while having a juicy ribeye, a fat lobster tail, and a cold beer. Eastport even had a barber shop with the red and white striped pole out front, where a man could get a haircut and a shave with a straight razor and not listen to women chatter about the latest Cosmopolitan article on how to please a man or what celebrity got which body parts inflated.

Six months in, and Flip was beginning to hate it. The easy work had grown dull. There wasn’t a goddamn thing that got his heart rate up anymore – fucking aside, anyway – and he hadn’t had a good adrenaline rush since he’d been woken up in the middle of the night by a bobcat in heat screeching on his back porch, sounding like some banshee straight outta hell. Even that little excitement had been weeks ago. The schoolteacher had grown as dull and uninteresting as a blowup doll, with a comparable IQ and conversational skills. It gave him more reason to keep her mouth occupied with other activities or her face shoved into the mattress, but that brand of enjoyment was only good for so long. Then she wanted to talk, always about the most mundane gossip and dumbest shit imaginable. Flip asked her once if she wanted to read a book with him – some adventure thing he’d picked at random in a used bookstore, packed with plenty of action for him and shirtless strapping men he thought she’d enjoy too. She looked at him with a bovine sort of vacancy in her mossy eyes – an association that had become hard for him to ignore – and asked, “Read? You mean like a magazine or a newspaper?”

The seclusion was turning to cabin fever, the endless wilderness closing in on him like a noose. The bad accents of the locals were as grating as a migraine, and the smell of fish and ocean pervaded every fuckin’ piece of his clothing, strong enough that it vied with cigarette smoke for his signature scent. Going to the five restaurants and three bars in town, having the same thing on the menu over and over had gotten old as hell. There wasn’t even a movie theater within an hour’s drive, only an old drive-in that was only open during the four months a year a man wouldn’t get frostbite on his dick trying to enjoy a movie from the bed of his truck with his girl in the old-fashioned way. The seclusion and boredom had been good for one thing. Flip had lifted weights and run himself into the best shape of his life. His arms bulged, his chest strained his shirt buttons, and both his cardio and timing on a speed bag were better than they had been during his tour in the Marines.

The teacher must have gotten bored with Flip too, because he stopped by her house a little early one Friday night to surprise her with a bottle of cheap wine and a chick flick, only to find her banging some pencil-dick science teacher he recognized as a specimen she had made assurances was just a friend. A married man too, aptly named Less, the piece of dogshit. Flip wanted to knock the bastard into next week, but he was truly concerned he might get a murder charge if the limp-wristed yuppie couldn’t take one of his punches. Actually, fuck the man. Flip wanted to knock that cheating slut around. He’d never hit a woman before, but if anyone deserved it, it was a fucking cheat. Dull and plain as she was, and despite ample opportunity, Flip had never cheated on the little skank.

The icing on the cake was when the murders started. Flip had come to this backwoods hellhole to get away from murders. It seems crime missed him and had followed him across the map. The first body washed up on the shore in a bucolic cove. It was a place Flip had found early on and driven to several times to have a beer and watch the sunset. Tall rocky cliffs populated with pine trees surrounded the ocean, and the waves crashed against the rocks with a thunderous susurrus. Those dense pine softened the light at dawn and dusk, bending into luscious pinks and oranges, and the water gleamed a vibrant sapphire. It was a scene straight off a postcard.

The bloated corpse lying on the beach slightly hampered that postcard beauty. Standing over the corpse in the sand, Flip guessed by the clammy pallor of the gelatinous skin and the damp putrid smell the man had been dead a week or so. Flip’s deputy, an older man with greying hair straight out of Mayberry, gave Flip his opinion that the man had fallen from the cliffs and drowned, or had been boating and drowned, or some other kind of accident that led to drowning. An accident that didn’t necessitate police involvement or investigation. The deputy had been there forever, and had turned down the sheriff’s position twice to avoid the added responsibility. The pattern was easy to see. As were the strange marks on the dead man’s neck and shoulders. The marks were faint, a little difficult to make out for an untrained eye, especially on the bloated, damp, decaying skin. They looked like something between hickies and strangulation bruises.

With a shrug, the deputy mentioned to Flip that accidents like this happened a couple times a year. Flip took the initiative to research exactly what that meant and how many similar accidents like this had occurred.

“Fuck me,” Flip muttered profoundly.

Based on his first cursory examination of the half-assed reports the Eastport Sheriff’s Department generated and the even worse records it maintained, he counted around fifty accidental deaths in that cove going back until World War II. He suspected there were many accidents the police didn’t deem worth documenting in their records.

“Accidents my dyin’ ass.” Flip swiped a hand over his face.

So much for a quiet change of pace.

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The bodies had all been found washed up on the rocky beach of the cloistered cove. There wasn’t much of a beach, just the rocky bottom of cliffs that the waves crashed against. Flip thought it might be public land or even park land because it was pretty enough that some rich recluse should have bought it up years ago if the government hadn’t claimed it. He was surprised to find the entire cove and a couple hundred surrounding acres had been in one family for well over a century. The entire property was dubbed ‘Thundercliffs,” a term he guessed was coined from the sound the waves made crashing against the cliffs. The old house wasn’t abandoned in the technical sense, not in the way the townsfolk believed. A quick search at the County Clerk revealed it was owned by a trust along with the sizable acreage it sat on and a host of other assets. The sole beneficiaries of the trust were a pair of siblings by the names of Hortence Desdemona and Beauregard Mountbatten III.

“This is gonna go well,” Flip grumbled as he wrote the names and address into the small notebook he kept in his pocket.

The address listed in Port Clyde was easy to find, and even offered a nice drive down the coast. It led him to a quaint cottage in town overlooking a harbor abuzz with working fisherman hauling in nets of fish and cages of lobster. He pulled his truck in behind the only car in the driveway, one of those old station wagons with the wood side panels. Several potted plants taller than Flip lounged on the porch and in the windows there were crystals and weird looking wicker crafts shaped like moons and stars. An old German shepherd was curled up by the door, his muzzle more white than black. He lifted his head to appraise Flip, but decided he wasn’t worth getting up over, and settled for watching him warily. The scent of incense or maybe fancy candles seeped onto the porch from inside. As he rapped his knuckles on the door Flip hoped that froufrou smell wouldn’t stick to his clothes and stink up the inside of his truck on his drive home.

A dumpy eccentric woman answered. She inhaled sharply at the sight of the handsome stranger, instantly flustered, and set about smoothing her rumpled outfit and bushy curly hair. She was dressed somewhere between a seventies hippie and a new age wannabe witch. Flip didn’t really understand the difference, but there were lots of colors and flappy material to her getup, stacked jingling bracelets, and multiple rings on every finger.

“Hi, ummm, can I help you?” the woman stammered. It had probably been a while since she’d talked to a man.

“Is Hortence or Beauregard available?” Flip asked in an authoritative tone.

“Why on earth would you want to see them?” She bristled and folded her arms over her chest.

Clearly, he had taken the wrong approach. The woman was of indeterminate age. She could have been a good-looking sixty or a rode-hard forty. He figured either way, she probably wasn’t dried up enough to be immune to masculine attention. Leaning against the doorframe and towering over her, he turned on the charm.

“Sorry, ma’am, I didn’t mean to come off rude.” He flashed his handsomest smile and ran his hand through his thick cowlick. “I’ve been put in the position of looking into some abandoned property that may be part of a trust of which they’re the sole beneficiaries. I just want to make sure all the property they’re rightfully entitled to gets to them.”

“Property where?” the woman stiffened even more, a rare response to Flip’s moves.

“I can only discuss that with the beneficiaries, I’m afraid.” He looked over the woman’s head, starting to suspect something was off. The cluttered inside of the house looked more like a fortune teller’s parlor than the residence of wealthy siblings. “Are you a relative?”

“I’m May,” she snorted in what passed for a laugh. “You could say I’m their stepmother.” She flapped her arms in a kind of shrug. “If you want to meet Hortence and Beauregard, follow me.” She turned and snorted again. “You can ask them anything you want.”

Flip passed overstuffed bookcases and curio cabinets filled with a myriad of trinkets into a sunny kitchen. The windowsill was littered with more witchy hippie looking things and a large plant with striped leaves dominated the center of a small dining table.

“Can I get you something to drink?” May asked as she started tapping a can on the counter.

“Coffee, if you have it. Thank you.” Flip watched her odd tapping with the can. “About the folks I’m here to see…”

“They’ll be along shortly.” She smiled and poured a mug of coffee from an existing brew in her coffee pot. “Give them a minute, they don’t move as fast as they used to.”

