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normal-thoughts-official · 3 years ago

Text

Aftermath

The MC survives Richard Sutcliffe's attempted murder.

This is what happens after.

Fandom: It Lives (Visual Novels)

Relationships: Main Character & Tom Sato & Imogen Wescott & Danni Asturias, Elliot Vance & Main Character (It Lives Beneath), Danni Asturias/Imogen Wescott, Robbie Sutcliffe/Elliot Vance (mentioned), Richard Sutcliffe & Dying

Additional Tags: Crack, Humor, Canon Compliant, Mentions of Sex, that's basically it honestly this is just crack, also yes my character is named That Bitch that is his name, i do not have the maturity to pick my character's names and be normal about it, and since this is a crackfic i thought it was fitting to keep the name i had originally picked, anyway. enjoy, no beta we die like men, honestly the whole thing with robert trying to murder the MC was so crazy, im just like, theres no way to react to this that isnt crazy

Read it on Ao3

When Robbie and Elliot get back home from their date, the first thing they see is That Bitch making fishsticks, as expected. However, the kitchen is half-destroyed and That Bitch is drenched head to toe in lake water, which is considerably less expected. Richard Sutcliffe's corpse, which had apparently spawned into their kitchen for the purposes of quick visual storytelling, was also there.

"Uh… Watcha got there, That Bitch?" Elliot asks, frozen in place.

"Fishsticks," That Bitch replies, showing him the frying pan. "They'll be ready in a minute."

Robbie stares at the body, frozen in shock. "Is that my dad?" he asks.

"Hah, more like your dead," That Bitch replies, then does a double take. "No, wait, shit. I'm sorry, Robbie. I don't know why I brought his body here. Seemed like a good idea at the time. In my defense, I didn't know you'd be joining us."

"Robbie, uh, really likes fishsticks," Elliot says, face red.

"Yeah, no, I was stupid for thinking you'd spend time apart willingly, it's on me," That Bitch replies. "Anyway, Robbie, I'm, uh, sorry."

Robbie swallows. "Did you go looking for my dad's corpse in the lake, or…?"

"What? Oh, uh, no. No offense, but I kinda had other worries in my mind."

"Right, that's what I thought."

They stare at each other.

"Sooo… Fun conversation starters for the night... Why is my dad's corpse here?"

"Right. That's because I, uh, killed him. But in my defense, he started it."

"That sounds about right," Robbie nods. "What did he do?"

"Oh, you know. Showed up while I was cooking, struck me with tranquilizers, then shoved me into a coffin and threw me in the lake. The usual."

"I thought he was dead," Elliot says, dumbfounded.

"He is now! Better late than never. No, wait. Sorry, Robbie."

"It's okay," Robbie shrugs.

"Man, grandma kinda sucks at this whole murder thing. So many NPCs showed up in the story just to die, and she couldn't even take care of Robert? I thought her vendetta was specifically against the cultists anyway," Elliot says.

"Yeah, I remember I saw her running after Robert during the whole townpocalypse, she had a marlinspike and everything. I guess he just, like, survived being stabbed by a ghost."

"Wow, lame. No, wait. Sorry, Robbie."

Robbie shrugs. "It's okay. I mean, I already assumed he was dead, so it's not, like, news or anything. Also, yeah, your grandma kinda let you down on that one."

Elliot and That Bitch look at each other for a second. "Right. You kids should go into the living room do something appropriate for your age yet couple-y. I will get his body somewhere more hygienic, and then we can, like, properly talk about this."

"Sure, sounds like a plan," Elliot says, already grabbing Robbie's hand.

As if on cue, grandpa shows up. "Hey, kids. Sorry I'm late, I lost track of time. Hope you didn't do anything fishy. Heh. Oh my god, what is that?"

"Fishsticks," all three of them reply at once.

-----

The kids go into the living room, and That Bitch and Arthur debate what to do with the body.

"Maybe we should take it to the police?"

"Right, because cops are totally trustworthy to deal with something like this, particularly in this town," That Bitch replies.

"Touché. Why didn't you just dump him into the lake? People would just assume that he died during the flood like everybody else."

"His face is smashed in by what is clearly a hammer," That Bitch replies.

"And? Cops are stupid, they wouldn't question it."

"Holy fuck, you're so right. Damn."

----

They hand the body over to the body-fishing efforts, who predictably didn't ask anything about it. As a quick goodbye, Robbie said, "rest in piss, dad," before handing over the body. It was really emotional. Elliot put his hand over Robbie's shoulder solemnly and everything.

When they're leaving, they run into Tom, who was also volunteering to help with the efforts before he had to go back to college, because apparently at no point will he ever think he's done enough for strangers he's never met in his life. "Hey, guys, what's up?", he asks.

"Hey Tom. Richard tried to kill me."

"Oh my God, did you die? No, wait. I meant, are you okay?"

That Bitch shrugs. "You should see the other guy."

"Last time one of us said that, the other guy was completely unscathed."

"Last time one of us said that, it was you."

"Unprovoked???"

"Please stop referencing the Karl Marx K-pop Stan Fight every time we talk," That Bitch sighs.

"It fuels me."

"Right. Anyway, do you know where Imogen and Danni are? I kinda figured I should tell the details to you guys in person, and all. Feels weird to announce my almost-murder via text. WikiHow had no tips on how to do that."

"Oh, I know exactly where Danni and Imogen are," Tom says. "I've seen things, That Bitch."

"Good for them, good for them."

"Yeah. We should stop by Danni's place in like, three hours or something, and see if we can give them the details. Speaking of which, why is your grandma so bad at murdering the right people?"

"This is actually the one thing I don't have an answer to."

"Hey, cut Josie some slack," grandpa says.

"She tried to kill you," Tom points out.

"Yeah, but like, mood, you know?", he replies, shrugging.

"Solid point."

----

They get to Danni's house three hours later, as agreed, and knock on the door lightly to let them know they are there, and still See Things.

"Oh my god, Tom, again???," Danni screams, throwing an embarrassing capybara plushie at him.

"I should be the one saying that!! How are you back at it already??"

"'Back'?" Danni asks, frowning.

"He thinks we stopped at some point, babe," Imogen explains, with the patience of someone talking to a toddler.

"Oh, like, for snacks?"

"No, because we'd be tired or something. Like, for a few hours."

"Damn, lame. What do you think we are, 70?"

"I think you are very naked and making no move to fix that," That Bitch intervenes.

"Oh, right! Sorry, sorry," Imogen says, startling to hustle to find her clothes in the middle of the mess of the living room.

"You come into my house, you make Imogen put clothes on," Danni grumbles, pretending that she's looking for her bra, which is right in front of her and also bright yellow.

"Sorry, it's kind of an emergency. Richard, uh, tried to kill me."

"Yeah, but did you die?"

"Danni!," Imogen says, clearly going for a scolding tone, which is completely undermined by the way she's giggling at her antics.

"What? He looks fine to me. I'm sure Richard can wait a few more hours before we start looking for him again, or whatever."

"A few more hours?" Tom asks, shocked.

"Actually, I killed Richard already," That Bitch replies.

"Well, what the fuck are you doing here then? The case is closed. We'll see you tomorrow!" Danni says, shushing them out of the room.

"Tomorrow?" Tom squeaks.

----

Tom and That Bitch stare at each other as the door locks behind them. "I need more stamina," Tom says, pouting.

"Personally, I just broke a coffin while underwater, so I think I'm good."

"Damn bro, that's crazy."

"Well, you know how Fridays are."

"True. Did you guys have your fishsticks, at least?"

"Yeah."

"Cool. So, should we play videogames, or?"

"Sounds like a plan."

And that's that. Well, at least it was quick.

#it lives #it lives beneath #ilb #imogen wescott #danni asturias #tom sato #elliot vance #robbie sutcliffe #richard sutcliffe #dannimogen #it lives anthology #crack #im rlly on my bullshit huh

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pynkhues · 5 years ago

Note

It’s officially ~spooky szn~ which means we need a brio Halloween fic, pleaaasee!! Like can you imagine Beth insisting on making costumes for all five kids?? Anyways, even if you don’t have time for this just want you to know that I love your writing and I look forward to any and all fic updates :)

Thank you so much! And haha, happy spooky season, anon. Hope you like it. :-)

Set in The Centre and Circumference / Domestic Fic universe

“You know, I actually think it looks kind of cool,” Annie tells her, eyes on Beth’s blue-dyed fingers as Beth fiddles with her makeup palette, comparing the shades of skin toned foundation a few shades lighter than Annie’s own. “Like you’ve been finger banging one of those aliens from Avatar or something.”

And just - - god. Beth blanches before she can stop herself, stopping in her ministrations long enough to shoot Annie a look, before refocusing on the task at hand.

“Please never say that again,” Beth says, shaking her head as she throws a dash of grey face paint into her mixing palette with the foundation – gets it all thick and moonish. She tests it a little on her own hand before grabbing her make-up brush, lathering it up and starting on Annie’s face.

“Fine, sorry I’m trying to make your weird blue monster hands less terrifying.”

Rolling her eyes, Beth uses those weird blue monster hands to lay the first layer of ghoulish foundation on Annie’s face. It’s not like Beth isn’t used to it anyway – has dyed enough fabric in her time to know that dying your hands is just an unfortunate side effect. Still, she’s tried everything to get it off – all her tried and true measures, but nothing’s worked, so Beth has resigned herself to the fact that it’s just going to take time.

It’d all been worth it anyway – to see Marcus’ face light up as soon as his eyes had locked onto the Captain America costume. She feels like she’s spent the better part of the month making costumes – dying and sewing and cutting up fabrics, and sure, it’d been exhausting, but somehow not as exhausting as previous years, even with the extra one to make. And god, as weird as it is to think about, she’s pretty sure that that comes down to Rio more than anything else. The second he’d realised he couldn’t talk her out of making them from scratch herself, he’d been more helpful than she thinks even he’d realised – whether that was in organising dinner so she could work on them, or stopping by the craft store, or distracting the kids so she could work, or even just staying up with her, reading on the couch while Beth poured over her sewing machine, taking them both to bed when she stopped making any sense.

“All I’m saying is you could throw something together if you really wanted to come out with us,” Annie says, sucking in her lips when Beth does in instruction, twitching back when Beth paints the make-up hard over her mouth. And Beth knows she shouldn’t be annoyed by this – knows there’s no accusation there, no shame, more just a double check that Beth is really happy for Annie to take the kids trick or treating without her.

It’d become something of a tradition years ago – that Annie would show up and bundle all the kids together and take them out – her endless energy when candy was involved meaning they didn’t turn around until all the kids were dragging their feet, instead of after three or four houses when Beth’s own exhaustion from the lead-up would inevitably start begging her for bed. Annie was forever the Fun Aunt, and Beth was forever - - well, not the Boring Mom, but the Mom Mom. The mom you wanted making costumes, not the one you wanted tagging along to trick or treating and asking if you really needed that extra houseworth of candy, and honestly? Beth was pretty much fine with that.

