#glass signs FL

[itsthestutterforme]

The Jealous Type (Jack Reacher x bartender!reader)

Summary: Reacher isn’t a fan of your job as a bartender. And he has no problem expressing it.

Notes: GIF is not mine, all mistakes are my own, Reacher is such a simp for reader in this one

Prompt credit @creativepromptsforwriting :“I’m not jealous, I’m being absolutely reasonable,”

**

O’Donnel watches in amusement as Reacher watches a man lean over the bar as you worked. Every move the man made, Reacher’s eyes followed.

You kept the conversation short and sweet but the guy was hell bent on getting as much information from you as he could.

“Why don’t you just go over there already?” O’Donnel asks, his eyes falling to the glass in Reacher’s hand on the verge of breaking.

He quickly realizes this and set the glass down. The last night he needed was you being upset for breaking one of your glasses.

“Because she didn’t signal me yet,” he responds, rolling his shoulders to loosen the tension in his neck.

“What, are you at her beck and call or something?” O’Donnel teases, earning a glare from Reacher.

“What did Meat Head do now?” Dixon asks as her and Neagley joined the group.

“I’m telling the Big Guy why doesn’t he just go over there and handle it,” O’Donnel explains.

“You guys forget that Y/N was doing just fine before the Big Guy stepped into the picture. She can take care of herself.” Neagley comments.

“Yeah, that was before. She doesn’t need to take care of herself when she’s with me,”

When you and Reacher first started talking, he hoped you were joking when you said you were a bartender.

Once he realized you were serious, he went to your bar as soon as he left his job. He waited around the last fifteen minutes of your shift and drove you home.

As much as you fought it in the beginning, it quickly became a routine for you. Sometimes the special investigators crew would join and other times they wouldn’t.

Regardless, he would be there waiting for you.

The rest of their conversation faded out when you finally looked up from cleaning a glass to meet Reacher’s gaze.

He linked his hands together in front of him while he adjusted in his seat. He was antsy and you knew it but you still shook your head no.

“Who are you shaking your head at, gorgeous?” The man questions, desperately wanting any sliver of attention that he can get.

“My boyfriend,” “Yeah right, you don’t have a boyfriend. You’re just saying that to make me go away,” the man retorts, the bourbon in his breath making you a little nauseous.

“Turn around then tough guy,” you taunt, setting down the glass as an amused smile made its way on to your face.

“Go on,” you encourage, quickly watching the smirk leave the man’s face when he makes eye contact with Reacher’s stone cold gaze.

Reacher stands from his chair and made his way over to the bar. He towers over the man, who says, “What. The. Fuck.”

Reacher doesn’t say a word in response. He didn’t need to.

Watching the beads of sweat trickling down the man’s face, Reacher took it upon himself to flinch at the man, making him cry out and slip out of his chair.

He watched unamused as the man fell flat on the side of his face and struggled to bring himself to his feet.

The regular crowd barely turned their heads at the loud thud as they were used to Reacher running guys out of your bar.

If anything, they knew better than to question it.

Reacher’s shoulders unconsciously relaxed when he heard your giggle.

“What?” He smiles at you, leaning over the bar like the man was doing before.

Leaning in slowly for a kiss, you nearly melt at the touch of his lips grazing your skin.

“You were jealous,” you tease, turning off the TV which were the first sign to your regulars that you were closing.

“I’m not jealous, I’m being absolutely reasonable,” “Reasonable?”

You quirked a brow at him and the two of you looked over the bar at the man who was now passed out on the floor.

You didn’t give him that much to drink so he probably pregamed before he got there.

But he was your problem nonetheless. “I’ll call him a cab,” you said with a sigh.

“Don’t worry about it, Peach. O’Donnel will handle it.”

“Hey! Why am I always the one being volunteered for shit?”

“Because you’re always the one talking shit. Now move it. One foot in front of the other, there you go.” Reacher barks, smiling once again when he hears you laughing.

[hometoursandotherstuff]

I don't believe it! Remember these "Stairs That Can Kill You" I posted a few days ago? Well, I just stumbled across the whole house on a real estate site. What a find. Check it out.

The 1989 home is located in Bowdon, UK and was sold for £1.350M / S1.639M. 4bds, 3ba, and killer stairs w/a matching hallway.

I'm surprised that the first we encounter as we enter are the death stairs. And, look, it's the death hall above.

Let's look at the 1st fl. and then we'll go back to the stairs. This is a nice sunny part of the living room.

The living room is huge. Isn't that a fascinating feature- the columns standing in the middle as a divider. Then, on this end is a fireplace. I don't think I like the carpet. It's too much in a large space.

The dining room also has the same sunny windows.

The kitchen is kind of quirky- look at the island. There's also a loveseat, in here. The kitchen table is in a lovely sunroom, though.

Spacious family room.

A home office.

And, a roomy guest powder room.

Okay, we've come full circle to the infamous stairs. Note the absence of railings.

This is perilous and I can't think of any reason at all for the openings in the floor. And, not even a railing for safety.

The primary bedroom is large and has doors to a terrace.

In the poorly designed en-suite, one must use the toilet, then underwear around the ankles, hop around the tub (mind the step) to get to the bidet.

Pretty, peachy secondary bedroom has a nice round stained glass window.

At least the toilet is in closer proximity to the bidet.

I like the blue accents in this bedroom, the window, and the ceiling beams.

The 3rd bath is nice and finally, the toilet and the bidet are correctly placed side by side.

In the back of the house you can see the lovely sunrooms.

The property is gated.

That sign should say "Home of the Death Stairs and Hall."

[anxiousthoughts365]

Comfortable

'Moony?' Remus looked up from his book to find James standing at the end of the sofa, and immediately his friend's demeanour made him sit up a little straighter.

James was trying his hardest to look at Remus, but despite his efforts, his hazel eyes kept darting around the room, seemingly of their own accord. The boy was also rocking slightly from side to side, shifting his weight from one foot to another, as though he just couldn't stay still, and he was twisting his long fingers together so rapidly that Remus worried for a moment that he might hurt himself.

Remus had only seen these signs a few times, but he instantly recognised what they meant. James Potter was nervous.

'What's up, Prongs?' Remus asked carefully, shifting so that his long legs slid off the sofa, making room for the other boy to sit. He ignored the twinge in his hip as James sank gratefully onto the cushion next to him. But even sitting, James couldn't be still. His leg bounced up and down rapidly, and he ran one hand distractedly through his already messy hair, somehow managing to make it look even more tousled than usual.

'I ...' James started, his mouth opening and closing a few times before he huffed in frustration and glared into the fire.

Remus swallowed the impulse to push. He'd learned over the last 6 years that both James and Sirius sometimes just needed a bit of space and quiet to talk. If they sought him out like this, it was usually because something was stuck and wouldn't come out in their usual haphazard way of just yelling their feelings at each other. He'd quickly learned to be patient in these moments, proud that he was able to provide this space for his friends (and later, as his relationship with Sirius developed, his boyfriend).

But as the minutes ticked by with James sitting silently, Remus was forced to exercise every ounce of restraint as he waited and waited. And waited. He was just forming a question that might get James started when the boy turned back to him and blurted, 'Am I boring?'

Remus might have laughed if his friend hadn't looked so distressed. Instead, he schooled his face into a neutral expression as he said, 'James, you are one of the least boring people I've ever met in my life. What on Earth made you think that?'

'Well, it's just ...' James took a deep breath, and Remus was alarmed to see his eyes growing shiny as he rambled, 'It's just that every time I hang out with Reg, he ... He falls asleep, Moony. I thought at first that it might just be because he's taken an extra class this year, and that maybe he was overdoing it. But it happens during the holidays as well. I mean, we do other stuff as well, but I've started to just accept that by the end of whatever we're doing he'll have fallen asleep on me. And I've tried to make things more exciting by taking him new places and showing him new things but -'

'Jamie,' Remus interjected hurriedly as his friend's words became slurred and breathless. He reached out to grip the boy's heaving shoulder, grounding him as he tried to catch his breath. 'You're not boring him, mate. It just means that he's comfortable with you.'

'What do you mean?' James gulped, wiping at his eyes and nearly knocking his glasses off in the process.

'I mean that you're making him feel safe,' Remus explained, a small smile creeping across his face as memories began to return to him. Memories of a young boy with long, soft black hair and a pale, haughty face. Memories of nights with limbs hopelessly tangled and steady, even breathing. Memories of whispered conversations and confessions. 'Don't you remember how Sirius would get at night when we all first started at Hogwarts?'

'Yeah,' James said slowly, his forehead creasing as he apparently tried to make the connection between his concerns and Remus' question. 'He was a nightmare. Wouldn't settle until like 2am. But then we figured out that if he slept in with someone else -' James cut himself off suddenly, his eyes widening, understanding flooding his face. 'Oh.'

'Another relic we can thank Walburga for,' Remus said wryly, any amusement gone from his tone. James' expression turned sharp, and he looked like he might ask Remus to go on, but the werewolf shook his head. 'Sirius told me his side of things, but that's not my story to tell. And it's not Regulus' story, either. You'll have to ask him.'

'Fair enough,' James rumbled, and Remus' chest ached at the hurt that flashed over his friend's face. He knew that it wasn't directed at him, knew that James was simply already feeling the pain of what he suspected Regulus might have had to endure that meant he didn't feel safe to sleep in his own bed and could only do so comfortably with James nearby. Then James was standing, already walking towards the portrait hole as he said, 'Cheers for that, Moony. See you later, yeah?'

'See you.' The portrait swung shut, and Remus sighed. He worried momentarily for his friend, whose heart was bigger than most realised. But it was a conversation he knew that James and Regulus would have to have at some point, anyway. Better that James didn't spend months in his own head, agonising over this and blaming himself for something he had no control over.

The memories that the discussion had stirred up were lingering, though, and all at once Remus had the need to seek out his own boyfriend, to make sure that he was alright. So he heaved himself up from the sofa and climbed the stairs to their dormitory, where he found Sirius lying on Remus' bed, his wand pointed at the canopy above him.

'Hey Moons,' Sirius said, without looking away from the trail of sparks he was weaving through the air above him. In moments, Remus had crossed the room and crawled up onto the bed, sinking down to press his face and chest against Sirius' torso, his hips nestled between Sirius' thighs. Slender fingers wound into the curls at the nape of his neck as Sirius asked, 'Everything alright?'

'Just needed to remind you how much I love you,' Remus murmured, turning his head to rest his chin on Sirius' sternum so he could meet the other boy's gaze. Silver eyes flashed, then softened, and Sirius' gentle smile was so beautiful that it made Remus' chest ache all over again.

'I love you,' Sirius whispered, and Remus scrambled up onto his hands and knees to press a deep kiss to Sirius' lips.

[caramara3]

Just Friends...?: Imani Cove

Playlist for fic

Name: Imani Cove

Nicknames: Emmi, Emms, Snips, Mani Jade

DOB: November 24, 1990

Zodiac Sign: Sagittarius

Born: Houston, TX

Billed from: Houston, TX

Resides: Orlando, FL

Age: 32 (as of 2023)

Ethnicity: Afro-Caribbean (mother is from Barbados; father's family is from New Orleans)

Height: 5 foot 7

Alma Mater: Texas Southern University

Occupation: Professional Wrestler * actress *

Years Active: 2008-present

Family:

Grandmother: Evangeline Whitley

Grandfather: Charles Whitley Sr.

Younger Sister: Nylah Raine

*Notes: this is an AU in which Asuka didn't go to NXT and just went straight to the main roster. Imani takes the place of Sasha Banks in this AU but with slight changes. Imani also takes the place of Mia Yim as a surprise in the 2019 NXT Women's WarGames match, not Candice LeRae. Sasha Banks doesn't win the Women's tag titles with Bayley either times nor does she main event WM37 with Bianca Belair, Imani does. Imani's superstar level is in comparison to the likes of Bianca Belair & Becky Lynch, loved by fans and WWE Officials*

Accomplishments:

WWE:

NXT Women’s Championship (1 time)

WWE RAW Women’s Championship (2 times)

WWE Smackdown Women’s Championship (2 times)

WWE World Women's Championship (1 time, current; won at WrestleMania 40)

WWE Women’s Tag Team Championship (2 times, inaugural) with Bayley

Women’s Royal Rumble Winner (2024)

Third WWE Women’s Triple Crown Champion

Fourth WWE Women’s Grand Slam Champion

NXT Year-End Award (2 times) - Match of the Year (2016) vs. Bayley at NXT TakeOver: Dallas; Match of the Year (2019) -Team Ripley vs. Team Baszler at NXT TakeOver: WarGames

ESPY Awards:

Best WWE Moment (2021) - Imani Cove and Bianca Belair make history as the first Black Women to main-event WrestleMania 37

Bumpy Award (4 times)

Best Match of the Half-Year (2019) - surprise participant in the NXT Women's WarGames match

Tag Team of the Half-Year (2020) – with Bayley

Best Match of the Half-Year (2021) – vs. Bianca Belair at WrestleMania 37

Best Match of the Half-Year (2022) - vs. Charlotte at WrestleMania 38

Little Facts about Imani:

Imani is a graduate of the Reality of Wrestling school.