Flip still didn’t know what kind of eccentric he was dealing with here, but he decided to be careful not to leave any stray hairs around just in case. The last thing he needed was some broad crafting a voodoo doll of him or some shit and summoning him to her bedroom in the witching hour. He wondered if witches only used hair for those things, or if any kind of DNA would work. That unsettling thought made him eye the coffee mug suspiciously. An old police trick was to offer a suspect water, then keep the glass for DNA testing after the suspect leaves. DNA was discarded material then, free game to search without consent. He decided he didn’t need coffee that badly after all and set the mug on the counter in the same motion that he leaned his hip against it.

A fat black cat waddled into the kitchen, greeting him with a trilled meow, looking up at him expectantly with rich green eyes. The cat jumped up onto one of the chairs at the dining table, then up onto the tabletop, where it sat politely. Another deeper meow heralded the arrival of a second cat, bigger and even fatter, with a bright orange striped coat, a white patch on its chest, a white tipped tail, and bright amber eyes that matched Flip’s.

May smiled at them and said to Flip, “Let me introduce you to Hortence,” she pointed at the black cat, then moved her finger toward the orange tabby. “And Beauregard.” She emptied the can of cat food onto a saucer and used a fork to separate the contents. “Ask away.”

Flip rubbed the scruff on his jaw, watching as the woman placed the saucer on the table. Hortence began eating while Beauregard hefted his bulk up onto the chair then the table beside her.

“Cat got your tongue?” May asked with a snort.

“They’re the beneficiaries of the Thundercliffs Trust?” Flip stroked the black cat.

“They sure are! Brother and sister. Twenty-two years young,” May beamed as if she were indeed talking about her children. “Their real mom died ten years ago, but they get their longevity from her. She lived until she was in shooting distance of one-hundred. She was an old maid like me, no human children. So, she left everything in a trust to her cats. I get a monthly wage as their caretaker, not that I wouldn’t do it for free. I used to help their mom with chores and errands. Part maid, part cook, part caretaker. She was more like my crazy aunt than anything though.”

“I see.” Flip smiled to buy time while his mind ran through any questions that might be useful. “The trust also owns an old house up in Eastport. Does that mean the cats own it?”

“I suppose it does,” May shrugged. “I left my law degree in my other pants, but I’m told we could all live in that big old mansion on the cliffs, the cats, and my dog, and I. But I don’t think I could spend a night in there and catch a wink of sleep. I used to clean it once a month, and I hated every second I spent inside it. Something’s just wrong in there. I couldn’t even get Elwood to go inside with me when he was young and reckless – you met him on the porch.”

“Why is that, do you think?” Flip asked. “I’d like to hear your thoughts on that house if you have time.”

“I have plenty of time, but those aren’t thoughts I like to spend my time on.” She smiled but her tone was firm. “I might look like a silly old woman to you, but I’m not that silly. Or naive. I know there’s nothing I could tell you about that house that you’d believe anyway. And I know it’s not smart to go telling a sheriff lots of outlandish things and making him think you’re crazy.”

“Sheriff?” Flip grinned a little bashfully. He didn’t know his jig was up when he knocked on the door.

“I could tell you I’m a psychic and see if I could get fifty bucks out of you for a tarot reading.” May winked. “Or maybe news just travels fast in small towns. Especially between women. And extra especially about the new hunk of meat with a silver star up north.”

He laughed because it beat acknowledging his status as a slab of meat. “I’d like to take a look inside that house on the cliff. Would you be willing to show me around? The sheriff’s department would compensate you at the same hourly rate you get from the trust.”

“No way in hell, sheriff,” she smiled sweetly. “Not for the money or that handsome smile. I haven’t been up there in years and I don’t intend to go back. Not ever. If Hortence and Beauregard could sign legal documents, I’d advise them to demolish that house and every other structure on the property, bulldoze it clean, and turn it into a landfill.”

“Hell of a thing to do to a place with such a great view,” Flip said.

“I see. You’ve already been out there poking around.” It wasn’t a question and she seemed sad about it. “It’s always the handsomest men around who are drawn to that place.”

“Well, it’s also my job.” Flip didn’t tell her that he had gone to those cliffs many times on his own before anything suspicious had happened or any bodies had washed up on shore. That he thought the cliffs with the tall pine trees overlooking the boisterous cove was the best place in town to have a beer and watch the sunset. He damn sure wouldn’t say he felt drawn there. But even if he did, it was just the view. A man had every right to appreciate a nice view.

May opened a kitchen drawer and rummaged around, finally retrieving a keyring with a single key on it. She tossed the key to Flip and smiled as he snatched it out of the air with ease.

“Here’s the key to that house. Take it. The honor system is still pretty big here in our small towns.” She smiled. “Besides, if you use it to do something stupid to that house or anything inside it, you’ll have bigger problems than me.” She snorted again. “Actually, I doubt I’ll have to deal with you anymore at all after that!”

“What worries you so much about that house?” Flip asked, shoving the key into the front pocket of his jeans.

“Nothing about that house doesn’t worry me.” May shook her head. “You might want to ask me about the property too, not just the house itself.”

“Alright.” Flip nodded. “Consider me asking.”

“Lots of deaths on that land over the years.” She shuddered slightly. “I imagine that’s why you’re here. One of the first deaths the paper covered was in the forties. A strapping man who’d just come back from the war drowned in that cove. Everyone thought it was so strange because he was in great shape, fresh out of the military. They suspected it must have been a suicide. He was the second man to drown in the cove that year. But if you ask me, or most locals, the very first death was actually just labeled a disappearance. The military man’s wife.” She waved at the cats. “Their mom’s great aunt. I guess that’d make her their great great aunt.” Another snort. “Rumor has it she ran off with some man or other she met while her husband was off at war, and her husband committed suicide when he got home and found out.” She paused and looked at Flip. “But there are always rumors about beautiful women, aren’t there? If a woman’s pretty enough, men will call her a slut regardless of how many of them she sleeps with. Or doesn’t. Come to think of it, the more men a woman rejects, the more likely they are to label her a slut because it makes them feel superior. I’ve seen it a dozen times and I’m sure you have too. A small man’s way to destroy a woman who’s out of his league.”

“And that woman lived in the house?” Flip clarified. “The pretty woman?”

“She wasn’t just pretty. Rumor has it she was drop dead gorgeous. Bewitchingly, enchantingly, dangerously beautiful. But yes, Hortence and Beauregard’s great great aunt.” She patted each cat in turn, eliciting happy purrs. They had plopped down on the dining table, listening to the conversation. “All this was told to me by their mother. I wasn’t there, of course. I wasn’t around at all for a few more decades.”

“I appreciate it.” Flip gave her a genuine smile. “The key and the information. Don’t worry, I won’t hold you to anything you got secondhand.”

“There’s one fact that isn’t secondhand and you should give it some real weight, sheriff,” May said in the most serious tone she’d adopted so far. She was still stroking the orange cat. “Their mother owned that house for decades when she inherited it from her mother. It’s closer to a mansion than a house, and has that great view you mentioned. Still, she never lived one day in that house and she never sold it either. She didn’t want any living thing to live inside it. She rarely spoke of her great aunt, and when she did it was only to praise her beauty. I asked her more about her once and this is what she told me: ‘I don’t believe in speaking ill of the dead, especially when the dead might still be listening. But I will say that since she was a young girl, my great aunt was blessed with beauty and cursed with rage.’”

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Flip stopped at a local bakery before leaving Port Clyde, letting all the new information settle in his mind. He had two slices of spectacular homemade blueberry pie, allowing himself to wander through this new world of information. It was a strange world for him, one with witches and ghosts and curses and haunted beaches. He didn’t believe any of that shit any more than he believed in Santa Claus, but it was an entertaining world to visit. Plus, it had a dangerously beautiful woman in it.

The drive back would take him around four hours. He’d be pulling into town just in time to catch the sunset. Picking up a cheeseburger and fries to go and a six pack on the drive sounded good. What sounded even better was eating his burger while watching the summer sun set over that gorgeous cove from high up on the rocky cliffs.

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Flip’s favorite spot was on the highest cliff at the head of the cove. There, a flat rock served as an ideal bench near the edge, offering the best view of the cove from beneath the shade of a tall pine. He sat and just admired the view, the greasy-bottomed bag containing his cheeseburger and fries sitting on the rock beside him. He felt like a gargoyle perched on the top of the tallest building in a city, overlooking his domain below.

The sky was molten gold and fiery orange as the sun dipped below the horizon. The surface of the ocean glittered golden too, like it was a sea of coins instead of water. The light in the pines took on a soft dreamlike haze and a light fog was building along the beach. Lower in elevation and about two-hundred yards away was the lonely old house, its four tall stories keeping watch over the cove. Flip looked at it now from his vantage, conscious of what his senses might tell him. He felt nothing ominous at all. If anything, he felt content, a sense of belonging. A feeling that he could be happy here for a very long time, that he could even stay here forever. With a jolt, he realized he had been leaning nearer to the edge while lost in thought.