Anyway, Annie had seemed extra keen this year.

(“With this new neighbourhood?” Annie had said with a scoff when she’d offered. “You know they’re handing out the good stuff, and Sadie deserves every opportunity to gorge on fancy candy as your kids do.”

“Sadie?” Beth asked, arching an eyebrow, and Annie had replied with a shit-eating grin.)

“I’m good,” Beth says now. “Seriously. I have a date with a glass of bourbon, a pizza and whatever spooky movie is playing on TV.”

“You know you don’t have to play Russian Roulette with basic cable anymore, you can actually like, choose your spooky movie now. It’s through this brand-new start-up – I think it’s called - - Netfilm - - no wait, Netflix, I think? Gotta tell you – I think those guys are onto something.”

Beth snorts, getting more make-up / facepaint onto her brush, and opening her mouth to reply, when Emma twirls back into the dining room, her golden dress billowing as she moves. She comes to a stop in front of Annie and Beth, who are sitting opposite each other on the same side of the dining room table – their chairs turned to face each other, the tools of Beth’s day – make-up, sewing kit, hot glue gun, curling iron, sprawled out across the table beside them.

“Mommy, I can’t find my tea set,” she says with a pout. “I want to take Mrs. Potts.”

Emma’s Belle costume from Beauty and the Beast had come together surprisingly well – or not surprising, Beth corrects herself, remembering Ruby’s words earlier that day (“What? Something you made looks amazing? Shocker. You gotta learn to own your talents, B, seriously.”). She’s good at this, after all, and she already had the fabric templates from Emma being Anna from Frozen last year (although Beth had added a few more layers to the Belle skirt to give it volume).

“I think it’s in the playroom, honey,” Beth says, and Emma darts out of the room in a puff of glitter hairspray and gold satin. Turning back to Annie, Beth grabs a small sponge, finds the bruise-purple eyeshadow she’d set aside earlier, only to blink at the look on her sister’s face.

“Okay, so, please remind me why we were robbing grocery stores when you can do that. That costume is - -” Annie kisses her fingers, and Beth grins, batting her hands away from her mouth.

“You’re going to smudge your make-up.”

Which wouldn’t be ideal, Beth thinks, shifting back in her seat. It’d be good to get the kids out of here – Annie’s the last one after all. Beth has already put the finishing touches on Kenny’s Hopper costume from Stranger Things (fake beard and all), Danny’s Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle one, and Jane’s, which was - - weird, to say the least. Or - - maybe not. The shiny-obsessed crab from Moana feels pretty on brand for her. Hell, she’d even put together Sadie’s - although deciding to go as Karl Marx meant it mostly only entailed getting him a suit which Annie had done, and finding the right wig and faux beard which fell strictly in Beth’s jurisdiction.

At the thought of Sadie, Beth glances out of the dining room, down into the living room, where he’s helping Danny play Jacks (Glenvale Elementary has a Retro Games Club, which is intensely sweet, but also makes Beth feel about a million years old. It’s not like she played Jacks, but she knew what it was.)

She’s pulled from her thoughts by the front door springing open, and she knows who it is from the delighted reactions on the kids’ faces more than anything else. Doesn’t see him though until he steps light-footed through the living room, carrying the seven plastic, pumpkin-head candy buckets and an enormous bag of ghost-shaped candies – each individually wrapped for any trick or treaters they might get tonight. She sighs in relief, mouthing a thank you as Rio spots her, tilting his chin up in acknowledgement. God, she can’t even believe she’d forgotten to pick them up in the stress of finishing the costumes.

Leaning down to fist bump Sadie, then Danny, Rio promptly gives Kenny the pumpkin buckets, directing him to pass them out to the other kids before they head out. Darting over into the dining room, Rio moves easily into Beth’s space, leaning down to give her a quick kiss that makes her blush despite herself, before glancing over at Annie, who’s zombie hillbilly look is almost complete.

“Thought you said your sister was wearin’ a costume?” Rio asks her, forehead furrowed in faux confusion, and Beth bites back a grin, rolls her eyes a little as Annie yanks out her prosthetic teeth to scoff.

“Funny,” Annie says with a snort, scowling over at Rio. “You should take that act on the - - wait. Was that a dad joke?”

Her jaw briefly hangs open, and Rio huffs out a laugh, adjusting his grip on the bag of candy in his arms and heading into the kitchen, away from them. It’s enough to make Annie surge up in her seat, briefly checking the kids aren’t listening before whisper yelling:

“Don’t give up your day job as violent gangleader, I think your career in comedy is lacking!”

Rio just waves an arm out at her, jogging over to where Marcus and Jane are sprawled out on the kitchen floor, colouring in an enormous haunted house picture Beth had picked up from the PTA. They grin as they see him, and Rio ruffles Marcus’ perfectly quaffed Captain America hair just to make his son gasp, and then immediately starts laughing as he gets his first real look at Jane’s blinged out crab costume. Red cheeked and outraged at Rio’s response, Jane opens her mouth to yell, but then Rio’s swinging her up into his arms, rocking her around, making her cackle like a little lunatic, and just - -

Beth exhales happily, turns back to Annie only to pause.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Annie says, then shrugs, smiling. “Your face. Weirdo.”

“What?” Beth repeats, rubbing at her cheek, like there might be something on it, but she knows whatever Annie saw wasn’t - - well. Beth blushes, dips the sponge back in the bruise coloured eyeshadow and finishes the last one off. “I think I’m done, anyway, so you should probably get the kids out of here.”

“Sure sure,” Annie says knowingly, and when Beth squints at her, she adds: “So you can bone daddy over there.”

“Annie,” Beth groans, a bright flush finding her cheeks as Annie leaps to her feet, grabbing the vanity mirror off the table to check out Beth’s work.

“Not bad, not bad,” Annie says, shoving her prosthetic teeth back in and grinning at Beth in a way that just makes her shake her head, not quite able to hide the affection in her grin. With her messy hair and her pallid skin and her buck teeth and her flannel shirt - - she sort of has the zombie hillbilly look down.

“To the streets, my pretties,” Annie calls, and the kids seem to materialise around her like she’s summoned them, a bustle of energy and attention and joy, and Beth’s grin only falters when Annie leans down and adds: “I’ll text you when we’re on our way back so you can, y’know, hide your shame.”

With that, they’re all out the door and into the bustle of the night.

Beth huffs out a breath, briefly collapsing back into her seat at the dining room table, furiously swiping at her face, the exhaustion of the last few weeks finally catching up to her. Still, it had felt too good, giving them all what they wanted – her four and Marcus and Sadie and Annie too – making them feel so good. She can’t bite back her grin, can’t help but feel the worth in it, even as she leans forwards to start to bundle up her make-up and her craft supplies to pack away.

Only she’s interrupted when Rio suddenly leans over the table in front of her, his body bent as he eyes her off, lips twisted into a soft, barely-there grin. Beth raises an eyebrow at him, her fingers curling around her make-up brush again,

“Sorry, did you want me to do you too?” she asks, brandishing the brush in his face, and Rio rolls his eyes, but grins, pinching the brush from her fingers, grabbing a tissue from her collection to wipe off the last of the make-up. He makes neat, easy work of it and - - right, Beth reminds herself. Sisters.

“You gonna chill now?” he asks her, and it takes Beth a minute to process the words, to lean back in her seat, looking up at him, but then - - she nods, leaning back into her chair at the dining room table, folding her arms over her chest. She looks a little wistfully at the door, that contentedness she’d felt seeing them out of it warming in her belly all over again. But then again - - she wrinkles her nose.

“At this time of year? Maybe for a week,” she says, her voice dry. “Thanksgiving is just around the corner, after all, and then there’s Christmas, and New Year’s too.”

She’d already found at least four new recipes she wanted to try too – experiments alongside old favourites. The menu for both Thanksgiving and Christmas already half-set in her head.

“Thanksgivin’, we gonna go to my sister’s place.”

The words are enough to jerk Beth out of her own thoughts, to blink up at Rio, surprise evident in her look, and Rio stares back at her, then away, twirling the make-up brush in his hand.

“Carmen’s always wantin’ to host it, but she’s usually workin’ at the hospital. She got it off this year. Wanted to let her do her thing. Only found out yesterday.”

Beth turns the thought over in her head. It’s not that she’s adverse to it, rather - - she’s just not used to it. Annie’s never wanted to host, and Thanksgiving is the only holiday that Stan’s parents insist on, meaning Beth hasn’t had a Thanksgiving with Ruby since her and Stan were married. And after Dean’s dad died - - well, the expectation was that he’d host it, as the eldest son, and Dean hosting it always meant Beth hosting it, but - - but she’s not married to Dean anymore, she’s with Rio, and all the rules are out the window.

She looks back at Rio, who seems almost a little uncertain, like this wasn’t how he planned on broaching this with her, like maybe he expects a fight, and in the end - -

Well.

“We still have to take something,” Beth says, and Rio’s gaze darts up towards her, filled with a look that he gives her too often – something between amused and annoyed, before it gives way to something that’s just - - just deep and warm, and Beth can’t even begin to explain the feeling it unlocks in her own chest. But then Rio’s flicking the tip of her nose with the end of her make-up brush, and Beth rolls her eyes, going to grab it off him, but he holds it steadily out of her grip.

“I’m givin’ you a cap then, mami. One dessert, one side.”

“There are seven of us,” Beth counters easily. “Plus, Annie’ll need to come, so eight – maybe even nine if she has Sadie too.”

“Then Annie can go buy that nasty ass pasta salad she always does and bring that too.”

“Your son loves that nasty ass pasta salad.”

“He does, and if you don’t think I hold that against your sister, you kiddin’ yourself, darlin’.”

And Beth just laughs, wrinkling her nose, because the pasta salad really is awful, so she figures it’s fair, and her reaction is enough to make Rio boop her nose again with her make-up brush.

“One dessert, one side,” he repeats, dropping the brush back into her make-up bag before flicking off her hot glue gun and her curling iron. “That’s an order.”

And - - well, Beth arches an eyebrow at that, folding back into her seat, staring up at him, still mostly amused.

“An order?”

“Mmm,” he hums, pushing her crafting gear and make-up palettes aside before planting his ass on the table in front of her, kicking his legs out briefly like she’s seen Marcus do, before he’s knitting his hands together in front of him, dipping his head. “It’s a thing bosses do, yeah? Delegatin’. I know you’re allergic to it or somethin’, but - -”

“Last I checked, you weren’t the boss of me,” Beth interrupts, tone a lot less amused now, and Rio just laughs, the sound easy and lyrical in a way that makes her heart leap and also tells her that he fundamentally disagrees with that statement, and Beth rolls her eyes, opening her mouth to tell him all the ways he isn’t, when Rio smacks his hands down on his knees and looks over at her.

“So in all this craftin’ and knittin’ and stitchin’, you get yourself a costume?”