Before signing with the WWE, Imani was the it girl on the indie circuit from 2008-2015, shattering glass ceilings and expectations from fans and critics alike. She signed with the WWE in mid-2015 and would make her first appearance on NXT confronting Bayley. She would win the NXT Women's Championship at TakeOver: Dallas and begin a near 5 month feud with the former champion.

She still holds the record for longest NXT Women's Championship title reign at 502 days before being defeated by Ember Moon at TakeOver: WarGames 2017. She would make main roster debut the RAW after WrestleMania 34.

She appeared in the first ever Women's Royal Rumble at entry number 4, lasting 35:46 before being eliminated by Asuka.

In 2019, she made a surprise appearance at NXT TakeOver: WarGames as the mystery teammate for Team Ripley after Mia Yim was injured prior to the pay-per-view.

In June 2022, Imani got into a terrifying car accident while at home in Orlando. Her injuries unfortunately were bad enough that it forced her to relinquish her Smackdown Women's Title. Imani returned the RAW after WrestleMania 100% cleared to compete again.

For her WrestleMania 38 entrance, Imani paid tribute to her Houston roots. She entered the arena surrounded by drivers of slabs with her in the main car.

Her dream WrestleMania entrance is to have either Megan Thee Stallion or Kendrick Lamar performing her theme.

Imani’s entrance music is heavily influenced by a mixture of 90s/00s hip hop and 2000s grunge.

Imani loves horror movies and musicals. Very odd combo I know, but a girl likes what she likes. Her favorite horror movie is Dracula/Scream and her favorite musical is Rocky Horror Picture Show.

Right now Imani has over 13 tattoos and counting, 13 to symbolize her lucky number. And yes, a good amount of her tattoos were done on Friday the 13th.

When Imani was 13 and Nylah was 7, they went into the custody of their paternal grandparents.

When Imani was 7 years old, her father died unexpectedly while on his way home from work. According to the autopsy, he suffered a brain aneurysm while driving on the road.

Imani, though a social butterfly, tends to keep her private life extremely secretive, especially in regards to her childhood.

Imani participated heavily in sports as a teen; mainly basketball, volleyball, and track & field. She was also heavily involved in choir and her school's theater department.

Imani has her B.A. in Music from TSU. Thanks to her grandparents she is classically trained in piano and can play the guitar. There was a time before she got into wrestling that she wanted to be a singer or a songwriter.

Imani's grandmother Evangeline was terrified learning her baby wanted to be a wrestler, but she agreed to let her train on one condition: that she went to college and get a degree just in case.

A few of Imani's major wrestling influences are Rey Mysterio, Chyna, Lita, The Wild Samoans, Batista, Trish Stratus, Eddie Guerrero, and Shawn Michaels.

Imani reps her hometown teams the Houston Texans and the Houston Astros.

She is very close friends with Rhea Ripley, Bianca Belair, Bayley, Sami Zayn, Finn Balor, Samantha Irvin, Zelina Vega, Naomi, and Jade Cargill.

She met Damian Priest in 2014 during the final stretch of her indie days and the two quickly formed a friendship.

Imani is fluent in three languages: Spanish, French, and German. She knows a little Japanese and is currently learning Italian.

She has an insane sweet tooth. She loves brownies, cakes, and ice cream, especially cookies-and-cream ice cream. Her favorite candy is watermelon rings.

Imani's signature fragrance is a perfume she created at a local shop in New Orleans. It's a blend of vanilla, black orchid, and amber that she pairs with Eos Cashmere Vanilla lotion.

Imani grew up in an affluent musical family. Her grandmother was a jazz singer in New Orleans for 30 years and her grandfather played trombone for her band (that's how they met).

Imani has three pets: an orange Tabby male named Cheddar, a Maine Coon female named Satine, and a grey pitbull male named Obi that she adopted during a UK tour.

She's a BIG ass nerd. Loves Lord of the Rings, Marvel, and is currently obsessed with a show called The Legend of Vox Machina. And she plays D&D with Xavier Woods.

The first thing she did with her first big paycheck, aside from paying her student loans, was pay off her grandparents house in Houston and move them to Orlando to be close to her.

Her favorite two matches of her career so far have been her vs Ember Moon at TakeOver WarGames and main eventing WrestleMania 37 with Bianca Belair.