Movement on the beach far below caught his eye. Staring intently, he quite literally couldn’t believe his eyes. A woman lay on the beach, stark naked, and writhing in pain. She was also thrashing what appeared to be a shimmering golden tail. He didn’t believe in ghosts or Santa Claus, and he wasn’t about to start believing in fuckin’ mermaids either. But that’s damn sure what she looked like. Flip rubbed his eyes and forced them to focus more clearly. No, that long golden tail was still there, glistening wet and whipping violently on the beach. He could even faintly hear the wet slaps of it on the sand, paired with an ethereal voice calling for help.

Flip launched off the rock and ran back through the trees toward the house. A trail took off from the house, navigating the treacherous cliffs down to the beach. It would be suicide to attempt a descent anywhere else. At the base of the cliff, he charged into a full sprint, pumping his arms and kicking up sand as he ran down the beach toward the woman. Her cries for help were louder now, so loud they seemed to echo inside his head. There was a lewdness to it, too. If Flip hadn’t seen her writhing in pain, he would have taken the sound for loud moans of ecstasy.

He vaulted over a boulder at the head of the cove and found her, only feet ahead of him. The woman was every bit as naked as he had thought, but it wasn’t a tail he had seen thrashing. From the waist down, she was tangled up in a tawny fishing net. Somehow, the sunset must have made it look golden. In his mind’s eye, he could picture a perfect tail, complete with fins and individual scales of gleaming gold, thrashing and slapping the sand. He didn’t know how the hell he had seen that from the tangled mess of rope binding the woman’s legs, but he didn’t need to think about that now.

Falling to his knees beside the woman, he spoke soothingly like he would to a frightened animal. “I’m here to help you. I’m not going to hurt you. Let me help you.” It required a herculean effort to keep his eyes from wandering over her magnificent heaving breasts. He cupped her cheek to stop her from thrashing in the net. The ropes were digging into her, leaving angry red burns across her skin. Her eyes were wild with fear like a fox caught in a snare, but also bright and fierce. He grabbed her shoulder and shook her gently, keeping his voice soothing, “Look at me. I’m going to help you. Be still.”

The woman’s eyes rolled to meet his, and it felt like they bore straight into his soul. His throat went dry and his hands felt weak. The sun had set now, leaving a lingering purple twilight. Her eyes were luminous in the lavender light, somehow catching the ambient glow and reflecting it back even stronger. A mane of glossy hair was spread across the sand beneath her, and the fading light danced on her skin like diamonds on silk. Her eyes were no longer frightened, but still wild. They drew him in. Without realizing it, Flip’s hand had slipped from her shoulder to skim down her side, coming to rest on her hip on the only free patch of skin between ropes.

Flip flinched at the realization, fumbling a broken, “I’m sorry.”

The woman said nothing, continuing to stare up at him. Her lips curled in a slight smile that may have been satisfaction. Or it may have been relief at finding a savior.

Flip felt a foreign compulsion. Something dark and sick. Something he would have beaten another man up for. He felt the almost irresistible urge to unzip his jeans and cage the woman beneath him. To use the ropes to his advantage, plunge into her and ravage her like an unhinged beast. It was a base impulse, something at home in a feral animal instead of a man. Flip had felt lust, and he had a bad habit of thinking with his cock, but he had never felt the drive to take what wasn’t offered willingly. He had never felt desire so aggressive and consuming.

“How long were you out here on the beach?” he asked to ground himself. He shook his head, berating himself internally, asking himself, What the fuck is wrong with you? He had seen plenty of naked women, beautiful women. Had plenty of them beneath him writhing in much more lascivious ways than this one. He wasn’t a blushin’ virgin and he goddamn sure wasn’t a fuckin’ pervert.

“I’ve always been here,” she said with a laugh on her voice, as harmonious as a sonata.

Looking away from her, he took a breath to purge the perversion from his mind and unbuttoned his shirt. He roughly shrugged out of it and draped it over the woman’s torso, covering the most enticing bits of her. He wanted to rip the ropes off her, but he forced himself to move slowly and untangle her with care.

“Are you hurt?” he asked when she was free of the net, forcing himself to look into her eyes and nowhere else.

“No,” she said in a serene voice with a sound as pleasant as windchimes. “What are you going to do to me?”

That odd, innocuously asked question flooded his mind with another violent rush of terrible, driving, impulses, alarmingly perverse. His jeans felt tight, and he felt disgusted with himself. He decided it was even worse looking into her eyes than it had been looking at her perfect naked figure. He fought the urge to tell her what he wanted to do – ravage her, and even more than that he wanted to take her home and keep her chained to his bed. All to himself. Forever. In a great effort to remain civilized, he gritted hoarsely, “I’m gonna get you off this beach and somewhere safe.”

Flip wrapped her in his shirt, lifted her into his arms, and pushed up to his feet. He cradled her gently in his arms as he carried her back down the beach. It was now nearly dark, but her eyes were still almost unnaturally bright as they watched him serenely. She should have smelled like the ocean, even salty or fishy, but she smelled sweeter than anything he had ever scented. He couldn’t place her scent, but it was like an amalgamation of everything that had ever enticed him, from the hottest woman to the sweetest honey to the most fragrant perfume. All those scents mingled harmoniously where they lived in her skin. She laid her head on his chest and made a sound in her throat like a purr. It shook Flip straight through to his bones.

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Flip carried her up the steep trail back up to the top of the cliffs. He carried her to his truck, parked near the trailhead. He wanted to take her to the hospital, have a doctor sign off that she was alright. But the strange woman protested, insisting it was too far and she was too cold. Flip hadn’t noticed her shivering before, but now she trembled in his arms, her body fluttering against his chest.

Instead, she asked him to take her into the old, abandoned house, assuring they could warm themselves inside. Though she had only asked and in the most melodious of tones, Flip found it was a command he couldn’t refuse. Still carrying her in his arms like a doting husband with an eager bride, he strode to the front door of the abandoned house. The door was a shade of purple-brown, like a fresh bruise, with a standoffish doorknocker in the shape of a lion’s head with a heavy ring clenched between its teeth. Glaring at the beast, Flip kicked the door in.

Still holding the woman to his chest, Flip paused at the threshold, looking from one dark corner of the foyer to the other, prepared for anything, like an old west gunfighter entering a saloon. He felt immediately ridiculous. Those ghost stories and tall tales must have gotten to him more than he’d wanted to admit. There was nothing amiss inside, save for some dust and cobwebs. Moonlight filtered through the windows, making the dust he had disturbed look like mist wafting lightly on the air.

“Upstairs,” the woman said. “There’s less dust upstairs.

Flip didn’t care whether she was right and he didn’t ponder her statement. He attacked the stairs, taking them two at a time. The house was Victorian-styled, filled with tall ceilings, ornate details, and airy windows. A pair of double doors stood open at the end of the hallway on the third floor, beckoning him inside. Flip carried his prize through them and into a master suite, noticing at once it was surprisingly clean. Bay windows were ajar, open just enough to allow a crisp breeze tinged with pine and salt blow in from the cove. The light wind must have kept the dust and cobwebs at bay because the room looked and smelled pristine.

Flip tried not to focus on the large bed, almost as plush and inviting as the woman in his arms. He aimed for the bathroom, intending to fight her chill with warm water. She tugged on his collar, pulling her face near his ear and whispered, “You just pulled me out of the water. Don’t put me back in it yet.” Her breath was hot on his neck. “Take me to bed.”

“That’s not what you need,” Flip rasped, trying to deny the way his blood boiled and remain a gentleman while his cock throbbed.

“Isn’t it just like a man to tell me what I need?” she laughed, both husky and harmonious.

“You need warmed up, and a doctor, and probably a hot meal,” Flip told her as he walked to the bed. In one swift motion, he sat her down and peeled his own soaked shirt off her, trying not to look at the perfection that revealed. He pulled the quilt around her in a cocoon, both to warm her and keep her hidden from his view. He turned her brusquely around and laid down beside her, wrapping her cocooned figure inside his arms, hoping the thick quilt barrier between them would keep his arousal his own dirty little secret.

“Can you not think of a more effective approach to warm me up?” the woman lilted.

Inhaling her scent with his nose near the back of her neck, Flip thought he had never been so intoxicated by any substance. He cleared his throat. “I’m not very imaginative. Sorry to disappoint.”

“I have some ideas,” she teased. “Do you care to hear them?”

“Not unless you buy me dinner first, darlin,’” Flip gruffed. “I’m not that easy.”

“You can take whatever you want, you know,” she said in a sultry invitation.

“I don’t want to take anything from you,” his voice rumbled.

“That’s a lie and we both know it. I can feel how much you’re lying.” She wiggled her perfect ass against the ridge in his jeans. He only tightened his hold to still her, making no moves to relieve his own suffering. She stilled, and when she spoke again there was a sprinkling of admiration in her voice, “What a strange man you are.”

