#i’m going to go on a TRIP because i haven’t left this county in FOUR YEARS

[thestuffedalligator]

One more week until my week off one more week until my week off one more week until my week off—

[stusbunker]

AGA: Word to the Wise

A Supernatural Fan-fiction Denny AU Series

Featuring: Dean Winchester/Benny Lafitte, past Dean/Jo

Other characters: Sam, Bobby, Cas, Mick, Ash, Jo

Word Count: 3000 (whoa)

A/N: Sam gets on Dean’s nerves and Dean ends up taking a late night detour. Big talks ahead.

Special thanks to my beta @cracksinthewalls​ who puts up with my whiny ass. Also grateful for @there-must-be-a-lock​‘s insight.

The bowling league was in lean attendance due to a surprise snowstorm, but that didn’t keep Singers’ Slingers from mopping the floor with their competition. Dean ended on a spare in the last game, putting him just over his average for the night. State bowling wasn’t until spring, but if they kept up their momentum Dean was sure they could place well. And a weekend away would be a welcome break from his usual exhaustion. 

Dean still owed Mick a rematch from last year’s trip. Mick drank him under the table and Dean didn’t want to lose two years running, he had a reputation to uphold afterall. Bartending had cut into his training time, among other things.

Ash was the first one to bow out for the night, knowing his side towing business would be busy with vehicles in ditches for however long the storm lasted. Cas bummed a ride with Mick, since his car had never done well in this weather and he was still dragging his feet on upgrading. Dean knew he had been hinting at shopping around, but Dean wasn’t going to push the topic and get dragged into helping or finagling with the salesman for the guy. Cas could figure it out on his own, and Dean was finally in a place where he felt comfortable letting him. Huh.

Sam had been quiet all night, but Dean hadn’t mentioned it, attributing the sour mood to post-break up blues. They bought Bobby his weekly drink, “team dues” as he called it and settled in along the bar. 

Dean kept the conversation going, trying to keep the mood light, but Bobby was too tired to ham it up and Sam was not amused by his brother’s antics. Once Bobby polished off his last beer and headed home to Ellen, Dean was rolling his eyes in exasperation.

“Fine, you know what, I’ll reel it in, don’t want to interrupt your sulking,” Dean muttered after another joke fell flat. Sam winced at Dean’s jab, which Dean instantly regretted. Though it did seem to shake Sam out of his funk, if minutely.

“So, tell me about Benny,” Sam brought up with elephantine grace.

Dean stared at Sam like he proclaimed he was quitting the law firm and joining the circus, coulrophobia and all. 

Sam huffed. “What?”

“Nice segue there, counselor,” Dean grumbled. “What about him? Hmm, you want a new bowling bag? Because that was already on my list for you for Christmas.”

“Dude, you don’t have to do that. I mean, that’d be great, but no, I was kind of wondering what your deal was? Like do you hang out a lot?” Sam started fishing.

“Yeah, totally, everynight,” Dean deadpanned. “I mean I only work two jobs when I’m not moving your sorry ass back into Mom and Dad’s.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Sam said, waiting to figure out where he was going with this line of questioning and just shot in the dark. 

“What I’m trying to say is, is this, like, a Cas thing?” Sam choked out, unable to put it any more delicately. 

Dean burned with shame as his hackles raised in defensiveness. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Sam cocked his head and pursed his lips, unamused and unimpressed. “You know what I mean, man. Don’t make me spell it out.”

Dean wouldn’t budge, he dropped his beer with a thud. “Well, you’re gonna have to, because I have no fuckin’ idea what you’re talking about.”

“Dude!” Sam shook his head and rolled his eyes.

“The fuck is your problem? You got something to say, just say it, Sam.” Dean fumed, daring him with a murderous glare. Sam inhaled pregnantly, face still inching towards bitch mode. Sam eyed the bartender who was trying not to listen and the late game bowlers who suddenly decided they could catch up lane side instead.

What Dean didn’t realize was that he needed Sam to say it. He yearned for it, for his truth to be spoken, and known without him having to say it himself.

“Look, I know this isn’t something we talk about. But, I just want to make sure you’re okay. Alright? In the beginning with Cas, it was like you were obsessed, man. And since he just always seemed to need something from you. I just want to make sure you’re not getting used, I guess,” Sam unraveled the heart of his concern without saying too much, which Dean was not expecting, at all.

Dumbfounded, Dean retreated, annoyance trumping any chance at relief. 

“I think I can handle myself, thanks,” Dean spat. Petulantly, he took a sip from his beer, the cold glass solid in his hand, giving him something to clutch or even throw, if it came down to it.

“I didn’t say---,” Sam broke off. “Fine! You know what? You’re on your own. Just remember that I should have listened to you about Ruby and now I’m paying the price for my own stubbornness.”

Sam stood and reached for his money clip, tossing an extra five on the bar for the dramatics. He gave Dean one last chance to come clean, to own up to what they weren’t saying. Dean stared straight ahead, eyes unfocusing on the liquor labels behind the bar as if Sam had already left. So he did, just as he came: pissed and questioning his brother’s motives.

    Dean didn’t go home after that. Instead he absently followed a plow down the main road until he happened upon a familiar turn off. Which he took slow and steady until it ended in a T. The little brick ranch at the end of the lane held a lot of memories. And it was more inviting than ever with its Christmas card perfection in the falling snow. Dean put the Impala in park and let the radio play, wishing he had a joint just for the sake of something to do. 

He wasn’t there ten minutes before his phone rang, which he answered without processing the caller ID.

“You gonna come in or you just gonna sit out there feeling sorry for yourself?” Jo’s voice sliced across the line.

“Didn’t know if you were still up,” Dean bullshitted.

“Uh-huh. Whatever you say. Backdoor’s open,” her unimpressed reply. She hung up before Dean could make up an excuse to leave. He slouched out of the car and trudged down the long country driveway. As soon as he had stomped the snow off his boots, Jo welcomed him in with a firm hug and an appraising glint in her eye.

“Thanks, it’s a real mess out there,” Dean explained.

Jo just shook her head at him. “How’d ya bowl?”

“619 series, finished strong in the last few frames,” Dean answered. “Were you at your folks?”

“Nah, just know it’s Wednesday night, which means the boys were at the alley,” Jo smirked as she reached atop her fridge for the good stuff. 

She held up the whiskey in offering and Dean nodded, bending out of his coat. He slipped it over the back of a chair and settled in at the vintage kitchen table. She poured him a glass and watched as he inhaled the first round like he had been outside for hours and needed to fight off a much deeper chill.

“Well alright,” Jo resigned herself to playing shrink and poured Dean another drink. “So, what’s got you stuck in your head, hm?”

Dean weighed his head from side to side as he let the whiskey roll over his tongue. He never got far into a pouting session when Jo was around, but he also didn’t know which chamber of his heart he could stand to prop open for her inspection tonight.

“How’ve you been, Jo? You still schooling those truckers on taking care of their own rigs?” Dean sidestepped with ease.

“You know it,” Jo confirmed. “Not a day goes by that I don’t have to put another asshole in his place. Pays good, though.”

Jo had followed in Bobby’s footsteps and became a mechanic, but two Singers were already one too many for the shop and salvage yard. So she took her skills out to the interstate and made a name for herself as the only female diesel technician in four counties. Dean used to hate it when she would fix something faster than him, but it had been more than a decade since her skills had made him feel inferior. Dean knew Jo’d be his boss someday, but he wasn’t too worried about those far off futures; Bobby wouldn’t retire unless Ellen made him or killed him first.

“How’s Rufus holding up?” Jo teased, knowing her dad’s old friend was getting worse for the wear, much like John had.

“Stubborn, and as glib as ever. Good thing your dad rehired him, because he’s a bit too mouthy for most customers,” Dean admitted.

    Jo hummed with nostalgia. “I gotta swing by and bug you guys sometime, but it just keeps getting busier.”

    Dean sighed. “I hear that. What’s it been? Labor day? No. I haven’t even seen you since the Fourth. Christ!”

“Yeah, well, you’ll see me next week for Thanksgiving, don’t get too sentimental about it now,” Jo quipped. She took a short sip off the bottle as Dean swirled the last of his second helping.

“I’m seeing someone,” Dean staggered the words, like he wasn’t sure if their meanings and sounds fit together.

Jo sighed dramatically, “Finally, the truth is revealed! What’s up? She’s not pregnant, is she?”

“No.” Dean had to bite back his guffaw. “Definitely not.”

“Okay, then why the sad face? Not pulling a Ruby on ya, I hope?” Jo tested the waters.

“No, it’s--uh--- it’s been good. Really good. I just, kind of need to make up my mind if I’m in it for the long haul. Ya know?” Dean clarified, relaxing with each little confession. 

“Uh-oh it’s getting serious,” Jo mock whispered.

Dean rolled his shoulders. “No, well, it could be. I don’t know.”

Jo giggled. “I can’t believe you! You’re fucking twitterpated, aren’t you?!”

“Jo, if you start making Thumper jokes, I’m shutting up right now,” Dean warned with a pointed finger. “Care to top me off while you’re at it?”

“Okay, okay, gosh.” Jo rolled her eyes dramatically as she poured him another drink before pointedly putting it back on the fridge. “But you’re in deep. You’re all blushy about it.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m ready to go big. It just means they’re willing to put up with me until I say the word,” Dean tried to downplay his feelings and Benny’s confession.

“So do it! Bust out the grand gestures already,” Jo encouraged.

Dean scoffed, “I’m not built for commitment, you know that!”

“Except you kinda are! You’ve changed, Dean,” Jo insisted, head hung to pour her honesty from her eyes. “I don’t know when it happened, but you’re not that reckless boy that I knew. You’ve always been a good guy, but now?---- Maybe it’s been since Sam came home, I don’t know. But somewhere along the way you grew up.---- It’s okay to let yourself want something more, you know.”

Dean grumbled and rolled his neck, breaking the eye contact. She always could do this to him, just like her mother, see straight through his every defense. “I always thought it’d be you, you know?”

Jo smiled without teeth. “Firsts can do that to people. But, we’re not those kids anymore, Dean. So, if you’re asking for my permission or seeking my approval---?”

Dean dropped his head to his hands, thick fingers poorly hiding him from Jo. “It’s a guy, Jo. I’m--- I don’t know--- Bi? I guess?”

“Dean?” Jo waited until he stopped being sheepish and looked at her, even if it was only out of the corner of one eye. “You’ve been head over heels for Cas for years. If you dare tell me this is about him, so help me, I will throw you out right now.”

Dean couldn’t help but laugh ruefully at that and toss back what was left of his whiskey. “You saw that, huh?”

She didn’t answer, waiting for him to work through it on his own.

“It’s not Cas.” Dean smacked his lips and held up his glass for a refill. Jo stood and brought the bottle back to the table. Dean poured himself three fingers worth and pondered the sloshing liquid before he continued. “Your mom know?”

Jo licked her lips, cocked her head, and sighed.

Dean closed his eyes and asked, “Bobby? Fuck!--- my mom?!”

“No one has ever said it out loud, Dean. I don’t know who knows, honestly. But we’re family, that doesn’t change.” Jo grasped his wrist firmly, he held her hand to his and then she slapped her other one on top. Time stopped long enough for Dean to accept that his secret was finally out, but also that it was safe.

“I can’t believe I’m talking about this with you, of all people.” Dean thumbed her knuckles, staring into eyes he knew as well as his own.

“Really? Who else would you be talking to about it? Sam? Ash, maybe?” Jo giggled. “I’m honored, actually. It means you stopped hating me.”

Dean pulled his hands away and took another drink. “I never hated you.” 

“Okay, well, maybe it means you stopped hating yourself,” Jo corrected.

Dean’s brows crooked incredulously.

“Too much?” Jo asked apologetically.

Dean shook his head and sighed. “You are your mother’s daughter.”

“Now you’re the one being rude,” Jo muttered before taking a solid drink off the bottle this time.

Dean let himself relax, let the whiskey and conversation work into his muscles and set his worries aside. They talked like the old days and about the old days. Those in between years after high school and before anyone was ready to face responsibility. When half their friends went to college, they had just kept on working. After another hour, Jo leaned back in her chair and started scrutinizing him once again.

“You know how I know you’re happy with what’s his name?” Jo teased.

“Beh--- I didn’t tell you, fuck! Benny, his name is Benny. Goddamnit Joanna Beth,” Dean cursed through a chuckle; more details dragged out of him than he had planned on.

Jo cocked her head and considered the name.“Benny, right. You wanna know how I know?” Jo pushed.

“Fine, how?” Dean held up his hand, beckoning for her to hit him with her response.

“Because this is about the time of night you start giving me the lazy once over. But not tonight,” Jo proclaimed, chin out condescendingly. She had him, every few years they’d find themselves back in each other’s beds, for a night or a weekend and then they’d move on. He always thought of her as his home, his starting point. But maybe they weren’t the same thing at all.

“You still look good, Jo,” Dean replied, trying to save face.

“That’s not what I meant, Dean. Besides, I know!” Jo snarked, straightening her spine and tossing her hair over her shoulder. Dean couldn’t hold in his laughter anymore and it spilled out over a toothy grin, making Jo almost choke on her drink. God, Dean felt like anything was possible. That life was good. 

After the hysterics had calmed down, Dean exhaled. “Thanks, Jo. I needed this.”

“You sure did, nobody else was gonna hand you your ass so kindly,” Jo agreed, standing and taking the bottle and Dean’s glass with her to the counter that held the sink. He whined comically, but knew her timing was right. She leaned back and smirked.

Dean grew quiet and Jo waited to see if it was exhaustion, the alcohol or something else. She didn’t have long to prepare.

“How’m I gonna tell my dad?” Dean asked, the pain and panic pulling at his face until she saw the telltale tears well up.

“Fuck ‘im. I mean it, if your dad can’t get his head out of his ass to see how happy you are, he isn’t worth your time,” Jo said adamantly.

Dean let his thoughts roll to the side of his head and licked his lips, biting against the tremor. He quickly wiped away the tears that escaped and inhaled wet and ragged. Jo slipped to his side and ran her hand through his hair, letting his face fall against her chest as he breathed through the onslaught. Dean couldn’t help but think how motherly the affection felt.

She pulled back to look him over at arms’ length. 

“So what now? You want the couch? Or should I call you a ride? I’m sure Sam owes you one,” Jo asked, as no nonsense as ever.