And just - - what? Beth blinks, head reeling back as she eyes Rio off. They’d had only the briefest conversations about Halloween – one that mostly revolved around the kids, or Annie (hell, she’d been surprised by the visible pleasure he’d taken in the prospect of Annie taking Marcus as a part of the Boland kid tradition, but then - - Marcus seems a little more enamoured with Annie than she thinks Rio’s realised). Still, she’d figured it wasn’t really his thing, and she’d been glad for it, particularly since Dean had always insisted on the goofiest, most embarrassing ways of celebrating it.

“I don’t really do costumes,” she says slowly, and Rio arches an eyebrow at her, before pointedly looking behind himself at the stacks of fabric offcuts and the make-up and her sewing kit.

“I mean, for me,” she replies. “Honestly, I just always run out of time, and I can’t exactly just run out and buy something. Nothing ever fits.”

He lowers his gaze to her chest then, reaches out, hooks a finger in the top of her blouse in a way that makes her breath catch. He tilts his head from side-to-side, considering.

“Worse things than a shirt that don’t fit.”

And well – that’s enough to make Beth laugh out loud, her hand finding his wrist, pushing it out of her top.

“I’m not talking about sexy, tight things, I mean like - - buttons that won’t do up and like - - too much fabric in places, and not enough in others and - - okay, you are not hearing me at all.”

Because he’s not, if the hot, amused look on his face is anything to go by, and it figures, she thinks. Guys really don’t get the intricacies of how much women’s clothing has never seen a woman’s body. She hits his leg, and he laughs, head back, and her gaze travels his throat, the long line of his neck, and she really must be tired because all she can think about is how much she wants to lick it.

She shakes her head, cringing a little at herself, before she looks away from him, out across the dining room, towards the kitchen, where Jane and Marcus’ colouring in is still sprawled out across the floor.

“Did you want to dress up?” she asks Rio tentatively, because maybe he does, maybe she assumed too much, but then he barks on a laugh, and Beth jerks her head back around to look at him, wrinkled nose and all.

“Fuck no.”

“You just said - -”

“Wanna see you in a costume. Well,” he laughs hoarsely in a way that pools hot and low in her. “Want to get you into one to get you outta one.”

He hums a little, considering, and it really is incredible, she thinks, a little hysterically, how easily he seems to be able to undress her in every sense of the word.

“Nurse Elizabeth,” he drawls. “You could give me a bath.”

And god - - that pulls her out of any reverie. She knows him sick now, knows him fevered, knows exactly the kind of patient he is, and just - -

“You would hate that,” Beth says, laughing, and he huffs out a breath, but agrees all the same.

“Hmm,” he tries instead. “Maybe a witch then, huh? Or a librarian?”

Beth snorts, looking up at him, and immediately regretting it. There’s a heat in his look that she’s too used to – but - - there’s something else too, something she can’t place, something that runs deeper, and she shifts a little in her seat, electricity bolting from her knee when he knocks it with his calf.

“Mermaid or some shit.”

“You are not creative with costumes,” she says, trying to lower her temperature, and Rio hums in agreement. The next thing she knows, he’s tugging her up by the arm, and Beth lets herself be tugged, lets him move her between his legs, lets him brush her hair back, lets him unbutton her blouse to her belly button, pull it open enough to press a kiss against the top of her chest.

“Panty model,” he decides, and Beth scoffs – a sound which quickly turns into a gasp when Rio bites the curve of her breast. “Centrefold.”

“You’d hate that too,” she breathes, and Rio laughs.

“Mmm, don’t want nobody else lookin’ at you,” he agrees, and Beth shivers when his hands slip around her back, unhooking her bra with a practiced ease. “Then shit, it’s just pretend, ain’t it? We ain’t us.”

“I like being us though,” Beth breathes, and Rio exhales against her breast.

“Me too, ma. Don’t mean I don’t want to see you in some sea shell bra though, huh?”

And that’s enough to make Beth laugh, to rock against him as he unbuttons her shirt the rest of the way, slips it off her shoulders, and pulls off her bra. He makes a sound in his throat which is just - - so pleased, and it makes Beth keen before she even realises she’s doing it, makes her breathless, makes her shift a little closer, and then he’s sucking a hickey into her breast, his hands groping at her ass, pulling her closer - - so close that his half-hard cock digs into her lower belly, and her own nails are scratching through his short hair, her panties soaking, and god, she thinks, this isn’t fair, how quickly they get here, how much this - -

A yelp suddenly pulls her from her thoughts, and Beth’s head jerks around to find Annie standing in the doorway, her eyes wide and her lips broken into a sort of mortified grin. Beth jerks backwards, covering herself, before changing her mind and throwing herself at Rio instead, poking her head up over his shoulder, using him as a human shield.

“Is this a haunted house, because this is certainly straight out of my nightmares,” Annie says, with a half laugh, and Beth scowls at her.

“What are you doing back here?!” she hisses, and Annie rolls her eyes, striding into the living room and plucking an orange pumpkin bucket off the coffee table.

“Relax, sis, I just forgot my candy collector, not to be confused with your vagina, or like - - gangfriend’s mouth right now, apparently.”

“Annie.”

“I’m going, I’m going, jeez, I thought you were supposed to lighten up when you were getting some on the regular.”

“Ain’t you babysittin’?” Rio asks sharply, hand at Beth’s back, pulling her safely into his chest, and Annie huffs out a breath.

“Yes, sir, I have briefly tagged Sadie in, but I’m going straight back. Right now, in fact. So. Anyway, enjoy your - - this.”

Annie steps back, and Beth glances up at her, her blush only deepening when Annie offers her a pointed thumbs up before disappearing back out the front door. Briefly, Beth hears the chatter of her children, of Marcus and Sadie too – buzzing with excitement still for the night and just - -

“Oh my god,” Beth says with a groan, burying her face back in Rio’s shoulder, feeling him shift beneath her, before suddenly leaning back, heaving her up off her feet, on top of him on the table.

“Don’t stress,” he tells her, settling her weight on top of him, his fingers gliding over her thighs, briefly squeezing her ass, and Beth just laughs emptily, cringing, because god, Annie will never forget this, and there’s no way she won’t immediately tell Ruby - - hell, she’s probably already texted her.

“I - -”

“No,” Rio says beneath her, kissing her. “Nuh-uh.”

He kisses her again, longer this time, harder, and when it breaks, Beth blinks down at him, her cheeks still flushed, his hand warm now on her back.

“I will stress about it after.”

“I know,” Rio tells her, letting her push up off his chest, folding her arms across her own as she straddles him lightly.

“I can never sit with Annie at this table again.”

“Don’t think about it too much.”

“I - - ”

“Elizabeth.”

Beth stops, looks down at him – at the length of him, his handsome face, his tapered torso. Her blush briefly deepens, the heat in her resparking.

“We got maybe an hour and a half til they get back.”

She blinks, surprised, almost flails an arm out to gesture but then remembers that her arms are the only things covering her (and god – her hands are still so fucking blue). She shakes her head instead.

“That’s a lot of time.”

Making a noise in the back of his throat like he disagrees, Rio lowers his hands, settling them on her hips. He nudges up against her, his cock shifting against her cunt through both their jeans, and really - - it shouldn’t be legal – how much she wants him.

“You ain’t got no costume,” he drawls after a moment. “But you can try me on if you want.”

And well - - that’s enough to make Beth snort. She looks down at him, wrinkling her nose, and Rio just gives her a shit eating grin in reply.

“That was bad,” she tells him, and he hums in agreement, before surging up and closing the distance between them.

“Yeah, but shit, ma. Works for us.”

And well, she thinks, pressing her lips hard against his.

He’s not wrong.

#beth x rio #my fic #halloween #prompt fills #nbc good girls #the center and circumference #beth boland #rio #annie marks #jr good girls #holiday season

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westfrosts · 6 years ago

Text

Accidents and Proposals - Colt x MC

A/N: hey it’s wzkdj here from instagram, a.k.a Khadijah! ! y’all may recognise me from the previous fic Ifraah and I posted on this account ( Apple Pies )

side note: we agreed on Y/N / MC being too cringey and wattpad-y so we settled on a name for our MC: Zafira

this fic is in the same universe as the previous one, Apple Pies :)

this came from the idea: MC vomiting on Colt LMAO, excuse how long it is and how extra the entire first half is hehe the word count is around 6100

also, we have a few cameos from our choices group, Justine, Ifraah, Mics and I, Khadijah all make our cameos with our faves bc i was feeling it and thought it would be funny lmaooo so be on the lookout for those :)

Tag List: for all the Colt lovers hehe, if y’all don’t want to be tagged just let me know and if you do then just throw us a comment or sumn! @tabithacarlisle @lifeof314universe @flowerpowell @lady-dianelewis @confessionsofabrokegirl @drakewalkerdrunk @zeniamiii @i-am-clementine @gayplaychoices @marcela13mars @ladymarquess @claudevonstruke @stillafictosexual @wolfmckenzie @emomoustache @inkandfables @thegardendiety @akrenich @ckanekos @coltkaneko @pixelburied

“Damn, I thought we were going to a five-star restaurant.” Riya almost whined, pouting as she sat down beside Darius opposite Zafira.

“Sorry, Babe, but not everyone has Jonas Brothers’ type of money.” Darius said with a shrug. Zafira burst out laughing and lifted her hand for a high five. Darius grinned and slapped her hand right as a waitress came up to their table.

“Hey guys, my name’s Justine!” she said enthusiastically, before she gestured to her name tag which had ‘Justine’ written on it. Zafira didn’t miss the bright jingling silver bracelet that had ‘BUCKET’ written in caps before a big red heart. “I’ll be your waitress for today. Here are your menus, don’t hesitate to call me if you need anything,” she said with a smile, “Oh, and I should let you know, we currently have the meal deal on the Grilled Chicken Sandwich if you happen to be interested in a free cookie by any chance…” she winked.

The three of them gasped in unison as the waitress walked off to tend to another table and looked at each other. “Free cookie?!” Zafira said in amazement, as she watched Darius and Riya mirror her expression.

“We have got to get that meal deal.” Darius practically demanded, with a slap of his fist on the table, none of them paying any attention to the three menus that jumped up and almost fell off.

“I can’t believe we’re giving in so easily to capitalism.” Zafira said sadly, sighing in dismay. “Wendy’s 1, Karl Marx 0. I’m sorry, Marx, we have failed you.” Riya and Darius burst out laughing at her remark and eventually Zafira was guffawing along with them.

…

Soon enough, Justine was bringing out a tray with the orders on and Zafira couldn’t help but rub her hands together in excitement. “Chicken Sandwich, get in my belly! Y’all have no idea how long it’s been since I last ate a burger, my stomach can no longer recall the sweet taste of that seeded bun.” Zafira shook her head sadly as her eyes widened upon the tray placed down on their table.

“Here are 3 Grilled Chicken Sandwiches with those free cookies I promised. Enjoy your meal, guys!” Justine said with a smile, laughing at the faces the three of them made.