“Darlin,’ you have no idea,” Flip laughed, adjusting his large arms around her body. “You should see me cut loose on the weekends. I really live on the edge. I have pizza with pineapple and stay up past midnight to watch Twilight Zone reruns and everything.”

Flip held her tight and forced his eyes shut, trying to ignore the way the moonlight danced on her pristine skin and glossed her hair; the feel of her curves through the quilt, as apparent to him as a pea beneath a princess’s mattress; the way her scent curled into his nose, as decadent as rose petals and as potent as whiskey. He could feel her weaving spells around him, through him, inside him, a kind of intoxication that settled in his blood. Flip knew once he was good and drunk on her, he’d never want to sober.

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Flip dozed during the night, falling into a fitful nightmarish kind of sleep. His mind reeled with images of men screaming as they drowned, a beautiful beach corrupted by waterlogged corpses, and an unnaturally gorgeous woman swimming in the cove, watching the mayhem and smiling at it all.

The feeling of his back being forced down into the mattress made his eyes fly open. The sight of the mystery woman straddling his lap, her mane backlit by moonlight, the same moonlight that gleamed in her eyes, made his pulse thunder. Inhaling sharply, he gripped her naked thighs, his fingertips digging bruises into her skin.

Flip wouldn’t take her, but he was damn fine with being taken by her.

Pleasure rumbled through his throat as she raked her nails down his chest, tracing angry red streaks down his body. She had discarded the quilt, brandishing her exquisite and fully naked body like a weapon, her tits languidly jostling to the circular motion of her hips as she worked him into a frenzy through his jeans. She whipped his belt loose and yanked the button open on his jeans. He tried to sit up, to capture her pouting lips, but she pushed him back with a throaty laugh.

It was the first time in his life Flip had been manhandled by a fuckin’ woman. She was stronger than she looked. He looked up at her in a kind of daze, unable to look anywhere else, or to look away from those oddly luminous eyes. He had an unsettling feeling of being a prey animal, caught in the claws of some carnivorous predator. But with a cock as hard as his was now, he didn’t give a damn about that or any other misgiving.

Purring or maybe snarling, she arched her back and shook out her long glossy hair, crooning his name when she sank down onto him. Flip didn’t remember telling her his name, but that hardly mattered now. All around him, the room blurred like a steaming mirage until everything was a shapeless haze except for the glorious woman riding him. His skin simmered and his throat burned with every breath as if he were sitting inside an oven, but he had never felt more alive. Every sensation was heightened, and his pleasure was more intense than anything he had ever known.

Flip was a big, big man, and he was big where it counted. He was used to women being impressed by his body and his size, intimidated even. He wasn’t used to being stared down with unshakeable confidence as a woman took her pleasure from him. It was strange finding he wanted to give her not only pleasure, but everything else he had. He wanted to give it to her as good as he was getting it, bucking his hips beneath her while her hot pussy strangled his cock. Kissing and licking, grabbing and caressing, thrusting and bucking, he used every part of his body to earn her shudders and hear her moan his name.

Feeling her body tense around him like a silky vice, Flip fisted his hand in her hair and yanked her down to capture her lips. Growling into her mouth, he followed her over the edge, drinking her breath as she trembled in his arms while he filled her. He thrummed with something far deeper and stronger than lust, and he kissed her with a passion he had never given any other woman.

Holding her against him, Flip rolled with her, bringing her beneath him and propping himself up on his palms to admire this view of her under him. She locked her arms around his neck, urging him into her again, assuring him they were far from stopping for the evening. Again and again, they enjoyed each other until his back was stiff and his jaw ached, and until he even wondered if he would have some chaffing in some rather embarrassing areas by morning. When he finally fell asleep with her in his arms in the last hour before dawn, he dreamed of her still.

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Flip woke with the sunrise, a habit ingrained by his days in the military. Turning over in bed, he reached for the intoxicating woman. How he had released his hold on her in his sleep baffled him, but he resolved to keep her in his arms for the rest of the day to compensate. His hand met only cool sheets and a vacant mattress. As if she had been nothing but a drunken reverie or a fever dream, she was gone from the bed. She had left no note or token, only her luxurious scent lingering in the sheets.

With the sunrise, a realization dawned to Flip. His missing mystery woman was unlike anything he had ever touched or tasted. She was his wildest dream and wickedest fantasy. It was unnerving, frightening even, to realize he was so far gone after one impulsive evening. Flip had tried the most addictive substances in the world at one time or another – it came with the territory for an undercover cop, having to blend in with the worst kinds of men – but he had never sampled anything so addictive, so utterly arresting from the very first taste. The marks she clawed into his back and shoulders would last for days, but the mark she carved into his heart was one he knew would never heal. Flip was tempted to call it love at first sight, but this felt more like enslavement. Love, in his experience, had its limits. His feelings for this woman had no such limitations. Neither did the lengths he would go to have her.

Outside the window, it was a beautiful summer morning with bright sunshine and blue skies. Inside the lonely bedroom, Flip had awakened in his own private hell. A gloom so heavy as the one that settled over him upon seeing her gone should not have been possible after the night he had and the hormones that still flooded his body. There shouldn’t have been a single damn thing that could knock him off cloud nine, but all the happiness and pleasure he had felt throughout the night blackened into loss and sadness as despairing as a moonless winter night. Collapsing back into the mattress, he knew that he would give anything, absolutely anything, to hold her in his arms again.

That’s what love will do to you, he thought wryly.

The woman was the cause of his suffering, and only she could be his relief. He didn’t know where she’d come from or how he hadn’t encountered her before in the claustrophobically small town. As he thought it, despairing at his lack of leads to find her again, he heard her voice quite clearly. She sang a hauntingly beautiful melody in a language he didn’t understand. He didn’t know her words or even if her voice came in through the window or echoed out from the depths of his soul. But he knew her message with stark clarity.

When the moon shines on the ocean, you’ll find me. On that beach, inside this house, I’m yours. Surrender to me, and I’ll show you lovely things.

*******************************************************************************************

Flip did as she asked. Or maybe as she commanded. If he could tell the difference, he didn’t care. Night after night, he returned to the mansion on the cliffs. Sometimes, the front door would be ajar, leading him inside and into her waiting embrace. Sometimes, he would find her on the beach, out for a walk in the moonlight, reveling in the way it shimmered on her skin. He would swim with her in the ocean, stroll with her in the sand, hold her in the sheets, and fuck her with an insatiable hunger every way she wanted.

She never came to him when the sun shone or when the moon was black, nor would she leave the acreage. She was always gone from his bed and his arms before dawn, no matter how tightly he held her. The rational part of Flip’s mind told him it was some weird game she was playing. Maybe she was married to some big asshole with a temper. The instinctual part of his mind, the dormant part where dreams and intuition reign, told him something that he couldn’t believe even though it felt true down to his bones. Flip knew he had found the creature who haunted that beautiful cove. Hell, he had probably found the woman responsible for so many deaths over the years that he hadn’t even cataloged them all.

As summer bled into fall and the colors turned vibrant, more accidental deaths occurred in the cove, more torn and bloated corpses washed onto the rocky beach. Flip now agreed with his unconcerned deputy, that these deaths were unfortunate accidents. Just as he knew damned well they were murders, Flip knew he had fallen under the spell of the murderess, that he could never again be free of whatever kind of enslavement this was. But he knew also that as much as she had enchanted him, he had captured her heart just as surely. It was like taming a man-eating tiger to eat from his hand and purr from his touch.

If something had cursed this magnificent woman to wander the cove on moonlit nights, that meant there should also be a way to cure her. That’s what Flip did, he solved problems. He was pretty damn good at operating within rules he thought were arbitrary and chickenshit – that’s how he categorized whatever rules held her prisoner. If he could find loopholes inside the penal code to get what he wanted, he could figure out how to save her.

If Flip couldn’t save the woman he loved, what kind of a man was he?

*******************************************************************************************

The nurses at the Eastport Hospital had all grown tiresome to Dr. Jason Monroe. Plowing through them all had taken most of the year, and it had been a nice ego boost – just what the doctor ordered, as he liked to say – but now the flock of nurses had become just as dull as the withered shrew of a wife he begrudgingly went home to most nights. In addition to the way her once mediocre looks had been eroded by age and the toll taken by their offspring, in recent years she had even neglected to remind Dr. Monroe how impressive he was, how lucky she was to have whatever morsel of attention he gave her. This was an unacceptable slight to a doctor whose ego had outstripped his credentials since his first residency rotation. Eastport was a good fit for him. People there were provincial enough to be highly impressed with Dr. Monroe whereas his arrogance had worn thin to his peers back in Boston.