Her sister Nylah is 6 years younger than her. Nylah is currently finishing her Master's in Law at Howard University. Nylah plans to use her degree and become a Civil Rights Attorney.

~~~~~~

TagList:

@beibigirl124 @bossbitch-22 @bonni-98 @queencherryberry @blueblazezz @jstarr86 @just-another-side-blog @southerngirl41 @abadbitchblogs @new-zealand-chic @joannasteez @miss-kuki-nz @shamaness11 @thedeboniardevistation @crossfitjesusinblackskinnyjeans @damiansgoodgirll @terrortwinunicorn @bigstrongblackheart @rootedinrevisions @lavitabella87 @royallyprincesslilly @chaneajoyyy @gold--gucciempress @msbigredmachine @msnikkimoneypenny @cookiebelle @flawlessglamazon @wrestlingbabe @fivefootxo @adriennegabriella @joy-of-life88 @daniiwrites @glitterquadricorn @lorena26 @ambreignsfan4life @eringobragh420 @babiidee28 @madhatterbri @mzv11 @bellaamor88 @queenoftheworldisdead @wrestlingbabe @yana3sworld

[justagalwhowrites]

Lavender - Ch. 27

A trip to the clinic with Ellie goes awry. A continuation of Lavender Ch. 1-26 found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

Warnings: Canon typical threats of violence. No use of Y/N. Minors DNI, 18+ only!

Length: 5.4k

You grabbed Ellie by the shoulder and pulled her inside, ducking your head out the door to make sure no one saw. You kept your hand on her, steering her to the kitchen table. 

“Here, sit down,” you said gently. She just nodded. “Are you thirsty? Hungry?” She shook her head. You got her a glass of water, anyway, and put it in front of her. She chugged it. “Ellie? It’s OK. I’m not going to let you turn, OK? If you are… I can promise I’ll make sure it’s not that bad. But that’s still if. Understand? We’re still at if.” 

She just nodded. 

“Can I look at it?” You asked. She nodded again. You tugged her sleeve up and flipped on the light over the table so you could see. You looked at her arm, running your fingers over the telltale signs of cordyceps beneath her skin. But they hadn’t spread far and the bite… 

“Ellie,” you said quietly. “You’re sure you were bitten by an infected?” 

“Yeah, pretty fuckin’ sure,” she said, then she winced. “Sorry.” 

“No, this is an appropriate time to swear,” you replied. “When… when were you bitten?” 

“Last week,” she said. “Doc…” 

You ran your thumb over the partially healed wound. 

“More than two days?” You asked, looking up at her. The wound definitely looked like it was older than that, at least. She nodded. “You’re sure?” She nodded again. 

“I kept waiting to go crazy,” she said, her voice thick. “I knew it was supposed to happen but it never happened, nothing ever happened why didn’t it happen?” 

“I don’t know,” you said quietly. “I’ve never seen anything like this…” 

You thought for a moment, looking at the girl in front of you. She was terrified. By all rights, she should be. By all rights, she should be fucking dead - or as close to dead as a person can be. But she wasn’t. And you weren’t about to let FEDRA kill her because they didn’t understand what was happening with her. 

“OK,” you said, taking your hands off her arm. She pulled it back against her body, cradling it with her other hand, looking down at the marks. “I have a plan.” 

“Are you going to shoot me?” She asked. 

“No,” you shook your head. “Not going to shoot you. I’m going to do everything I can to make sure you get to live a long, healthy life, OK?” 

“OK.” 

You nodded once, getting up and going to your stash of trauma equipment that still lived in your apartment, just in case Joel or Tess showed up needing stitches in the middle of the night. You got out a wrap. 

“First thing’s first, make it so we can move you without anybody freaking out,” you said, sitting back down and nodding to the table. She stretched her arm out and you quickly wrapped it so it looked like she might have a broken arm or a sprained wrist. “The last thing we need is some asshole guard seeing that and shooting you on sight.” 

“We’re going somewhere?” She was watching you. 

“The clinic,” you said. “Give me two minutes to put on something besides pajamas…” 

You went to your dresser and grabbed a t-shirt, pulling it on over your tank top. Then jeans, on over your shorts. 

“Why the clinic?” She asked. “I thought…” 

“I’ve been working on a treatment,” you said. “The drug I was trying to make would do what you seem to be doing all on your own - stopping the cordyceps from spreading. What I was working on would only be temporary. I’m not sure about you and I don’t want to risk it so we’re going to go there, I’m going to numb you up and I’m going to take all the cordyceps out of your arm before the end up on the move again.” 

“You think it will move and get into my brain and…” 

“I have no idea,” you cut her off. “I’ve never seen anything like this, I don’t think anyone has. But I’d rather not take risks with you, so we’re going to just pull it on out before it can.” 

You moved your couch a bit and got into the loose floorboard. You pulled out your pistol, some ammo and a few handfuls of ration cards. 

“I thought you said you weren’t going to shoot me.” She sounded scared. You looked over your shoulder and smiled a little. You hoped it was reassuring. 

“Gun’s not for you,” you replied. “We’re going to be out after curfew, it’s dangerous, I’d like to make sure I can bribe or kill anyone who tries to touch you.” 

You put the floorboard back and moved the couch and grabbed the keys to the clinic off the hook by the door. 

“Stick close to me,” you said. “If anyone stops us, stay behind me and let me do all the talking, do you understand?” 

She just nodded. Her eyes were wide. You put a hand on her shoulder and gave her a squeeze. 

“I’m not going to let anything happen to you,” you said. “I’m going to take care of you and you’re going to be OK, Ellie.” 

“OK.” 

Ellie listened and stuck close to you, following your directions as you slunk through the QZ. You were getting close to the clinic - close enough that the tightness in your chest has started to ease. You almost didn’t see them in the shadows. 

“Hi Doc.” 

You froze, throwing your arm out and tucking Ellie behind you. Marlene stepped out from an alleyway, smiling. 

“Marlene,” you said. “You’re out late.” 

“So are you,” she said. “Not usually your thing. Even when you go outside the QZ you tend to respect curfew.” 

“You go outside the QZ?” Ellie whispered. You hushed her. 

“Can I help you with something?” You asked her, the hand not holding Ellie behind you drifting for your gun. “We’re just heading to the clinic…” You scrambled for a name. “Veronica here is a student of mine, she got hurt. Trying to help her out.” 

Marlene laughed once. 

“Veronica,” she shook her head. “Well, you and Veronica are coming with us.” 

“No,” you grabbed the gun and pulled it out, leveling it at her. There was the distinctive sound of metal from the darkness behind her. “We’re not.” 

“Doc,” Marlene walked forward. You kept the gun up. “We both know you’re not a killer. Besides, we’ve got you outgunned and I doubt you’d win even in a fair fight. You usually need your attack dog at your back.” 

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” you snapped. 

“Yes you do,” she said. “We won’t hurt you. Or her, since I imagine that’s what you’re more worried about.” You kept the gun up. Your heart was pounding, your legs shaky. “C’mon. Even he’d have a hard time with these odds. You’ve got no hope. Put the gun down.” 

You glanced over your shoulder. 

“She stays with me.” 

“For now,” she shrugged. “Sure.” You opened your mouth to argue but Marlene cut you off. “You don’t have room to argue here. Either you do what we ask or we shoot you, it’s that simple.” 

You lowered the gun, glaring at her. She held her hand out and you put the weapon in her open palm. 

“Thank you,” she smiled. “Always liked you the best of all of them. You were always the reasonable one.” 

“Just not the dangerous one,” you said flatly. 

Marlene laughed again. 

“No,” she said. “No, you’re not that.” 

You brought Ellie forward and tucked her against your side, your arm around her. 

“You leave the QZ?” She asked. “Who’s the dangerous one?” 

“Not now,” you said quietly. 

Armed men flanked you and Marlene led the way, running from shadow to shadow. At one point, you heard what sounded like a FEDRA patrol and you went to yell but Marlene put your own gun against your head. 

“I will fucking shoot you,” she said. “Besides. Do you really want to know what FEDRA would do with her? Especially without you there to look out for her?” 

You stayed silent. 

Marlene brought you to the building you’d gone with years ago with Tommy, to the meeting where she told you about the hope for a cure. You kept Ellie tucked against your side until Marlene brought you to an interior room a few floors up. The men stayed outside. She closed the door. 

“What’s below the bandage?” She asked. 

“Broken wrist,” you said, moving Ellie behind you now. “I was taking her to the clinic for X-rays and so I could set the bone. I put her in a splint for the trip.” 

“You were breaking curfew over a broken wrist,” Marlene smiled a little and shook her head. “I’m surprised you didn’t become a better liar given the company you’ve kept…” 

“It was just business,” you said.

“Tommy was just business?” She asked. “Sure he’d be surprised to hear that.” 

“What do you want with us?” You asked. “If you’re hoping for some kind of leverage with Tommy or Tess or Joel because you have me, your intel isn’t very good, they couldn’t care less if you put a bullet in my head and left me here.” 

“Not interested in you or them,” she said, watching the girl behind you. “I’m interested in your student. And the bite that’s on her arm.” 

You reached behind you and found Ellie’s wrist, holding it tight. 

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said. 

“We’re not going to hurt her,” she said. “Not unless she turns. But I think we both know that probably isn’t going to happen. Don’t we?” 

“Doc,” Ellie sounded scared. You shushed her gently. 

Marlene knocked twice on the door and armed men came back in, going for you.

“No!” Ellie screamed. “Don’t hurt her!” 

They wrenched you away from her, you clinging to her as long as you could before they ripped you free. You planted your feet, making them have to drag you. The second your feet were off the ground, you went limp, making yourself a dead weight, the men straining to keep ahold of you. 

“We’re not going to hurt her,” Marlene said. “This is a precaution. We need to monitor her alone….” 

“Leave me with her!” You yelled, straining again, shocking the men who were trying to carry you enough that you could squirm free for a moment. “I don’t care if it’s a risk, just leave me with her.” 

“Doc,” Marlene shook her head. “Do you really think I’d risk the mind of the one person we know of who’s been able to make any progress on treatment for cordyceps?” 

You just stood there, blinking at her. 

“You were never going to shoot me,” you said. 

“No,” she smiled. “I’m surprised you hadn’t figured that out. But then, I’m a better liar than you.” 

Tuesday, August 29, 2023

If you were Joel, you could probably figure out a way to kill someone with a tennis ball. You probably could if you were Tess, too, but Joel, you figured, definitely could. If you were Tess or Joel, the stupid Fireflies never would have trusted you with a tennis ball. 

You they trusted to not hurt a fly. Apparently. 

You bounced the ball off the floor then and the wall and then the ceiling and caught it again. Thud. Thud. Thud. Catch. Thud. Thud. Thud. Catch. 

Why they couldn’t have decided you wouldn’t hurt a fly with some books was beyond you but you settled for the tennis ball. It was better than nothing. 

You’d basically been in solitary confinement for two fucking weeks. Your clothes were disgusting and the rest of you even more so. 

Marlene had forced you to write letters of resignation to both your jobs so no one there would come looking for you. Andrew, you were sure, had noticed you were missing but if FEDRA thought you’d just dropped off the face of the planet, he wouldn’t have much help searching for you. There wouldn’t be much he could do on his own. Beyond work and Andrew and his family, there wasn’t anyone to notice or care that you weren’t there. 

Thud. Thud. Thud. Catch. 

Every day you got to spend a few hours with Ellie, at least. You were able to check in and see that she was OK, that she was getting fed, that she wasn’t being left alone with her thoughts. She always had dozens of questions. You tried to steer them back to things you knew the answers to and things that weren’t too personal. But she was stuck on one point. 

“You left the QZ,” she said for the millionth time. 

“I lived for 25 years outside the QZ you know,” you said. “When you’re old like me it’s not that special.” 

“But you’ve been outside since then.” 

You sighed. You were splayed out on the floor of the room she was being held in, Ellie sprawled next to you. They’d taken the chain off her today, which was an improvement at least. There was paint on the wall, part of the Fireflies’ slogan of sorts. ‘When you’re lost in the darkness.’ The irony was apparently lost on terrorists. 

“Yup.” 

“Are you a smuggler?” She asked, lifting her head enough to look at you. You rolled your eyes. 

“It’s not nearly that exciting,” you replied. 

“Sounds exciting,” she muttered, putting her head back on the ground. “More exciting than FEDRA school.” 

“I left the QZ mostly to scavenge medications from pharmacies,” you said. “I’d make runs with a smuggling team but all I was doing was bringing in things like blood pressure medication. Once I made a run to Harvard to get medical journals. Why do you find this so interesting?” 

“It’s kind of like finding out your teacher is a secret agent or something,” she said. “Plus, this place is boring as fuck, what the hell else are we going to talk about.” 

“I could quiz you on the name of all the bones in the ear,” you replied. 

“How is a smuggler this boring?” You could hear her smiling. 

“Not a smuggler,” you smiled too. 

“Marlene talked to me,” Ellie said after a moment. You turned your head to look at her. 

“Buried the lead there, kid,” you said. “What did she say?” 

“They’re moving me out of the QZ,” she said. “Tonight. They think… they think I’m immune. They want to use me to make a cure.” 

You sat up. 

“Did they say where they’re taking you?” You asked. She shook her head. 

Your jaw twitched. 

“What?”

“I have a friend who moved out west to work with the Fireflies,” you said. “He mentioned a lab out that way, he tried to get me to come with him out there…” 

“Doc,” she said quietly. “Do you think… Are they right? Am I immune?” 

Your eyes drifted to the place on her arm where you knew the bite mark lay below her sleeve. 

“Yeah,” you said. “Yeah, I think you might be.” 

The door to the room flew open and Marlene and a woman you didn’t recognize ran in. It was the first you’d seen of her since the day you’d been brought here. You shot to your feet and stalked over to her. 

“You’ve left a fucking child chained up and isolated for weeks!” You shoved her and she didn’t move to stop her.

“Not now,” she snapped, cutting you off. She looked between the two of you before focusing on you. “We’re cutting a deal here to get what we need to go tonight and they don’t know you’re here…” 

“Who?” You asked. You weren’t sure if you were hoping it was Joel and Tess or hoping it wasn’t. 

“Robert…” 

“Robert?” You gaped at her. “That asshole? You have to be kidding me…” 

“I thought you said you weren’t a smuggler!’ Ellie said. 

“I’m not,” you replied. “I just know some and I’ve heard enough about Robert to know better than to try to do a deal with the guy, what the fuck are you thinking?” 

“We don’t have a lot of options, OK?” Marlene snapped. “I came in here to ask you to keep an eye on her and stay hidden. I think you know well enough to know that we don’t need Robert knowing about any of this.” 

“I’m coming with you,” you said quickly. “Tonight. When you move her, you bring me.” 