“Thank you!” They chorused, almost salivating at the sight in front of them. Justine grinned as she walked away and Zafira and Darius couldn’t dig into their burgers any faster.

“Guys! Wait, I’ve gotta get a pic to put on my IG or Snap! Guys, c’mon, don’t finish the burgers already!” Riya exclaimed in a panic, shooing away their hands and pulling out her phone as fast as she could. Darius and Zafira exchanged glances and rolled their eyes before moving away from the table and crossing their arms in unison.

Riya finally took the picture and settled back into her seat with a smile. “You can dig in now, guys, go on. Oh my gosh, it looks so good, look at those crinkle cut chips! Mmmm…” She murmured as she rubbed her hands together.

“Finally!” Zafira groaned, before she quickly scooped up the burger and took a bite. Her eyes widened and rivalled Darius’ own expression of wonder.

“Oh… My…” Darius whispered, and even Riya looked shocked, something they didn’t often see at a fast food restaurant.

“This is…” Zafira mumbled, staring at her burger in amazement.

“...Art.” Riya finished off. The three of them nodded in agreement before diving back into their meals.

“Truly, no one does Grilled Sandwich like Wendy’s do.” Zafira said around a mouthful, “These chips! They’re so soft and potato-ey! I could eat these forever.” She moaned, washing everything down with a swig of her drink. She let out a loud, garbled burp and Darius and Riya looked up at her in surprise. They shared a funny look before they were once again roaring out in laughter. All of the customers around them looked at them weirdly and a girl sat at the far end of the outdoor eating area rolled her eyes. “High schoolers… just wait until you get into college, y’all won’t have much to laugh about then.” She shook her head, adjusting her headscarf and glasses before going back to using her laptop, labelled with an ‘Ifraah hearts Hayden Young’ sticker.

By the time they were finished with their meals, Zafira sat with her hands on her belly and a weird feeling inside her stomach. “Guys, is it me or are you feeling a bit nauseous too? This burger has done a number on me,” she groaned, “What did they even put in there?”

Darius and Riya sat back looking very content. “It must be you, that burger was…” Darius trailed off, kissing his fingers and throwing them in the air, “Simply beautiful!”

“Yeah, who cares about five-star restaurants anymore?!” Riya stated passionately.

…

It was only half an hour later when the trio had finished revelling in the aftermath of the food and that sumptuous free cookie, that Zafira felt the first gurgle in her stomach. “Uh oh…” She trailed off, eyes widening as her hands reached for her stomach in slow motion.

“What? What is it?” Riya asked, frowning at Zafira’s now sweaty face. “Are you OK? You look really hot…”

Zafira shook her head, hands flying to her mouth as she got up and raced towards the entrance of the diner.

“Zafira!” Darius called out after her. He exchanged a bewildered look with Riya. “What the heck?!”

Inside the diner, the Mercy Park Crew felt a sudden breeze as a blurry figure that looked an awful lot like Zafira rushed past them. “The hell?” Mona said, perplexed. Toby and Ximena watched the figure dart into the ladies’ bathroom and glanced at each other before shrugging and going back to what they were doing. Mona realised that the person looked awfully familiar and even Logan and Colt looked after the figure in surprise.

Zafira, however, paid no attention to her surroundings, and threw the closest stall door open before doubling over and emptying the contents of her stomach in a toilet. Damn, she thought, maybe Wendy’s really isn’t the one. Her stomach clenched once more before she was gripping each side of stall, desperate to not make any contact with the toilet bowl itself lest she contracted something even worse. The acid burned in her throat as sweat and tears rolled off her face. “Bloody… hell…” she coughed out, hastily pulling on the toilet roll to wipe her mouth, “I swear, if I vomit again, I’m gonna scre—” she dry heaved, slapping a hand over her mouth and squeezing her eyes shut. Zafira turned and leaned against the stall wall, breathing heavily. “I definitely have to sue these witches, what the hell did I eat?!” She grumbled.

As she walked over to the sinks, she caught sight of her reflection and groaned. Her face was red with dried tear tracks and her hair looked like a complete mess, “Great!” she mumbled, before washing out her mouth and cupping water in her hands to throw over her face.

Another lady came out of a stall further down and walked hesitantly towards the sinks. “Hey, are you, uh, OK? I heard someone retching their insides out…” She trailed off, as she began washing her hands, watching Zafira carefully in the mirror. Zafira couldn’t help but notice her large hoop earrings that had ‘Hamid’ written in the middle with a heart around the text.

“And you can only assume it was me because of how I look?”

The stranger gaped and blushed, looking down at their hands and scrubbing away furiously.

Zafira laughed. “I’m just kidding, don’t worry. Yeah, it was me. That dumb Grilled Chicken Sandwich must’ve been made with poison or something,” she groused.

“Oh no! Damn, maybe you should sue Wendy’s or something! Can I get you anything, though? A tissue, some water... a lawyer perhaps?” she added with a giggle, “I’m Mics.” She smiled, holding out her hand towards Zafira to shake. Zafira lifted her own hand towards hers but hesitated upon finding them both wet.

She looked up at Mics, “Wet handshake?”

“Wet handshake,” she confirmed, as they laughed.

Meanwhile, in the main section of the diner, Darius and Riya were fretting over Zafira and trying to figure out what to do after rushing after her. “Should we call an ambulance?!” Riya asked, fumbling over her phone and hastily trying to put in her pass code.

“No!” Darius exclaimed, throwing a hand over her phone screen, “...At least, not yet.”

“OK, let’s… take her home? Give her water, a blanket, put her in front of the fireplace, warm her up, but with a cold towel on her head, Netflix in one hand, popcorn in the oth—” Riya began listing off rapidly, marking them off on her fingers.

“I don’t think she needs all of that just yet, Babe. Let’s focus on making sure she’s alive first, and then take her home… Wait, how are we gonna take her home? We walked it here and probably didn’t bring enough money for a taxi or the bus home! Shit.” Darius groaned, rubbing his hands over his face beneath his glasses.

“Those driving lessons would’ve come in real handy, huh?” Riya said sadly, “Hang on, is that Logan over there? We can just ask him, right? I mean, he’s pretty much in love with Zafira, he’d do anything to make sure she was OK, wouldn’t he?”

Darius looked at his girlfriend weirdly, “Really? Like that wouldn’t be overstepping any boundaries at all?”

Riya threw her hands up in defense, “Like all boundaries weren’t dropped when he showed up outside school for Zafira?” she countered, looking at him pointedly.

“...Good point… weird and stalkerish point, but still…” Darius sighed, folding one arm and holding his chin with the other, scrutinising Logan.

Ximena looked up in that moment and noticed the two facing their table, looking at Logan specifically. “Hey, Logan, are those your friends or just some… creepy kids?” She asked, jutting her chin towards the two, confused. Neither of them seemed to notice, too lost in their inner turmoil.

Logan looked in their direction and frowned, “Those are… Zafira’s friends? What are they doing here?”

Riya snapped out of her reverie and noticed the entire table now looking towards them. “Crap!” she hissed under her breath, before shoving Darius towards the crew.

Darius made some incoherent noises in dispute but by the time he was done, he was in front of Logan with Riya’s hand firm on his back. He looked over his shoulder at her, widening his eyes with irritation while Riya gestured towards Logan with her eyes. Darius let out a long breath, pinching the bridge of his nose while turning towards the table. By then, they had all stopped eating and instead focused on the weird pair stood in front of them.

“Hey, uh… Logan, Riya here, is… proposing...” Darius trailed off, trying to figure out which of his eyes to look into and instead focusing on a spot between them. There was a long silence while everyone stared at Darius, waiting for him to continue, including Riya who was watching him with the most bewildered look.

“...Proposing? To Logan? That’s the funniest thing I’ve ever heard!” Colt broke the silence with a scoff, before he threw his head back, dissolving into laughter, “Who’d want to be with this loser, he’d probably smother you with his teen angst before you could get another word in!” He cackled, shaking his head while wiping at the corner of his eyes, “Damn, that was a good one, I haven’t laughed like that in a long while.”

Mona pressed her lips together to avoid laughing herself and Toby and Ximena side-eyed one another before turning away with smirks on their face. Logan narrowed his eyes at each of them before turning to Colt, “Are you done yet?”

Colt grinned cheekily, “By all means, go ahead.”

Logan rolled his eyes, turning back to Darius, “Go on.”

“Riya… wants-you-to-drive-Zafira-home-because-she’s-sick-and-probably-dying-in-the-bathroom-like-none-of-us-can-drive-and-you’re-just-sat-here-so-like-yeah-anyway-like-I-said-she’s-probably-dying-so-she-needs-to-go-home-you-know-to-get-better-and-recover-from-whatever-the-hell-just-happened-wouldn’t-you-rather-she-die-at-home-instead-of-in-a-Wendy’s-bathroom-like-c’mon-a-Wendy’s-bathroom-of-all-places-how-sad-like-wouldn’t-it-be-a-lot-nicer-if-she-died-at-home-or-something-not-that-I-want-her-to-die-but… yeah. So yeah.” Darius said as quickly as he could in one breath. He coughed into his fist and put his hands on his hips. “Right, my job here is done.” He stated with a nod of his head before turning around and marching resolutely into the ladies’ bathroom. Logan stared after him with his mouth agape, along with everyone else at the table. Riya stared at the swinging door of the bathroom before turning back towards Logan.

Toby looked between the now still door of the bathroom and Riya, “Did he just walk into the—”

“Ladies’ bathroom? Yeah.” Riya interrupted with a sheepish smile. “Sorry if we’re overstepping, but, like, we really wouldn’t be asking unless it was completely necessary, like, Zafira was literally about to die, like, you should’ve seen her face, you know what, she could actually be on the floor right now, drowning in her own vomit.”

Once again, there was complete silence at the table as they all stared at Riya. Mona raised a sharp eyebrow at her, “You know, saying Zafira’s drowning in her own vomit doesn’t make us any more likely to put her in our cars? It does the opposite. No matter how cute she is, I’m really not trying to get my seats stained in Wendy’s… Though, I would be willing to make an exception for Zafira, you know, I don’t want her to die in her own vomit, that would just be too tragic.” She mulled, twirling her straw around in a milkshake.

Before anyone could get another word in, the crew’s phones all pinged simultaneously and they exchanged a tense look before Ximena picked up her phone first. “It’s from Kaneko…” she trailed off.

“Need 4 of you at the garage in 10 mins, got 5 potential buyers lined up for a range of Mercedez-Benz 190 SL roadsters…” Mona started.

“Let me guess, I’m not included in that ‘4’, huh?” Colt rolled his eyes, slouching in his seat while sipping his drink.

“Colt, it’s the same gang we dealt with last time in the Mall, the ones that brought guns, so I don’t want you around them. Come back when the deal is done, until then, I don’t know, go hang out with that girl that you, Logan and Mona can’t seem to stop fighting over.” Toby finished with a shocked expression, “Is that, Boss, poking fun and bantering around? I never thought I’d see the day.” Toby whispered in amazement, adjusting his glasses and rereading the text message. Ximena grinned and looked at the three in question.