The drive home from the hospital was long enough for Dr. Monroe to resent what he’d find when he got there – the yellowing smile of his middle-aged wife greeting him along with the smell of whatever trendy meal she had attempted – but not long enough for him to think of any suitable excuses to stay out for the evening. The missus believed him a few nights a month when he told her he had to work late but he couldn’t overuse it, and he was already over what he considered his safe allowance for the month. He decided to take the long way home, take a scenic cruise along the coastline.

The full moon glittered on the ocean like diamonds on satin. Without a large city within miles there was nearly no light pollution, and the moon and diamante stars illuminated the forests and beaches like a dreamscape cast in silver. The moon was so bright, he saw a white spume burst from the ocean and telltale black fins peeking above the waves as a small pod of whales swam near the deserted coast. There was no one else on the lonely two-lane road, so Monroe watched them instead of the road, smiling when a calf breached and turned its belly up toward the moon.

When he returned his eyes to the road, an unfamiliar cove came into view ahead. Frowning, he thought he must have taken a wrong bend in the winding road. The road narrowed and there was no shoulder, making it cumbersome to turn around. He quickly oriented himself when he heard the crash of thunder on the cloudless night. Monroe knew all the stories about the beautiful cove surrounded by thundering cliffs and the haunted house perched high above. He had always wanted to see it, but his doe-eyed and doe-hearted wife had always nagged him out of it.

“What about the rumors, Jason?” she would whine. “It’s supposed to be haunted and it gives me the creeps.”

What a fortunate wrong turn, Monroe smirked to himself. Now, he could take a walk along that beautiful, ‘haunted’ beach and see what all the fuss was about. He could even keep a clear conscience and save his evasion for when he really needed it.

The road had taken him to the beach before it doubled back and wound up the nearest hill toward the old, abandoned house on the cliffs. He thought about driving up there to get the bird’s eye view, but movement in the water caught his eye. Squinting, he thought he saw something glimmering in the water near the shore. It looked like a woman swimming, but that couldn’t be right. The leaves were starting to turn crisp and vibrant as autumn approached, and the nighttime air had a cool bite.

Stepping out of his car, Monroe strolled along the beach toward the head of the cove. The cliffs formed a perfect horseshoe around the ocean and towered above him. The beach was littered with fallen boulders and large monoliths that protruded from the sea like the teeth of a great petrified monster. The beach’s dangerous edges added to its beauty, like a woman in a tight red dress and stilettos.

Monroe saw the movement again, something glistening in the water. Closer now, just beyond the nearest protruding fang of rock. He couldn’t explain why his heart kicked up as he trotted around it to get a better look, but his intuition was rewarded. He’d been right at first. It was a woman. A fucking babe, too, so hot she could have walked right off a porn set. Her tits already had his dick twitching. She was treading water a few yards away, close enough for him to see the way her eyes reflected the moonlight. Below the swell of her tits, her body was hidden beneath the gentle waves, but Monroe had seen enough.

“Hey, baby!” he called to her, trying to sound suave. “Are you out here all by yourself? It’s dangerous for a woman. Especially a woman that looks like you.”

Monroe didn’t like operating from the disadvantage of his prey not knowing his professional status. But it did give him the opportunity to enlighten a new woman, watch the admiration bloom in her eyes when he regaled her with stories of all the lives he’d saved. But for the first time in years, he didn’t even feel the desire to regale her. Monroe just wanted to fuck her. He felt like an alcoholic at a bar, his mouth watering and hands shaking. He walked closer, waves lapping over his six-hundred-dollar brogues.

“It is dangerous,” the woman agreed in a voice as harmonious as a symphony. “You should stay away.”

Her angelic lift didn’t fool Monroe. He caught the sultry devil in her tone, too. It was the tone of a woman who wanted it, wanted him. He kicked off his waterlogged shoes and told her as much, “You look like a woman who wants some company.”

“How does your wife look when she wants company?” The woman asked and kicked away, further out into the ocean. “You should go home to her.”

Monroe saw a flash of gold in the water beneath her, something he swore looked like scales. He wondered if she was blonde down south and the thought caused another jump in his pants. He didn’t bother taking them off when he waded deeper. Fuck, the water was cold. It was a testament to how hot the mystery woman was that his hard-on could endure the frigid water as he swam out toward her.

Just as he closed in, the woman glided away. She looked back at him over her shoulder in what may have been fright or evasion, but Monroe knew better. She was playing coy, giving him a chase. Women did that to him from time to time, played those little games. It never meant they didn’t want him to catch them. He thought about what he’d do to this one when he caught her. He wanted to sink his teeth right into her. One thing he was certain of, he hadn’t ruined his shoes and his clothes to play coy. Play time was over once he caught her.

Which, judging by the way his outstretched hand was nearly clawing through her luxurious mane, was right about now.

Monroe caught her hair as she swam away from him, still playing coy, and used a little too much force when he yanked her back to him. Her beautiful features were twisted and her mouth was open when he yanked her head around. Monroe had expected that – a look of pain or surprise. But the woman was smiling. And she wasn’t a woman anymore. The creature was smiling at him. Its features were still beautiful, but its eyes were vicious with narrow, slitted pupils, and its smile was too wide with too many teeth. Dear god, the teeth! Rows of sharp, brutal, shark-like teeth.

The creature laughed, drinking his fear like wine. It laughed as it tore into him with its brimming smile and those terrible teeth, latching onto his neck with vice-tight strength. The pain and surprise belonged to him alone. And what exquisite pain it was, like nothing he had ever experienced. He felt his flesh being serrated by ragged teeth, and even heard the tearing of his tissue like a seam ripping as the creature tore a chunk out of his neck. He felt his blood oozing down over his collarbone, hot on his chilled skin.

Monroe didn’t think it should take so long to die or that a person could endure so much pain before the release of death. He flailed feebly, or possibly it was his muscles twitching spasmodically as the last currents of life tried to save him. He looked up at the full glowing moon and sputtered a prayer, blood frothing from his mouth as he pleaded to God for help. Or at least to let him die quickly.

“God’s not here tonight, doctor,” the creature told him, her voice still as wickedly harmonious as a devil’s serenade. A golden fin breached the water before the creature dove under with him, fanning a magnificent golden tail to drive them deep into the crushing black depths. Somehow, he could still hear her voice or perhaps the words were driven straight into his soul.

“There’s only me.” Her voice seemed to fill the water like light. Terrible, golden, hellish light. “And the lovely things I’ll show you.”

*******************************************************************************************

It took a week for Dr. Monroe’s corpse to wash back up onto the beach. Clammy skin had begun sloughing off in patches which, combined with the bloat of decay and waterlogged oozing, gave the body a poached egg sort of look. Flip always had thick skin when it came to murders and crime scenes, it had thickened even more in the last few months. The smell was particularly loathsome with bodies dredged up after marinating in water for days. Soggy, rancid meat was just a little more putrid than dry rot. It should probably worry him that the humid stench coating the back of his throat no longer bothered him, but now he was more concerned with not getting his boots wet from the waves lapping at a vacant eye socket, the surrounding tissue hanging loose like a worn-out buttonhole. In addition to the missing eye, there were other places the fish had eaten. They went for the soft tissue first – eyes, lips, genitals.

I hope you did something in life that warranted your dick bein’ chewed off in death, you poor clammy bastard, Flip thought as he studied the corpse. Fuck, I hope he was dead when that happened. He smirked at his own dark humor.

That humor faded quickly when he had to break the news to the doctor’s hysterical widow; console her while she sobbed, listen while she bemoaned the fate of their litter. He really needed to hire some deputy to do this part of the job, some kind of emotional support golden retriever in human form. Especially with the impressive accidental death toll Eastport boasted.

*******************************************************************************************

“I found your latest handiwork on the beach this morning,” Flip said to his golden girl between kisses as his mouth trailed from her throat down toward her navel. Moonlight gilded her skin as she moved beneath him in the bedroom he now considered theirs, hidden away in the seaside mansion. “You gotta quit doin’ that, darlin.’”

She bucked her hips against his face in invitation. “You don’t need to worry. I know what’s really bothering you. None of them touch me. No one has touched me since you. Only you.”

“It ain’t a walk in the park breakin’ the news to all these wailing widows, you know.” Flip nipped her skin, delighting in the way she shuddered in response.

“Tell the wife about the nurses the good doctor was fucking,” she said with no remorse. “That should put a bandaid on her grief.”

“Is that an educated guess?” Flip asked redundantly. He had learned earlier that day the doctor had been making the rounds in the hospital in multiple ways.

“When a man drowns in my cove, there’s a good reason,” she said with a hint of venom.

“A man-hater, huh?” he grinned against her skin, teasing her with the scratch of his beard. “Should I be concerned?”

“You? Never, handsome.” She laughed headily. “A hard man like you is good to find.”