“Doc,” Marlene shook her head a little. “Did you really think I wasn’t going to bring one of the few people on the fucking planet who would know what to do with a sample when we get one? You two are a package deal now.” 

You laughed once. 

“Good to know I was going to have such a say in the matter,” you said. 

Marlene shrugged. 

“Just keep an eye on her,” she said. “And… well.” 

She didn’t need to say it. Protect her, if necessary. You nodded once. 

You took Ellie to the far corner of the room from the door. You tucked her against the wall and put yourself between her and the door. She was stiff against you. 

“It’s OK,” you said, watching the door. 

It was not OK. 

The shoot out was loud and you weren’t sure who won. 

“What if they’re all dead?” She whispered.

“Then we’ll get the fuck out of here,” you whispered back. 

You both waited until it had been quiet for what felt like a few minutes before you crept toward the door. Ellie darted around you. 

“Ellie!” You hissed, reaching for her, but she was quick, pressing her ear to the door. You stood to the side, gesturing behind you. “Get away from there!”

She ignored you, putting her hand in her pocket and pulling out a knife and opening it before she ripped the door open and lunged into the hall. You heard her hit the wall with a sickening thud as you scrambled to follow her. 

You froze in the doorway, Ellie on the ground at gunpoint. 

“Joel.” 

*** 

He was so surprised to hear your voice he damn near forgot he’d been jumped by a fucking kid in a hallway. 

“Joel?” Marlene said. 

He glanced her way, keeping his gun on the kid on the ground, before looking back at you. 

“Don’t tell me you’re mixed up with this shit too,” he snapped. You’d fucking disappeared without a trace and you’d just been in goddamn Boston the whole time? “What, Tommy talk you into this?” 

“This is who Robert screwed us over for?” Tess said. “The Che Guevara of Boston?” 

She noticed you then. 

“And of course you’re involved,” she said. “This day just keeps getting fucking better…”

“Hi Tess, nice to see you too,” you rolled your eyes.  

“You know these psychos?” The girl on the ground gaped at you. 

“Unfortunately,” you replied. He glared at you. 

“Alright, cool it,” Marlene said, hand on her lower stomach. You frowned and started moving. Joel pointed the gun at you and you glared at him back, almost daring him to do it, like you almost thought he might be able to. 

It was the first time he’d seen you since that night at the clinic. He’d never seen you like that before. Not even when dealing with raiders or infected. No, you’d reserved that wrath, that level of hate, just for him. It made him sick, that he’d dragged you to that point. That you felt that way at all. That he fucking deserved it. 

He couldn’t even bring himself to fight you on it as you yelled at him. He let you scream, tried to hold onto you and you wouldn’t let him. He’d wanted to touch you so badly then, clutch your frantic, overwrought frame against him until you could breathe. He longed to be the thing that held you to the earth again, the stable body you turned to when everything else was spinning out of control. Instead, he was the thing hurting you. He had been, for years. He couldn’t seem to bring himself to stop, something in him always snarling and grasping and reaching for you if he wasn’t shoving you back and that snarling, grasping, reaching thing scared him more than almost anything else left in this world. 

He’d almost hoped he’d never see you again, just so he wouldn’t have to face the cold detachment in your eyes. 

Then Andrew showed up at his door a week earlier. 

“What?” Was all Joel said. 

“Look, I’m pretty sure the answer’s no but,” Andrew sighed. “Have you seen her?” 

Joel frowned. 

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean has she been here?” He said. “I haven’t seen her in almost a week. I’m checking everywhere…” 

“She hasn’t been at work?” Joel frowned, standing up a little straighter. 

“She sent in letters of resignation,” Andrew shook his head. “I don’t buy it…” 

“She’s not with Derek?” He asked. 

“They split weeks ago,” Andrew shook his head. “They haven’t even spoken.”

“When did she cut contact?” Tess asked, joining Joel at the door. 

“Almost a week,” Andrew said. “She was at our place, everything was normal, and the next day she sent in the letters and no one’s seen her since. It doesn’t make sense, she wouldn’t just leave without saying goodbye…” 

“Tommy stopped calling a few weeks back,” Tess shrugged. “Maybe she went to be with him.” 

Andrew just set his jaw, shaking his head. 

“Something’s wrong,” he said. “If you see her, tell her I’m looking for her. And tell me?” 

“Yeah,” Joel said. 

Andrew left and Joel closed the door, standing there for a moment before putting on his boots. 

“You can’t be serious,” Tess groaned. 

“He’s right,” Joel said. “She wouldn’t just leave, not without saying goodbye to them. Something’s wrong…” 

“You think, what, someone who grabbed her off the street would make her write those letters?” Tess asked. “Because raiders are so concerned with their victim’s careers…” 

“If someone doesn’t FEDRA breathin’ down their necks they would,” he said. 

“Were you not listening to her?” She demanded. “She doesn’t want anything to do with you!” 

“Doesn’t matter,” he said. He glanced back at Tess. “I’m not leavin’ the QZ. Just… gonna ask some questions.” 

“She went with Tommy,” Tess said. “He asked her to come with him when he left. My guess is she took him up on it and that’s why he stopped talking to you. He knew it’d piss you off.” 

“He…” Joel ground his teeth. “Don’t matter. I’m just going to look around, ask some questions. That’s all.” 

He went to your apartment first. He didn’t have a key anymore so he had to pick the locks but, thankfully, no one caught him 

It was obvious you hadn’t been here in a while but it was also obvious something had happened when you left. Your bed was unmade, your side disheveled like you’d just gotten up. There was a used cup on your table and your medical kit was out. He went to your closet and saw your backpack was still there. He moved your couch and went into your floorboard stash. Your gun was gone. He frowned, standing up and putting the couch back before going and sitting on your bed. He was trying to retrace your steps when something caught his eye. 

On your bedside table was the picture of him, you and Sarah from your hiking trip in New York. His hand shook as he picked it up. 

As usual, his eyes started on Sarah. Absorbing as much of her as he possibly could. It was a relief, looking at her and feeling like he hadn’t let things slip. He still remembered the precise color of her eyes and the way her hair curled around her face. It was good that he still knew the constellations of the freckles on her nose. 

Then, he moved to you. He’d spent more time than he cared to admit looking at the one photo he had of you since the day at the clinic. But this one was in color and you were looking at the camera and he hadn’t seen your eyes in so long. You’d been so happy here. All three of you had been. 

Joel had a copy of this picture on his fridge in Austin. He sometimes wondered, idly, if it was still there or if someone had torn it down since he’d left. On the back, he wrote June 2002 and the words ‘my girls’ as though he’d have ever forgotten who either of you were to him. 

He only glanced at himself, just long enough to wonder when the last time he’d been as happy as he looked here. He knew the answer, he just didn’t want to think about it. About what he’d had, about what he’d failed to protect. 

He put the picture back. 

He justified looking through more of your things as he tried to find any indication as to where you might have gone. If it had been to Tommy - doubtful, given that your backpack was still here - you’d probably have written some info down somewhere. You always brought a notebook with you when you went to the radio. If he couldn’t find it in a few minutes… 

It didn’t take him long. It was inside your bedside table. There wasn’t much to it, just dates - going back decades now - to when you were looking for him. When he’d already given up on you.

11/2/03 - No news - J, S, T, C, J

11/5/03 - No news - J, S, T, C, J

11/9/03 - No news - J, S, T, C, J

The notebook didn’t shift until he and Tommy reached Boston. You missed a few days and then were back to a regular, now weekly cadence. 

10/22/08 - No news - C, J

10/29/08 - No news - C, J

It looked like you gave up on Cassie around 2018 but had started regularly talking with Tommy in early 2016, about the time he made it out west. Your notes with him were simple. “T made it, found FF.” “T says lab is nice, asked again.” They appeared every other week. The last note you had from him was late July. It was the last note in the notebook at all. “T concerned. Things changing.” No mention of you going to join him. You hadn’t spoken to him in weeks, either. 

He flipped through the notebook to see if there was anything he may have missed and a photo slipped out. It was the one of him with Tess. He’d seen it once in passing - you’d given a copy to Tess and she loved it. He didn’t think you’d have kept one for yourself but you had. The side of the photo with him in it had darkened over the years, like it had been touched a few too many times. He swallowed past the tightness in his chest and put the photo back in the notebook. 

He’d given up on you before. He wasn’t going to give up on you now. 

Joel asked around to some smuggler friends to see if anyone had heard from you, if you’d asked for passage. He was about to call it when one of his contacts mentioned a woman in her 30s - which Joel thought you’d pass for - asking for someone to take her to Kansas City in a hurry the week before. A friend had taken her and the friend wasn’t back yet. Joel described you and the man shrugged. 

“I dunno man,” he said. “She had cards, friend had time. Could have been her.” 

Joel just went back to Andrew’s. 

“Anything that’d make her leave in a hurry?” He asked. 

“Besides you?” Andrew replied. Joel glared at him. “Not that I can think of.” 

“Somethin’ happened,” Joel said. “She left everything behind but I have a contact who might’ve taken her west…” 

“Christ,” Andrew groaned. “She’s going to get herself fucking killed…” 

“Already thinking of going that way to look for Tommy,” Joel said. “I’ll find her.” 

Andrew looked him up and down. 

“Never been quite sure what to think of you,” he said. 

Joel shrugged. 

“Not sure either.” 

“About me?” Andrew asked. 

“‘Bout either of us.” 

Joel didn’t tell Tess why he was so desperate to get the battery. 

And you’d been just a few miles away the whole fucking time. 

“Doc,” Marlene said. “Stay by Ellie. I’ll be fine.” 

Your jaw tensed but you stayed put. 

“The fuck you need a car battery for?” Joel asked. 

“Something that’s more important than finding your brother,” Marlene snapped. He narrowed his eyes and she shrugged. “We know things.” 

“You should,” he snapped. “Your fault he’s gone.” 

“Is it?” Marlene asked. “Not what I heard. I heard it had more to do with you.” He felt your eyes on him. Before Joel got a chance to argue with her, she kept going. “Doesn’t fucking matter, the product was faulty so you’d have been fucked without us interfering anyway.”

Marlene looked from Joel to you to Tess to the kid and she sighed, resigned. 

“Here’s what we’re gonna fuckin’ do,” she said. “Because FEDRA’s about to swarm this place, we’ve got a team waiting to take her west and all of us need to get the hell out of here. You’re taking her to my team.” 

“No way,” Tess scoffed. 

“No,” Joel growled. 

“I’m not going with them!” The kid said. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” You snapped. 

“Take get the kid and Doc to the statehouse and we’ll give you more than a battery,” Marlene said. “You can have the whole goddamn truck, anything you need to make the trip, it’s yours, it’s done. Just take her that far…” 

“Do you have any idea how fucked it is out there right now?” Tess said. “I’m not hauling some fucking kid…” 

“Why do you want to move them so bad, anyhow?” Joel asked, his gun still pointed at you. Your hands weren’t up as you looked a him, your eyes narrowed. Like you knew he wouldn’t shoot you. “Why’s she so important that you’re this fuckin’ desperate?” 

“Doesn’t matter,” Marlene said. “To you, she’s cargo. Whatever you want, my guys at the statehouse will give it to you. Just get them there in one piece.” 

“You know how they are!” You yelled, all but ignoring the gun Joel had on you. “You can’t trust them to get anyone who isn’t a goddamn mercenary anywhere safely, they don’t give a shit…” 

“I know full well what they’re capable of,” Marlene said. “Which is why I’m asking.” 

“They’re going to get her fucking killed!” 

“No, they won’t,” Marlene was watching Joel. “Not with this deal they won’t.”

Tess jerked her head at Joel and they stepped to the side. 

“Don’t trust her,” Joel said. “Not as far as I can fuckin’ throw her.” 

“Yeah, but she’s desperate,” Tess said. “And Firefly gear…” 

Joel nodded. It’d be solid. 

“Clock’s ticking,” Marlene called. 

“Not thrilled about dealing with Doc but we’ve hauled her further,” Tess said. “And if it gets her out of town, I can handle one more run.” 

Joel’s jaw tensed but ignored Tess’ jibe. He just gave her a nod. She stepped back toward Marlene. 

“They give us everything we want, no issues, or we kill the kid,” Tess said. 

“Done,” Marlene said. 

“What the fuck?” Ellie gaped at her. 

“They’ll give it to them,” Marlene said. “You’re the most important thing now. They’ll give it to them. Go get your stuff.” 

Joel picked his boot up off the kid’s knife and she grabbed it before she ran to you, glaring at Joel the whole way. 

“Should’ve told Andrew you were fuckin’ leaving,” Joel growled at you. You just narrowed your eyes at him. 

“We’ve gotta move,” Tess said. “FEDRA’s going to be here any second.” 

The kid appeared next to you, looking up at you for approval and direction. You put an arm around her. 

“It’s OK,” you said, giving her a tight smile. She looked back over her shoulder at Marlene as you and her followed Tess. 

“Joel?” Marlene said. He paused, looking back at her. “Don’t fuck this up.”

He just nodded and the four of you headed out into the streets of the QZ. 

A/N: So this is like the first canon thing we ACTUALLY see! Yayyyyyyy! Let me know your thoughts on how that worked if you'd like - I wanted to keep the vibe of this scene the same but not create a carbon copy of it because that felt boring. Since there's going to be a blend of canon/OC going forward, I'd love any feedback you have!

I have a taglist! If you want to be added (or I've missed adding you - so sorry if I have!!) comment below :D

Thank you thank you thank you for reading! Writing this has been so fun and going on the journey of this story with all of you has been one of my favorite things. Love you all!

Taglist: @paleidiot@ayamenimthiriel@ginger-swag-rapunzel@drewharrisonwriter@flugazi @pedropascalsbbg@taoyuji@starstruckmusiciansartghost@splendsay@bigboiseason123@jpbplvr @ashleyandring @mrsyixingunicorn10@sloanexx@ninaminaromina @lady-bellyn @hufflepuffriver @sarap-77 @storyarcscribe @mellymbee @jasminedragoon @lemonmeli @reds-ramblings@arizonadaydreamer@mumma-moonchild@blackroseguzzi@candypeaches16@kittenlittle24@wrappedinfiction@oatmeaiboy

[scarlettjemily]

Good Luck, Babe! Pt. 3.

PART 1 | PART 2

Description: Emily finds JJ severely intoxicated and injured after a fall. Emily tends to her , emotions run high, resulting in heartfelt confessions of love.

Tags: I think this is the final part, Emily taking care of JJ is taking me out, JJ crying kills me, I feel this is more angsty than the last but nothing hardcore, very drunk JJ, Prentiss being a mommy with a cigarette duh.

Not my pictures

Part 3/3?