Colt seemed shocked upon the last part of the message, his expression not going unmissed by the rest of the gang. Logan and Mona raised an eyebrow, looking at Colt with intrigue before he quickly schooled his features and turned away, clearing his throat. “I could’ve done those deals just as well as the next person,” he grumbled.

“You should count yourself lucky, your dad’s trying to keep you safe and instead sending us into the line of fire,” Logan said with a shake of his head, “Thank your lucky stars.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll count them when I see ‘em.” Colt rolled his eyes.

“Really? Well, considering you’re going to be the one driving Zafira back, you should be getting ready to count them when you see her.” Mona said slyly with a smirk.

In that moment, Riya realised that they were all somehow acquainted with Zafira, making a mental note to ask her about them later.

Colt gaped at Mona as he opened and closed his mouth repeatedly, “I-I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said dismissively, choosing to stuff a handful of chips in his mouth to avoid more conversation.

“Sure.”

Colt narrowed his eyes at her as the rest of the crew stood up, getting ready to leave. Riya stood there watching them leave, confused as to what was going on.

Logan turned towards her and offered a sheepish smile, “I’m sorry, I can’t make it, I’ve gotta head back,” he said while rubbing the back of his neck, “looks like Colt will be the one driving her back, is that OK? You know, if you really want me to take her I can—“

“No, no! It’s fine, wouldn’t want you to get into trouble with your, uh, boss or anything…” Riya said quickly.

“Let us know how Zafira feels, Colt.” Ximena said, patting his shoulder. The crew began walking out, minus Colt, who was left in the booth staring into his drink absentmindedly.

“Yeah, if she’s not feeling any better, maybe we can drop by with some fancy meds and a gift basket or something,” said Toby, raising his eyebrows in excitement, as he slipped into Ximena’s car.

“OK, first of all, I don’t know why you’re excited about that, second of all, great idea, let’s just, us, the Mercy Park Crew, drop by Zafira’s house, where a cop resides.” Mona said sarcastically, as she unlocked the door of her own car.

Toby pouted, “Damn, I forgot about that.”

“C’mon, we’ll have to worry about Zafira later, it’s already been 5 minutes and you know how Kaneko hates it when someone’s late.” Logan said, sliding into his seat and sticking the keys in the ignition.

Back in the ladies’ bathroom, Zafira was surprised to see Darius walk in, who quickly threw his hands over his eyes. “Zafira, you in here? Look if you’re dying on the floor, drowning in your own vomit, then let me know, otherwise I’m keeping my hands on my eyes because I’d hate to look like a pervert or something, ya know?”

Zafira gaped at him before she let out a confused laugh, “Uh, Darius, what are you doing in here?”

“I came to see how you were feeling but also because I just told Logan that he should take you home because you’re not feeling well… so, let’s go, I’d hate for you to to meet your ending here in the bathroom.”

“Wait, what? You asked Logan? Why would you do that? Where did he even come from? I don’t need him to take me home, I can just wal—“ Zafira cut off with a heave, slapping her hand over her mouth and gripping the edge of the sink.

Darius removed his hands and quickly stood next to her, placing a hand on her back. “...You were saying? Look, just let him take you home and then you complain all you want back there, sound good?”

Zafira nodded her head miserably as Darius guided her out of the bathroom.

Thankfully for Riya, she saw Darius and Zafira make their way out of the bathroom before she felt the need to initiate small talk with the brooding Colt.

Darius steered Zafira to the table while she sighed, rubbing a hand over her face.

“Hang on, where’d everyone go? Where’s Logan?” Darius asked, looking around the diner confused.

“Colt? ...Don’t tell me the entire gang was here and we didn’t even know.” Zafira said with a laugh.

“...Wow. You look like you’ve been through hell.” Colt stated, looking at Zafira with slightly veiled worry.

“Thanks, it was really hot back there.” Zafira deadpanned.

Colt laughed and stood up. “C’mon, let’s get you home before you vomit all over my shoes.”

Zafira raised a brow and then leaned forward towards Colt, faking a dry heaving sound.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Not on the shoes! Not the shoes!” Colt yelled, jumping back onto the booth and backing away.

Zafira moved back before she burst out laughing, slapping her thigh. “Your face! Phew, that was a classic!” She wiped at the corners of her eyes as her giggles died down.

“You little…” Colt shook his head, folding his arms while glaring at Zafira. The waitress walked over and gave Colt a look.

“Could you please get off the booth, people sit in those.” Justine said before putting a hand on her hip, “I’d hate to have to call my manager out for this.”

Colt quickly jumped down and brushed himself off. “Sorry about that,” he said, coughing into his fist awkwardly, “Right, let’s go.”

He speed walked out of the diner and the trio quickly followed. On their way out, they passed a couple that were sat in the outdoor eating area, with one of them feeding the other that had their eyes closed. “Damien!” The lady called out, laughing while putting her hand over his eyes, “You’re supposed to guess by the taste, stop trying to peek! Stop trying to smell it too!”

“Khadi,” the man called Damien complained, placing his hand over hers and trying to pull it away, “this is too hard, let me be the one feeding you and you’ll see how hard it is!” He laughed, finally managing to free his eyes. He gasped upon seeing the piece in Khadi’s hand. “See! I knew it was a cookie!”

“Yeah, obviously! But you didn’t know which one, so your punishment is not getting the rest of it.” She stated proudly, popping the rest of it in her mouth while Damien watched in horror.

Zafira smiled to herself. Cute, she thought. But her smile dropped when she saw Colt’s motorbike. “Hang on, you’re taking me home on that?” She paled, placing a hand on her stomach, “That doesn’t sound like a such a good idea…”

Darius and Riya watched her with worry, and even Colt frowned.

“I would love to indulge in your car fantasies, which, on any other day, I would absolutely hate, but seeing as we have no other way of getting you home, the bike is the only option… Unless you want me to carry you all the way home.” Colt said, raising an eyebrow at Zafira.

Zafira furrowed her brow and sighed, “Fine, motorbike it is,” she turned to her friends, “I take it you’ll walk it?” she asked.

Darius and Riya nodded, “Don’t worry about us, you just focus on getting home in one piece.” Darius said sympathetically, patting Zafira’s shoulder.

“Yeah, in one piece that isn’t covered in vomit, please.” Colt added, swinging his leg over the bike and pulling his helmet on.

Zafira rolled her eyes and waved her friends off, “See ya later, yeah?” She jumped onto the bike behind Colt, taking the spare helmet from his hands and strapping herself in. “Hey, Colt, pull over to the side of the road when I give you a sign, unless you want chicken sandwich all the way down your back.” She laughed.

Colt rolled his eyes for what felt like the hundredth time even though Zafira couldn’t see. “...You’re, OK though, right? Not thinking about dying anytime soon?” He asked hesitantly.

“Why? Would you miss me?” Zafira teased.

“Of course.” Colt said, without missing a beat.

Zafira’s eyes widened as she slid her arms around his waist, feeling the bike start up. She stared at the back of his helmet in shock, waiting for him to continue.

“Who else would talk shit about Logan with me?” Colt said. Zafira could practically hear the smile in his voice.

There it is, she thought while shaking her head, what were you hoping for, you fool.

Colt began driving out of the diner and down the path he knew a little too well now, trying not to pay attention to how Zafira’s arms were wrapped around him.

It was only halfway through the journey when Colt felt a few rapid taps on his shoulder. He frowned, before realising this was one of Zafira’s ‘signs’ and quickly looked for an opportunity to pull up to the side of the road.

As soon as he’d found a spot, Zafira was all but jumping off the bike and unfastening her helmet. She knew she’d hate to vomit all over someone’s lawn or a public walkway in general, so she pressed her lips together and couldn’t help but thank her lucky stars when she saw a bin sitting a few yards away, running over to the poor, unsuspecting thing.

As she hurled more of her meal out, Colt hurriedly parked the bike and rushed over to Zafira’s side. He blanked once he got to her and decided he would hold her hair back instead of standing around like a lamppost.

With his free hand, he poked about in his pockets looking for any tissues or anything else that would help the situation but fell short and instead chose to rub her back instead.

“Better out than in, am I right?” He said halfheartedly, frowning as she began taking deep breaths.

“Right, you’re probably not in the best position to be speaking right now, I’ll just let you vomit to your heart’s content.” He winced as she heaved once more and then stood up straight.

Thankfully, Zafira had managed to nab some napkins before she’d left so she managed to clean herself up as best she could. “What the fuck was in that burger that’s making me so cough up my insides so violently?! Do I need to sue these little shits.” Zafira exclaimed, putting her hands on her hips and blowing some hair out of her face.

Colt couldn’t help but smile and zone out for a second. How cute.

“Hello? Earth to Colt? Are you in there?”

“Yeah, I was just thinking about how cute you look, you know, all sweaty, hair a mess, red in the face.”

Zafira gaped at him, “I… wha—?”

Colt smirked at her, “Cat got your tongue?”

Zafira narrowed her eyes, “You just wait until you catch me on a good day, ‘cute’ won’t even cover how good I look, and the cat will have your tongue.” She said, flipping her hair as best as she could over her shoulder.

Now it was Colt’s turn to gape at her, but he managed to recover enough to raise an eyebrow and have his charms back intact, “Well then, it’s a good thing that every other day is your good day, huh? Maybe that’s why I’m always so speechless whenever I first see you.” Colt slid his hands into his pockets, pinning her with that mesmerising look.

Zafira’s mouth opened and soon enough a bright pink blush had made its way onto her face. She stared into his dark eyes and found herself captivated, unable to break the gaze. “Are you… flirting with me right now?”

“Maybe.”

“Unbelievable.”

Colt managed to snap out of whatever he was preoccupied with and stared at her, somewhat confused.

“You’re really trying to charm a girl when she’s at her most vulnerable state, right after she vomited up a Wendy’s, knowing that she’ll have no choice but to get back on that bike with you, and have you drive her home where you’ll probably hint at wanting to be invited in.”

Colt gawked at Zafira, rendered speechless. “What?! I never—“

“I can’t believe you, Colt,” Zafira put her hands on her hips, “You’re an incorrigible flirt, just who do you think you are?”

“Whoa, hang on a minute! You’ve got the wrong end of the stick—“

Zafira gasped in horror, her hands flying up to her mouth, “You were trying to give me your stick?!” She almost screeched.

Colt threw his hands up in defence, taking a step back as his mouth dropped open in shock. Then he narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms again. “You’re fucking around with me, aren’t you?”

Zafira presses her lips together, a snort coming out against her will. “Sorry, you’re just too easy to play around with.” She burst out in full blown laughter, smacking her thigh.

Colt sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “What am I gonna do with you?”

“I can think of a few things.” Zafira smiled coyly.