“Is that what’s behind all the killing?” Flip asked more seriously, looking up at her and meeting her eyes. “Some asshole hurt you and have a score to settle?”

“I had a score to settle, alright. I was filled with rage, for years and years. But now, it’s nothing so simple as rage. Not anymore. It’s all part of a bargain I made long ago.” She tangled her fingers into the thick forest of his hair. “You might say, I have quotas to meet.”

“Tell me what happened.” Flip raised himself up, cupping her cheek in his hand and looking steadily into her eyes.

“You talk too much, handsome,” she said and used her surprising strength to roll him onto his back and hoist herself to straddle him. Better than that, she straddled his face. “I can think of a better use for that mouth.”

Some time later, she lay draped across his chest as the sweat cooled on their bodies. Flip marveled at her indefatigability. He felt like he had run a marathon, and she could go all night. They still had a few hours before dawn and Flip didn’t want to waste them sleeping.

“You know if you need a hero, I’m happy to step up,” Flip told her, rubbing his hand along her back.

“A hero can’t save me,” she scoffed with surprising rancor. “A hero would never do what’s necessary to save me. Only a villain would have half a chance. A man who chooses to be my hero alone and a villain to others.”

“Hero or villain, I’ll be whatever the hell you want me to be,” Flip assured her, his voice soft this time as he cradled her head on his chest. “Tell me what happened to you, darlin.’”

“What happened doesn’t matter,” she replied with a hint of melancholy. “Why things are the way they are rarely matters.”

“Anything that affects you matters to me.” His voice rumbled through his chest.

With her head resting on one side of his chest and her sharp fingernails tracing patterns on the other, she began her story. Her sonorous voice played harmony to the spell woven by her words. Flip had never been the best listener, not to the frivolous pillow talk most women tried to engage him in. Yet he found he hung on every word she spoke as if it were the thrilling cliffhanger at the end of a riveting novel chapter.

“It’s been more than eighty years since I’ve let a man have me for more than one night.” She kissed his chest. “But I suppose you figured that out.”

“Not really,” Flip huffed, jostling her on his chest. “I don’t have a damn thing figured out, other than I have you now, but I’m not supposed to be able to keep you. I know I want to keep you.” His brow was set and voice heavy with conviction. “I’ll find a way to keep you.”

“I want you to keep me, too,” she purred. “And you’re the first man I’ve ever said that too.” Her voice grew darker. “But there’s a price you must pay to keep me. You’re also the first man I’ve ever wanted to know exactly what that price is. If the price is too steep for you, I won’t force you to make the purchase.”

“No price is too high, darlin.’” He grinned. “Can I whip out a checkbook?”

She smiled up at him with great sadness and returned her head to his chest to begin her tale.

“I married too young to the first man who had ever made me laugh. I was just coming into my beauty and had never kissed a boy before. My husband promised he would take me far away when he returned from the war. I was young and foolish, and I believed him. While he was at war, men in town hounded me. They were merciless. Truly merciless, like hounds baying after a fox. I wouldn’t have looked twice at any of them even if I was single. I was more vigilant over my reputation than I needed to be, more vigilant than any other woman I knew. I couldn’t have done more to avoid and deter them, unless I started undermining my appearance. I wouldn’t give any man the power of making me lessen myself to make them more comfortable. I wasn’t too much. Those men were inadequate.”

Flip stroked his large hand along her back soothingly and kissed along her hairline, letting her take whatever time she needed.

“It didn’t take long – weeks it seemed – until one of those men, a fat, verminous, troll who could never touch a woman like me, started telling everyone who would listen that he had slept with me. That I had begged for it and moaned like a whore. I don’t know how many people in town believed it at first. I thought surely no one could. But the women who heard the rumor were jealous of me and fostered it – ‘I’ve always known she was a whore. Just look at her!’ And the men who heard it wanted it to be true so they might have a chance with me – ‘Yeah, you know she wants it.’ That foul rumor spread through town like wildfire, until I couldn’t walk down the street without getting poisonous looks and lewd propositions.”

“Let’s take a stroll down mainstreet tomorrow,” Atas suggested with gravel in his voice. “I’ll rearrange some faces and punch the teeth down the throat of any asshole who so much as looks at you sideways.”

“I’d give anything to have you show me off on your arm,” she said in a faraway tone. Her voice hardened when she continued. “All the perverse talk emboldened the perverts, I suppose. It didn’t take long until the looks and comments weren’t enough. Then the pinching started, then the grabbing. I could handle myself. I could even fend them off one at a time. I was never a meek woman and I was raised on a farm. Then they started following me in packs like hyenas.”

Flip’s hand stilled on her hip, his grip tightening.

“I went to the sheriff,” she scoffed. “He asked me what I expected, looking the way I look, dressing the way I dress. He told me I was asking for it, and I shouldn’t be surprised when men wanted it. He also asked what it was worth to me for him to do something about it.”

“Is that sonofabitch still alive?” Flip growled.

“None of them are.” She smiled at the thought. Then her lips thinned and her face hardened. “One night one of those men – I can’t remember his name, but I remember his face and his rancid breath – came to my house, the house on the cliffs. He broke in and knocked me out. I woke up when he was dragging me along the beach by my hair. When I fought back, he beat me more, beat me until he could take what he wanted from me. He was stupid though. He turned his back to me to stuff his little dick back into his pants. I bashed the asshole in the head with the nearest rock I could grab. I bashed him again and again and again until his face was hamburger, then I threw the rock into the ocean and dragged his body out. I waded until I was swimming and then I kept swimming. I was a good swimmer, and it felt good to wash the filth off me. I left his body in the middle of the cove to sink and swam back. When his corpse washed up days later, it looked like an accident.”

“That asshole deserved it,” Flip said genuinely. “He deserved a helluva lot worse.”

“My husband came home from the war a few weeks later,” she continued. “I tried to tell him these things. I needed to tell someone other than my damn pets. But he had heard the rumors in town too, and he had already been poisoned by them. He thought it was all my fault. That I must have been putting something out there to elicit the response I received. He thought I took lovers and flirted. That I acted like a whore in his absence because I couldn’t keep my legs closed until he got home.”

“I see why you wanted to get outta Dodge,” Flip grated, his body rigid beneath hers. He dreaded what he thought was coming, but still had to hear it from her lips.

“He said if he couldn’t have me, no one would. He killed me, beat me mostly to death,” she revealed. “When I was barely conscious, he dragged me to the cliff. I screamed and screamed, but no one heard me. He tied an anchor around me and shoved me off into the deepest part of the cove. You’d think it’s quick to drown, but it takes a long time when it’s happening to you. It felt like I sank for hours in my last few minutes. I screamed, watching my cries for help rise in bubbles toward the surface.”

Flip felt her body grow stiff against him as she continued. “I begged and pleaded. When I thought I would do anything anything to live a little longer, something answered. Something that lurked in the bottom of that cove. Something monstrous. I heard its voice inside my head and it offered me a trade. A trade I was all too happy to accept. Instead of a handshake, I felt thick slimy tentacles wrap around me. I thought they were dragging me deeper, but they dragged me somewhere else. I kicked so violently I broke free and I shot to the surface, kicking and kicking. A part of me realized that I should have drowned, that I couldn’t be alive after so long under water. Then I realized that my feet weren’t there anymore. The creature had stolen them, replaced my legs with a tail. I had become one of whatever that creature was. Something cursed. Something soulless.”

“Jesus,” Flip said dumbly, at a loss. What does a man say to that?

“Jesus wasn’t there that night. He didn’t answer my prayers,” she said vehemently. “I made a deal with the devil that night, or a kind of devil, and I became his pet and his ward. Since that night, I have taken my revenge and sated his hunger at the same time, luring men to their deaths with my beauty and my siren’s song. They find me on the beach, and come to save me, then they try to take me,” she laughed cruelly. “Then they beg God to let them drown. So, I show them all my teeth and then I laugh out loud. I never wanted saving, I just wanted to be found. That will teach them. All of them. They’re never to be seen again, and I’m still wandering my beach, swimming in my cove.”

Flip thought she was finished, so he asked with conviction, “So what’s the price I have to pay?”

“I’m glad I met the devil,” she said and propped herself up on his chest so she was looking down at him. “He showed me I was weak. He removed the weakness from me and replaced it with a part of him. In exchange he took a part of me too. The part of me he barters in.” She smiled grimly. “The price, as you see, is a piece of your soul.”

Flip chewed his cheek, considering this for only a moment. “I can go without a piece of my soul, darlin,’ as long as the rest of it belongs to you. And all of you belongs to me.”

*******************************************************************************************

When Flip awoke the next morning, she was gone. He knew she would be; he had grimly resigned himself to that reality months ago. It could have all been a dream, a fantasy or a nightmare. Maybe he could walk away from her and after a few painful years, convince his mind of that. Inconveniently, she was real. The realest and most alive Flip had ever felt and would ever feel was when he was with his siren.