“I’ll be fine,” Dean dismissed her concern, rubbing up his face to wipe off his nose.

“Well, you ain't driving.” Jo held up his keys. Dean blanched, feeling his pockets for them, fruitlessly. He stood to snatch them, but she had already skipped across the kitchen, too far to catch. “Nuh-uh, no way I’m letting you risk your baby. Or your thick skull in this weather.”

 Dean put his hands on his hips, and blinked through the dizziness. He realized he hadn’t stood in a few hours. “Sam.”

“What’s that?” Jo prodded mischievously, ear leaning in as if she couldn’t hear him.

“Very funny. Call Sam, will ya?” Dean rolled his eyes as she scrolled through her contacts, murmuring the names under her breath. His keys were raised in victory, as if he couldn’t reach them above her head. He could have snagged them in an instant, if he wanted to.

 While Jo woke Sam, Dean checked his own phone. Ignoring some texts from his mom and Cas, he selected the conversation with Benny. There were no new messages since that morning. Dean hesitated before relocking his screen.

“Sam’ll be here in twenty. You want something to eat? I’ve got chips.” Jo offered, opening the cupboard.

Tagging: @flamencodiva​ @dolphincliffs​ @dontshootmespence​ @fookinghelljensensthighs​ @fangirlxwritesx67 @dawnie1988 @mrswhozeewhatsis​ @cosicas-cuquis​ @foxyjwls007 @tumbler-tidbits @wingedcatninja​ @defenderrosetyler​ @ericaprice2008  @crashdevlin​  @mylovelydame21 @cajunquandary​ @itmighthavebeenintentional​​ @thoughtslikeaminefield​ @there-must-be-a-lock @tatted-trina6​ @cracksinthewalls​ @atc74​​

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Part 10: Spit it Out

[seasonsofeverlark]

Fallen

Author: @hutchhitched​

Prompt: How about Katniss taking Peeta to the forest during the fall for the first time to see all of the fall colors. [submitted by anonymous]

Rating: T for suggestive language

Author’s note: Some of you may notice this is the second story for this prompt. During the selection process, @mega-aulover​ and I both fell in love with this prompt, and she very generously allowed me to write another version. Thank you for sharing with me! I was able to travel home a couple of weeks ago for the first time in the fall in a number of years. Although the trees had just started to turn, it was a lovely opportunity to remember what it’s like to live in the land of four seasons. This is my love letter to that.

__________

“Are you sure you want me to go with you?” Peeta asked for what must have been the hundredth time. I was getting really tired of reassuring him, but it was also adorable how insecure he was about the trip. “I mean, we only just started dating. Meeting your family so soon is a little bit… I don’t know. Quick?”

I shook my head and grinned at him. His blue eyes held a hint of panic. It only served to make him more endearing. Stepping close to him, I threaded my fingers through his hair and pulled his face down to mine. Instead of answering, I pressed my lips to his, and our kiss devolved into a tangle of tongues and lips and limbs. Breathy moans and soft whimpers and catching breath and want.

I couldn’t remember how long it’d been since my body yearned for someone else, how many months had passed since I woke up with a smile on my face and the anticipation of greeting someone with a kiss over an early morning coffee. It felt like years, but that loneliness faded when I met Peeta Mellark. Sure, it had only been a few months since our first date, but we’d both fallen hard. Not surprisingly, he was more open about his feelings. I hemmed and hawed and tried to pretend my whole world hadn’t rotated right off its axis for another week before I admitted to myself how much I wanted to crawl inside him and live there. Not in a creepy way, of course.

I broke our kiss and relished in the touch of his forehead against mine. “You don’t have to come,” I whispered, hoping against hope that he’d see through my projected confidence. I wanted him there so badly. I needed him to see where I came from and understand my hang-ups and quirks.

Peeta tilted my head up so he could catch my gaze with his. He searched my eyes for several seconds before rubbing his thumb across my cheekbone. “No,” he answered softly. “No, I want to go with you.”

My head nestled in the crook of his neck, and I released a relieved sigh. “You sure?”

“You promised me leaves,” he murmured against my temple as his arms tightened around me. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to—”

“Yes, I do,” he insisted. “I told you I’d come, and then I tried to bail on you at the last minute. What kind of boyfriend would I be if I left you hanging?”

“The worst kind.”

“Oh, that bad, huh?” he chuckled, and I grinned at him.

“The kind that needs to be punished,” I whispered into his ear.

“Oh, yeah. That kind. Are you going to spank me?”

“Absolutely, and you better return the favor.”

God help me. He definitely did.

__________

“You know,” I hissed as I settled into the driver’s seat, “it was fairly stupid of us to give each other sore asses the night before a road trip.”

Peeta shifted gingerly, and I chuckled at the pink hue flushing his cheeks. He’d been a champ as I’d spanked his perfectly rounded cheeks until they were rosy and warm. His willingness to shift over control in bed to me wasn’t something I was used to in a partner, but he made it easy to enjoy when he squirmed and moaned and begged. Truth be told, I loved it, especially because he was equally eager to turn the tables and take charge.

“Maybe stupid,” he grunted as he wiggled until he found a comfortable position. “Maybe just really good sex.”

“Yeah,” I murmured as he wrapped his hand around my thigh. Shifting into reverse, I leaned over to kiss him before easing off the brake and backing out of my driveway. “It’ll have to hold us for a while. Privacy isn’t exactly how it works when I head home.”

His fingers tightened on my leg, and I grinned as his thumb stroked higher and higher. “I’m sure we’ll manage,” he said softly as he grazed his thumb against the seam in my jeans. “Thank you for asking me to come with you.”

“Well, I can’t believe you haven’t ever seen fall leaves in person. I mean…”

He watched as I steered the car onto the entrance ramp and headed north on the interstate. “When was that supposed to happen, sweetheart?” he asked. “I’ve lived in the south my entire life.”

“But don’t you take vacations?”

“Well, sure, but not in the fall. School and then work and just— I don’t know. We went to Orlando and the beach and stuff like that. Normal things.”

“Normal,” I scoffed. “Ah, to live in a world where going to Disneyworld is normal. That takes money, and we never really had a lot of that.”

“No, you had something better,” he answered, bitterness just creeping into his voice. “I would have traded every Mickey sighting for a relationship with my brothers like you have with Prim. And my parents are just—”

Peeta didn’t finish, Instead, he tilted his head against the car window and closed his eyes. I didn’t know what to say to make him feel better. I couldn’t understand what it was like to grow up with things instead of relationships, so I didn’t try to pretend I did. All I could do was squeeze his hand as I steered into the left lane and pressed on the accelerator. The miles passed quickly as silence filled the car.

__________

“So, what is it you love about going home during the fall?” Peeta asked as I steered the car deftly around a sharp corner.

We’d long since left the interstate and were weaving along the state highway that would lead to the county paved road that turned into a country gravel road that led to the dirt road to my family’s homestead. I’d tried to explain to my boyfriend how remote the house I grew up in was, but he didn’t really seem to get it. He would soon enough.

“It’s the leaves,” I inhaled in an elongated breath and then released it in a blissful sigh. “I love them.”

Peeta hummed and glanced sideways at me. When he caught my eye, he rested his head against the back of the seat and treated me to a megawatt smile. “You love leaves?” he teased.

A goofy smile spread across my face, and I signaled to turn. “I really do. There’s no way to explain it, but I’m going to knock your socks off tomorrow morning.”

Peeta hummed and squeezed my thigh. “And here I thought we wouldn’t get any sexy times while we’re visiting your family.”

Laughing, I signaled and turned the car to the left into the driveway of my childhood home and shifted into park. “Finally. Home, sweet home.”

We’d been traveling all day—fifteen solid hours of driving with only a few gas and restroom breaks—and all I wanted to do was take a shower and climb into bed. When I looked at him, nervous and shy, I realized there was one more thing I needed to do before greeting my family.

Thankfully, he came willingly when I fisted his shirt and tugged him to me. Our lips rammed together, frantic and feral, before our tongues tangled and turned filthy. Heat flooded through me, molten and scorching, as involuntary whimpers and grunts tore from us both. The dark enveloped us, filling up the car and protecting us from curious glances from nosy family members. As his mouth met mine again, I calculated just how far we could go before I had to pull away and stop what was so good between us. I wasn’t always sure of social customs, but I knew riding Peeta like the purebred stallion he’d proven to be in the driveway wasn’t okay.

His hand cupped my breast and squeezed as he tilted his head to lick further into my mouth. The sticky wetness between my legs grew as my fingers tangled in his hair and tugged. The yelp he released caused my eyes to roll back in my head. I did it a second time, and his mouth fell open, yielding to my rough grip.

“Katniss,” he groaned, my name falling from his swollen lips.

I wanted him, then, more than I’d ever dreamed I could desire anyone, but we had to stop. It wasn’t a question of whether we wanted to or should, it was imperative. If we didn’t, I’d fall in love with him so much more than I already was, and I couldn’t risk that. Not yet. Not when it was all so new, and I feared another broken heart.

“Time to go in,” I announced in a hoarse whisper.

He closed his eyes, scrunching them in what was probably frustration, and gasped, “I need a minute.”

I couldn’t resist one last bit of torture and reached over to squeeze him firmly. He choked back a gasp as my palm pressed an intentional caress meant to remind him what his body craved. Hissing, he squirmed away, his back against the door, and his hands up in surrender.

“Don’t,” he begged, and I took pity on him.

“Butchering a deer. The feel of dough between your fingers when the yeast fails. Sourness in your stomach the morning after a drinking binge. Socks in the bottom of the laundry basket that have been balled up for weeks.”

He grimaced and shot me a half-smile. “That did it. Not hard at all anymore.”

We grabbed our bags and headed inside where Peeta charmed my family and chastely kissed me goodnight before settling into the guest room. I slipped into bed in my childhood room with a warm glow surrounding my heart. Despite my best intentions, I’d fallen for Peeta Mellark.

__________

“Are you ready?” I asked, a timid smile stretching my lips.

Peeta slipped his arm around my waist and hugged me to him. I knew he would love the autumn leaves, which I kept trying to convince myself was the real reason I’d asked him to come home with me, but really, I just wanted him near me.

“Take me to the woods. Take me forth into the wilds of the world. Just don’t leave me there alone.”

“Okay, overdramatic one,” I teased with an eye roll. “Grab that basket, and let’s do it.”

We walked out the door, and he released a soft gasp of approval. The ash tree in the front yard was in rare form with the outside leaves a purplish-red and fading to orange and then yellow closest to the trunk. Those had always been my favorite, and we took a moment to appreciate it before I tugged his hand and led him to the gate that allowed us access to the forest.

“This is beautiful,” he observed in hushed whispers, like the world around him was a magical land he was afraid to disturb with loud noises. “This is just— I don’t have words.”

“You don’t need words,” I murmured, disturbingly enamored with the sparkle in his eyes and the sheer wonderment on his face. “You don’t need words because you have your art.”

He turned to me then, his face alight with wonder. He was a miracle in that moment—adorable and bemused and so excited he wriggled like a puppy. It was no wonder my heart was already his, why I’d fallen for him after only a few months. He was as close to perfect as anyone I’d ever met, and I wasn’t nearly good enough for him. But I wanted to be. I wanted to be everything he’d ever needed and desired, if only he’d allow it.

“You’re beautiful,” he complimented me sweetly, and I ducked my head to blush.

“Come on,” I said, grabbing his hand and tugging him along behind me. “There’s a clearing I have in mind. I used to spend a lot of time there with Prim when I was growing up. The leaves there are gorgeous.”

I moved through the underbrush fairly quietly, but Peeta stumbled a few times, kicking up leaves and sticks and making so much noise the birds scolded us as we passed. He was a trooper, though, his presence steady and sure beside me as we passed through the trees that eventually opened up into a clearing with a brook that flowed from a light blue, spring-fed pool. The massive oak tree that had stood for decades had blown over when I was in high school, and it rested there, a fallen log perfect for spreading the blanket and relaxing onto its sturdy seat. It winked an invitation, and we accepted.

Clearly delighted, Peeta’s eyes sparkled when I reached into the basket we’d brought and produced a thermos of cider. Steam rose into the crisp air, and we sipped quietly until he asked me, “So, what kinds of trees are these?”

I took a sip and waved around me. “The yellow are shag-bark hickory and elm. I like the hickory better. The yellow’s a little brighter. The orange are mostly sugar maples. Completely gorgeous. The red trees are both maple and oak. The brown-ish red ones are pin oaks. My favorite, though, is the purple ash. There’s one in the yard. It’s the one that’s purple on the outside and yellow on the inside so it looks like the whole tree is hombre.”

“I had no idea,” he murmured. “No idea trees could look like this. I mean, I’ve seen pictures and movies, but that pales in comparison to an actual in-person tour. I wish I had my oils. I’d paint the hell out of this.”

“Will pictures work? That seems a lot more practical than hauling your stuff across state lines and into the woods,” I teased. I understood his desire, but both of us were more pragmatic than that.

“They’ll have to, won’t they?”

He softened his retort with a shoulder nudge and smile, and my heart flipped at the affection shining in his eyes.

“I can’t wait to see what you paint once we get back home. They’re going to be…” I searched for a word, but the only one that seemed to do his artwork justice was almost over the top if it wasn’t also true. “…transcendent. You transport me with your paintings.”

He kissed me then, cradled my cheeks in his palms and turned up my face to seek my lips with his. I could almost picture us in my mind—Peeta strong and protective with ashy blonde waves topping a stocky figure draped in denim and dark green flannel wrapped around a smaller figure in aqua and orange fleece and rugged boots. He twined my braid around his palm and nudged my mouth open to sweep inside.

I swallowed his groan and matched it with my own. The mid-morning light slanted through the trees and danced on the underbrush and our shoulders. He smelled like fresh air and cinnamon, and I wanted to subsist on only that forever.

Peeta finally broke the kiss, although he only pulled back enough to lean his forehead against mine. His thumb stroked my cheekbone, and he closed his eyes briefly before locking his gaze to mine. A cloud passed over the sun, and I shivered. It felt momentous, like something was about to happen. The grove had become a sacred space in that very moment.

“I love you,” he breathed against my cheek, and the sun burst from behind the cloud in approval. Sunlight washed over us, and I swallowed hard against the sudden lump in my throat. Stunned and speechless, my eyes widened and stomach rolled.