Emily found the first aid kit and headed to what she assumed was JJ’s room; there was only one other room in the apartment. She found JJ sprawled on her bed, clutching a half-sized bottle of whiskey.

“JJ, enough!” Emily screamed, ripping the bottle from her lips, not caring that some whiskey dripped over JJ’s face. She held up the bottle, noticing there was about a third of it left. “How much of this did you drink?” Emily demanded, her voice quivering with anger and worry.

JJ laughed, wiping the whiskey from her face. “Fresh bottle, baby girl,” she slurred, throwing the cap at the older woman. “Why’re you being such a killjoy? You need a drink yourself,” she said, flopping back down on the mattress.

This was worse than Emily had anticipated. Her heart pounded in her chest, and her hands trembled. She swallowed hard, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill. “I’m glad you’ve had your fun, but no more alcohol. Let me clean you up.” Emily placed the bottle of whiskey on the dresser, far from JJ’s reach. “You’ve got to remove your clothes,” she told her, setting the first aid kit on the bedside table.

“Ooh, Emily wants me naked, does she?” JJ spat out, laughing, her drunken hands fumbling with the button on her jeans.

Emily knew JJ’s words were fueled by alcohol, but they still made her uncomfortable. She consciously ignored JJ’s comments; it was better that way. “You don’t need to remove your underwear, JJ. Stop.” She lightly gripped the drunk woman’s arm, pulling it away from her own hips. “Can you take off your shirt, please? I need to see where you’ve got glass.”

JJ’s movements were getting slower; the second wave of her intoxication was hitting her. With Emily’s help, she managed to remove her shirt, leaving her in just her bra and underwear.

Emily let out a shaky breath. JJ had glass embedded everywhere. The sight of her usually golden skin marred by blood made Emily’s heart ache. She struggled to hold back the tears that stung her eyes. Thankfully, JJ had finally passed out.

For the next couple of hours, Emily meticulously picked each piece of glass from JJ’s body. The woman remained unconscious, not even flinching each time Emily extracted a shard. She sat there, methodically removing the glass with a pair of tweezers, ensuring she didn’t miss a single piece.

Fortunately, none of the cuts required stitches; she decided she could manage with the wound strips she found in the first aid kit.

Emily used a warm face towel to clean the dried blood, now turning a dark reddish-brown. Her small bucket of water was stained red as she dipped the cloth in and out of it.

She let out a heavy sigh as she dabbed gently on JJ’s stomach, ignoring the tiny tears rolling down her cheeks. “Why, JJ? Why now?” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

A million thoughts raced through Emily’s mind, an endless cycle of worry and reflection. She pondered the events of the day, desperately trying to figure out how to help her friend without losing herself in the process.

Hours passed before JJ showed any sign of waking up. She awoke to a dark room, glancing over her shoulder and out the window, trying to gauge the time. All she knew was that it was night; her heavy head couldn’t comprehend much else.

She tried her best to sit up, but not only was she hungover, her body ached in a completely different way. She eventually got to her feet, the brunt of her dizziness hitting her hard. She quickly shuffled to the bathroom, holding back the vomit that threatened to erupt. JJ didn’t bother dropping to the floor because she knew she wouldn’t be able to get up. She gripped the sides of the sink and vomited the contents of her stomach.

After rinsing her mouth, she looked at herself in the mirror, confusion hitting her hard. “What the fuck?” she mumbled to herself, inspecting the many cuts over her body, clearly not remembering the incident with the coffee table.

She needed water; she was very dehydrated. JJ made her way to the kitchen as best as she could, avoiding tripping on anything in her path.

Emily took a long drag of her cigarette, simultaneously typing on her phone with her other hand. She had been updating Penelope all day, knowing she was just as worried.

She sat outside on the balcony of JJ’s apartment. She hadn’t left the entire time. How could she? She wouldn’t forgive herself if anything else happened to JJ. The stress caused her to practically chain smoke the entire packet of cigarettes she had brought with her.

Emily stubbed out her cigarette in an empty bottle she found in JJ’s kitchen; they were everywhere. She had spent the past few hours cleaning JJ’s entire apartment, getting rid of all the broken glass and streaks of blood. She had also disposed of any alcohol she could find, prepared to handle JJ’s anger later.

She stood up and headed inside to check on JJ again. She felt paranoid, as if JJ might asphyxiate in her sleep or something. Despite the safety measures she had put in place, she felt compelled to check on her whenever the thought arose.

JJ was taking deep gulps of water, hoping it would alleviate her hangover. As hopeful as that was, she knew it was wishful thinking.

Her whole body involuntarily jumped when she heard the balcony door slide open. She let out a choked scream, not expecting anyone to be there. She placed her glass down, instantly relaxing once she saw it was Emily. “Emily? What are you doing here?” She was very confused. She had no recollection of the other woman ever showing up.

“What am I doing here? I came to check on you and lucky I did. What the fuck is going on here, JJ?” Emily slid the door shut behind her, stepping towards JJ, ready to unleash her anger. “You got ridiculously drunk and fell onto your coffee table. Lucky I came when I did. Fuck, JJ, there was blood everywhere!”

JJ flinched at the anger lacing the older woman’s voice. She vaguely remembered falling onto the table now that Emily mentioned it. That explained all the cuts.

“I spent hours picking glass out of your body. You have no idea how scared I was! I can’t believe you would—”

Emily immediately stopped, her building anger subsiding when she noticed JJ’s shoulders beginning to shake. She was crying.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” JJ kept repeating through the uncontrollable sobs that grew more intense by the second. She shook her head and stepped away from the older woman who was approaching her. “I’m sorry,” she said again, shaking her head, overwhelmed.

Emily wrapped her arms around her, holding her tightly. One arm around her shoulder, the other holding the blonde woman’s head against her shoulder. “It’s okay, Jayje, I’m here,” she cooed, running her hand along JJ’s warm skin. Her heart involuntarily broke for the woman in her arms.

“Please don’t be mad at me, Em. Please, I’m so sorry. I never meant to hurt you.” JJ was hiccuping through her sobs, her hurt a visceral response. “I did love you, I swear on my life. I loved you, Emily, but I was stupid.” JJ was pleading for Emily to believe her. She needed the woman to know she was serious. “I don’t care if you don’t love me anymore, but I loved you. I still love you, and I will always love you. If you’re mad, that’s okay. Just please don’t hate me.” JJ choked out her confession, meaning every word, terrified of Emily’s reaction.

Emily was silent. The only thing she could hear was the sound of her racing heart slamming against her chest. Her mind was blank. She couldn’t think. She couldn’t process what JJ was saying.

“You hate me,” JJ whispered. She was embarrassed. She felt rejected. Her skin pricked all over. She went to push the other woman away, but Emily held her tighter.

“No, I don’t. Quite the opposite, actually.” The weight of her resentment lightened significantly. Although she was still hesitant, she cared deeply for JJ. “I love you too, J,” she whispered, pressing a small kiss to the top of the woman’s head.

I think this is the last part, unless you want more?? Idk I’m new to posting on here sksksk so idk if yall like it let me knowww.

[inkformyblood]

come into the parlour (DinCobb Summer Bingo)

SFW I for Ice-Cream! Modern AU

In the middle of bum-fuck nowhere was one hell of a place for Cobb’s pa to set up an ice cream parlour.

It was never meant to be something profitable, something Cobb only learnt when he was older, already three degrees of silver in his hair and beard and sitting at a sticky table with a stack of insurance forms for the building and none for the man who ran it. He’d gotten a note instead of a visit, plain old lined paper folded once and tucked into the envelope alongside the newspaper clipping announcing his father’s death and another that marked his release from county jail for money laundering.

Cobb had known pieces here and there; a child left to be tended by the wilderness and a mother who tried her best all the same would do that to a boy. He’d always pictured his father dressed like his Mama on laundry days, his shirt-sleeves rolled up past his elbows and a rag tied over the dark crest of his curls, an apron slung around his hips and knotted twice. He’d pictured his daddy leaning over the sink and slinging bills onto the line fresh from the wash, pegging them up next to each other until they’d rustle in the breeze; polishing pennies and nickels until they shone and set them in careful stacks on the sideboard. Clean money. Legit money.

Cobb sits in the husk of his father’s life work, the gentle hum of empty freezers infecting the spaces between his thoughts, a couple of cans of petrol rusting next to his legs, and he lifts up another smoke, breathing in the ash without tasting it.

“One helluva fresh start,” Cobb murmurs, tipping his head back to the neon sign above the counter. The pink light washes over the planes of his face and it isn’t a sunrise, not even the benediction of stained glass, but it’s something all the same.

⁂

The delivery is running late.

Haemorrhaging across the sky is a wash of pinks and oranges, competing with the lurid neon tones of the sign washing over every crack and kicked stone in the parking lot. Cobb hadn’t bothered paving it, tamping down the ground enough that it wouldn’t shift easily and spending an agonising week every winter remarking the bays where the bigger trucks can spend the night. The earth is flat here, sky and earth blurring at the horizon until Cobb fancies he could just walk far enough that he’d reach the distant uncaring stars and get to cut his knuckles on their edges.

It’s that self-same horizon he’s watching while lying to himself that he isn’t.

The cloth wrapped around his fingers is damp, a few drops of cleaning solution falling onto the toe of his boot and darkening the leather. Chewing the flat of his tongue, Cobb lifts the cloth, a tributary beginning to slide down his arm before he throws it into the bucket. It slaps against the side dully, the scent of lemon disinfectant beginning to seep into the stitches of his clothes along with the everpresent aroma of sugar that had been an unexpected side effect of his decision.

There’s a chill in the air, the night just beginning to put out questioning fingers and the final freezer door propped open behind him. The hair on the back of his neck prickles, the sensation crawling down his spine and the slope of his arms. He should have closed the shop by now, called it all a lost cause and have himself two drinks deep in a radio show by now, but something keeps him tethered to this spot. If Cobb had any shades of a religious man left in him, he would have called it blind faith in some higher power, but he doesn’t anymore. Living had a way of grinding down some parts of a man into powder that blows away with a breeze, hollowing out others until something new can put down roots and grow in the space left behind.

It’s not a crush.

Cobb’s a man grown and gone silver several times over by now. Crushes are for the sweet young things that make the trip out on the weekends to sit, knees knocking together, giggling over a shared cone then swapping strawberry flavoured kisses in the small pool of shade in the back corner of the parking lot. Crushes are for better men than he could ever be with bright futures laid out in front of them instead of already ground into the dirt. Cobb isn’t ashamed of his past, proud of what he’s accomplished despite the deck being balanced against him, but it still stains him in some indescribable way.

He doesn’t have a crush on his missing delivery man. Instead, Cobb is hopelessly and completely in love with him.

“Now, this ain’t no way to behave,” Cobb murmurs, trying to convince the universe just as much as himself. He scrubs the flat of his palm, still damp from the cloth, over the stubble just beginning to itch along his jaw, and turns away from his vigil. His gaze lands squarely on the bowl sitting just inside the humming freezer.

It’s nothing special, one scoop of regular chocolate, another of strawberry, and one randomly selected blueberry cheesecake scoop. Then, on top, hot fudge sauce, chocolate chips, and peanuts. Specific but not at the same time, technically forgettable amongst the steady stream of others an oddity like Vanth’s Parlour coaxes in through the doors, but Cobb remembers. He remembers because he can’t do anything but. He had made it up a few hours ago, his normal delivery time, and moved it to the freezer when the spoon had begun to sag against the side of the bowl. Stupid treacherous heart.

He can’t even bring himself to eat it, sweetness turned sickly in his nose, the cloying congealed mess of flavours running together turning his stomach. He should throw it away, but he doesn’t dare move away from the horizon to do so. If he does, he’ll have to admit the dull smudge in the distance might be nothing more than his imagination, just his mind playing tricks on him to prolong his instance of agony.

Cobb blinks once more, opening his eyes wide enough for the night to peek inside to his soul. The smudge might have gotten bigger, might even be considered a haze now, some wavering formless thing springing into life along the winding black asphalt that tears through the landscape like a sewn wound. Cobb’s teeth catch against the jagged edge of his nail and he tears himself free, blood beading dark and insistent. Not just a haze, but a figure. On foot and pushing the husk of his motorbike next to him, occasionally skipping a step or two to keep up with the gentle decline.

Moving deeper into the parlour, Cobb picks up the bowl from the freezer, shoving the door closed. The spoon knocks against the edge as he turns, catching the front door before the bell overhead can chime, and he holds the bowl up once he’s sure Din is close enough to make it out.

“Hasn’t anyone ever told you it’s rude to keep a lady waiting?” Cobb calls, unable to keep the grin from his face. It aches, pulling at the corners of his mouth, his nose crinkling beneath the sheer weight of it.

Din looks up at the sound of Cobb’s voice. He’s still wearing his helmet, the visor pushed back to reveal deeply mournful eyes that brighten when he focuses on Cobb standing in the doorway. His curls would be flattened to his head with sweat, several shades darker than they would be in half an hour, and his leathers are pale with dust and grime. It strikes a strange chord in Cobb’s mind, almost as if in another life he’d be standing in the doorway of their shared home, watching Din make his way up the garden path, white picket fence just behind him, Cobb in pink pinstripes with rollers in his hair, the seam of his stockings straight enough to make up for the fact he isn’t.

“Sorry ma’am,” Din answers, closer now, gentler. He blinks up at Cobb from beneath a sweep of dark lashes. “I’ll try to break down in your parking lot in future.”

“See that you do,” Cobb answers, his grin cracking through the facade of prim and proper he’s fighting to keep balanced on his face. “Now, come on in, you can rest your bike in the little shed round back once you’ve sat a stretch. Can’t imagine there’d be anyone wandering past who’d steal it but better safe than sorry.”