It was Colt’s turn to blush as his expression went slack. “You’re gonna be the death of me, you know that?”

Zafira laughed, “C’mon, Lover Boy, you still need to take me home.”

…

It was when they were outside the Wheeler residence that Zafira once again felt that familiar lurching feeling in her stomach, “Oh no…” she moaned, unfastening the helmet as fast as she could for a second time that day. This time, Colt was slightly more prepared and he’d already parked the bike and dismounted it.

“Let’s get you inside, I don’t think anyone wants to see a girl projectile vomiting right about now.” Colt chuckled, wrapping one arm around her back and ushering her inside. But it was too late, Zafira felt the familiar burning of the acid in her throat and was heaving out small neutral coloured bits onto Colt’s shoes faster than she could tell Colt where the keys were.

There was a silence after Zafira had stopped hurling out her meal or rather, what was left of it.

“...” Colt blinked a couple of times, almost unseeingly.

“...Guess you no longer want to come in and give me your stick, huh?” Zafira said for no reason, with a weak laugh. She straightened up and pressed her hand to her face, trying to wipe away whatever had stained her mouth.

Colt stared at her for a few seconds before he burst out laughing. Zafira was shocked and slowly joined in, not caring how they must’ve looked to passersby.

“I can’t… I can’t believe you just... brought up the stick again... after you just threw up on me.” Colt said in between laughs.

Zafira’s laughter dissolved away and all she could do was stare at Colt’s shoes sympathetically, rather embarrassed.

“Those shoes, they didn’t cost much did they? This is awful, I’m so sorry.” She moaned, squeezing her eyes shut and dropping her head back.

“It’s fine, nothing that sweet, illegal money can’t fix.” Colt joked with a wink.

“Colt!” Zafira gasped, looking around furtively, “You can’t just say stuff like that out loud!”

“Why, will your dad appear out of nowhere if I say ‘illegal’ three times? No wait, maybe I should rub a briefcase full of a couple million dollars and then say it.” He wondered, putting his free hand on his chin and rubbing it thoughtfully.

Zafira shook her head and laughed, “Will you shut up?”

He grinned as they stared at each other again. It’s really quite easy to get lost in those eyes, Zafira thought, damn.

Zafira cleared her throat and looked away, fiddling around in her pockets to pull out the keys, but not without Colt catching that lovely pink blush on her face again. He smiled contently.

“Is your dad home?”

“No…why, you tryna give me some of that stick action?” Zafira wiggled her eyebrows up and down.

Colt pressed his lips together to avoid laughing. “We’re never gonna let that one go, are we?”

“Nope.” Zafira grinned.

Colt shook his head, “I was asking because I was looking forward to stealing that apple pie.”

Zafira sighed dramatically, “Even in a cop’s household, you can’t let go of your criminal behaviour.”

Colt narrowed his eyes, “You know, for the daughter of a cop, you’re awfully close to us criminals.”

“What can I say? I’m attracted to the dark side.” She joked, removing herself from his hold and guiding them inside. She took off her shoes and suddenly stopped, remembering Colt’s burger covered shoes. “Right, uh, give me your shoes, wait, and your jeans, I think I got those covered too.”

“Wow, you like to move fast, huh?”

“Shut up!” she slapped his shoulder, “You know what I mean!”

“Do I, though? Do I really?”

Zafira put her hands on her hips, “Hand over your things before I decide to shower you in chicken bits.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” Colt grinned cheekily, as he kicked off his shoes and moved to unbuckle his belt, all while maintaining eye contact.

Zafira’s eyes widened, and she rapidly began turning pink once again, “I’ll, uh, go find some trousers while you, uh, yeah.”

“Oh, so now you’re shy. What happened to wanting the stick?” He teased.

“Not another word out of you, Colt.” She pointed at him, with narrowed eyes as she walked backwards. Colt saluted her with a wink.

Once Zafira was no longer within his sight and safely in the bathroom with a change of clothes, she placed a hand on her chest and took a deep breath in. What the hell is going on?! She shook her head and quickly washed up, throwing her clothes in the hamper and changing into a tank top and sweats. She looked at herself in the mirror and halfheartedly tied her hair up in a bun. “Yeah, this is fine. I’m not making an effort for no one, this is… fine.” She tried to reassure herself, dusting herself off absentmindedly.

“Hey, uh, Zafira? Are you really finding me some clothes right now or was this just part of your ulterior motive to get me half naked in the middle of your living room?” Colt yelled.

Zafira’s eyes widened and she hurried out of the bathroom into her father’s room, grabbing the first pair of combat trousers she saw. “Wow,” she scoffed, “how fitting.”

She raced back into the living room with one hand over her eyes. “I’m here, I’m here! Don’t be doing any weird half-naked things!”

Zafira held the trousers out in front of her, keeping her other hand firm over her eyes. When she felt him grab them from her hand, she spun around, giving him her back.

“Let me know when you’re done.”

“You scared of seeing a little thigh, Zafira?”

“No,” she said firmly, “I’m giving you privacy, you know, because I have manners?”

Colt laughed and after some more rustling sounds, he called out to her.

“Are you sure? I don’t trust you…” said Zafira.

“Yes, I’m sure. Why don’t you come over here and check?”

Zafira turned around with her eyes still closed. She slowly opened one and then the other, relieved to find him fully clothed. “Right, I’ll just, throw these in the washer and get them back to you as fast as I can. I don’t know about those shoes though…” She trailed off, looking concerned at the now chicken covered shoes.

“Relax,” Colt chuckled, “I’ll just, wash them… and then… donate them or recycle them somehow. Yeah. Maybe I’ll keep them, you know, as your first gift to me, Zafira vomit.”

Zafira scrunched up her nose, “Ew! No! Don’t do that… wait, what do you mean ‘first gift’?”

“Exactly what it sounds like. Were you not inviting me back here to tell me you have a huge crush on me?”

Zafira’s jaw dropped, “I do not have a huge crush on you!”

“Oh, my bad,” Colt frowned, “it’s just a small crush then?”

Zafira pinched the bridge of her nose, “What am I gonna do with you?”

Colt grinned, “This is beginning to feel a lot like déjà vu, don’t you think?”

Zafira shook her head with a small smile as she gingerly picked up the trousers and went to the utility room after dropping by the hamper. Once she’d started the wash, she slowly walked out into the living room where Colt was now gazing at her family photos. “You’re still here?”

Colt looked up at the sound, “Where else would I go?”

Zafira shrugged, looking out of the window to find the sky bathed in a warm orange, “I don’t know, home.”

“This place feels more like home to me right now…” he murmured.

Zafira bit her lip and looked around, desperate for a distraction of some sort. “Well, what better time to watch movies illegally than with a criminal by your side, right?”

She bounded over to the couch and pulled out her laptop from under some books as Colt watched her, amused. He slowly walked over and sat down next to her, wondering how he got so lucky to have someone like her in his life.

“Thank you.”

“For what?” Zafira asked, turning her head to him.

“Well, for cleaning me up I guess,” he laughed quietly, “but also for giving me… a home of sorts. I can’t believe I’ve felt more love in this household than I have in my entire 20 years of living as Kaneko’s son. Is your dad looking to adopt any time soon?” Colt joked halfheartedly.

“Well, if you stick around, maybe he’ll take you in as his son-in-law.” Zafira said, turning back to the laptop with a small smile on her face.

Colt’s face warmed as his mouth opened in shock, “Was that... an indirect proposal just now?”

“Maybe.” She winked at him, focusing on picking a movie and smirking at his red, shell shocked face.

FIN.

Written by: @wzkdj (Instagram)

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audreyblanche · 6 years ago

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22 Questions

Tagged by @isakvaltersnake <3

RULES: simply answer the following 22 q’s and then tag 22 (or however many) people you’d love to get to know more!

Name/Nickname: I go by Irena

Zodiac sign: Virgo

Height: 1,71m (I guess that is 5′9? I think? I cannot figure this out....)

Hogwarts House: Gryffindor (I hate to admit it but unfortunately... I am one of those pesky people who thinks that my principles and sense of right trump such unnecessary things like social rules or laws ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ I am not proud of it but it is was it is)

Last thing I googled: How to type the shrug emoji xD

Favorite musician/s: Okay, all time favorite band is probably Disturbed. Another new fave is Set It Off, but I do shuffle through a lot of different genres and artists on any given day

Last song I listened to: Niemals einer Meinung - Die Toten Hosen (if there ever was a perfect ‘Enemies to Lovers’ song it would be this one)

Song stuck in my head: Let You Love Me - Rita Ora (the Malex Feels!!!)

Followers: 37 and I honestly don’t know when this happened but I love all of you <3<3<3

Following: 238. It’s what happens when you cannot settle for a single fandom

Amount of sleep: 10h on average. My meds are fucking with my regular hours but it’s a price I am more than happy to pay

Lucky number: I don’t have one? Mostly because I don’t believe in luck?

What I’m wearing: pyjamas like the boss I am. It is after noon already but I don’t need to leave the house just yet so...

Dream Job: I used to want to be a writer then an editor and finally a translator, and once I figured out that none of these would work out for me long term I settled on finding a job that would pay enough to support myself but leave enough time to do things that fulfill my soul. So my answer right now is mostly *shrug*

Dream Trip: Japan. There is still that little manga loving girl somewhere in me that would be super excited to travel all of Japan.

Favorite food: Kinder chocolate. I am spoilt, I know :3

Instruments: Recorder, harmonica, piano, and my voice

Languages: English, German, and I can still read some Latin though I am dreadfully out of practice

Favorite song/s: Black Sheep - Gin Wigmore, Holy - Zolita, A Rumor of Skin - Stone Sour, Down to the River - Brown Bird, Chasing Twisters - Delta Rae, Miststück - Megaherz, Ich will brennen - ASP, Love Me Dead - Ludo; (why would you make me choose?? ;_; )

Random fact: I was born about a month before the German Wall (why the fuck is it called the Berlin Wall in English? Berlin is only one city??? Argh I should not get annoyed by foreign semantics) fell, and because we lived in a city that was named after Karl Marx, my parents were like, fuck that, and drove to another hospital so I wouldn’t have that name on my birth certificate

Aesthetic: if it’s black, it’s colorful enough. Maybe a splash of red but that’s it.

Please tell me more about yourselves *chin on hands* : @signoraviolettavalery @itsetoileerrante @jumbled-nonsense @maneswrites @angrycowboytype @ub-sessed @ober-affen-geil @littlecountrymouse @satan249 @geekyweevixen

#tag meme #me #long post

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berrystartrekkingwithsuperlock · 7 years ago

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Tag game

I was tagged by @castiel-kenobi - thanks! :D I love a tag game!