Thunder roared outside and a gusty wind blew the bay window open with a rusty groan of hinges. Flip groaned himself as he rolled out of bed, grabbed his pack of cigarettes, pulled one out with his teeth, lit the tip and dropped his lighter back on the nightstand. Smoke trailed from his nose as he walked to the windows. He was still naked, boasting scratches from her nails across his chest, his hair wild from her fingers. Leaning against the window frame, he blew a stream of smoke outside.

Clouds as dark as gunsmoke hung low overhead and the thunder booming in the sky was louder than the crash of waves against the cliffs below. Waves ripped across the surface of the usually calm cove, cresting white like lipizzans in capriole. Watching the water boil from the storm, feeling the chilly air on his skin, and taking a drag from his cigarette, Flip wondered how in the hell he could pay the price for his siren’s absolution. If it was as simple as handing over a pound of his flesh, he would go down to the kitchen and cut a chunk out his side before breakfast. Ideas turned over in his mind, he rejected each one as fast as it bloomed. He focused so intently on that question, he didn’t realize he was chewing his lip around his cigarette until he tasted blood mingled with tobacco.

A strange movement in the water in the center of the cove caught his eye. The shape of the cresting waves in the center had changed, becoming sinuous. The water looked like insects crawled over its surface. Flip frowned, stepping outside onto the balcony, clamping the cigarette between his teeth. The wind buffeted him, raising goosebumps on his shoulders. Or maybe it was the sight of a long oily black tentacle reaching up from the water, twisting in the air, then vanishing again.

Flip spit his cigarette over the balcony rail, as he planted his hands on it and leaned forward. He strained his eyes, focusing on the sinuous writhing in the center of the cove. Horror prickled his skin like icepicks when he realized the strange movement of the waves were a multitude of black tentacles, wringing and twisting inside and on top of the stormy waves. The very center was calm, about the size of a dinner table. It gleamed like oil. Something inside the round center made a jerky movement. Flip realized it was an eye. A giant black eye. And that eye had just focused its abyssal pupil on him. The tentacles whipped wildly around it now, breaching the water in agitation or excitement.

Whatever this creature was, it was not his siren nor anything possessing of her beauty. He recalled her story and the tentacles that had caught her legs and dragged her under. This was the hellish beast that had lived in the cove long before the siren ever took her first swim. This was the eldritch monster that collected the souls his siren harvested. Flip stared at it, and the monstrous eye stared right back.

An idea flashed into his mind. Whether it was his own, a spark of brilliance born of the terrified adrenaline that coursed through his veins, or whether the tentacled monster had impregnated his thoughts, he didn’t know or even care.

Flip knew what he had to do to save his siren, to have her all to himself. He was too late to avenge her, but he could try his best to save her.

*******************************************************************************************

After meeting the shining black eye of that monstrosity in the cove, Flip was rattled. He didn’t like the idea that had been put into his head, but he wasn’t forcing it out either. He was allowing it to percolate, considering his options. His phone dinged from an incoming text as he was pulling on his jeans. It was unusual for him to be bothered by calls or texts out on that acreage; it allowed him to feel like there was only him and his siren alone in the world. Service was spotty and unpredictable at best out on the cliffs. His phone varied between one bar and no service depending on the device’s mood. He fished it out of his jeans pocket and glared at the new text, wrinkling his nose more from the text than he did from the smell of moist corpses.

“I miss you,” said the whoring schoolteacher, Cristy.

“I bet you fuckin’ do,” he gritted to himself and shoved his phone back in his pocket.

The thought that had taken root in his mind that morning blossomed into something thorny and brutal. Maybe even a little evil, the kind of thought that was rare for Flip. And it was brilliant.

Instead of the petty barb he had been poised to text, he typed a new message. “Then let’s do something about it. Pick you up at 7?”

“See you then,” her reply came almost instantly, followed by a string of emojis.

Another check in his siren’s box. She didn’t text him stupid shit with stupid fuckin’ emojis.

“Better get movin,’” he grumbled to himself as he shoved the phone back in his pocket and pulled his shirt on. He had a lot to do between now and seven.

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Before picking up Cristy, Flip ran a few other errands. He went into his favorite coffee shop, as he often did in the mornings after leaving his empty bed. This time, he flirted with the barista he knew was married. Loud enough for his voice to carry to the surveillance camera behind the counter, he told the married woman he was thinking of watching the sunset from the local lighthouse and asked if she wanted to join him. She declined as he knew she would. Later in the day, he purchased a ticket for a show at the drive-in theater and made sure a few people spotted the sheriff there, talked to a few others. Once the movie was rolling, he doubted those same people would notice him leaving early, and there was no surveillance in the dated drive-in to be concerned about. He still had time to drive to the lighthouse, at the far end of town from the siren’s cove, and toss out an empty Coke can with his DNA on the rim. With the recent storm and the humidity, it would be impossible to place his tire tracks to a timeframe narrower than twelve hours, which was just what he wanted. His last errand of the day was surprisingly easy, and he even arrived early to pick up the teacher. He ensured there were no witnesses or cameras in the area. And he kept the radio loud in his truck while he drove her out for their date, loud enough to cover any noises coming from the truck bed.

The hardest part of it all was faking a smile at Cristy’s bland wit and keeping his mouth shut on the topic of her liaisons with the science teacher, Less. Even though he had no interest in her and now had the woman of his dreams in bed most nights, being cheated on still irked him. He wondered if that lingering anger would be resolved tonight too.

Flip just hoped her lackluster spirit and dented soul were fungible with those of his magnificent siren. He would never make that trade, but he hoped that was just his mortal sensibility.

Ignoring Cristy’s protests that the cove was haunted, Flip drove them there anyway. He remembered the road with beach access thanks to the late Dr. Monroe. It was convenient that any tracks on the beach were washed away by the tide within minutes. Few people ever came to this place, thanks to the ghost stories and tall tales surrounding the cove and the old house. From the beach, enclosed on three sides by high cliffs and tall, toothy rocks, a man could feel like he was alone in the world. Flip parked between two spires of rock rising out of the surf, near a small dinghy and oars he had dragged there that morning, still patiently awaiting him. They arrived when the sun was setting, the prettiest hour of the day to spend in the haunted cove.

“Get your whorin’ ass in the boat,” Flip ordered the woman in a frightening tone, shedding his pretenses of civility.

“What did you say to me?” Cristy tried to sound offended, but fear shook her voice.

“I’m askin’ nicely.” Flip smiled cruelly. “But I’m not above askin’ another way. I suggest you don’t make me ask twice.”

She was stumbling over her words, backpedaling some kind of excuse or apology. Atla didn’t care and he wasn’t listening. He got out of the truck, made sure to pocket his keys, and walked behind it to open the tailgate. He wasn’t concerned about Cristy getting away. She couldn’t get up the cliffs here, so all she could do was try to run away down the beach and Flip could catch her in seconds. Or she could try swimming away across the cove, which would be just fine by him.

Grabbing the bundle Flip had covered with a tarp in the bed of his truck, he yanked it out, letting it fall to the sand in a heap. He had thought the man, Less, might have given him more trouble, but he lived up to his name. Flip had dealt with stray dogs who put up more of a fight. Less was crying behind his broken glasses, sucking against the duct tape over his mouth as he sobbed. He wasn’t even fighting against the zip ties on his wrists and ankles.

Flip walked to the passenger door and yanked it open, unable to keep himself from grinning at the sight of Cristy’s dull, horrified eyes. Flip leaned on the door and told her, “I doubt you believe me, but I have no intention of hurting either of you. I just want us all to have a little chat.” He jerked his head toward the dinghy. “So, you can either walk your ass over to that boat and sit down in it on your own, or I can drag you to it and throw you in. Your choice.”

Trembling with fear and crying, Cristy complied. As she walked toward the boat, she looked around, calculating her odds of escape and realizing it was hopeless. Flip bent and grabbed hold of the man’s collar, dragging him through the sand and hoisting him into the boat like a duffle bag, landing with a heavy thud.

“I’m sorry,” Cristy sputtered. “I didn’t mean to cheat on you. It was all a mistake.”

“Yeah, it’s a dangerous world out there for a woman,” Flip menaced, letting her know the world she was in now was very dangerous indeed. “A girl never knows when she might trip and fall onto a dick. I don’t know how you navigate it. Me? I’m just thankful I haven’t tripped and fallen on top of any strange women yet.” He bared his teeth in a cold grin. “Get in the boat.”

“You said you weren’t going to hurt me,” she sobbed, climbing into the dinghy.