I wanted to respond, to say something—anything—that might make sense in what had become surreal and dreamlike. There was no way he’d actually announced what I thought I heard. He didn’t love me. I was convinced of that. We were dating, happy as a couple, but I was head over heels for him, and he couldn’t possibly feel the same. There was no way I was allowed to have that, that I could be so lucky and fortunate and blessed. I shivered and stepped back.

“W-what?”

My ears weren’t working properly. That was the only reasonable explanation. He considered me for a moment, his blue eyes darkened with apprehension, and his shoulders hunched slightly to protect himself. He held up his hands to indicate his willingness to let me question him and said it again.

“I love you, Katniss Everdeen.”

His words were soft but true, and I gaped at him. Red, orange, and yellow leaves fluttered above us in the wind, as if clapping in agreement, and I tasted his words on my own lips. They were sweet and tart at the same time.

“You love me?” I squeaked, completely unable to catch my breath. He gave me a soft smile and brushed stray hairs off my forehead where he dropped another kiss.

“I do,” he insisted, barely audible over the rustling leaves. “I know it’s quick, and you don’t have to say it back, but you should know. I love you, and I hope you’ll feel the same way about me in the future.”

I could hardly stand the hopefulness he displayed, could hardly bear to think about how selfless it was for him to offer me his heart when he had no idea mine had been his since the first time he’d made me laugh. Even before our first date, I knew he was something special and someone I wanted in my life forever, even if I didn’t want to admit it to myself.

“But I do!” I sputtered, blurting out my confession with so little finesse I’m surprised he didn’t leave me standing in the clearing by myself.

“You do?” His eyebrow seemed to question my declaration, but I threw myself at him in a very un-Katniss-like way.

“I really do,” I admitted, tears closing my throat. “I love you, too.”

The wind picked up then, swirling the branches and leaves into another chorus of applause. The sun sparkled and winked, and the clouds skipped across the sky like old friends. Peeta looked around us as a smile broke across his face. He tipped his head back and yelled into the morning.

“She loves me!” he shouted, and I burst into laughter. Relief and exuberance drifted on the breeze, and I leapt at him, wrapping my legs around his waist and clinging to his broad shoulders.

We kissed and cuddled for warmth on the blanket for hours as the sun reached its zenith and dropped in the west. Declarations of our undying affection gave way to mundane topics followed by plans for the future. It was too soon for an engagement, but I wasn’t looking for that anyway. I only wanted to explore this feeling, being in love with someone who adored me every bit as much as I did him.

Eventually, we made our way back to my childhood home, away from the log that had fallen for us as surely as we fell for each other. As we stepped from the forest, the gorgeous autumn leaves were surely cheering.

[pkg4mumtown]

Welcome to Hawkins PD (Ch. 1)

AN: Finally got far enough along in writing to post the beginning. First Hopper fic so...yea...let me know what you think so far.

Warnings: smoking, cursing, y’know normal Hopper stuff, Female Reader

Summary: You’re a new officer being assigned to Hawkins without being warned of the attractive but grumpy Chief.

Title: The New Kid

Chapter 1 of ?

Chief Hopper slammed the door of his Blazer shut, squinting at brightness of the sun he had underestimated. He set his wide-brimmed hat firmly on his head and slid aviators on his face, all while never dropping the lit cigarette hanging from his lips. He strode over to a white-haired, stocky man who stood just inside the open gates of the Indiana Law Enforcement Academy. The older man gave Hopper a pointed look as he strode through the parking lot.

“C'mon, Hop, no squares on academy grounds,” the man sighed. He wore a tan uniform and wide brimmed drill instructor cover on his head, like the other instructors at the academy

Hopper grimaced around the cigarette, pulling it from his lips and flicking it off to the side, “I’ll pick it up when I leave, Cap.”

The white-haired man shook his head and laughed softly, leading Hopper inside the confines of the academy, “Haven’t been a Captain in years.”

“Bridge, you’ll always be ‘Captain’ to me,” Hopper slapped Bridge on the back. “What do they have you doin’ now?”

“Basic Training Commander,” Bridge winked and tipped his hat.

“Look at you,” Hopper chuckled and shoved Bridge’s shoulder.

They walked in silence for a minute before Hopper finally spoke up, “So, why’d you call me here? I’m betting it wasn’t just to catch up,” Hopper looked over at the shorter man, who sighed.

“Hop…” Bridge started, “…the director, deputy director, and myself have decided to attach another officer to your station.”

Hopper stopped walking all together, giving the man an incredulous glare, “Excuse me?”

“Look, after the lab and Byers fiasco, you’re lucky we're not adding ten times that. It was a shit show and the media were hounding us as to why Hawkins has only six officers, three of which never seem to leave the office,” Bridge stressed. “We had the Roane County Sheriff’s patrolling the town for you and your boys, just to keep the citizens at bay, while you were doing fuck knows what, Jim.”

“While I was fixing the problem,” Hopper growled. “You have no idea what was going on!”

“Why don’t you enlighten me?” Bridge challenged with raised eyebrows.

Hopper ignored him and kept walking with no direction, “And anyway, the lab is empty now.”

“The ratio is still six to thirty thousand people, man. Detroit's ratio is one to four hundred.”

“Detroit is also the ‘Murder Capital’, is it not?” Hopper huffed. “Why’d you call me here, then? You could have told me this over the phone, so I could at least throw something after I hung up on you!” he raised his voice slightly, itching to pull out another cigarette.

Bridge smirked and tilted his head up, indicating Jim to follow him. The sound of gunfire grew louder with every step, telling Hopper that they were heading to the range.

“Thought you might want to check out who we’re assigning to you,” Bridge said as they finally came to a stop.

Below them stood about twenty recruits in unmarked tan uniforms with black ties, which would change according to their departments after they graduated.

“That one,” Bridge pointed to the recruit on the far left, a moderately tall woman with her hair pulled back into a bun. With her strong shoulders and stern expression, she definitely looked like she could hold her own amongst the males in the class.

Hopper tilted his glasses down and scrunched his nose at the brightness, “The girl?”

“Jesus Christ, Hop,” Bridge sighed.

“It was a question!” Hopper retorted back, huffing at Bridge's insinuation.

Bridge rolled his eyes and nodded, “Yea, the female recruit.”

At that moment, one of the drill instructors shouted a nearly indistinct command. It was unintelligible to Hopper’s ears, yet all the recruits responded immediately by clutching their right hands to their chests. Hopper watched, intrigued, as they fired the last of their rounds single handedly. His gaze swept over all the recruits and their targets before focusing back on the female as she shoved the barrel of the revolver between her duty belt and her trousers. Hopper’s expression turned impressed as he peeked over his sunglasses while she flicked open a pouch, retrieved a speed loader, and reloaded before shooting again.

“When did you guys start grading one-armed reloads?” Hopper wondered.

“When we finally got speed loaders that weren’t shit,” Bridge chuckled and shrugged. “Better to make it mandatory so they don’t fumble later.”

Hopper stuck around for a while, to make his trip worthwhile. He watched from a shaded area with Bridge as they started a defensive tactics lesson, always keeping his eye on the girl. He eyed her and a male recruit curiously as they circled one another in a scrimmage. The male was aggressive and lunging in order for her to practice a specific maneuver, which she did fairly well after deflecting some of his hits. The ferocity in which she fought back made Hopper curse under his breath in admiration.

“So, what d'ya think, Hop?”

“Why her?”

Bridge groaned, “Hop…I thought you were better than this!”

“Better than what? I’m just asking why her specifically!” he raised his voice in irritation.

“Because she’s a woman?” Bridge retorted and raised an eyebrow at him.

“No, man, because she actually has skill. Like the Sheriff’s or Trooper material, not for some boring town like Hawkins. I’m just…” Hopper sighed, “I don’t know, it feels like a waste of resources plus she'd be bored off her ass.”

“We don’t decide their departments, Hop, she chose local police over Staties,” Bridge pursed his lips and chuckled to himself.

“What?”

“Maybe she’ll kick your boys into gear. Lord knows, your station could use some energy.”

Hopper just rolled his eyes as the dig.

“Her station request, though, was anywhere but her hometown and we were already planning to add another officer to your station anyway,” Bridge revealed.

“Hmm,” Hopper grunted, “bad family relationship?

“Probably a question for her, not me.”

-

I shrugged on my heavy, oversized, black duffle bag and picked up my equally oversized briefcase before leaving my sleeping quarters for the last time. With my free hand, I pushed my aviators, a graduation gift from my best friend, up the bridge of my nose. Said friend had already departed the premises after the graduation since it was a bit of a drive back to our hometown.

The academy grounds were a sea of uniforms from local police to Sheriff’s deputies to Staties, with various shades of blue and tan. My uniform, however, was the only blue one with a “Hawkins Police Dept.” patch. I didn’t know whether to be disappointed or excited when I found out, since the town had a reputation of being quiet, save for the couple occurrences over the last two years.

I made my way back near the front of the Academy, pushing through the sea of people still lingering while they congratulated the new officers. I peered over people’s shoulders, looking for the exit and finally seeing the open gate. I spied the bus stop just beyond it and stepped into the parking lot, only to be stopped when I heard my name called.

“Y/L/N!”

I snapped my head to the left, seeing Commander Bridge leaning against a Blazer with another tall officer. He waved me over with his hand and said something to the officer. I glanced at the side of the Blazer, my eyes widening when I saw “Chief” in bold print followed by “Hawkins Police Dept.” Not an officer, then.

I stood straighter as I approached my new boss. His all tan uniform was almost form fitting his large frame, while a wide-brimmed hat adorned his head. As I approached, he took his sunglasses off and hung them on his shirt, revealing impossibly bright blue eyes. I let my eyes trail up his form, lingering on his lips pulling in as he took a drag from the cigarette in his mouth.

“Officer Y/L/N, this is your new boss,” Bridge motioned with a wave of his hand.

“Chief Hopper,” the man stuck his hand out. I couldn’t help but rake my eyes over the dark blonde beard adorning his cheeks and framing his lips.

I quickly dropped my briefcase to the ground and stuck my hand out as well, “Officer Y/L/N, sir.”

“Yea,” Hopper chuckled and pointed his thumb at Bridge, “he said that. You can tone it down. Relax, you graduated.”

“Sorry, sir,” I apologized for no reason and paused. “Why are you here?”

“Bridge told me you dormed. Figured you might need a ride into town,” Hopper shrugged.

“Oh, well, you didn’t have to do that. I can take the bus, sir,” I gulped. An hour drive with my new, very attractive, boss? No, thanks.

“Well, I’m already here,” Hopper grunted out a sigh and grabbed my briefcase off the floor.

“Sir, no, I can—” I tried to stop him.

“For the love of God, Y/L/N, take a load off,” Hopper responded, almost annoyed with my behavior. He circled around to the back of the Blazer, “Any family you still have to say ‘bye’ to?”

“No, they didn’t quite approve of my career choice,” I murmured.

Hopper simply grunted as he opened the back hatch of the Blazer and tossed the briefcase not-so-gently in the bed. I shrugged my bag off and did the same, nearly jumping when he slammed it shut.

I turned back to Commander Bridge, offering him a smile and shaking his hand, “Thank you for everything, sir.”

Bridge laughed lowly and shook his head, reciprocating the handshake before slapping my shoulder, “Good luck, kid.”

I nodded and jumped into the passenger side of the Blazer, seeing the two men exchange goodbyes like old pals in the passenger mirror. I shook my leg nervously as the Chief rounded the Blazer and jumped in with a heavy sigh.

An hour drive and I’d already managed to annoy the shit out of him before the trip even started. Great.

Chapter 2

[ozma914]

The Newsletter Travels to the Past, and Hoosiers Are Still Hysterical

 It was ten years ago this summer when my first novel, Storm Chaser, was published. Almost exactly a year before that I received the publishing offer, an event I envisioned as going very differently than it did. I told that story in our latest newsletter:

https://mailchi.mp/200abd2041ac/ten-years-published

Don't forget to subscribe, and in return I'll try to be entertaining. And no, I don't sell my e-mail list to anyone, although I suppose the NSA already has it.

Meanwhile, since then we've (Emily is invaluable) had ten more works published. One of them is Hoosier Hysterical: How the West Became the Midwest Without Moving At All. I'm highlighting it because today it appears on the Fussy Librarian website, which you'll find at https://www.thefussylibrarian.com/

 You can get it at the same price on the website or Amazon (it's illustrated and everything!) at just $2.99 as an e-book and $10.00 in paperback. You could even hand me the cash and I'll hand you a book--I won't tell.

It's a little silly, but I like to see how many I can sell in a short period of time. I have a theory that if you sell two books on Amazon within an hour, you'll end up in the top ten, and selling ten in that time gives you the ability to brag about being a best seller. Nobody really understands their algorithm, so why not?

If you choose to accept that experiment, the link is here:

https://www.amazon.com/Hoosier-Hysterical-became-midwist-without-ebook/dp/B01H7YJNFE

Or, as usual, you can buy it direct from us here:

http://www.markrhunter.com/

 It's well know, of course, that Hoosier Hysterical is among the top ten humorous Indiana history and trivia books ever written, so far this decade. And to prove it, below the obligatory cover posting is a new excerpt from the book, one which I assume is quite funny. Although as I write this I haven't picked it out, yet, so I could be wrong.

INDIANA FACTS:

“He’s Our President! No, He’s Ours!”

Three states can lay claim to Abraham Lincoln. You could say he was born in Kentucky, grew up in Indiana, and did all his adult stuff as an Illinois resident.

Well, you can say it if you want—who am I to stop you? It’s a free country, partially thanks to Abe.

A lot of the stuff you hear about Abe Lincoln is, surprisingly, true. His family got to America in 1637, and Thomas Lincoln’s father, the original Abraham, moved his family to Kentucky in 1782. So it took them almost 150 years to reach the Bluegrass State and produce little Abe, but hey—travel took longer back then.

Unfortunately, four years after they arrived Grandpa Abe Lincoln was killed by American Indians, because, after all, he stepped on their proverbial lawn. But Thomas grew up, married Nancy Hanks, and bought a farm near Hodgenville. Hodgenville is south of Louisville along the Lincoln Parkway, although it’s safe to assume the highway didn’t exist at the time.

Just like in the stories, Abraham Lincoln was born in a one-room log cabin, and later attended school in a log schoolhouse. They laid a lot of logs back then.