He can taste the ghost of his parent’s when he speaks sometimes but can’t string the memory together well enough to know if it’s the petrol-ash of his daddy’s words or the lemon cut with sugar of his mother’s. Cobb steps back on legs that feel like they’re going to buckle beneath him, unsteady in the familiar territory he’s been haunting all these years, and Din moves in tandem with him, settling his bike onto the ground and hefting a holdall further up onto his back. He catches the door that slips from Cobb’s fingers, his hand leaving a heavy smudge against the paler wood inside.

Din colours at the sight of it, the door dropping from numb fingers. The flush settles high over the bridge of his nose, descending low over the stripe of skin Cobb can make out at the junction of his helmet and shirt. Din doesn’t fidget, making to pull his helmet off and strip his gloves at the same time, but Cobb stops him with a wave of his hand, herding Din towards one of the booths. “Sit, eat. I’ll sort the rest, don’t you worry.”

Cobb presses his hand into the small of Din’s back, sliding the bowl of ice cream in front of him. After a moment of consideration, he heads back to the counter, leaning over the top to grab one of the clean glasses from behind. The drink machines had been disconnected and cleaned, the nozzles bobbing about in a bowl of solution, but water would be better after a trek halfway through the desert. The pipes rattle, a heavy distant sound that echoes in the empty space of his bones, some fragment of memory putting down a handful more of thread-wide white roots, and he turns back to Din before he can stumble after it.

On the table, facing away to stare out of the window, Din’s helmet sits. There’s a faded sticker over the nape of its neck, something that had once been green before time got to it. Some of Din’s curls are still askew from his long walk and Cobb reaches for them as he slides into the seat opposite Din. His feet knock against Din’s boots, sand gritty beneath his soles, but it doesn’t matter as Din leans into his touch.

There’s sweat, the everpresent tang of sugar in the air, and Cobb’s heart stutters into a delicate start. This could be something, something he could have. Din grins up at him, a smudge of ice cream on his lower lip, and he nudges the bowl towards Cobb. “Share with me?”

“I’d love to, sugar.”

[cymkfunk]

Daily #2

I call it "The image is 348 pixels by 348 pixels in size. The background, #F2A400 specifically, or R 242 G 164 B 0 for you RGB value fans, which is the color Dirk Strider uses for his text, as according to [ https://balentay.tumblr.com/homestuckcolors ] this post on tumblr I found that is super useful. Anyway, I wonder who the drawing is of. That's right. Bro Strider. In my glorious 1px pure black brush that makes everything look like a sketch I have personally given birth to Bro Strider, with a jawline and polo shirt (dear god how do you draw polo shorts. Shirts. Shit. Keeping that typo in there.) and cap and really pointy stupid glasses. Everything. Except, what's this? Bro Strider is filled in with a white paint bucket, but the white silhouette extends outwards. Giving him a sort of aura ouo (French word for "of" but spelled wrong because I don't know French) de Dirk Strider. I bet there's all kinds of meaning there. Is it about how one could've been the other? Is it about how they're similar? Or is it just that Bro Strider looks awesome with a sorta white flaming sphere around him? Or did I just make a mistake while drawing Dirk Strider and hardcore pivot into Bro? It's that last one. Signing off. Mic drop." Day 2 was super fun! Did a lot today. I promise tomorrow won't be Dirk.

Alts and Bonus under the cut!

Two additional drawings. I call them "the same things but different." I also worked on my musical skills (made garbage beats in FL studio) and my coding! You can tell I was working on coding because I made this:

Shitposts mmmmm delicious.

[iceicewifey]

shamelessly copied Sinner /j /lh and did one of those Araki style character sheets for Shay to see if i could share her info easier and I'll say it worked 😳

had to redo the template because I'm stupid and the layout kind of confused me plus I'll never pass up an opportunity to make my own version of whatever thing fjdnfjdgb but I hope it makes sense. alot of the info can be found in her mini bio, but it was still fun to fill this out. plain text under the cut because it's alot to read. thanks again to sinner for both posting theirs and providing the original template ♡

editing because this is so outdated already 😭

Name / Nicknames

Shayleigh Disa Malmsteen / Shay, Spanky (childhood nickname), Dee (from Hol Horse)

Age

23 (SDC)

Sex

CIS Female

Birthday / Zodiac Sign

August 12th, 1965 / Leo

Blood Type

O-

Birthplace

Miami, FL USA

Height

5'4" / 162cm

Weight

~137lbs / 62kg

Sexual Orientation

M-spec

Hair Color

Platinum blonde

Eye Color

Pale icy blue // Pink (Manga)

Eyesight / Colorblindness / Wears Glasses?

Slight myopia Not enough to warrant glasses.

Dominant Hand

Left

Type of Voice

High pitched / "soprano" A bit scratchy from smoking

Medical History

Minor nerve damage from particularly deep scar in right forearm, partially perforated septum (corrected; from cocaine use) Uterine Arteriovenous Malformation — required surgery

Scars / Birthmarks / Tattoos

Numerous scars on hands, arms, torso, shoulders, back, legs, and left eyebrow // Barbed wire tat around right wrist, palm tree on left ankle, devil tail on lower back

Other Defining Physical Features: Nose, Eye Shape, Chest Size, Legs, Moles, etc.

Slightly downturned doe eyes, small slits in eyebrows (left has hair displaced by scars, right is shaved to match). Larger than average chest (~E cup)

Race

Caucasian

Religion

N/A

Nationality

American

Ancestral Background

½ Swedish on father's side

Criminal Record / Education

Criminal record is extensive. Dropped out of high school during 11th grade but stopped attending long before then.

Formative Experiences as a Baby or Young Child

Grew up without birth mother (passed away soon after she and her twin sister were born), Father worked as motorcycle mechanic and would frequently bring his daughters to work; fostered her love of motorcycles at a young age. Dealt with abusive stepmother for ~7 years.

Sexual History / Lovers

Several boyfriends & a girlfriend during high school years, numerous ‘flings’ throughout mid 80’s. Not on good terms with any exes.

Thoughts Towards Romance / Marriage

Says she’s indifferent. Would like to get married, but wants it to be with “the right person.” Has trauma from parents about relationships.

People the Subject Looks Up To / Idolizes

Evel Knievel, Lemmy Kilmister

People the Subject Hates

Her father. Stepmother, Lydia. Stepbrother, Adam. Half brother, Viggo. Estefania, Jotaro Kujo, Polnareff, Nukesaku

Personality Traits / Habits / Fav. Sayings

Tends to hide her true emotions, acts apathetic. Cautious around new people, especially if they know who she is and she doesn’t recognize them. Her defense mechanism tends to make it so she comes off as rude or abrasive. // Honestly just enjoys telling people that annoy her to shut up.

Dreams for the Future

Wants to eventually return to Miami. Wants to build her own custom Harley, right down to the paint job. Wants “a buncha badass lookin’ tats” to cover her more prominent body scars.

Fears

Drowning, being strangled, seeing more of her friends die in front of her, upsetting DIO and having to face his wrath.

Most Traumatic Experiences

The years of emotional and verbal abuse from her stepmother and stepbrother. Her first night in jail. Witnessing the deaths of some of her closest friends at the hands of the gang they once belonged to.

Relationships - Incl. Behavior

Neneh is the first best friend she’s ever had; loves her dearly and would kill for her if she asked. Misses her dearly while in Cairo. Gets along well with other Terence T. D’Arby, Kenny G., Enya, and most other mansion residents. On DIO’s better side. Romantically involved with Vanilla Ice.

Familial Relationships - Incl. Behavior

Hasn’t seen her sister since 17, misses her. Got along very well with Swedish grandparents, used to visit every Christmas as a child; visits slowed and eventually stopped upon her father remarrying. Positive relationships with maternal aunt, Caroline and her daughter, Rita. Gets along well with ‘pseudo father’, Ozzy, misses him while in Cairo. The gloves she wears to hide her scarred hands were a gift from him.

Problematic Relationships

Relationship with father was good as a young child but has deteriorated. Misses how he used to be, hurt that he chose a new partner over his daughters. Never had positive relationships with stepmother or stepbrother. Never really got along with former “boss”, Estefania despite trying. Feels no remorse for her death. Her murder is the reason she ends up in Cairo.

Education / Work History

John F. Kennedy Middle School (Miami, FL) Elizabeth Cobb Middle School (Tallahassee, FL) Lincoln High School (dropped out; Tallahassee) Has never been formally employed or had a ‘legal’ job.

Economic Class

Grew up middle class, struggled with money after being kicked out.

Pets / Plants

Never had pets. Had a monstera clipping that grew in the motel room she lived in.

Personality

STUBBORN. Hates being told what to do and will often do the opposite. Tends to clash with authority figures. Has a bit of a sharp tongue, she’s wary of strangers and tends to speak her mind freely, even if what she says isn’t exactly polite. Used to act out rudely for attention from a bad home life but grew out of that phase. Rarely rude to strangers without reason nowadays. Insanely devoted to friends and loved ones, likes going the extra mile to show that she loves and cares for them. Very outgoing, a bubbly ‘people person’ and a bit of a ‘party girl‘. She’s typically laid back and enjoys being surrounded by those she loves. ‘Bitchiness’ is a defense mechanism stemming from trauma; “If I don‘t care, I can’t get hurt.” She’s a spitfire with a feisty side and a terrible temper, never one to back down from a fight and will start one if she’s worked up.

Strengths

Loyal to the end, skilled with knives and using her stand, won’t quit until the task is done or it kills her, can seemingly sense when someone is upset, can pick things up with her feet

Weaknesses

Hedonistic, lower physical strength than muscular male opponents, argumentative, easy to anger, extensive criminal record, bottles feelings Deep down she’s scared and hurt, hiding behind a façade to escape any future pain

Special Skills / Fighting Style(s)

Mostly accustomed to street fighting. Fights dirty; punching, hitting, slapping, kicking, biting, hair pulling, nothing is off limits. Skilled with using switchblades. Likes to use her stand to trip non-stand user and see their confusion when they stumble.

Weapon(s)

Wields twin automatic “stiletto” switchblades, keeps them hidden in her boots

Driver's License / Vehicle of Choice / Driving Language

Obtained learner’s in 1981 and full license in 1983 but had been illegally driving since she was ~14 // Prefers motorcycles over cars. Favorite bike is the 1973 Harley Davidson FL Electra-Glide // Typical Florida Driver™. Has a lead foot and tends to speed. Tends to get a bit aggressive at times and will partake in road rage if provoked.

Hobbies / Recreations

Likes to draw things she thinks are cool; skulls, motorcycles, tigers, devils, playing cards. Tinkering with her bike, watching trash TV, riding motorcycles with friends, swimming, etc. Often upset she can’t do much of this in Cairo

Likes & Dislikes

Likes metal music, leather pants, motorcycles, billiards, chicken shawarma Dislikes formal clothing, being bossed around, running out of hairspray, driving in the rain, prudes

Food / Clothing / Shelter

Had a few outfits (a lot of them shoplifted) and mostly ate instant or microwaveable food while living in a motel paid for with money from ““odd jobs”” // Kept most of the same clothing upon moving to Cairo, despite her style clashing with local culture. Lives and works in DIO’s mansion

Motives / Passions

Self preservation, making “a shit ton of money”, has thought about killing her stepmother in the past but doesn’t want to deal with the consequences

Favorite Color / Locations / People

Dark teal, black, hot pink // South Miami Beach, Aunt Carol’s house // Neneh, Terence, Vanilla, and Enya

Fashion Style

Wears a lot of tight and overly revealing clothing after years of being forced to dress “like a proper girl” as a child. Likes wearing leather and wants to look like the girls in the metal magazines (i.e. Doro Pesch)

Used Substances

Tobacco, alcohol, marijuana (formerly), cocaine (formerly addicted)

Perfume / Cologne?

Used to wear “City Girl” perfume, but prefers scented lotions.

Any Accessories?

Crescent moon earring worn only on her left ear (twin sister wears the other), two hoops on right ear // stud on left side of nose // black leather fingerless gloves to hide scars

Supernatural Abilities / Attuned to Spirits?

Not necessarily sensitive to spirits but sometimes feels what she assumes is her mother’s presence when she sits on the beach alone at night. She can’t explain it, but it’s somewhat comforting and tends to happen when she’s stressed or upset.

Accent / Dialect

Miami accent; pronounces the ‘L’ in “salmon” // speaks in short form and slang often (i.e. wanna, gonna, ain’t) // drops the ‘g’ on words that end in ‘-ing’ (i.e. swimmin’ )

Anything Else?

Knows how to juggle. Allergic to shellfish. Not a serious reaction but the kind that makes her throat tingle. Used to think it happened to everyone, not just her.             ↓ “Everybody’s throat tingles after crab cakes. It’s part of the experience.”

[daisiesonafield-blog]

Info for Faith In The Future World Tour CINCINNATI, OH - JUN 3 2023

With special guests THE ACADEMIC & SNARLS!

Important Times:

5:30 PM - Doors Open

7:00 PM - Snarls

8:00 PM - The Academic

9:00 PM - Louis Tomlinson

Times are all approximate and subject to change.

Details here.

General admission (pit tickets):

You may line up outside the Race Street entrance no earlier than 4:30pm

The whole venue is GA only

The venue is OUTDOORS only

🔆⚠️ HIGH TEMPERATURE ADVISORY ⚠️🔆

Temperatures are expected to be in the 90s F (>33ºC) this Saturday!

Hydrate before the show, while waiting in line and during the show

For optimal hydration drink something with electrolytes such as Gatorade or LiquidIV

4 commercially sealed bottles (up to 33.8 fl oz) of water per person will be allowed into the concert.

Soft, empty, squeezable plastic water bottles are allowed.

Once inside the venue, water fountains are located under the Race Street turnaround outside and inside each level of The Andrew J Brady Music Center.

Wear sunscreen!

Eat well!

Subject to change. Check the event page and venue’s socials for updates!

Details here

Here are important policies:

The venue is equipped with 3 gender neutral bathrooms

All guests aged 2 or older must have a ticket

Parking: The venue is located above the Central Riverfront Garage with entrances on Race Street and Mehring Way. The venue is within walking distance to several parking lots, the Central Riverfront Garage, and the Cincinnati Bell Connector. Details and map here.

ADA info here 

Cameras: Professional cameras with long or detachable lenses, Go-Pro or action cameras, tablets and iPads are not allowed. Recording devices of any kind, audio or visual are not allowed.

Umbrellas are allowed, except pointed tip umbrellas.

NO outside food or drinks

4 sealed bottles (up to 33.8 fl oz) of water per person will be allowed into The ICON Festival Stage at Smale Park concerts

NO Animals (except service animals)

NO smoking

NO Aerosol cans (hairspray, mace, pepper spray, sunscreen)

NO Glass, Metal, or Hard Plastic Containers

NO knives, firearms or weapons of any kind

NO Glow Sticks or Stickers

NO Laser Pointers