“I’m not,” he said gruffly. “You have my word.” He jerked his thumb at the quivering man curled in the bottom of the boat. “Believe me, if I was gonna rough you up, it would have been when I caught you with that fuckin’ joke.”

Flip shoved the boat with both teachers inside out into the water and jumped in as a wave caught it. He took the oars and began rowing them out into the cove. The sun had dipped behind the pines on the cliffs above and the light was rapidly fading. By the time they reached the middle of the cove, the shore was hazy and indistinct, shrouded with purples and blues and a light mist.

Flip retrieved a knife from his jeans pocket, smirking at the way Less cowered from it. Catching Less by the ankle, Flip cut the zip ties binding his legs. He jerked his hands back when he realized the pathetic excuse for a male had pissed his pants. He cut through the ties on Less’s wrists and then stood, trying to keep his balance in the small boat. Less staggered up on shaky legs, his puny fists balled at his sides. Flip grinned at the feeble sight, but it gave him an opening he had wanted for some time.

Still grinning, Flip slammed a vicious right punch straight into Less’s nose, feeling the rewarding crunch of cartilage as the skinny dweeb reeled backward. Before Less tipped over backward, Flip grabbed the front of his shirt and the waistband of his pants, and unceremoniously chucked him over the side. Less shrieked like a woman when he hit the water and sputtered in hysterics next to the boat.

Looking at Cristy, Flip gave her his best Dirty Harry glare. “Do you need help gettin’ out of the boat too, or can you manage on your own?”

“What are you going to do? You can’t leave us out here!” she screamed, but she timidly stepped out of the boat into the ocean to tread water beside Less.

“Like I said, I just want to have a conversation,” Flip said dangerously. “And what I want to hear is the two of you begging. I want you to beg for your lives. Beg not to drown. I want to hear what kind of bargain you’re both willing to make not to drown here tonight.”

“I’ll do anything,” the woman cried. “Oh, God help us! What do you want?”

“Keep it up.” Flip grinned at her.

Grabbing a fistful of the man’s thinning hair, Flip shoved his head under again. The man flailed and sputtered, giving Flip about as much trouble as a wet rat. The woman sobbed, treading water in place. It was pathetic how weak the couple was. Not an ounce of fight or flight in them, just sobbing and pleading. They didn’t even try to capsize his dinghy, which wouldn’t have been difficult.

Keeping hold of his hair, Flip let the man splash back to the surface, wheezing for breath.

“Beg, you sorry sonofabitch,” Flip growled in his grittiest tone. “Beg to be saved. Promise you’ll do anything.”

Less instantly amped his sobbing to the level of horror-movie-cheerleader, begging and pleading and promising with everything he had. Cristy followed his lead, stupidly thinking that being pitiable enough would save her. They carried on for minutes, wailing and splashing, pleading and promising.

“Please,” Less pleaded, snot clogging his nose and tears streaming from his eyes. “Please, I’ll do anything. I’ll give you anything you want.”

“Don’t let me drown!” Cristy shrieked. “I’ll give you anything you want if you save me.”

The ocean began swirling around the couple. They were too preoccupied by Flip to notice. The eddy was gentle at first, quickly gaining speed. Cristy noticed when it started to tug her under, like filth getting sucked down a drain.

“We begged you,” she sobbed. “We promised to do anything you wanted to spare us.”

“You weren’t beggin’ me for a fuckin’ thing.” Flip laughed cruelly. “And it wasn’t me you made those promises to.”

Punctuating his laughter, a forest of tentacles erupted from the whirlpool, oily black and as thick as Flip’s waist. The tentacles whipped around like cats o’nine tails. The woman screamed and the man cried pitifully. Flip grabbed the sides of the little boat to keep from being thrown out as it bucked on the turbulent water, hoping to hell it wouldn’t capsize.

The tentacles latched around the pathetic couple flailing in the water, catching Cristy around her legs and waist and Less around the neck in a slimy noose. His mouth opened in a scream that couldn’t escape his strangled throat and his eyes bulged from their sockets, as the woman splashed feebly. Their screams and sputters and splashing sounded deafening to Flip in the otherwise silent cove. Just as fast as they had appeared, the tentacles were sucked back beneath the water, leaving Cristy’s terrified face and Less’s lobster-red strangling head bobbing for another heartbeat before they too were sucked down into the water.

The whirlpool grew smaller, swallowing the couple down into the cursed depths of the cove. Flip’s dinghy settled with a splash, its violent bucking slowly calming until it was rocking gently. The whirlpool had vanished along with all trace of the teachers, and the waves had returned to normal. The starry night was incongruously peaceful, the ocean beautiful and the sky pristine. With a heavy sigh, Flip dropped his hands from the sides of the boat and let his breath return to normal, waiting for the guilt that never came.

Two worthless souls in exchange for one exquisite soul was a fine trade by him. Maybe he’d thrown in a little piece of his own soul as a tip, but he was fine with that too.

A hoarse cry coming from the shore snapped him back to attention. There was enough light from the moon and stars for Flip to see movement on the beach, but he couldn’t make out what it was. There wasn’t any way either of the two teachers could have gotten there that fast, and slimmer odds still they’d survived.

Grabbing the oars, Flip heaved against them, sending the dinghy lurching back to shore. His heart jumped when he recognized the familiar, superb figure of his siren. When he neared the shore, he jumped out of the boat, splashing water up to his thighs, and dragged the rowboat ashore. She was on her hands and knees in the sand, doubled over coughing up water. Flip ran to her, falling to his knees beside her, his hand going instinctively to rub her back.

“Are you alright?” he asked, still rubbing her back as she coughed. He had never seen her cough like this before, as if she had just narrowly avoided drowning. She was naked, as he had found her many times, but this time her skin was cool to his touch and goosebumps rose in a rash over her shoulders. Flip yanked his shirt open, shrugged out of it and wrapped it around her, pulling her onto her knees and into his arms.

She shuddered against him, her entire body heaving.  Worried, Flip squeezed her tighter. Then he realized she was laughing, silently laughing so heartily her whole body shook. Pulling back enough to look at her, Flip cupped her face, studying her smiling features.

“I think you did it, handsome,” she crooned, her smile widening further, tears brimming in her eyes. The ethereal lilt was gone from her voice, though it still spoke to his heart. The oddly luminous glow was gone from her eyes, though they were still bright and beautiful and looked right into his soul. Her mane of hair was still luxurious but lacked some of the gloss it usually held, and her skin was soft as velvet but was missing the ethereal golden flush that had always seemed to shimmer just below the surface.

“You’re free?” Flip asked, his voice hoarse in his tightening throat, a toothy smile blooming on his lips.

“I think so,” she laughed, threw her arms around his neck and kissed him so roughly she bruised his lower lip. “Take me to bed. If I’m allowed to stay until dawn, I’m yours.”

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For the first time, Flip was able to watch the sunrise holding the woman he loved. He stayed awake all night waiting for it, just to make sure she wouldn’t somehow evaporate in his arms. He wanted to touch her, assure himself she was real, while he watched the morning sun gild her skin and dance in her hair. This morning, he would be able to take the woman he loved with him into the little coffee shop, show her off in town. Thinking of spending his life enjoying such simple pleasures with her made him feverish with love.

A thought played over and over in Flip’s head, making him grin like an idiot. She was still his as the sun rose. She would be his forever.

The sunrise was golden, lighting the reds and oranges in the autumn foliage aflame. The cove was calm, the water a peaceful sapphire. If Flip strained his ears, he thought he might have heard a faint cry, carried up from the water on a light breeze. With some imagination, it might be the screams of the souls trapped beneath the water. The new recruits Flip had engineered as a trade for the release of his siren. But a rational man would chock it up to the wind rustling the pines. The sound was barely audible when the waves thundered against the cliffs. And the waves would always be there. The waves would always come crashing down.

Flip would label the drowning of the two schoolteachers an accident. One might call it following traditional Eastport Sheriff Department protocol. Even if some ambitious cop wanted to investigate, there was no evidence to support anything else. Two lovebirds went skinny dipping in the cove and drowned. Damned shame.

Flip’s siren heard the faint sounds carried across the water, turning in his arms to look out of the windows. She smiled, a wistful sort of look in her bright eyes. Flip kissed her shoulders and neck, feeling her body respond to his touch. When she rolled onto her back and pulled him over her, he saw the familiar wildness in her eyes. Her wildness wasn’t a gift from the being in the lake. It was born into her and it remained a part of her. As Flip kissed her smiling lips, he wondered if her desire to kill, her rage, were gone too. Or if that had been a part of her long before she was taken by whatever dwells in the cove. She still seemed like a wild thing to him, like a fox or a tiger. Then he wondered if he could possibly domesticate a wild tiger. Or if he could only keep her sated. He didn’t know, but he intended to do his part on that front right now.

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 © safarigirlsp 2024

Tagging some sexy sirens!