In 1816—the same year Indiana became a state—the Lincoln family crossed the Ohio River and settled in Indiana. Abe was six, so we Hoosiers can claim some of his formative years.

And formative they were. At age seven he shot a wild turkey, which upset him so much he never hunted again. It was February, after all, and with no way to keep the turkey until next Thanksgiving, it was wasted.

The next year he got kicked in the head by a horse, and for a time everyone thought he was dead. Personally, that would have put me back on to shooting animals. That same year his mother did die, permanently, from a medical condition called milk sickness.

Like Lincoln, milk sickness was uniquely American—this is the only continent it happened on. It came when cows ate a plant called white snakeroot, and wouldn’t you think the name alone would keep the cows away from it? That’s why learning to read is so important. Today milk sickness is almost unheard of, so we use fast cars to control the population.

Lincoln didn’t attend school much, but he developed a love for reading and would borrow books whenever he could. This was because they had no electricity for his PlayStation. You can’t power a videogame console with candles, but you can sure as heck read by them.

He also got to travel a bit, something many people never did. In 1828 he helped crew a flatboat down the Mississippi, and got his first taste of slavery when he saw a slave auction in progress. During the same trip seven black men tried to rob the flatboat, which could be called ironic. After he fought them off Lincoln didn’t hold a grudge.

Then, in 1830, the Lincoln family moved 200 miles, into Illinois. Abraham Lincoln was never heard from again.

Okay, not really. In fact, that same year Lincoln made his first speech, which urged navigation improvements on the Sangamon River, near Decatur. Over the next several years he read, enlisted in the military, read, ran a business into the ground, read, became a postmaster, got elected to the state legislature, and realized he’d read so much he could start studying law.

So it all worked out pretty well for him.

Okay, there were bumps along the way. He had bouts of depression, lost an election, was unlucky in love, and almost got into a sword duel. All because he left Indiana, so let that be a lesson to you.

In 1900 Lincoln’s son, Todd, gave $1,000 to take care of his grandmother’s Indiana grave. Spencer County officials gave another $800, and bought 16 acres around the gravesite. That place is now the Lincoln Boyhood National Memorial. I understand there’s also a monument for Abe in Washington.

[troop-scoop]

Mistakes & Regrets XI

Summary: When a trip to your Dad’s hometown of Hawkins goes wrong, you end up in the year 1983, and have to learn how to cope with being stuck in the past.

Pairing: Steve Harrington / Future!Reader (like, a really slow burn)

Warnings: Idfk probably swearing?

• • • 

“How are you feeling?”

There wasn’t really an answer ready to be shot out at Owens when he asked that. It was the usual question asked by doctors when they wanted to get in your head, see what they needed to see to know if you were mentally alright. This felt like a mental evaluation after all. 

You shrugged a bit and Joyce gently elbowed your arm that was against the wooden armrest. Looking at her you saw the worried look on her face. It was just a few days before Christmas, and none of you wanted to be here, let alone you. 

No, the depression den that had become of the single bedroom apartment you’d been moved into was calling your name. The two liters of soda that contained more caffeine than necessary were also calling you. 

The fear of falling asleep was overwhelming, and you knew that the cheap concealer you’d bought wasn’t completely hiding the dark bags under your eyes. 

“It’s perfectly okay to not know how you feel. I don’t I think I would either-”

“When I was younger, my favorite movie was ‘Back to the Future,’ has that come out yet?” You doubted it, having not seen any posters or seen the VHS tape in the video store the last time you were there with Steve.

Owens mimicked your shrug from just seconds before. “I haven’t heard of it.”

“Right. Well, Marty McFly is the main character. And is forced into the past. . . 1955, I’m pretty sure. He’s from 85.’ But his parents are teenagers, his age in 55.’ When I was like four, I’d sprained my ankle at a park. We had gotten back from the ER, I was in a brace and Dad went to put my little brother down for a nap. Pa put on ‘Back to the Future.’ After that I always thought time travel was cool.” 

Joyce’s hand grabbed yours in a comforting manner, her thumb rubbing gentle circles into your knuckles while you continued speaking. 

“But in every movie and tv show they could go back. It could be difficult to do it. But they always did. They went back home. ‘Hot Tub Time Machine,’ ‘Avengers,’ ‘Doctor Who!’ They could go back. But I can’t, I’m stuck in the past and you’ve all said that I can’t go home.”

“You also said you didn’t want to go back to the ‘Upside Down’”

“You also didn’t offer any alternatives. Or even try to find them.”

Owens was quiet now, his face unreadable, blank of any expression while the two of you held eye contact and Joyce awkwardly sat and watched the two of you have an unspoken staring contest. 

“I’m sad, and I’m angry. But mostly, sad. Because my dad and my pa said they wanted to raise my brother and I. And now they can’t finish raising me, cause I’m here. And I won’t see them for another 36 years. Maybe not even then. I’ll be like, 50. I could be dead by then.”

“Y/n,” Joyce spoke softly. “Don’t say that, you’ll be alright.”

“We don’t know that.” You looked at Joyce, and while her eyes were soft and full of sympathy while she continued holding your hand while you let her. “You asked how I’m feeling?” You looked back at Owens whose own face seemed to offer sympathy as well. “I’m always sad and angry. And I feel like I’m going crazy because I can hear Danny’s voice and a woman’s and I’m sleep deprived because everytime I do sleep I have these awful nightmares-”

“Voices?” 

The moment he interrupted you, you wanted to run. But instead, you froze up. And the first thing, or rather person you wanted, was Steve. But why? You thought. Maybe it’s because he’d been there for you even though you called him in the very early morning, before the sun was even up. 

“Y/n?” Joyce questioned while you looked down at your own lap, as though the details in your high waisted jeans were suddenly very interesting. 

•••

The thing on your head pressed almost painfully into the nape of your neck and into your temples, Owens seemed to not be the biggest fan of even bringing you into this room and seemed put off when a nurse put the thing on your head. 

It was freaking you out, making you feel like you were crazy. But then again, everything and everyone made you feel crazy, or different, or like you could break in a single second. It had you wishing that you could go back to a few nights ago, where you and Steve had driven two counties over and back. This isn’t the place you wanted to be a few days before Christmas. 

“They’re going to turn on something, It could trigger the things you see, or hear, okay?” You looked up at the woman who adjusted the headpiece and nodded a bit before she left the room. 

You looked over at Owens before down at the table in front of you. The sound turned on. It was a simple white noise, with a bit of a background to it. You blinked once and heard another voice you recognized. 

“Just try, that’s all I need you to do.” Looking up you saw Brenner, a hand on a little girl’s shoulder. She wasn’t much older than three, and seemed to be in distress. You looked at the girl who then looked up at you, making eye contact from the other side of the table. She slowly turned her wrists over and on her right wrist you could see the numbers ‘012’ tattooed into the skin. 

You blinked again, and it was gone, as well as the sound. “Owens, we got something.” He left the room, leaving you to your own thoughts. 

If Eleven was ‘011’ and then that little girl was ‘012,’ were there others? And if so, how many got out alive? How did she see you? They were running through your mind at lightning speed that you didn’t notice when the sound came back on, but you did notice the little girl again, this time, maybe a bit older, staring at you intently, as if she was waiting for you. 

She looked familiar. And for a moment you could have sworn that she reminded you of your little brother. “Hi.” You greeted quietly. 

‘012’ tilted her head a bit before repeating your word back. “Hi.” Eleven had done the same thing when something like this happened. She repeated your word back. 

“Like me.” She mumbled looking at you. Now you tilted your head in confusion but she grabbed your hand from across the table and pointed to the cheap watch you’d bought after you no longer had a phone to carry around, and then to her eyes. “Like me.”

“I don’t understand?”

“You see,” She pointed to her eyes again before pointing to your watch. 

“Time?” 

She nodded.

She was gone when the white noise was, leaving you in silence, and alone in the white clinical room, with the headpiece still on. 

12, You thought. Who is she?

•••

Joyce stood by the windows of the office, looking out to see you and Will sitting in the chairs down the hall. Will was reading a comic and you were listening to your walkman, which Joyce noticed you had begun to carry with you everywhere. 

She was worried. How could she not be? You were her granddaughter who wouldn’t be born for a long time, whose mental health seemed to be spiraling down the drain. She’d noticed the amount of caffeine you drank, how your concealer couldn’t hide the bags under your eyes. It was impossible to not notice how awkward you acted around Will.

Joyce and Hopper were just waiting for Owens to come back with whatever the test results to say. They’d taken you away for hours, and since you’d gotten back, you hadn’t spoken to anyone. You just listened to your music and stared off into space.  

“I’m sure she’s fine.” Hopper spoke up from his seat in front of Owens’ desk, where you’d previously been sitting. He’d been out in the hall with Will until they took you for testing, not allowing either of them back with you. 

Joyce looked back at Hopper and gave an unsure nod. Looking back to the hall where the two of you sat, she saw Will showing you the pages of his comic. She could see the similarities between you two. The way your brows furrowed when listening to something and concentrating were the same, and the little nervous tick that Will had of picking at his jeans while sitting down, also seemed to be your own nervous tick. She’d noticed how’d you been doing it when Hopper opened the car door for you when they got to the lab, and when you’d been in the office. 

“What do you thinks wrong?”

“What?”

“Joyce,” Hopper started. “It’s obvious that you think something’s wrong.”

She sighed and crossed her arms, walking away from the window and sitting in the seat next to him. “I don’t know. I just have a weird feeling whenever I look at her. Like she- she’s my family, she’s my granddaughter, technically. But there’s something else to her. . . She reminds me a bit of Eleven.” She admitted. 

Something about you reminded her of the girl. But it was only until recently when she was able to place it. Over a month after the events of early November. Something about the air surrounding you made it hard not to be reminded of the twelve year old. 

Before Hopper can say anything, the door opened and Owens walked in, a confused look on his face while he walked the short distance from the door to his seat on the other side of the desk. 

“There’s nothing wrong with her.” is what he started with, looking confused while he opened the folder he’d carried in. “Brain scan came back normal, her psych evaluation was normal, everything about her, except for the situation she’s in, is normal.” 

Hopper tilted his head a bit, not quite understanding. They pulled you away for hours, leaving the three of them completely in the dark, only to say that you were fine? Even though you said you heard voices, and saw things in your sleep. 

“I’m sorry?” Hopper questioned.

“The most we can say is that she has PTSD, and with what little we know about it, she can have flashbacks, and auditory flashbacks aren’t out of the picture. She might just be hearing things she’s heard before.”

“Yeah, but she said she heard a woman she’s never heard before?” Joyce looked to Hopper before back at Owens who shrugged a bit. 

“Probably a teacher she mostly forgot about. It could be a repressed memory. Or it could be the voice of a babysitter she just doesn’t remember.” 

While that would make sense, considering you said the woman would sometimes sing, Joyce didn’t buy it. You said that Will stayed home while you were growing up. Working from home so he could keep an eye on you, and so you always had someone. It wouldn’t make sense for you to have had a babysitter. 

Hopper thought it was suspicious, with the confused look Owens had on his face before giving an answer he seemed sure about. It didn’t settle right with him. He was sure Owens was just giving an answer they’d want to hear. 

“Just be patient with her. I’m going have someone prescribe her sleeping pills so she can get some sleep-”

Hopper blocked out what he was saying, because the truth was, he had the same thoughts on you as Joyce. You oddly reminded him of Eleven as well and he didn’t believe a single thing that Owens was saying

•••

@disneyprincessbuffyannesummers @jxnehxpper @yllwtaxi @songofcosplay @potatopooper05 @cheesecakeisapie @robinsdolan @yall-wildin-like-siriusly @the_passionate_freak @bisexualpears​ @ilovebucketbarnes @random-thoughts-003

[nancypullen]

Kilt-y as Charged

My family has always been able to trace my mother’s lineage to Denmark and Germany as far back as the 1400′s.  It wasn’t hard, my great-grandmother Emelia arrived in New York harbor on the passenger ship Washington in 1873, fresh from Denmark with her mother and siblings.  They proceeded from there out to the Nebraska plains where her father, Christen Rasmussen had already started plowing and creating a homestead.  She married into the Link family, and all you have to do is google John Jacob Link to find the long and interesting story of my ancestors in Germany.  Though the Links of Grossgartach, Germany did quite well,  John Jacob (Hans Jacob Linckh)  crossed oceans at the ripe old age of 50 because he’d decided he was tired of almost constant warfare, taxes that were only used to fill palaces, and the never-ending battle between Catholics and protestants. At least that’s how the story goes.  The Rasmussens and Links prospered in America (google Dr. Harvey Link of Nebraska, physician, innovator, and state representative - that’s my great-great-grandfather) and eventually a Link married a Holtz (another German) and my mother was born.  We have my Danish and German side all wrapped up. Recently sheer boredom drove me to try and untangle the mystery of my paternal line.  It’s not that there were secrets, it’s just that my maiden name is McGlaughn and when trying to track documents that include land deeds, immigration records, death certificates, etc I’ve found some very creative spellings of the name.  I descend from McGlaughon, McGlaun, McGlon, McGlauhon, and I even found a record where it was spelled Meglehon. These are all children from the same parents, check out the various spellings of the last name.

That’s what I’ve been up against. BUT...and you knew there was a but..I did it!  By working backwards and only adding a name to the tree once I’d verified the correct dates, places, relatives, and so on, I found the first McGlaughn relative to step foot in America. His name was Jeremiah McGlaughon, born in Scotland in 1695 to John McGlaughon and his wife, Jane O’Cane.  I haven’t yet found the year that he arrived in America, but he died in 1740 in Bertie County, North Carolina leaving behind land, cattle, hogs, sheep, horses, and a family whose records pop up from Valley Forge to the present.  I found a handful of Revolutionary War soldiers, and as many from the wrong side of the Civil War. Here’s an inventory of Jeremiah’s spread in 1740, pretty sure this was for his will.

I know you can’t see much from this photo.  When I was reading it I had to zoom in and go line by line.  Can we just appreciate the beautiful handwriting? What a lost art. I can’t tell you how happy I was to see books listed in his inventory.

Anywho, after digging and digging and a long conversation with my sister googling on the other end - I’m pretty sure that Jeremiah came from Lanarkshire, Scotland.  I think his wife, Jane Howell (married in Bertie,NC) came from Wiltshire, England.  I haven’t verified this yet, but I *think* this is her baptismal record from 1700.