NO Chairs

NO Blankets

NO Pointed tip umbrellas

Food and drinks info here.

There is NO RE-ENTRY!

VIEW VENUE MAP

VIEW SEAT MAP

Any other items deemed unacceptable by The Andrew J Brady Music Center management can be denied. Subject to change at the discretion of The Andrew J Brady Music Center or Tour management at any time.

For more details click here and here

Bag Policy:

No bags or purses larger than 12” x 12” will be allowed

No large bags or backpacks are allowed

All bags are subject to inspection at the entrance

Banners, signs and flag policy:

Signs or posters 8.5 inches by 11 inches or smaller allowed

Signs must not contain inappropriate or offensive language

Contact:

For additional questions please call the venue at (513) 232-5882. You can also access their website. Email info@bradymusiccenter.com Message them here. Check their twitter here and IG here for updates. Address: 25 Race Street Cincinnati, OH 45202

[mystlnewsonline]

Florida - First Mission from Israel Returns Nearly 300 Americans

Florida Governor Ron DeSantis Announces First Mission from Israel Returns Nearly 300 Americans Home TALLAHASSEE, FL (STL.News) Sunday, Florida Governor Ron DeSantis announced that the first mission has arrived from Israel with evacuees who were unable to return home due to commercial flight cancellations.  Florida partnered with Project Dynamo to bring nearly 300 evacuees home from Israel, including more than 270 to Tampa and seven to Orlando this afternoon.  Once the plane landed in Tampa, evacuees were able to access resources from multiple state agencies.  Additionally, the Governor is sending medical supplies, hygiene products, clothing, and children’s toys to Israel to help impacted Israelis. “Just a few days ago, I signed an Executive Order to allow Florida to carry out logistical, rescue, and evacuation operations to bring Floridians back home and provide important supplies to our valued ally, Israel,” said Governor Ron DeSantis.  “I am proud of how quickly we have been able to activate resources and do what the federal government could not – get Floridians and other Americans back home, reunited with their families, free of charge.” “Following last week’s unprovoked and heinous attacks by Hamas, Governor Ron DeSantis took immediate action to help Floridians in Israel,” said Lieutenant Governor Jeanette Nuñez.  “Our administration will continue to work to safely bring Floridians home and support the people of Israel as they fight back to defend themselves.” “Israel mourns its more than 1400 murdered and 150 hostages in the devastating unprovoked terror attack perpetrated by Hamas,” said Consul General of Israel to Florida, Maor Elbaz-Starinsky. “We have gone to war to eradicate Hamas and its allies and to uphold our values of freedom, humanity, and the sanctity of life.  The support we are receiving from Governor DeSantis, the First Lady, FDEM Executive Director Kevin Guthrie, Florida Commerce Secretary Alex Kelly, FDLE Commissioner Mark Glass, and his entire administration and the state is overwhelming.  We are very grateful for the special flights and supplies.” “We have a dedicated team of volunteers who work tirelessly to ensure the well-being of Americans caught in crisis situations all over the world,” said Bryan Stern, Project Dynamo CEO and Founder.  “It’s truly heart-wrenching to watch the destruction unfolding in Israel.  We’re so grateful to Governor DeSantis for partnering with us on this mission to save every American in need.” On October 12, 2023, Governor DeSantis signed Executive Order 23-208 to allow the State of Florida to carry out logistical, rescue, and evacuation operations to keep its residents safe.  Specifically, this order enables the Florida Division of Emergency Management to bring Floridians home and transport necessary supplies to Israel. The Florida Division of Emergency Management will lead efforts for additional flights, which will take more supplies to Israel and continue to bring Floridians back home. The Governor has also surged law enforcement resources upon request to prevent violence at demonstrations and protect Jewish schools and synagogues.  The Governor directed FDLE and FHP to work with the Attorney General’s Office and issue memos to law enforcement and Florida universities, reminding them of their responsibility to protect the Jewish community from threats and unlawful harassment.  Florida will not tolerate hate or violence towards the Jewish community. If you or someone you know is a Florida citizen who is unable to leave Israel due to the current situation, visit FloridaDisaster.Org/Israel to fill out the form. SOURCE: Florida Governor Read the full article

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Okay, guys, here's your golden opportunity if you've ever dreamed of owning an old funeral home. Zillow, et al. ain't sayin' it was a funeral chapel, but there are signs and Home Tours found out for sure, even though their website has been removed. They still maintain 2 of their facilities & this lovely 1870 Queen Anne in Sheffield, Illinois was either just a viewing place- the preparations done at one of the other facilities- but, they don't show the basement, though, so who knows? 3bds, 3ba, and only $189K.

The main entrance hall still has the coat rack for guests, and a piano.

I don't know why this beautiful fireplace is in an alcove, but according to the description, there are 3 original fireplaces that aren't used, but they haven't been sealed up.

There's absolutely no mention of it, but these are clearly viewing rooms.

Here's the 2nd fireplace and what could that closet have been? Maybe an old phone booth?

Here's the office. Nice windows.

Lounge with a sink.

And, a restroom.

The millwork is very much intact.

Both stained and leaded glass windows.

This could be a primary bedroom and it has the 3rd fireplace, plus there's a second room that could be turned into a walk-in closet.

It already has some shelves.

The kitchen was removed from the main floor, though, and relocated up here on the 2nd fl. in the family's quarters.

They also removed the bathroom fixtures and made it a laundry room, but the pipes and stuff are still there.

One of the secondary bedrooms.

And, this vintage bath is still intact.

The 3rd bd. is in the front turret and has an en-suite.

In the back is a little sun room.

2-car garage w/storage.

Looks like there's potential for a roof-top deck and a finished attic. The corner lot measures .44 acre.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/339-E-Chestnut-St-Sheffield-IL-61361/2060613290_zpid/?

[villainousshakespeare]

It's been a hell of a year for you, darling! So, please answer any or all of the following, if you would?

End of the year Asks

Song of the year?

Album of the year?

Favorite musical artist / group you started listening to this year?

Movie of the year?

TV show of the year?

Episode of tv or webisode that defined the year for you?

Favorite actor of the year?

Game of the year?

Best month for you this year?

Something that made you cry this year?

Something you want to do again next year?

Talk about a new friend you made this year

How was your birthday this year?

Favorite book you read this year?

What’s a bad habit you picked up this year?

Post a picture from the beginning of the year

Post a picture from the end of the year

A memorable meal this year?

What’re you excited about for next year?

What’s something you learned this year?

What’s something new about your place of residence (room, home, or general location) now vs the start of the year?

Favorite place you visited this year?

If you could send a message to yourself back on the first day of the year, what would it be?

Did you keep any New Year’s Resolutions?

Did you create any characters (in games, art, or writing) this year? Describe one

Fun ask game from the wonderful @caffiend-queen!

Song: I mean, it has to be "Running Up That Hill" doesn't it?

Album of the Year: Selfish choice - hubs recorded his first album of original songs that I helped produce!

Musical Artist: Kate Bush resurgence for the 80's crowd!

Movie of the Year: I didn't have a lot of time to go to the movies this year. I liked Glass Onion.

TV show of the Year: Andor! I was late to the party, but it was so good! (Honorable mentions: Stranger Things, Severance, Succession)

Episode that defined the year: season finale of Succession. Even when you think you have all come together to win, someone or something unexpected fucks you over.

Actor: Tom. Always Tom. sigh. Otherwise, Fiona Shaw and Andy Serkis in Andor were stupendous.

Game of the Year: Nathan Chen winning the Olympic Gold Medal

Best Month: July. Got my first royalty check for a theater company performing my play!

Something that made me Cry: My father-in-law dying

Something I want to do again next year: get a show published. Editing my next play for submission to my publishers. Fingers crossed!

A new friend this year: I adopted my new kitten Hermia, and she became the light of my life and bosom friend and companion. She is fierce and sweet and playful and I love her.

I don't even remember what I did for my birthday this past year. In 18 days I have a big one though, and I will have to do something special.

Favorite book read: The Lost Queen by Signe Pike

Bad Habbit: I already had a lot, can't think of a new one

Pic:

Pic:

Memorable Meal: Had a dinner party with my closest friends where I made homemade pasta, pork tenderloin in Chianti wine and rosemary sauce, and chocolate sausage for dessert. It was yummy!

Excited about: possibly going to Europe for a month or more for a writing sabbatical!

Something I learned this year: professional off-broadway producers are just as flaky and unorganized as off-off-Broadway producers, if not more so. Give me the contract to sign and I am on board to direct, if not call me when you have it ready because I cannot put my life on hold for a "maybe" repeatedly.

Place of Residence: Everything is new!!! We have a new home and I love it. The neighborhood is friendly and convenient, I have a kitchen I can bake in, and it's all ours! No more subletting to friends to make the rent!

Favorite place visited: St. Augustine, FL. We didn't travel much this year, but I love visiting the ocean and being rejuvenated by the waves. Closest thing I have to religion.

Message to past self: Just keep going. This year is going to suck a lot and there will be a high level of stress, but you will come out stronger and in a better place.

Did you keep New Year's resolutions: I don't think I made any

Created characters: In fics I created Caroline, the feisty shrink who I love in Therapy Fit for a God; In my new play I created four idiosyncratic sisters who are all based in part on myself and my sisters written for actresses who will knock them out of the park if I can make myself finish the play.

Play along my dears! This was fun and made me think. Didn't have as much time for either creating or consuming content this year, but there were definitely highlights that I had almost forgotten about. Anyway, happy to have made it out of 2022 and hoping for a more tranquil and creative 2023!

[metropolitanmutantofark]

The Messenger, Eclipse

(~1.9K Words) Part 1, Chapter 1 - Wendy Wendel

0002023 A.D. - Earth (Solar System, Milky Way Galaxy) North America - Tampa Bay, FL, U.S.A. May 25th - 7:50 AM

It all started with that parking spot - that stupid parking spot. It was simple. It was all I asked for. I never asked for any space carjacking, I never asked for any blistering red face-goop, I never asked for any evil taxi cabs, and I most certainly never asked for any near-death experiences, let alone seven. All I wanted was to park in my spot, and get to class. My name is Wendy. To my knowledge, I'm currently 23 years old, give or take a few months, but that can be surprisingly hard to pin down aboard this... thing. This was maybe around six, maybe seven months ago, a few days after I turned 23. Since that day, I haven't had a week's worth of rest at home. It was the day I met Eclipse - don't get me wrong, he's a wonderful person - but he's more than a handful, especially when we're off Earth. He's the reason I'm writing this right now, looking at all the postage and recording logs. Fortunately for all of us, this all took place on solid ground. God knows I'd be livid if I had an extra-planetary experience on my first day. But anyway - the parking spot, yeah? At the school, we're supposed to have assigned parking. My spot for the AM class is in the second row off Building C, six spots down from the far right side when you're coming in. It's a little far from the building, sure, but it's not like I'd take one in the third row, out of the shade. My car's a little blue type - two doors, two seats, just enough space for me and my textbooks to fit under the trees between the first and second row of student parking. My car should have been the only car allowed in the spot, but as I pulled into the lot, I couldn't find the empty square. At first, I thought it was just a simple mistake - there are plenty of turns into different lots, but this was certainly the Building C parking lot. Thankfully, I was about ten minutes early to the lecture and lab as I looked around for my sign - I knew for a fact that I'd be cutting it close once I saw the scrap heap in my square. I manually counted off the spaces, pointing to each one to make sure there was no mistake before I pulled in directly behind the van in my spot. It was sleek and white - a clean vehicle, but old, and slightly splotchy with its paint. At earliest, it must have been an 80s model, with some notable surface touch-ups here and there. It was well over seven feet tall, likely a cargo van or a camper. In any case, it was in my spot, and after that long of a drive, I wasn't having that. I parked my car immediately behind it to trap it in. There wouldn't be another car around for another three hours or so - the labs would always last three hours or longer, and the only breaks would be twenty minutes long, hardly enough time for anyone to leave the campus or try to pop in for a surprise visit. I stepped out of my car and took careful steps up beside the window, peeking in through the perforated windows to try and guess whether or not someone was inside. Well, come on - what would you do if someone took your parking spot at such a crucial time? I approached the driver's door and started to tap on the glass erratically, cupping my hand against the driver's side window to shield my eyes from the glare. "Open up in there!" I shouted. "This isn't yours to take!"

I heard a loud, heavy thud against my car's hood, and I held my breath. After a moment had passed, I heard groaning from the other side of the van, and out stepped a fairly tall, skinny guy wearing a bright green jacket and black slacks. He had wispy, black hair that fell over his face, but the rest was brushed semi-neatly to either side, falling roughly around his shoulders. "What'cha have to go and park there for?" he asked, hastily shoving the stray lock of hair behind his ear and smoothing out the rest of the messy, wavy mop on his head. "Made me bang my head against the door."

"Sorry, sir, campus police. I'm doing a patrol sweep of the C parking lot, and you don't seem to have the right sticker on your windshield," I answered back, putting on my best customer-service smile.