1. Nickname(s): Kerry Berry or Ker

2. Gender: Female

3. Sign: Aquarius

4. Height: 5’6.5

5. Time: 14:19

6. Birthday: February, that’s the most you’re getting :P

7. Favorite Bands: I tend to like specific songs rather than specific artists. Busted were the band that got me interested in music (after growing up with manufactured pop bands, they were the first group of “my era” that I encountered who wrote their own songs and played their own instruments, which was inspiring to me). I also have yet to encounter a song by the Beatles, the Beach Boys, the Carpenters or ABBA that I dislike, so they’ve got to be up there.

8. Favorite Solo Artists: As I’ve said, songs over artists. I enjoy the voices of Idina Menzel, Bryan Adams, the old crooners (Frank Sinatra, Andy Williams etc), Richard Marx, Adele, Lady Gaga and Vic Mignogna. But I enjoy a variety of songs from different vocalists, this was just off the top of my head.

9. Song stuck in my head: “Merry Christmas Everyone” by Shakin Stevens. Since it’s the festive season :D

10. Last movie I watched: Oh geez, we watched a few on Christmas Day... it would’ve been either Home Alone, Home Alone 2 or A Muppet Christmas Carol. I think Home Alone 2 was the last one of the day.

11. Last show I watched: Father Brown - a delightfully quaint and very British crime show about a priest, played by Mark Williams (Arthur Weasley in Harry Potter movies).

12. When did I create this blog: Oh Lord knows. 3 or 4 years ago?

13. What do I post: Primarily Star Trek (esp. AOS and TOS), Karl Urban, BBC Sherlock, Supernatural, the Walking Dead, occasionally other fandoms, and real life things :)

14. What did I last google: Physiology of Andorians and viral haemorrhagic fevers. I’m writing a Star Trek fan fic, haha!

15. Other blogs: https://trekkingheadcanons.tumblr.com/ - I haven’t been on this in months, I should probably go back to it...

16. Do I get asks?: A few, not many though

17. Why did I choose this URL: Combines my nickname Berry and three fave fandoms

18. Following: 874 blogs

19. Followers: 245. Wow, when did that happen?

20. Average hours of sleep: Sleep? What is sleep?

21. Lucky number: 6

22. Instrument: I’m a singer mostly. Used to play piano, but am rather rusty now.

23. What am I wearing: T-shirt and jeans

24. Dream job: No idea. Used to be a cancer researcher, but not sure I’m cut out for it. So who knows.

25. Favorite Food: It changes often. I struggle to give up chocolate or bread when trying to eat better though.

26. Last book I read: Cut & Run by Abigail Roux. Still haven’t finished it. Ooops.

27. 3 favorite fandoms: Possibly quite obvious :P Star Trek, Sherlock and Supernatural.

28. What’s the most ridiculous fact you know? Sorry, I’m boring. I know things, but nothing interesting or ridiculous.

29. What fictional character is amazing in their book/show/movie, but would be insufferable if you had to deal with them in mundane everyday situations? Difficult one, but probably Ron Weasley. Love him to bits, but explaining everyday muggle things would get a little bit tiresome.

30. What’s the best Wi-Fi name you’ve seen? Bit of an anti-climax, but nobody ever changes their wi-fi name around here. Just the standard BT, Sky, Virgin or Talk Talk codes.

I tag @its-life-jim as usual. And since I am feeling lazy, everyone who sees this and wants to take part, consider yourself tagged! :)

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astridstorm · 5 years ago

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The Pull of the Past, The Call of the Future: A Reflection on 3 Years

So, it was three years ago almost to the day that I stood up here for the first time, June 26, 2016. Just curious, I looked back at my calendar from three years ago. Here were some of the things on it: Dinner at Barbara and John Palmer’s. (Who are Barbara and John Palmer?) No, I didn’t really write that, but I was thinking it at the time. They were so kind as to invite my family to dinner in those first days here, as did Patrick and Deidre Wynne.

This was sobering. My first week: Monday June 20 (first day), 7:30 pm wedding meeting; Tuesday June 21, 7:30 - 9:30 pm vestry meeting; Wednesday June 22, 7-9 pm finance meeting; Friday June 24, 7 pm wedding rehearsal; Saturday June 25, 1:30 pm wedding; Sunday June 26, first Sunday in Scarsdale. You definitely didn’t ease me into the job!

In my sermon from three years ago on this day, which was on these very same readings (we’re on a 3-year cycle), I pointed out that Jesus begins here his journey to Jerusalem that lasts all the way from now through the summer and up to Advent. We’ll be reading these stories for a while. But it seemed to me kind of significant that the story for today was about embarking on something new.

This time around I feel like I can be more candid than I was then about what it’s like to start something new; about our inner resistance to it, and the strength it takes to overcome that resistance, make a change, and then keep on going forward, into the future. I was there three years ago, but I know we’ve all been there, once, maybe many more times in our lives.

We meet in this Gospel lesson three people along the way. They’re a contrast to Jesus’ resolve. He “sets his face” toward Jerusalem, an expression that means He’s ready for this. He’s on his way. No looking back. They’re also a contrast to the resolve Elisha showed in our Old Testament lesson when he cut up his plough, burned it, and followed his new teacher and mentor Elijah, just like that. For that matter, they’re a contrast to the resolute disciples, who drop everything, their nets, their livelihoods, their families, to follow Jesus. For these three in today’s Gospel reading, it’s different.

The first person to approach Jesus says “I will follow you wherever you go.” To which Jesus replies, “Foxes have holes, birds of the air have nests, but the son of man has nowhere to lay his head.” In other words, this is going to be a trying journey. If you follow me, I can’t guarantee comfort. You might experience just the opposite: no rest, no shelter, a lot of disorientation, displacement and discomfort. We don’t know what happens to that would-be follower, but he seems to just disappear.

Jesus actually calls out to the next person in the story. “Follow me” he says. And the reply is “Lord, first let me go and bury my father.” To which Jesus says “Let the dead bury their own dead.” There was a time when this expression was fairly familiar to your average person, back when our culture was more biblically literate. Let the dead bury their own dead. It’s harsh.

Karl Marx loved this expression, atheist though he was. He used it many times, in speeches and in writing. He thought it was about making a radical break from the past. Creating something new: leave the dead, the past, behind, where it belongs. The world needs something unlike what we’ve tried before. I read somewhere else that a World War II soldier included this saying among his things, like his dog tags, that would be found should he die on the battlefield. He meant it for his friends, to let them know it was OK to move on without him after he died, and to go on living their lives without guilt or sorrow over him. Let the dead bury their own dead.

We don’t hear this much any more, but as an admonishment not to be pulled too much by the past that you can’t move into the future, it really works. Jesus’ listener in this passage, though, can’t hear it. He too (as far as we know), disappears.

The third person in our reading comes bounding up and says “ I will follow you, Lord,” but then he adds to that “but let me first say farewell to those at my home.” We’re meant to think of Elisha and Elijah in the Old Testament passage we just read. Remember how I once said the Bible is hyperlinked? One passage, links to another, and to another, and on and on. Elijah let Elisha go home and say goodbye. Surely this was a reasonable request for this person to make. But Jesus responds: “No one who puts a hand to the plow and looks back is fit for the kingdom of God.”

Making a change is demanding. It’s hard. Jesus’ honesty about this is hard to argue with if you’ve been through it before. When I was three months into my time here, that would have been in September/October, I had a recurring dream at night. My prior church (this is for real) was nestled between the Hudson River and the Metro North tracks, where there was a station. The tracks and the river were each about a stone’s throw in either direction. I had a recurring dream that I had left a baby on the New Hamburg train platform, and only after 3 months going about my life did I remember it (or him, or her).

In my waking life, I was trying very hard to embrace my new life, not to worry about or be pulled backward emotionally by my prior church and all the people I’d gotten to know and love over ten years there. And yet our dreams sometimes take on the emotions we can’t deal with during the day. It went on for seven more months, this dream, until the new priest there, an incredible person, took over. The church was my abandoned baby, and I could only stop dreaming about it when I knew some other mother had taken it to her breast.

I guess this is simply to say, the pull of the past on me that first year was significant, and it was everything I could do to keep my hand on the plow and not look back and so mess up the furrow I was making. And that’s an experience familiar to all of us. Whether it’s a move, a divorce, a death -- the three most stressful things in life -- whether it’s a new direction taken, a job change, a crisis of faith or a serious health setback. These three characters in today’s Gospel lesson ring familiar. Jesus’ advice to them, which they can’t hear but hopefully we can, is Keep Moving Forward. The future waits, and even though getting there may involve pain and discomfort, once you do get there you’ll realize why the journey was so worth setting out on. Amen.

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theliterateape · 5 years ago

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The News and My Feelings

By Elizabeth Harper

It’s my own fault. I charge my phone on the nightstand by my bed. I don’t jump out of bed bright-eyed and bushy-tailed each morning. I sit in bed and check my phone: the notifications, the news app, email, and worst of all, Facebook. I do this to see if there is anything urgent I need to respond to, and also because I’m not ready to get out of bed yet. But scrolling through the news and my friends’ posts makes me not want to live in this world, much less get out of bed.

I know the news is not about my feelings.

I know I’m coming from a privileged place–a home, a bed, access to technology, no obstacle to obtaining food except my own lack of appetite and will to live, etc.–to even have the luxury of having feelings about what is happening in the government and to other people. On the other hand, given my own lack of energy and preoccupation with obtaining and paying for my own health insurance, I must say the spending of effort and funds to make people’s lives objectively worse galls me.

What was the price tag on the recent ICE raids in Mississippi? Was that a good use of time, resources, manpower? Whose interests did those raids serve? And speaking of costs, I don’t just mean financial. There are emotional costs to wars, inadequate healthcare, imprisonment, and many more injustices, including these latest immigration/ detention/ ICE policies that are getting so much attention. But I’m saying something obvious here. Apparently everyone already knows this, as I see post after post about traumatized children.

When I first saw the news about the ICE raids in Mississippi and how many people were involved, 680, and what kind of businesses, food manufacturing, especially chicken processing, I thought, aren’t these raids bad for business? Won’t they hurt those industries by causing labor shortages, lower productivity, supply chain issues? How does this make any sense at all?

So I started searching on the handy-dandy internet, looking for more information to confirm my suspicions, to try to understand. And I do find a statement explaining that yes, indeed, these raids are bad for businesses and communities. I found this and this and this.

But I also found more about how some see these raids as retaliation against workers standing up for their labor rights. Some speculated that one of the raids was retaliation against workers because of a sex discrimination/ harassment lawsuit.

One of my friends posted that it was common knowledge that, when workers join a union, their employer calls ICE–on their own employees! Some do it so the raids happen on payday, so they won’t have to give workers their checks, and then they can just have a job fair and hire a whole new batch of immigrants, who will also be potential targets of ICE raids if they dare to advocate for treatment in accordance with state and federal labor laws. Here’s an article claiming a company used the threat of ICE to intimidate employees. Here’s an article about how some unions are supportive of immigrants while others are not.