We’re so fortunate that millions of documents have been scanned and uploaded so that people can search archives from all over the world.  I have found draft cards, land deeds, wills, marriage licenses, and immigration records.  It will probably take months to wade through everything and assign each document to the right person, but I love solving puzzles.  Look at these gems.

Here’s the record of Caroline Rasmussen arriving in America with her children in tow.

Caroline - age 33 - woman Hans - male child -11 Rasmus -male child- 6 Anine - female child - age 9 Mathilde -female child- age 4 (That’s my great-grandmother, Mathilde Emilia!) Laurentina - female child - 11 months Can you even imagine? A young mother and five children, one of them not yet a year old, leaving everything familiar and crossing the ocean?    It looks like she traveled with other Rasmussen relatives, so that had to be a comfort. I was really excited when I uncovered the baptismal record for Caroline and then the record of her marriage to Christen.  Then I remembered that I don’t read Danish.

Oops. You can still get helpful info - when I found Christen Rasmussen’s confirmation in church records it provided his birthplace.  I’m sure we already have that tidbit filed away somewhere, but if you’re just beginning a search those are the tasty clues that move you forward. 

I won’t bore you with more details of a family that you don’t know or care about.  Besides, I have to get back to my search and keep fleshing out my McGlaughn/McGlaughon/McGlaun/McGlon/McGlahon/Meglohon line. So far I know that: John McGlaughon & Jane O’Cane of Lanarkshire,Scotland begat Jeremiah and his brothers Malachi and James. Jeremiah McGlaughon & Jane Howell begat Edmond and siblings Edmond McGlauhon & Angelica Jane Butler begat William and siblings William McGlahon & Ann Gaskin  begat Jeremiah and siblings Jeremiah McGlauhon had FOUR wives - Elizabeth Capeheart (also spelled Kapott in some records), Nancy Baker, Matilda Webb Fogerty, and Nancy Parker As you can imagine, there was a litter of kids, but my ancestor came from his union with Nancy Baker. So, Jeremiah & Nancy #1 begat James Jackson McGlaughn. James Jackson “Jack” McGlaughn  married Mary Loretta Eady who is listed as “Cherokee Indian”. They had a few kids and because life was harder on women back then, Mary died.  Jack then married Nancy Jane Noble, and together they made my great-grandfather John Pinkston McGlaughn. John Pinkston McGlaughn married Lavada Sanders, had some babies, and Lavada (you guessed it) died.  Along came Lela Fields Carter with her daughter Alice and married John and had a few more kids.  My grandfather was from the first union with Lavada.  He was a horrible, awful, disgusting, sorry excuse for a human being and his name was William Jasper McGlaughn. William Jasper McGlaughn married Jessie Bell Lett and produced six offspring, one of them was my father, John Paskle McGlaughn.  He met and married an Idaho beauty, Marilyn Holtz, and all because those brave ancestors stepped onto boats and decided to give America a try, here I am.  It’s both humbling and fascinating to see documents with the beautiful, swirling signatures of some of those who came before me.  I don’t know all of their stories, I only have names and dates right now. But if not for them I wouldn’t be sitting in my warm, cozy home in Tennessee, searching the internet for what they left behind.  My life has undoubtedly been far easier than theirs, don’t we all stand on the shoulders of our ancestors and benefit from their courage and hard work?  Of course, we also sometimes have to recover from the poor decisions and cruelty of unsavory characters in our family trees.  We’re all threads in a tapestry. That being said, my DNA swab continues to be refined and as it turns out, I’m exactly what family lore has said I would be.  I’m a big ol’ hodge podge of European ancestors like most Americans.

Northwestern Europe - Germany and Denmark, check. Scotland and England - check. Various sprinklings for flavor - check. I’m happy like the Danish and frugal like the Scots. German stereotypes are hardworking, efficient, and disciplined.  I totally missed that boat. Can’t win ‘em all. Okay, I’ll wrap this up.  If you stuck it out to the end pleas reward yourself.  This whole post was just me thinking out loud and making my case for a trip to Scotland.  Pretty sure the motherland is calling me home.

I mean, the place is full of these adorable Highland Cows!  I could bring one home as a souvenir!

I’m afraid if I go I’ll never come home, Jeremiah’s journey would all be for naught. So that’s it. I really am wrapping this up.

I swear, I’m done. Stay safe and stay well, ya wee smasher!

Done. XOXO - Nancy

[etraytin]

Quarantine, Day 215

October 12 Today was a day for cooking and cleaning, so that was at least a change from the last couple of days, plus my parents got to town, very fun! First thing this morning I went down to the big food bank and offloaded all of the stuff that was still in my van, including a surprise ninth case of Takis that I hadn't even noticed before. They did accept it, though I don't know what exactly they plan to do with it. Maybe if they can't give it away they'll just put it in the breakroom or something. But now I have my van back, full of lots of room for future unwise decisions! Yay!  Last night I stayed up super late because I was too tired to clean but too keyed up to go to bed. I mean I did clean, I cleaned the kitchen pretty well at least and that was the big job for the night. But then I decided that the broken recliner really, truly, absolutely needed to go, but it was too big, so I got out a scissors and used some elbow grease to rip the arms right off that sucker. Not as impressive as it sounds, since "semi-detached arms" was the biggest single symptom of brokenness already, but it did make me feel strong! The back of the chair came off without needing to be destroyed, which was less fun but much easier. Tonight my husband carried down the smaller pieces himself, and then he and I worked on getting the still-extremely-heavy center mass portion down the stairs and into the truck. I wound up sort of scooting down on my butt and hanging onto the back bar of the chair while he guided from the front, my mind filled with visions of the thing sledding down the stairs and running him over flat. But we got it done, so now we just need to take it out to the dump and rid ourselves of it forever. Hopefully the truck will still start when we turn it on.  My folks decided to go with an AirBnB about 20 minutes away from us for this trip, and it is super gorgeous. It's at least the size of our apartment with two bedrooms, a large living room/kitchen, and a center room devoted to a pool table. The kiddo is very excited about the pool table. We went down there and took them supper this evening because I had to go to election official training this evening and they didn't want to have to drive themselves back in the dark their first night here. Only trouble was, their place doesn't really have a kitchen, just a sink, microwave and fridge. No problem,  I broke out the crockpot and the emergency second crockpot I got at an auction and spent much of the afternoon cooking.  I made butternut squash soup, a perennial favorite I already talked about, and pulled pork. I was in a hurry because I got started late, so I splurged on a boneless pork loin, cut it into fist-size chunks or a little smaller, then seasoned them with rub and seared them with butter in a skillet till the outsides were brown and had little crunchy bits on them. Then I piled them into the crockpot and deglazed the pan with a sweet onion and a couple tablespoons of jarred minced garlic. Once those were soft and translucent, I added four cups of water to the skillet, stirred it around, and then poured the resultant broth into the crockpot as well. A little bit of liquid smoke, four hours on high, and voila! On a sesame roll with a little barbecue sauce, it was excellent. I showed the kiddo how to use a spiral pineapple cutter to turn a fresh pineapple into a hollow tube, and that made a pretty good dinner.  It's so good to see my folks again! I haven't lived in the same state as them for well over a decade now, but I still miss them a lot and we try to visit as often as we can. My sister lives much closer to me than to the old homestead and we have tried convincing them to move closer to us, but their house is so full of so many things, I doubt it will ever happen. Plus they like where they are and have many friends there, which at least makes me feel less guilty about being so far away. We only got to spend a couple of hours with them tonight, but tomorrow I'm springing the kiddo from virtual learning so we can hang out with them all day. It'll be fun!  This evening was election official training, this time at the auditorium at the middle school to provide lots of social distancing room. I have been to training several times before, but this is the first time I've gone to the advanced training. For this election I've been tapped as the procedural specialist for my precinct, which means I am responsible for reading the manual better than anybody else so that when weird stuff happens, I know what to do. This is especially important in regards to provisional and absentee ballots, which are usually not a big deal but may well be a HUGE deal in this year's election. Apparently nearly a third of the active voters in our county have already voted this year, with three weeks of early voting still left, so we will likely not have the huge surge in election day voters that a presidential election usually brings. But there are 4000 absentee ballots that have been sent out and not returned yet, and each of those is a potential hiccup on the big day.  Even back in June during the absolute nothingburger of a Republican primary that we had, we got a couple of people trying to bring in their absentee ballots, or vote despite getting one and not bringing it with them. Virginia has taken the sensible step of making every voting precinct also a drop-off point for absentee ballots on election day, so people will be able to hand-deliver with no problems. But a lot of people don't understand that once they get their absentee ballot, that's it, that's their ballot and they can't have another one unless they give back the one they've got. If they really want to vote in person, they can, but they have to bring in their absentee ballot and spoil it (fill in all the circles) and then give it to us in exchange for an in-person ballot. So if somebody with an absentee ballot comes in to vote without their ballot, they will have to vote provisionally, and I will be in charge of making that happen. I'll also be working the pollbook again, which means face mask and face shield. Ugh. I had been hoping they were going to set up some kind of barrier system, but apparently not.  Anyway, I've read through the most salient parts of the manual already, but I'll be doing most of the rest in another ten days or so. I can become an expert on just about anything, but the expertise doesn't last very long before it is overwritten with new information. I'd hate to learn all that stuff only to forget it by November 3. 

[thismightbeaterribleidea]

Accidental Snowbirding

So I went to Florida and accidentally became a snowbird. I drove south in September with no real timeframe for anything in mind, and I ended up staying on the Gulf coast north of Tampa (Pasco County) for almost three months, minus a couple of weeks I was in Georgia.

Some friends have asked me how the new, nomadic life is going, and I tell them that it hasn’t really felt that nomadic. I’ve enjoyed being close to my friend Ron — I had a regular rotation of several campgrounds, none of them more than half an hour from his place. It reminded me of the decade-plus ago when we both lived in Denver, in old, cheap apartments within walking distance of each other. A friend calls and says “do you want to come over?” and you just go over. It’s lovely. We both got into paddleboarding (more on that later) and explored some rivers. We even took an airbnb trip to the Smokies and northern Alabama before the pandemic escalated. So it’s been interesting and good, if different from the types of images that motivated me to buy this big-ass van (wilderness, solitude, aspen groves, desert mesas).

Here’s what I remember from the last few months:

A cotton-candy-pink bird forages on a shoreline and it is so quiet that you can hear its three-clawed feet pattering in the mud. Ninety minutes later we are scarfing down fried chicken in the car in a crowded parking lot.

In the trailer park, people drive golf carts around in loops: maybe this passes for exercise, or maybe they are hoping to run into someone to talk to.

Until November, I sweat and sweat and sweat, and then it cools off enough for me to run in the morning and it’s glorious. 

During the day, there is constant traffic and the lights are always red. There are a lot of billboards, all promising different things, but the one that makes us angry is the one that says “Jesus promises stability.”

I spend the night at a trailer park and the ladies in the office are sweet and efficient and wearing masks. But the spot I’m assigned is across from a mobile home with one of those flags that is half the U.S. flag and half the Confederate flag, and although my privilege probably keeps me safe here, I keep running through the equations with slightly different variables: who would be safe in this spot, in this trailer park/this county/this state/this country, and under what circumstances? What could make all of us safer? And the people who chose to pay for and display that absurdity of a flag, why is that flag the story they tell themselves? And what is the topography of the shared responsibility for all of this bullshit?

We paddle the Hillsborough River and see no other boaters but two alligators. One is basking on a log, and when I turn my head for a second it drops into the water with a massive splash: one moment there was a six-foot alligator; the next moment there was nothing but ripples. It was that fast. My friend decides he will not paddle here alone.

I see live oaks that have Spanish moss hanging from their branches, sure — but they’re also covered in lichens, and on the horizontal branches there are carpets of multiple kinds of moss and clusters of foot-tall ferns. It’s a whole ecosystem in one tree.

I’m driving “home” (most frequent campground) late one night and I am alone on a very dark road. In my headlights, I see a human figure in the middle of my lane, facing directly at me. I think: goblin! But it is a human person. I swerve into the other lane in case he moves. But he doesn’t move a muscle. He is in a half-crouch with his hands on his knees. I catch a glimpse of him in profile as I pass: his face is set in a rictus, jaw clenched. He is still staring straight ahead, unblinking, as if he hasn’t even seen me.

I call Ron just to reassure myself that I haven’t slipped out of the real human world and into someplace else.

“Oh my God,” he says. “But no, you’re still in the real world. There’s a lot of meth around here. He’s not a demon or anything. It’s just Florida.” He is wearing a dark sweatshirt and standing in the dark on a dark road; what if he gets hit? I call the police and I hate that to this day I still wonder if that was the right decision.

We get into paddleboarding. Ron already has an inflatable paddleboard, and I buy one with money I should be saving for things like van insulation or the loose crown on my lower left molar that is already living on borrowed time. But the paddleboard is amazing. Previously, I hadn’t gotten it: why stand when you could sit? I’m lazy and I have crappy feet; I hate standing. But this isn’t regular standing. It’s walking-on-water standing. In our favorite river, the Weeki Wachee, you can see all kinds of things from a paddleboard that it’s harder to see in a kayak, just because of the angle. On a paddleboard, you look straight down and there’s a fish striped like a zebra, an old pine log submerged ten feet down in the clear water, a scurrying blue crab, a bed of rippled sand.

We start at the public park and paddle up against a stiff current. Twice, we get to the three-mile mark and there is the same black-and-white cormorant in the same tree both times. We are familiar with the fact that if you time it right, so that you get back to the park as late as possible without actually paddling in the dark, and the crowds taper off so you have the river to yourself, the deepest pools are turquoise on our way upriver and viridian on our way down.

There are sometimes manatees on the river. In this part of the world, manatees are THE charismatic megafauna. And they are charismatic as hell. Once we are out late, a couple miles up the river with no one else around, and we see a mother and baby grazing on eelgrass in shallow water. We watch for minutes, mesmerized. The baby is tiny for a manatee: about the size of a Corgi. It must be very, very new. There is another manatee that I’m pretty sure I see several times on different days: it is very plump, with three pink slash marks across its back. We get to the point where, if there is a throng of other boaters stopped near where manatees are feeding, we don’t try to stop and see the manatees. We’ve seen them before, and we’ll see them again, when we don’t have to worry about the people and their kayaks and canoes in the current.