"Campus..?" he asked, before turning his head to look towards the main building. His hand connected with his forehead with a loud smack, and he took in a sharp breath. His lips were moving, but he wasn't speaking - for a moment, I thought he had broken down, but then he started speaking again. "Oh, sorry. Right, no, right - this is my parking space," he lied. He lied surprisingly well - no failing or faltering to his voice, and just the right amount of confidence to his tone that might have sold me if I didn't already know it was false. His eyes connected with the sign across from the hood of his van, and as he crossed over the bumper to meet me, he patted the front of the sign. "Mister Whendle," he explained. He held up a plastic ID card. Despite being closed off in his hand, it reflected light, and I couldn't get a good look at its surface without blinding myself. Beneath the glare, though, I could tell something was wrong. The letters shifted back and forth, dissolving into one another in a soupy mess before disappearing under the glare. His face matched, and things were laid out like a regular ID, but something untraceable was wrong about it. "Should be attending the next-" he paused, taking a little too long to check the text on the 'reserved' sign. "-Chemistry class. Say I swing by the office and get the window sticker, and you trot off to go get a warning slip, sound fair?"

"Vhendel," I corrected.

"Right - no, sorry?"

"Vhendel. It's pronounced Vhendel. It's a Germanic name, probably Swedish or Dutch. The W is pronounced like a Vuh, yeah?"

"Yeah..." he answered. His hair fell over his face once again, and his eyebrows raised. I could practically see the awkward regret fill his soul, but he at least had the courage not to take his eyes off of me. He tucked his ID into his jacket's pocket. "And your name would be..?"

"Wendy. Wendy Wendel. I'm the chemistry student you're currently bothering, if you haven't noticed."

"Which means you're not campus police?" he asked. "So what are you doing blocking me in here?"

"What are you doing, full stop?" I shot back.

He clicked his tongue and paused for a while. A muffled, buzzing sound interrupted him. He checked his watch - I couldn't make out what it read, despite my best efforts. "Little complicated. Professional business. You'll get your parking space back, you have my word, Vendy," he stated, putting a hand out to stall my speaking. "Just cut me a break just this once? Time - sort of an 'of the essence' thing-type-deal, and it's been a long time since I've had any surplus of it," he pleaded.

"Wendy. It's an English name. You pronounce the W as a Wuh. Get that right and I might not report your silly little van to the campus police after you shove it - now shove it."

"Ach, no," he replied. "This isn't an 'I wanna go but can't,' this is an 'I shouldn't even be having this conversation,' sort of-" He scoffed, cutting himself off. "You'll just figure it out." He took two hurried steps towards the crosswalk, and then turned back around to face me. He looked worried - probably since I was about to call the campus police - but took a breath and fit a black glove to his hand. "Right, no, sorry, lack of parking spaces..."

He stuck out his newly-gloved hand and clicked his fingers. In his hands sat a thick, brown envelope, one he quickly stuffed into his jacket along with the glove. He smiled as he looked my way, trotting back over to the side door of the van and opening it. A plain white saddle-bag was slung over his shoulder, one which he was quick to open. I couldn't peek inside, but from what I saw at the sides, it appeared to be flooded with letters and packages - thick, bursting at the seams but clinging to its last threads for dear life. He started to shove the envelope into the bag. "Now Ms. Wendel, how much time did you say your class was?" he asked, holding up his watch and twisting the outer rim as if to set an alarm.

"I didn't say, but it's three hours, thanks. Are you gonna move your van? It starts in six minutes now." I turned around, reaching into my laptop case to make sure I had everything. "You're just lucky I-"

My heart stopped, and my voice died. My car was gone. One second, it had been parked there, the next, it had vanished. I turned to face him, just in time for him to seal his bag.

"My..!" I shook my head, jaw hanging open as I dropped my hands to my sides. "Where did it go? Give it back!"

"Timed compression package," he explained. He held up the saddle-bag he wore, patting the front flap. "You said three hours, so you're gonna wait three hours." He held up his keys and locked his van, and once he was sure he had everything settled, he started to dart off towards the school. "You'll have it back by the end of class!" he called. "I never miss a delivery schedule," he added. Somehow, that didn't comfort me.

"I don't care if you don't miss a stupid delivery, all my books are in there!" I answered, dashing past the cars on either side of me to catch up to him. Once I had gotten into lock-step with his pace and was a couple feet behind him, I grabbed his shoulder. "And you didn't even tell me your name!"

He stopped, putting a hand over my other shoulder so I wouldn't trip. "Call me Eclipse. I'm something of a delivery-man, from-" His eyes dodged to the left. "-Out of town," he finished. With a little pat to my shoulder, he started running again, seemingly content to speak while spending his breath. "Where?" I asked. Eclipse stopped, turning around. "Let's say Montana. That's a good state, right? I've never been there on the job. Nobody wants packages in Montana. I should go there sometime!" Once he was done speaking, he started running again. "Wait, but- hold on, mail boy, what's with the..?!" He stopped yet again, turning around with an impatient look on his face. "What's with the what? The car? I'll explain later, alright? Just lifting it for a minute - but right now, mail boy's got places to be, so you're either in or you're out," he stated. He turned back around again and started running, far off-course from where I was headed. I turned my head towards the main entrance to the C building, with three minutes until class started. There wasn't a lot I could do - those books were important, and to be honest, it wasn't my favorite class. At the time, I could only hope the professor could excuse the absence. I couldn't have predicted just how long I would wind up being gone for.

[iomadachd]

Dean has several diagnoses as far as mental illness CPTSD Paranoid Personality Disorder Selective Mutism Generalized Anxiety Disorder

Dean reacts badly to both hallucinogens and painkillers that can induce hallucinations, such as morphine. They mess with his PPD and he’ll generally have at least a mild freak out until they wear off.

Dean owns a pair of reading glasses when his eyes get strained. He knows he probably needs a pair full time, but hasn’t jumped in on that just yet.

Dean is a decent guitarist. He first learned to play during summers as a teen and has kept it up in his spare time as a hobby and way to relax.

At the time Dean was diagnosed with PPD, he was also diagnosed with PTSD. His mother’s death had left a scar on his mind, and a part of the four year old remained even as an adult. Not even John realized that Dean had seen everything. How Dean had woken up when Mary screamed, and ran to the nursery even before John. The blood on his baby brother’s face and the shadow that had wiped it away.The way his mother’s blood dripped into the crib. The horror on John’s face when he looked up. His mother on the ceiling with her stomach slashed open and fear in her eyes. The heat as flames exploded on the ceiling. Sam was too small to remember any of that. Dean didn’t talk for a full year after that, no matter how much John asked, begged, bribed or threatened. He couldn’t talk. He could protect Sammy though, and that’s what he did. Even when John abandoned them with Pastor Jim. Every night he’d crawl into Sammy’s crib and quiet his cries, hold him close and keep him safe from the shadows that killed. Without a way to communicate, Jim taught Dean sign language, to give a voice to the trauma that stole Dean’s words. He started talking again in November when Sammy was a year and a half. When John finally came back for them, Dean was talking to others, but his words were too stiff, too old and restrained for a little boy. Damaged.

Dean has three phobias:

Pyrophobia - Fear of Fire (Associated with buildings)

Aviophobia - Fear of Flying

Ophidiophobia - Fear of Snakes

During the ten months Dean spent in a mental hospital between the ages of 14 and 15, a nurse that took a liking to him gave him a St. Dymphna medal about half way through his stay, and he’s had it ever since. Saint Dymphna is the patron saint of mental disorders. Her Feast Day is May 15th Her attributes are the crown, the sword, the lily, the lamp, and a princess with a fettered demon at her feet. The medal is always somewhere on his person.

Dean became an active mutant at the age of 14. This included an eye mutation that turned his sclera black, as well as the ability to shoot concussive blasts from his hands. Although the Mutant Classification system isn’t concrete and subject to ever changing factors, there are enough accepted terms to accurately classify Dean. Greek Classification: Beta (He would be Alpha except that he cannot hide his ocular mutation) Level (Number) Classification: 4 While very strong, his powers have a limit, thus preventing him from ever being an Omega Level Mutant. Sources: http://www.newsarama.com/15488-alpha-omega-explaining-the-x-men-s-mutant-classifications.html http://www.comicvine.com/profile/squares/blog/the-marvel-universes-mutant-classification-levels/77504/

Dean has several tattoos Anti-possession tattoo over his heart Four leaf clover on his left hip (Irish heritage) A thistle on his right hip (Scottish heritage) Plus Ego Quam Timor Meus on his left side over his ribs. Translates to ‘I am more than my fear’ MW on his right ankle A half sleeve of Fenrir on his right arm

One of the items on Dean’s bucket list is a road trip, but a very specific one. A trip that involves visiting all the cities in the U.S. with dirty names, such as: Climax, FL Bald Knob, Arkansas Rough and Ready, California Oral, South Dakota Assinippi, Massachusetts French Lick, Indiana Big Beaver, Pennsylvania Threeway, Virginia Fourway, Virginia Spread Eagle, Wisconsin Intercourse, Pennsylvania Cumming, Georgia Beaver Lick, Kentucky Blue Ball, Ohio Horneytown, North Carolina

Dean owns a fully restored 1956 Harley Panhead

One of Dean’s top five worst hunts involved a lighthouse that every lightkeeper who’d worked it in the last 100 years had been killed in up in Maine. Turns out it had been the result of spirits of drowned passengers who had died when their ship hit the rocks because the light had been dark that night. They’d been tied to the lighthouse by artifacts kept on display in the small lightkeeper’s residence turned museum that had been recovered from the wreck.

Dean’s favorite Joker is Jack Nicholson, hands down. He’s a huge fan of the Batman comics and movies in general, but Jack’s take on the Clown Prince of Crime remains his favorite to this day. You ever dance with the devil in the pale moonlight? He’s considered that as a tattoo several times over the years, but never quite got a design he liked enough for it to bite the bullet.

[adfagaeghbn]

Enhancing Your Home’s Protection: Hurricane Doors and Roof Replacement in Florida

Living in Dania, FL, means residents are no strangers to the power and unpredictability of hurricanes. Hurricane doors are not just an added layer of security; they are a necessity for withstanding Florida’s intense weather patterns. Standard doors may not provide sufficient protection against flying debris, high winds, or water intrusion during a hurricane. Hurricane doors, however, are specifically designed to address these issues and offer several advantages for homeowners in Dania, FL.

Durability and Strength Against High Winds

Hurricane doors are built with reinforced materials such as heavy-duty glass and metal that can withstand extreme wind forces. These doors go through rigorous testing to meet or exceed state standards for impact resistance. For homeowners in Dania, FL, this means that choosing high-quality hurricane doors is a proactive measure to ensure safety for their families and assets.

Protection Against Debris and Water Intrusion

Flying debris during a hurricane can be one of the biggest threats to a home. The impact-resistant materials used in hurricane doors dania fl are designed to resist shattering upon impact, providing a shield against debris. Additionally, these doors often come with a watertight seal that prevents water from seeping into the house, minimizing damage to flooring, furniture, and walls.

Energy Efficiency and Year-Round Savings

One often-overlooked benefit of hurricane doors is their energy efficiency. These doors are insulated and designed to keep heat out, which is valuable for residents in the warm climate of Dania, FL. Not only do they offer hurricane protection, but they also reduce energy costs by maintaining stable indoor temperatures, making them a cost-effective upgrade in the long term.

The Importance of Roof Replacement in Pompano Beach

Just as critical as having sturdy hurricane doors, maintaining a strong roof is essential for protecting a home against Florida’s harsh weather conditions. Roof replacement Pompano Beach is a common service due to the toll hurricanes and extreme heat take on roofing materials. Investing in a roof replacement isn’t just a repair; it’s an investment in safety, property value, and peace of mind.

Signs Your Roof Needs Replacement

Understanding when a roof needs replacement is essential to prevent extensive damage. In Pompano Beach, where heavy rains and high winds are frequent, roofs can deteriorate faster. Common signs that indicate the need for a roof replacement include:

Visible leaks or water stains: Water damage is a clear sign of compromised roof integrity, often leading to mold, mildew, and structural decay.

Missing or damaged shingles: Shingles that are cracked, curled, or completely missing can’t adequately protect your home, especially during a hurricane.

Sagging roof sections: If parts of the roof are sagging, it may indicate weakened structural support, which could lead to a collapse if not addressed.

Benefits of Modern Roofing Materials

With advances in roofing technology, modern materials offer better durability, energy efficiency, and aesthetic appeal. Many Pompano Beach residents opt for metal roofing, impact-resistant shingles, or tile roofs that are known for their resilience against strong winds and intense sun exposure. These materials can endure Florida’s climate longer than traditional roofing options, providing a longer lifespan and reduced maintenance costs.

How Hurricane Doors and Roof Replacement Improve Property Value

Installing hurricane doors and investing in a roof replacement are upgrades that not only enhance protection but also increase a home’s market value. Homes in Dania, FL, with hurricane doors or those in Pompano Beach with recently replaced roofs appeal to buyers seeking safety features and quality construction. A well-maintained home with reliable storm protection can command a higher price in the real estate market, especially in areas vulnerable to hurricanes.

Finding the Right Professionals in Dania, FL, and Pompano Beach

Choosing the right contractors for installing hurricane doors or conducting roof replacements can make all the difference in quality and durability. Homeowners in Dania, FL, should look for certified professionals experienced in impact-resistant products and familiar with local regulations. Similarly, roof replacement Pompano Beach projects require licensed roofing experts who understand the specific requirements of the area’s weather and building codes. Quality contractors can ensure that installations meet stringent safety standards, enhancing the resilience and longevity of both hurricane doors and roofing systems.

The Long-Term Benefits of Securing Your Home

Protecting your home with hurricane doors and a durable roof offers lasting benefits beyond immediate safety. Reduced maintenance costs, improved energy efficiency, and a potentially higher resale value all contribute to the long-term advantages of these upgrades. With climate predictions suggesting more intense hurricanes in the future, homeowners in Dania, FL, and Pompano Beach would do well to take proactive measures.