Is this common knowledge? If I didn’t know it, then I should have. But then I think, maybe I did know this, and maybe I forgot. Maybe it wasn’t forefront in my mind because I was worrying about my own life, aka, what to do about health insurance. Or maybe it’s that if I kept all the terrible stuff going on in the world at the forefront of my mind all the time, I couldn’t function in my own life. Why would I want to get up, get dressed, eat, wipe my ass, play my role, complicit in the system of violence and exploitation that pervades every aspect of my life and makes it possible?

Why is this so upsetting to me? It’s the duplicity, cynicism, the populist pandering to disguise the most egregiously unethical abominations of capitalism. It’s being afraid of the government, the abuses of power, but also the shortsightedness and incompetence.

I can hear my friends’ voices in my head say, “Elizabeth, why do always act like you just woke up? Atrocity is nothing new. Class warfare, racism, Karl Marx, capitalism needs an underclass, politicians need a scapegoat, etc.” Yes, yes, I know. I know all of this. I read Marx as a teenager, and Hegel, too. I’ve read plenty of history and theory (anarchist, Marxist, feminist, queer, post-structuralist, crip, economic, etc.). I’ve written at length about the Chinese Exclusion Act, Trail of Tears, the Americans with Disabilities Act, and more, so much more. But I don’t know everything. No one knows everything. I read, but that doesn’t make me an expert on a particular industry, issue, or country. I bite my tongue. I can’t be confident in what I say until I collect more information. Maybe I don’t have access to all the data. Who has access to all the data? Is there more to the story? Why is this story getting the attention? Is it a distraction from something else?

Meanwhile, the loudest voices prevail. The ones that oversimplify, gloss over complexity, distort the truth to serve their own agendas, pander to the desperate and disenfranchised.

And even if all the news is always old news, even if exploitation and violence and misery are the same old same old, that doesn’t make it any less of an affront to my feelings, my desire for truth and decency and integrity and for things to work in a way that makes sense and for history to progress towards freedom and flourishing for all.

I know terrible things were happening before the current US president took office: an overpopulated prison system in which prisoners don’t get appropriate medical care or due process; torture at Guantanamo Bay; drone strikes killing civilians, etc. Still, the blatancy of the current racist, xenophobic, populist rhetoric is disturbing, unsettling.

My Facebook newsfeed is filled with a Diary of Anne Frank quote and comparisons to Nazi Germany. If the comparison is so apt, why aren’t any of the political representatives able to nip this nonsense in the bud? Are the majority so lacking in intelligence and integrity? You would think people in power would want to stop it for the sake of their own self-preservation.

But what do I know? Maybe all my questions are merely rhetorical, and I’ve already answered them all myself. Thus the feeling that I don’t belong in this world where people repeat the catchphrases of debunked ideologies and lie with impunity.

Here’s a poem:

Journal Entry 8-8-19

The news makes me sad I try to understand

Something feels very wrong I reach out to a friend

He says it’s class warfare As if I didn’t know

But if feels like more than that Populism, ignorance, resentment A very bad show

I wonder, is it the news or is it me? What’s making me so upset?

Why do I pay attention? Why am I so distraught?

Something feels very wrong I hope my efforts aren’t for naught

I collect information Try to read between the lines Make sense of the contradictions Look for signs

Yes, I know, systemic racism, but … Aren’t ICE raids bad for business?

Whose interests are being served? Who benefits when people are scared And truth is obscured?

#I'm afraid of the government #I don't like politicians #Make the bad man in the white house go away #I really don't like him and it's not because of what he looks like #the world seems sad and stupid to me

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ravenmorganleigh · 7 years ago

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Half a century after the summer of love and hippie harmony, California is experiencing a summer of loathing and hipster-bashing.

Not just hipsters. Artists, techies, realtors, business owners, developers, all are feeling the wrath of a burgeoning and in some cases radicalising anti-gentrification movement.

In the Los Angeles neighbourhood of Boyle Heights, protesters are targeting a new cafe with placards, chants and intimidation, tactics which ousted an opera and a gallery.

In Venice, on the other side of LA, residents picket the palm-fringed home of Snapchat, branding it a coloniser for taking over local real estate.

In San Francisco, activists blast Airbnb and bicycle-sharing initiatives amid nostalgia for a “yuppie eradication” project. And in Oakland non-profits stand guard against Uber’s plan to open a giant office downtown.

“We’re in a war,” said Leonardo Vilchis, a leader of Union de Vecinos, an LA-based activist group. “It’s happening across the state. A war to defend our homes and our culture.”

Such rhetoric is quite a change from the flower-power vibe of 1967 when hippies took over San Francisco’s Golden Gate park and kick-started the counter-culture.

But the hippies, after all, just pitched tents. Today’s perceived interlopers rent, buy and flip property. And that’s a problem.

A housing crisis is making homes unaffordable for the poor and middle class, uprooting communities and condemning families to sleep in vehicles, shelters and under tarpaulin.

Gentrification – the process of affluent people moving into and transforming lower income neighbourhoods – was a term once confined to urban planning seminars. Now it has become a howl across California.

“People are waking up to the fact that the housing system is benefiting the real estate industry while more and more people suffer,” said Malcolm Torrejón Chu, of the Right to the City Alliance. “There is enormous anger and anxiety.”

The median cost of a home in California is $500,000, twice the US national level. About a third of homeowners pay housing costs deemed unaffordable, according to a Harvard study. California also has the largest share of homeless residents who are unsheltered, at 66%, according to the department of housing and urban development.

The underlying cause is a housing shortage. Proliferating activist groups see gentrification as the front line, pitting them into an audacious attempt to redirect one of the world’s biggest economies – a $2.5tn engine of technology, real estate and tourism roaring at full throttle – to a different type of capitalism.

“The conditions are just getting worse so you’re seeing (the) emergence of new groups,” said Camilo Sol Zamora, housing, land and development campaign director for Causa Justa. “There needs to be a disruption. Not business as usual – diversity of tactics, being creative.”

The movement is a mosaic: policy wonks and lobbyists; venerable non-profits with offices and donors; embryonic, rag-tag groups with cardboard signs; political radicals who dream of overthrowing capitalism; vigilantes with spray paint and rocks.

Some factions coordinate and collaborate, others keep their distance and do their own thing – a loosely interconnected, decentralised movement whose intellectual heroes range from Martin Luther King, Cesar Chavez and liberation theologians to Mao Zedong, Karl Marx and Antonio Gramsci.

Renters, artists, unions, LGBT communities and other groups are forming eclectic coalitions to try to swing public opinion behind ballot measures and legislative efforts to expand rent control and other protections.

“Folks are looking for creative and new ways to respond,” said Bruce Mirken, of the Greenlining Institute, a research and advocacy group. “Folks have found themselves needing to work together that haven’t necessarily before,” he said, citing the No Uber Oakland campaign. “A lot of us are still figuring out how all that works. Coalitions are invariably complicated.”

The Homes for All campaign was mobilising assemblies across the US, said Torrejón Chu, of the Right to the City Alliance. Mass assemblies will gather in September to demand a halt to evictions and declare a renters’ state of emergency, he said. “It will be the largest event of its kind. We won’t win unless we coordinate.”

Even so, activists admit the struggle is struggling. “When you’re dealing with really intense market forces it’s difficult,” said Mirken. “A lot of folks are trying to figure out what the hell can we do that will make a difference. You do see things happening that do make a real difference but bending the overall curve in a big way is really tough.”

For some the solution is to become more radical, even destructive.

There is suspicion that arson attacks at construction sites in San Francisco’s east bay are linked to gentrification resistance. The most recent blaze – cause still unknown – burned so hot (1,160F) it was monitored by a National Weather Service satellite.

The targeted developers have vowed to rebuild on the ashes. Oakland council member Abel Guillen said fires would not help make housing more affordable. “It only speeds up displacement of existing residents,” he tweeted.

Vigilantes have struck outside California. In Philadelphia in May a 50-strong group linked to an anarchist group called Summer of Rage vandalised luxury cars and homes, ripped out security cameras and erected a banner saying “Gentrification is death. Revolt is life”. Two suspects were detained and charged.

The movement’s main laboratory for confrontational tactics is Boyle Heights, a gritty Latino neighbourhood on the fringe of LA’s booming downtown.

It has hosted sustained intimidation campaign against perceived potential gentrifiers, including an opera company which tried to perform in a local park, a student-led walking tour and a string of galleries. Some had exhibitions disrupted, others were tagged with graffiti such as “fuck white art”. One has left.

Weird Wave Coffee, a hipster cafe which opened earlier this month, is the latest target. Picketers, some with bandannas covering their faces, seek a boycott. Someone has smashed the windows twice in the past week.

“Direct action gets the goods,” said Ruben Ruiz, of Serve the People-LA (STPLA), a Maoist group. “The window smashing? It’s fantastic. I love it.” But he added: “We didn’t do it. We don’t do anything illegal.” He cited European and Turkish squatter networks as inspirations.

STPLA formed a coalition, Defend Boyle Heights, with other militant groups, including Union de Vecinos, a long-established local group. “We’re in a war against neoliberals, fascists and coconuts,” said Vilchis, a co-founder. The latter refers to Latinos deemed brown on the outside, white on the inside.

Non-profits beholden to political and corporate interests “negotiated their own defeat” and left neighbourhoods open to predation, a mistake Boyle Heights would not make, said Vilchis, 55, who grew up amid guerrilla campaigns in Acapulco, Mexico.

The campaign against Weird Wave may backfire. When the Guardian visited it had run out of coffee in part because so many people had come in to show solidarity. “We’ve been insanely busy,” said Jackson Defa, the co-owner.

Steven Almazan, former outreach chair of the Boyle Heights neighborhood council, said most residents were ambivalent about gentrification, recognising benefits as well as problems.

It is unclear if confrontational tactics can slow gentrification in Boyle Heights – rents are rising fast - but outside groups are watching and learning, said Elizabeth Blaney, a Union de Vecinos leader. “I think it is replicable. We’ve had groups from New York, Chicago and the bay area reach out to us.”

Gay Shame, a San Francisco-based group, is a fan. “Many anti-displacement activists concede too soon, or dream too small, and we love Defend Boyle Heights because they are saying ‘get the fuck out’ and really that’s the only answer we should have,” a member said via email.

But Kevin Keating, an anarchist who used threats and vandalism as part of the Mission Yuppie Eradication Project in the dotcom era, poured cold water on the prospect of the San Francisco Bay area importing Boyle Heights radicalism.

The LA campaign blended race and ethnicity into what should be a strictly class struggle, he said. And Bay area activists lacked grit, he alleged, citing the fizzling of Google bus protests in 2015. “They folded like napkins. No staying power.”

Others said that overlooked decades of grinding work and shifting public opinion. “The bus protests put tech’s responsibility on the map,” said Leslie Dreyer, an artist and activist leader. “For the first time folks from around the world were calling and asking about it.”

Activists were succeeding in blocking some evictions, she said. “I’m hopeful that more tactics can bloom in the face of such dire times. The little victories keep me going.”

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