The last time I went to the Weeki Wachee, I went alone. The leaves were turning, because the calendar’s close-to-Christmas is Florida’s fall. I hadn’t ever planned on seeing a blazing orange maple next to tropical blue water, but it happened. Close-knit formations of big, soft gray, doe-eyed fish darted under my feet, and at the appointed time the water started turning dark green. In one of the final bends just upriver from the park, there is a deep spot called Hospital Hole. As I paddled down towards it, I saw one manatee, then another break the surface to breathe. I drifted over the hole, away from the manatees near the surface, and I saw the outline of another one eight or ten feet down against the very dark blue of very deep water.

The Weeki Wachee is a very narrow river, usually not more than thirty feet across and often only twenty. It’s also shallow, four or five feet on average, twelve where the current has carved a deep groove or pocket. Hospital Hole is at one of the river’s widest points, I’d guess maybe 150 feet from bank to bank. The hole itself — technically a sinkhole, but with a couple of small springs feeding into it — is only about 30 or 40 feet wide, but 140 feet deep. It goes down so far that there are different layers of water: freshwater, saltwater, a layer that is anoxic, another layer that is so full of hydrogen sulfide that divers can smell the rotten-egg odor even though they’re breathing compressed air. I read online that the manatees often go to Hospital Hole to sleep at night. The sinkhole-spring, like a big deep pocket, gives them space to stay together and still spread out. They can sink down below where they have to worry about boat engines or curious paddle boarders or whatever else manatees worry about. Every so often, they come up to breathe, then sink down again. Respire, rest, repeat.

It’s 7:17 p.m. as I am writing this, so they’re probably there right now.

***

So that’s Florida! Other, more nuts-and-bolts things that have happened include...

I installed lights and outlets. This was a big project and a big deal, since it means that I can have things like a fan (to keep me from sweating to death in the summer), an electric cooler (a.k.a. mini-mini-fridge) for things like vegetables and hummus and cheese and cold boozy beverages, and, well, lights at night that aren’t a harsh blue-white solar lantern, which is what I was using before October, when I made these improvements. Anything electrical is always a little scary; I’m nervous every time I have to go into the breaker box and always surprised when I’m able to touch it without shocking myself. I also had an extremely minimal understanding of how to splice wires together and how to connect all these lights to each other, to the dimmer switch, and to the breaker box. This involved a lot of googling, and even though the DIY van blogs seemed to say that installing lights would take half a day, it took me the better part of two days. But it’s done, and I’m very happy with it. Fiat lux, motherf***er!

My new favorite public agency is the Southwest Florida Water Management District. Occasionally, if I’d had a few drinks at Ron’s house, I spent the night parked in his driveway. Sometimes I stayed in private RV parks. (This was mostly driven by the need to empty the van’s port-a-pot once a week or so — public dump stations are not easy to find in this area of Florida; the closest was about an hour away.) But mostly, I stayed at campground operated by the SWFWMD. These campgrounds are in big tracts of forested, marshy, watery land, and they are great primitive campgrounds that cost $0. There’s no water, no showers, no other fancy campground amenities, but there is usually one outhouse, and each campsite has a picnic table and a fire pit. They’re basic and beautiful.

My favorite campground is called the Serenova Tract. It’s about 15 minutes from Ron’s house, and the campground is in a bunch of pines and live oaks. Horses are allowed, and on one of the last weekends I spent there, several people with horses stayed overnight and hung up Christmas lights. The next morning, they were joined by a dozen other horses and riders who all went for a morning trail ride through the woods. I was insanely jealous.

The other SWFWMD campground I stayed at was called Cypress Creek. It’s a little farther from Ron’s place than Serenova, so it was my second choice when Serenova was full but my van’s shitter wasn’t. It’s a beautiful spot, with tons of big pines. But right now I’m a little wary of it because the last time I stayed there I woke up from a dead sleep at 4:51 a.m. when I heard someone singing and talking to themselves. (The campground had been totally empty when I got there and still was as far as I could see.) It was probably just someone who had come in on foot and was drinking because it was cold (40 degrees) outside, but it was still a bit unnerving. 

I also have a favorite RV park. I was thinking that my relationship with these places would be strictly utilitarian, and it still mostly is. But out of the three RV parks that I’ve stayed at, there’s one small one called Suncoast that I actually kind of enjoyed: even though I only went there occasionally, the three staff people remembered me when I called or came in, and they often gave me a discount on their regular rates because I don’t use any electricity. They (both staff and most guests) also seem to be taking pretty good pandemic precautions. (I actually saw someone get kicked out of the office when they tried to come in without a mask, something that I’ve never seen in any other business since March!) The place has nice big pine trees, and by the office there’s a table where people put free food that they aren’t using, or occasionally two-day-old bread that someone got from Publix for free. The last time I was there, some people had decorated their campers and RVs with lights and it was kind of charming. I still heavily prefer to be out in the woods by myself and not spending any money, but I’m glad I found someplace pleasant for my once-a-week-or-so sewer/water needs.

I figured out how to stay warm while sleeping. This is a bigger deal than it sounds because a) I haven’t insulated the van yet, so at night, it’s only a few degrees warmer than whatever the temperature is outside, and b) I’m a very cold sleeper. Florida is SUPER WARM compared to any other place I’ve ever lived, but in December, it started getting a little chilly at night: down into the fifties, then the forties, then, a few nights ago, 30 degrees. I’ve camped in near-freezing or slightly-below-freezing temperatures before, but sometimes it wasn’t very comfortable — even with good long underwear and socks and a hat and a zero-degree-rated sleeping bag. But I’ve figured out a system for my bed that uses four blankets, layered like a licorice allsort: a quilt, a heavy wool blanket, another quilt, and a faux-wool blanket. If it gets below 40, I can add my zero-degree down sleeping bag and be not just comfortable but actively toasty, like a baking croissant.

Unrelatedly, I’ve been having a hard time getting out of bed in the morning.

I’ve found that my life in a van is basically like my life has been anywhere else. I work. I sleep. I stay up late reading things on the internet when I should be sleeping. Sometimes I go running or do yoga (while trying not to bump into the cabinet or kick the front console or hit the ceiling). Sometimes I do fun things, like paddleboarding or talking to friends. I make goals and plans and don’t follow through on them, except when very very occasionally I do. But when I’m looking up van stuff online, I often run across photos of people who are #selfemployed #vanlife and the photos of them working are:

A woman is seated propped up on pillows in the bed in the back of her van. The doors are open, framing a view of the cerulean sea, so that you can practically smell the gentle breeze blowing over the dunes. She has a laptop on her lap and is looking thoughtfully out to sea while a cup of tea steeps on a tray that is on the white coverlet of her bed.

Or

A man is seated at the dinette in the back of his van. He has a laptop, a French press, a mug of coffee, and a plate with two scones on it on the table. The table, and in fact the whole dinette with its two upholstered benches, would be at home on a small luxury yacht, and it’s the kind of dinette that you make into a bed at night. The astute, intent expression on the man’s face give the viewer to understand that he is competent and disciplined and never stays up two hours past his bedtime because he’s too lazy to lower the dinette table and rearrange the cushions and put on all his sheets and blankets. We are also given to understand that the electrical system in his van would have no problems handling the power drain of a bean grinder, even though he is clearly parked in the high Rockies — again, with the back doors open, the better to take in the late spring air and see the fresh green of the aspen trees — and it’s often cloudy. Lastly, we are given to understand that he baked those scones himself, because when he’s not working, hiking, lumberjacking, or otherwise living his best life, he enjoys unwinding by baking bread and pastries. (Not in the van; don’t be silly! He bakes outside, over a wood fire.)

(A tangent: Why do so many people have their van doors open in photos I see online? Do they only stay in places with no bugs? If I tried that in Florida, or even Maryland or Colorado half the year, I’d be awake half the night swatting at mosquitoes and/or flies.)

In contrast, a photo of me being self-employed in a van would look like:

A woman is sprawled in an ungainly fashion on her narrow bunk. Her laptop is braced by her lower ribs and propped up with a pillow placed over her gut. The pillow has a cat on it. The windows of the van are covered in silver bubble-wrap, so very little light gets in. Absolutely no doors are open, because the van is parked behind a Dunkin Donuts so the woman can get free wifi and not burn through all the data on her phone plan. She takes a break to heat up a can of Campbell’s soup on an alcohol stove, adding a handful of dehydrated mixed vegetables, to be healthy. As she stirs the soup, she gazes contemplatively out the windshield towards the adjacent parking lot, where there is an IHOP. #vanlife

Or

A woman is sitting in the passenger seat of her van with her feet on the dashboard and her laptop on her lap. Beside her in the cupholder is a steaming Hydroflask full of the cheapest tea she could buy at Publix. The van is parked in a grove of live oaks. Spanish moss sways gently in the morning breeze. Behind the woman, in the dark recesses of the van, sets of clothes are hanging: leggings and a shirt, still sweaty, by the side doors, a bathing suit over the sink, a t-shirt and shorts for sleeping in by the rear cabinet. Several kitchen towels are draped on the driver’s seat and on the dashboard because the cab leaks above the sun visors when it rains, and even though she’s tried caulking it three times, she still can’t get it to stop. #vanlife

The good thing, though, is that I’m still getting work and making a living. I can do it someplace that’s safe, without having to risk my life to do it. And I’m getting paid a fair hourly wage. But then the very terrible thing is that everyone should be able to say what I just said, but so many people can’t: they’re not making a real living through their work, they have to risk their lives to do it, and they’re not getting paid a fair wage.

(Brief interlude as I stare at the ceiling angrily.)

***

Here’s what I’m doing next: I left Pasco County on the 16th. I’ll be in what I think of as “traveling quarantine” until the 30th, staying in a national forest near Jacksonville. (With a couple of stops at state parks to refill water, empty the port-a-pot, and maybe take a real shower.) I’ll be in Maryland on New Year’s Eve and will stay at my parents’ while I insulate the van, build interior walls, and do a bunch of other stuff so that I can call it (mostly) finished. Then I’m thinking of going to New Mexico and spending late winter/early spring there… parked on top of a mesa… sipping a cup of French-press coffee on my white coverlet while I thoughtfully gaze out the open doors of my van… (I really would like to park on top of a mesa though.)

[lambourngb]

The product of too little sleep, lots of ‘Murder in a Small Town’ and rewatching episodes 12 and 13.

***

The Anbar Province left more than a physical mark on Alex.

He had learned lessons, both big and small. He could separate premonitation from subconscious recognition. He could type accurately from the footbed of a Humvee with no discernible suspension while a squadmate bled out next to him, locked in the importance of the mission. He could also wait patiently during the long hours that stretch between the spikes of adrenaline and monotonous boredom.

Roswell so far tested two out of three of those skills.

The disquiet left over from last night’s storm aged and blossomed from a vague feeling of wrongness to outright certainty. The mid morning sun was edging overhead, and soon would start it’s slow slide toward the horizon as he kept his vigil outside the Airstream for Michael. ‘Come back tomorrow, we’ll talk then’ was a promise that had Alex reaching for his favorite black leather jacket for comfort.

He refused to think of it as armor. Not every conversation was a war, but he was ready to fight for Michael. Staying away hadn’t kept anyone safe, it just robbed him of time he could have spent happy.

The crunch of gravel lifted his eyes from his phone, as a Chaves County sheriff’s cruiser pulled into Sander’s followed by one dark colored nondescript sedan.

Michelle Valenti had always been kind to Alex in the past, like her husband had been. She was always quick with a kind word when she noticed his eyes trailing to the photos of a happy family that dotted the Valenti house when he was growing up, mindful that his own house was bare of such sentiment. He never minded when strangers mistook her for his mother in the joint outings with Kyle as kids. The New Mexico sun baking them both dark and alike, another set of twins like the Evans kids. After Jim’s death, she had quietly shut down any talk of challenging the will and property transfer of the hunting cabin to Alex. It was only her insistence that he even accepted the keys in the first place and allowed the lawyer to finalize the will’s dispersal.

Her eyes were still kind as she stepped out of her vehicle, but her face showed no sign of friendliness. This was official business.

As always his mind flashed to the worst case scenario, Michael wasn’t here because he was dead. There was no known family to notify, just his employer. Max had to be dead too to leave this to his boss. Isobel had kept her connection to Michael quiet. Or were they all caught by an arm of Project Shepherd that he had missed? Last night’s glimpse of Michael, he had been covered in blood, and then called away by some painful telepathic urgency.

Alex clocked the dark sedan as government issue, raising more alarm in him.

Swallowing hard, he stood from the chair. “Sheriff, what brings you by?”

Two men exited the sedan, both dressed in similar versions of an off the rack dark business suits. The flair at the hip and shoulder nearly hid the firearms strapped to them. Definitely federal agents.

“We’re looking for Michael Guerin.” She peered toward the closed door of the Airstream, “is he here?”

“He’s not here.” Alex stepped closer to the doorway of the Airstream, subtly blocking entry. He didn’t give himself time to feel relief that at least Michael wasn’t dead or in custody. “What’s this about?”

Agent Bland Number 1 stepped forward holding out an ID with a shield. “Agent Rollins. Mind if we look around?”

Alex stiffened at the casual question. “Actually I do mind. Do you have a warrant?” There was no telling what sort of research on the ‘47 crash Michael had left out, but he was well aware a blood soaked shirt was still on the camp bed from last night.

Agent Bland Number 2 unbuttoned his suit jacket to pull his own ID out with a glance to the Sheriff. “I’m Agent Ross. We have permission from the business owner to be here, son.”

He bristled at the ‘son’ and reached for his own identification. “Captain Manes, United States Air Force, and you may have permission by Mr. Sanders to be here, but that Airstream is a residence with an expectation of privacy, and you need a warrant to enter it.”

“Is it your residence?” Agent Rollins asked, his eyes flickering to Alex with a disbelieving sneer.

Great, a government homophobe. What the hell was Michael into now. He saw Sheriff Valenti stiffen at the undertone by him. In for a penny, “Michael’s my partner, so yes this is also my residence.” He flicked a glance at Michelle Valenti, seeing no surprise on her face and met the eyes of Agent Rollins unflinchingly, “I did not give this country 10 years and my right leg to allow my rights to be trampled. So unless you tell me what’s going on, this has been a lot of fun but it can be continued with my lawyer.”

“Alex,” Sheriff Valenti cautioned. “We might have gotten off on the wrong foot here. We just need to talk to Michael, since his name came up in a routine missing persons investigation. I had to request help from the local field office because we’re a little short handed here in Roswell.”

Fuck. A missing person investigation where Michael’s name was brought up could only mean Noah Bracken. It was too much to hope for that Max Evans had competently covered for his absence while they held him in a pod. A prominent well respected attorney could probably disappear for a day or maybe two, but it had been close to four or five days since the gala.

The few details he had from Michael during that ill-fated drive to Caulfield were mainly focused on the frustration he had that Noah was out of reach in stasis. With Liz’s serum coursing in Noah’s veins, he couldn’t be questioned on their origins without accelerating the decomposition. Michael had mentioned it had been Isobel’s decision, exercising a long overdue power over Noah.

The ride home from Caulfield had been entirely silent, wondering what they were going to do with the likely lone surviving alien with knowledge of their origins seemed out of place.

Alex certainly wouldn’t miss Noah Bracken, but that didn’t mean the community wouldn’t. Barely 12 hours into the damage control of Caulfield and he had a new problem to add to the list.

“Who’s missing?”

“Do you know a Noah Bracken?” Confirming Alex’s suspicions about the visit.

“Everyone knows Noah Bracken. This is a small town. He and his wife sponsor or fund most of the main events around here. In fact the reopening of the UFO museum was just the other night that they hosted.” Alex glanced at Sheriff Valenti, “your own Deputy Evans is his brother-in-law. Is that why the call for federal involvement? Conflict of interest in the department?”

“Deputy Evans took a week of leave after the gala, and yes, his personal relationship to Isobel Evans-Bracken does disqualify him from the inquiry.”

“I still don’t understand what this has to do with Michael and what makes this a missing persons case? The whole town saw him the other night.”

“The ‘other night’, son, was five days ago and that’s the last time he was seen in public. He was due in court for a case yesterday. His secretary says he would have never missed court. His wife told his office he’s on a fishing trip to Heron Lake, but we have no credit card or cell tower data that says Mr. Bracken ever left Roswell. We have reason to believe from a witness that Mr Guerin might have been the last person to have contact with Mr. Bracken.”

It was careless of them to hold Noah in a pod without knowing his court calendar and public appearance schedule intimately. Keeping the cell phone turned on was truly amatuer hour as well. Alex was reminded abruptly that Michael and Isobel were civilians, and Max’s operational experience was likely limited to speeding tickets, warrant serving and drunk and disorderlies. Detaining a suspected enemy combatant for intelligence gathering was more in line with his own resume.

This was the type of battle he left Roswell at seventeen to learn how to win.

Warily Alex kept his expression even and natural, choosing his words carefully with his knowledge of events. “Michael and I were together, here last night. The last time Michael mentioned him was the gala. And I can tell you, personally I haven’t seen Noah around in a while.”

Agent Rollins exchanged a glance with his partner, “you’re willing to swear to that? That Mr. Guerin was with you last night?”

“Yes, we were together last night, and I spent all day with him yesterday.”

“You said everyone knows everyone here. Are you aware of any deeper connection with Mr. Bracken? A personal relationship?” Agent Ross picked up, plastering on amenable smile with the suggestive question.

“Michael is friends with his wife, but I don’t know of any other connection.”

Agent Ross sharpened, “How friendly with his wife would you say he was? Small town has a lot to say about Isobel Evans-Bracken and we’ve heard a lot about their close relationship.”

The Roswell gossip circle strikes again. Without the public acknowledgement of being foundlings together, it probably did look a little odd to the average bridge club members about why a society wife and fundraiser spent so much time with the local bar brawler. He knew with good reason why they kept their kinship secret but it was still inconvenient when rumors swirled about a carnal relationship instead of a sibling one. He remembered his own curiosity about them in high school before he got his answer from Michael in the form of a sweet kiss at the museum.

Alex bristled at the implication, “Michael’s not a cheater and we’ve kept our relationship quiet for the sake of my career and his safety. Like you said, this is a small town.”

Agent Ross looked up from his notebook, and commented blandly, “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell was over a while ago.”

“It wasn’t when we started.” Alex smiled humorlessly, and extended his hand to Sheriff Valenti, “Michael’s off looking for a part, but I’ll let him know to contact you about setting up an interview with our lawyer.”

“We just want to clear this up, Alex and find Mr. Bracken. No one is saying he’s in trouble. We’re on our way over to Max’s next.” She squeezed his hand meaningfully, before turning away to steer the agents back to their vehicles.

Agent Rollins, ignored Alex’s hand pointedly, “We will get to the bottom of this, Captain Manes. And if need be, we’ll be back with the warrant to search this place from top to bottom.”

Long practice with bullies and his father kept him unyielding when the other agent stepped close in an attempt to intimidate. “You do that.”

He waited until the cars pulled clear of the entrance to Sanders before bringing his phone to his ear.

No answer from Michael’s phone. It went straight to voicemail the way it had this morning when he first tried to call. He mashed the disconnect button. He didn’t have Max’s number. The next best thing was Liz. He wasn’t the praying sort, but he really hoped Liz wasn’t at her lab in the hospital with no signal. The second thing he needed to do after locating Michael was gather everyone’s phone number.

[eye-raq]

Daddy’s Home Pt.1: The Pull UP

Okay so ya’ll gonna trip off of this one HERE. Thanks to my girl @hdkween I had to do it man i had to!!!!!!

Summary: Erik serves seven years of his ten year sentence, getting out on good behavior to finally teach his girl who left him almost four years ago a lesson (A NASTY LESSON) *tehee*

WARNINGS: SMUT (18+) This is long, and nasty, and just badddd yall.  If I haven’t tagged you please let my ass know because everytime i make a tag list i loose it lmao!

Mariposa County Jail.

That’s where she visited now. From her understanding, it was very strict. She got a further warning from her good friend Brianna, who had an ex-boyfriend there that she visited often.

“Girlllll, I'm just gonna warn you now, you can forget all the treats you could sneak in at the other jail, and paying off some of those crooked officers to fuck in the bathroom, NOPE. No bending the rules or you’ll be staying there too.”

Upon arrival there, Callie couldn’t even park and leave her 2015 Infiniti Q50 without some correctional officers approaching her vehicle to check it. She clutched her Pink tote bag, an attitude etched within her pretty brown features as she watched them attack her car, never missing an inch of space. After about ten minutes, they finally lifted from her vehicle, turning to escort her into the Institution.

It seemed they really wanted to be cautious, because now Callie had to go through a metal detector, also having to send her bag down the conveyor belt to get checked by a women correctional officer. Callie was used to this part, having to be searched before she entered, but not as extensive as her car.

She even received instructions before coming here to not wear similar colors that resemble that of the inmates. They wore blue from head to toe, so she wore an all black Pink tracksuit with her curly hair up in a simple top knot bun. After going through check out, Callie had to sign some forms, handing over her ID, stating her name, and date of birth.

“Callie Demetria Carter, 4/4/90.”

“Visiting?” The boring officer asked, his eyes never leaving the papers in front of him, the balding patch of thin hair on his pale head giving her a view she would normally laugh at if it wasn’t for her already overgrowing irritation.

“Erik Stevens.” Erik Stevens, graduate at MIT who took on the job as a hacker instead of an engineer.

At that the officer went to pull out a stack of visitors lists, finally finding Erik’s, scanning to see. Callie had always been curious to know who else visited Erik, her eyes staring through the thick panel of glass, squinting them to make out more than one name scribbled there.

“Alright, let's go. Leave all personal belongings here, and follow these few officers through that door to the phone room.”

Callie never had to visit Erik in a phone room. She always came to see him at the other institution in a wide open room where all inmates came to see their visitors whether it be friends, family, or even enemies. Callie tried to block out the image of the one visitor who sat next to her, the prisoner stabbing their neck repeatedly, before doing the same to themselves. Callie had nightmares about that for nearly a two months.

Finally lifting from the chair, Callie walked empty-handed as she allowed the slow swinging doors to close. It was a long dimly lit hallway, the sounds of her vans walking across the shiny hardwood flooring that had the smell of pine sol wafting from it. She gripped the zipper of her tracksuit hoodie tightly, her expression hardened.

Callie avoided her last visit to see Erik for reasons she didn’t want to bring up. She supposed Erik needed time to adjust here as well because he had transferred to this Institution for his own safety. Erik literally owned the last prison he stayed in called San Quentin State Prison. Erik had the warden and the correctional officers eating out the palm of his hand, he even had his own cell in a secluded area of the prison from the other inmates. That alone earned a lot of hate and jealousy towards him.

Callie remembers visiting Erik in the earlier stages of his arrest, face bruised purple and red from fighting, he even walked out with his orange jumpsuit undone, a bandage on his broad chest from an attempt stabbing in the courtyard:

“E! What the fuck?!” Callie wanted to cry.

“Aye! I told you, I got this. Don’t go wasting your tears on me. You got the weed right?” Callie’s somber expression turned to that of annoyance as she pulled out the plastic bag full of kush, his special kush that he smoked in jail to keep him level headed, especially if he planned on getting out on good behavior.

“Thanks, baby, you like my little Bonnie, always holding me down.”

Callie’s attention was brought back to the present as the doors to the phone room opened, revealing a long stainless steel counter sealed off by a thick pane of glass separated by a wall between each visiting area, a rusty black phone for the visitor and the prisoner to use, and hard plastic chairs. From the way this was set up, there would be no more weed for Erik and no more quick sex sessions. Callie finally takes her seat at the instructed area, pulling her chair close and pressing her elbows firm on the counter in front of her. As if on cue, the correctional officer on the other side of the glass opened the door, a buzz sounding out as awe transformed her face.

There, standing at 6’3 220 lbs with little beady beads in his hair, unkempt facial hair, and crisp blue pants with a matching top was Erik himself. Callie felt a blush creep up her face, all of the memories with this man flooding her brain again, giving the wicked imagery that she wasn’t prepared for. Adjusting herself in her seat, Callie clears her throat, trying her best to stare into the eyes of her incarcerated boyfriend, clear resentment festering within him. Callie couldn’t lie, she felt fear in her belly, even through the thick glass. Erik kicks back the chair, settling with a loud thump of the chains around his wrists, body slouched and eyes cold with fury. Callie took a chance to look around her, nerves a damn wreck before picking up the dirty phone, bringing it to her ear slowly. She motioned with a lift of her chin for Erik to pick up his phone, watching him snatch it up with so much aggression, fear churned in her stomach.

Callie could hear him breathing, his chest from what she could see rapidly moving as if he were suffocating on his rage.

“Hi E, how you been baby?” Callie licked at her dry lips. She waited for him to respond for what felt like a minute, the fingers on his right hand tapping at the counter deathly slow.

“I heard some things.” That's all he had to say to her, no hi princess, no wassup baby girl, no you miss me, just THAT. Callie felt disrespected, the number of times she would visit his ungrateful ass, and that’s all he had to say.

“Oh? So no hi how are you? No hey baby girl, wassup love, nothing?” She grimaced.

“Are you gonna confirm what I heard?” he gave her a dirty look with a shrug of his shoulders.

“I’ll entertain your rude ass since that’s what you clearly want me to do.” Callie seemed to have forgotten how aggravating her boyfriend could be.

“Word on the street is, my girl entertaining some other nigga.” Callie’s expression closed up, her fingers fidgeting while her eyes landed on a vein popping out the side of his neck.

“Wassup? You can’t speak?” Erik whispers with rage, his jaw tight and eyes bloodshot. He leans closer, his face almost pressing against the glass.

“It ain’t even like that.” She felt small. Callie felt like everyone in that room could hear what was going on.

“It ain’t even like that huh?! From my understanding, you let this nigga into my place, fucked this nigga in my bed?” He laughs.

“Erik chill out. I came all this way to see you.” She started to feel her anger stab at her brain.

“I’m finna break this MOTHERFUCKING glass.” Erik brings a single finger to the glass, stabbing it.

“I’m growing hella tired of the games Callie. You wanna stop with all that playing and tell me what’s really going on?” Callie’s leg fidgeted under the table, her eyes closed. She was afraid to even tell him anything from the reaction she was receiving right now.

“Fine! I met someone.” Callie nibbles on her fingers, her eyes wavering. He just sat there, immobilized with fury, his eyes deranged and a look as if he’d been slapped.

“You wanna run that shit by me again?!” The spit from his mouth hit the glass.

“I-I met a guy, his name is Lamont. We hung out a few times, and I invited him over. We kissed and he felt me up a little but that’s it! That’s all I didn’t let him hit I sware on my life!” Callie fucked up, she knew she fucked up. Erik had friends in AND out of jail. Callie briefly wondered besides his lawyer, were there others who would report things to him? She felt stupid.

“You stupid or what? You really thought you could fuck with another nigga while I was away? Especially since you’re MINES. What you thought I wasn’t gonna find out? I can’t believe your little simple ass.” He could taste the blood on his tongue from his rage. Erik pounded his fist on the counter, causing one of the correctional officers to approach behind him.

Callie rubbed angrily at her face, tears that she didn’t want nor needed, falling. She put up with Erik’s jailbird ass long enough, four years in jail to be exact. Callie had a lot going for herself, a college degree in Health Science, a great job with benefits and a salary wage, she wanted to feel guilty, but why should she? Erik landed himself in jail for credit fraud on multiple counts for some stupid job she warned him not to take, now he was serving seven to ten years behind bars.

“Fuck this, I don’t feel sorry about shit,” Callie yells, her limbs shaking.

“So you don’t feel sorry for getting with some clown while I’m in jail!!!?” Erik yells back into the phone.

“No, I don’t E. I feel like I deserve more than this arrangement we have going on.” Callie could see the hurt in his eyes, his nostrils flaring.

“What this punk nigga got that I don’t have?!” Erik smirks deviously then, his eyes low and predatory.

“Freedom.” Callie couldn’t believe she just said that.

“What a FUCKING SHAME. That’s all? Just freedom?”

“Freedom is better than dick Erik. Dick that you can’t sling behind bars.” Callie was on a roll. Did she know that from her words, she dug a deeper hole with Erik, but so? What could he do right? He was away for seven to ten years, by the time he got out she could be somewhere overseas living it up.

“You feel real tough on the other side of that glass. I’m giving you this one fucking warning Callie, DROP THAT NIGGA. Don’t look at him, don’t speak to him, don’t even breathe the same air as him.” with every word he spoke, he poked the glass so hard it shook.

“Erik, I’m tired of this shit. I’m sick of you trying to control me, I’m sick of coming up here with the same damn routine to see your sour ass, I’m TIRED! I’m fucking tired E.” Her eyes almost left her sockets as she spoke the words she’d been feeling for a while. Callie didn’t deserve this kind of lifestyle because of his mistakes.

“So WHAT?! You fucking leaving me?! What kind of girl of mines you supposed to be if you leaving me HUH?! Gon’ fucking dip out on me after all the shit I did for your ass. If the tables were turned you think I would do you dirty like this?! I can tell you now I WOULDN’T.” His voice was at its highest peak now, so deep and thunderous it earned the attention of practically everyone in that room.

“You are embarrassing right now! Calm your big ass down! You want the whole world to know our business?!!.” Callie scoots her seat back, lifting from her chair.

“Who the FUCK told you to exit! Were not fucking done Callie! I swear on EVERYTHING.”

“What?! Last time I checked I’m over here and YOUR over there!” Callie rolls her eyes at him, turning to leave with a middle finger to the sky.

Erik stands from his chair frantically, causing it to fall to the floor loudly. He snarls, nodding his head, pointing a warning finger to her retreating back as the officers lead her away.

“I’ll see you and that bitch ass NIGGA on the outside bruh!!!!!!” He felt the firm grip of the officers on his arms, causing him to laugh.

“Ain’t shit going on with me I’m GOOD.” Erik shakes them off. All he could see was her walking down that hallway, not even a backward glance.

“IT’S COOL BABY GIRL KEEP THAT SAME ENERGY WHEN I GET OUT!” Erik rubs at his nose, blinking his eyes rapidly while his fists clenched.

“Go ahead and bounce then Callie since you leaving.” He could feel his chains being pulled, his hurt face turning away from her blurred body as the officers lead him back to his shared cell.

Present Day: January 2019.

“Hey, Stevens!”

There were about four correctional officers headed towards his cell, the one leading the way going by the name of Johnson. All of them were big and intimidating, but none compared to Erik himself.

Standing at 6’3 246 lbs of thick muscle, body littered in tiny raised scars that represented each day he resided behind bars, skin a deep almond, hair in wild dreads that sat atop his head with a sharp temp-fade around the sides, bringing in the strong features that consisted of a broad nose, sharp brown eyes, wide lips that drew back into a snarl from the pull-ups he was currently doing, dark messy eyebrows, and teeth littered in gold.

“It’s showtime! Grab your stuff, were escorting you out.”

Erik drops down with a loud thud of his faded Timberlands against the smooth concrete of his cell, waking up his cellmate, causing him to groan. Erik gives Johnson a once over with his eyes, and a wicked smile before adjusting the drawstring to his pants, the fabric almost slipping from his waist to pool around his feet.

“It’s that time already Johnson? I thought my good behavior release didn’t start till next week on Wednesday?” Erik turns his chiseled back on Johnson and the others standing on the other side of his cell bars, walking over to his untidy bed, grabbing up the duffle he had already packed with some gear he definitely couldn’t fit anymore, throwing it over his shoulder.

“Where’s your shirt?” Johnson asked with annoyance.

“What’s the weather?” Erik looked up at the tiny window on the ceiling, the sun peeking through, staining his scared shoulders.

“It’s about 75 degrees.” Erik scuffs, pulling out a white long sleeve henley, throwing it on quick before walking up to the gate. Johnson begins to unlock it, Erik’s heart practically banging against his solid chest from how relieved he was to finally leave that shit hole. He served seven years of his sentence, SEVEN. He knew his lawyer would look out for him, the sexy bitch finally getting what she always wanted. The day Erik found out about his good behavior leave, his lawyer by the name of Marcia Grey requested to see him in private. Erik confused out of his mind showed up within that room to find Marcia in a tight nude bodycon skirt, with her white blouse undone giving him a full on view of her ample cleavage that begged to fall into his mouth. How many years has it been? Three years and eleven months since he had pussy? That’s about 1452 days. When he and Callie were together, they always had an arrangement of sex the four years before that, but since she called things off, Erik was left to beating his meat in hopes that the other prisoners couldn’t hear him.

Marcia made her intentions clear with Erik, that she wanted to fuck him in return for getting him his good behavior release. Erik didn’t have to be told twice, he lifted her up by the back of her thighs and fucked her a good two times, getting his nut in on that hard ass table. That was at least three months ago, now he really needed it craved it, and the only person to deliver that was Callie herself.

Callie Demetria Carter.

Could be Callie Demetria Stevens, She was lucky Erik loved her ass. He took his anger out on lifting weights, and punching bags, sometimes even racist prisoners who rubbed him the wrong way.

All that thinking, Erik hadn’t realized that the exit was inches away from him, the fresh air wafting his nose. FINALLY, no more smelling his cellmates shit in the middle of the night, no more quick showers because he wanted to avoid the homosexual prisoners who already gave him a look that made him want to break their faces in two, no more filling up on stale bread and ramen noodle hookups with tuna fish and eggs, and no more being pushed around by the crooked ass correctional officers.

Erik watched as Johnson opened the final gate to freedom, a car waiting for him ahead, HIS car, a 2018 NSX in electric blue.

“That’s you?!” Johnson was astonished.

“I might have been behind bars, but that doesn’t mean I ain’t got bank.”

Erik didn’t give a final farewell, walking up to his car, his good friend since childhood named Kendrick walking up to dab him up excitedly.

“Yee wassup big homie!” Kendrick pats Erik’s back.

“What’s good bro, YO, thanks for looking out for me while I was away, I owe you one big time.”

“That’s what friends are for right? You’re my nigga, of course, I was gonna look out for you.”

Erik practically runs to the drivers' side, itching to feel that leather on his back and smell that new car smell. Pulling off at 70 miles per hour, Erik starts talking business.

“My clean slate is already in progress from my understanding, I got some people in high places who owe me some favors.”

“AND, I found your girl, MISS CALLIE.” Kendrick clarifies.

“Is that RIGHT?” Erik’s grip on the steering wheel doesn’t go unnoticed, the leather making a loud crunching sound.

“YEP. she’s been dating that same nigga Lamont. Supposedly they’re going out tonight for a date, I think it’s RA Sushi on Lancaster Street.”

Erik’s irritation crackled.

He had something in store for her ass, just wait. He had a backup apartment where he did business that he could stay for a while, and then tonight he would pop up on Callie and her temporary nigga, serving up punishment by dick.

9:00 pm, Friday

“Look at you! You know how much I love RA Sushi.” Callie grabs Lamont's hand as he helps her out of his matte grey G Wagon, his hungry eyes never leaving Callie’s body. Tonight she wore a skin-tight camouflage bodycon dress, her lips painted a wine red, natural makeup on her face that brought out her hazel eyes, long hair done in soft curls, and her feet covered in nude So Kate red bottoms.

“I remember your love for Sushi Callie, figured we could start the night off right with dinner before we head over to the Hookah Bar.” Lamont stood at 6’1, a tall glass of chocolate milk with a bright white smile and chiseled features. His hair was shiny and black, blending perfectly with the fitted black sweater he wore and the dark wash denim of his jeans. He had a simple silver Rolex on his wrist with a silver rope chain, the smell of rosewood wafting her nose every time he took a step closer to her.

“Just hookah bar afterward? Nothing else you had in mind?” Lamont turned to her with a suggestive flicker of his thick black eyebrow, his lips turned up into a crooked smile.

“Callie you always want some damn dick.”

“What’s wrong with that? You telling me you don’t want to fuck?” Callie chuckles with a shocked look on her face. She never met a man who would turn down sex, especially if his women was ready and willing to provide that for him.

“OF COURSE I love fucking you Callie, but I was thinking tonight we could watch some movies, you know, get all boo’d up.” Callie actually scrunches her face at that. She hadn’t had the dick in about a week and all he wanted to do was lay in bed and watch movies? It was so foreign to her. As much as she hated to remember him, Erik never seized to please his women in AND out of the bed, that was before he got his ass locked up. Cali always wondered how he’d been holding up, sometimes thinking the worst, but she knew Erik could hold his own.

“Earth to Callie?” Callie hadn’t noticed her arrival in RA Sushi, standing in front of the hostess.

“Table for two right?” She asked all chipper.

“Yes, a booth near the window please,” Callie asked, watching as the hostess picked up two menus, escorting them to their table.

“You sure you good? You spaced out back there.” Lamont put an arm around her shoulder, squeezing her soft arm, bringing her body flush against his.

“Yeah, you know how I can get, lost in my thoughts.” They both settled into their seats, Callie letting out a deep breath before opening her menu to appetizers.

“You sure you telling me everything?” Lamont squinted his eyes in suspicion at her.

“Stop worrying about nothing and order us some appetizers! I was thinking we should share a bowl of ramen.” Lamont didn’t press her further, the waiter's arrival providing relief for her.

They both sat with glasses of water, undecided on what drinks they wanted with their chopsticks digging into the hot bowl of noodles, broth, beef, eggs, and veggies. Callie was so caught up in Lamont wiping some broth from the side of her mouth, that she hadn’t noticed the arrival of a special guest, but Lamont did.

“Can we help you brother?” Callie looks in the direction of Lamont's question to find THE ONE FUCKING PERSON SHE DIDN’T EXPECT TO SEE.

“AHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!” Callie screams in shock, jumping back in her booth seat, hitting her head against the brick wall. She whines in pain, her hand rubbing over her weave, eyes wide in terror, her hands shaking as they covered her mouth.

“Miss Callie Carter, AKA Daddy’s little slut with the trick tongue.” Erik rolls his shoulders, arms folded across his chest with his dreads freshly twisted and stroked to the side, gold-rimmed glasses on his face, a white v neck t-shirt with an oversized distressed denim jacket, light wash drop crotch jeans with red and black Jordan 1’s on his feet. He smiles brightly, revealing golds in his mouth. Callie could not remove her eyes from him, she COULDN’T BELIEVE that Erik himself stood before her with at least twenty pounds of muscle added to his body and a head full of dreads. Was this the nigga she left in the phone room almost 4 years ago?!!!

“What the fuck?! NIGGA, WHO ARE YOU TO SAY SOME SHIT LIKE THAT ABOUT MY GIRL? Did you lose your fucking mind bruh? Get the stepping homie!” Lamont was fuming now, ready to stand up out of the booth, but Callie put out a hand to stop him.

“Lamont!!! no, just no…”

Lamont gives Erik a nasty look before turning to Callie with confusion.

“You wanna tell me who this nigga is that claim you’ve been sucking his dick?” ERIK barks out a burst of laughter that caused a waiter to stumble with a tray full of hot saki shots.

“My nigga you don’t know?!! I’m the one Callie left almost four years ago.” Lamont had this dumb expression on his face that made Erik want to go upside his head even more.

“You lost you coffee faced nigga!? Check this out..”

Erik seats himself next to Callie, her entire personal space now filled with the smell of warm cinnamon, mint citrus, and Indian patchouli clouding her, it was provocative allure and power with distinct magnetic notes. Callie hated the fact that she loved the smell, she was livid because her seat grew wet.

“Since it seems that Callie here is the QUEEN of secrets, let me reveal her biggest one.”

“Erik DON’T” Callie yanks at his jacket, causing him to turn his blazing eyes on her.

“Get your fucking hands off me. You punished.” Callie felt like she’d been slapped in the face, her jaw slack and her hazel eyes almost leaving her sockets.

“Now back to you nigga with the temporary dick, I’m Erik, Callie’s man who’s been away in jail for seven years.” Lamont marinated in resentment, not a word spoke just pure hate in his eyes as he stared at Erik unblinking.

“You look like you wanna kill me right now, but I bet that shit doesn’t match up to how much I wanna end your fucking life,” Erik spoke that low and careful, so Lamont could catch every single word.

“And as for you,” Erik points to Callie without even looking at her.

“I told you not to come near this nigga, didn’t I? I told you not to breathe the same air as him and look at what we got.” Callie could only shake her head, her lower lip trembling. She didn’t know what would happen next, but she KNEW it wouldn’t be the perfect reunion.

“Say goodnight, Callie, we leaving.” Erik lifts from the booth, walking away a little to find Callie still seated.

“Oh? So Daddy gotta punish you further huh? That’s cool, I’m up for the extra work.” Callie looks at Lamont, his eyes staring down at the table without a single gaze at her. Erik whistles, getting Callie’s attention again as she finally lifts from the booth, now on her two feet.

“Sorry, Lamont.” She says over her shoulder, guilt creeping up her belly.

“Sorry, not sorry,” Erik says with a smile, knowing that Lamont wasn’t stupid enough to get up and try anything with him. Callie takes tentative steps towards Erik, all eyes in that restaurant on her like she was walking the walk of shame.

Erik holds up his hand to her, stopping her.

“What the fuck you doing?” He says with a harsh breath escaping his mouth.

“Is that how you're supposed to approach big daddy? You forgetting something?!” Callie’s body stiffens, turning her face away from him. He had so much CONTROL.

“You can’t be fucking serious right now Erik???” He cocks his head at her response.

“Oh I’m DEAD Fucking serious, get on all fours NOW, and crawl to me before I leave your ass in this restaurant.” Erik snaps his fingers, pointing towards the floor rapidly. Callie shakes her head, kneading her shoulder, she just couldn’t do it in public NO FUCKING WAY.

“I DON’T CARE WHERE WE ARE. You’re Daddy’s little slut who likes to be on her knees.” Callie massages the back of her neck, her eyes wavered as she lowers herself to the floor in the middle of that restaurant. She flips her hair over her shoulder angrily, placing her hands onto the floor now, crawling towards him slowly with her piercing hazel eyes on his dark deranged ones. Erik laughs bitterly, walking back towards the door with his eyes trained on his Callie, her plump body swaying with each crawling motion. Finally, at the door, Erik stands with his back against the archway, arms folded, waiting for her to kneel in front of him. Callie makes herself comfortable on her knees, her eyes still on him, because she didn’t want to risk pissing him off further in public.

“I been gone from that pussy for too long for you to entertain some other nigga, some wack ass nigga you stupid?! You thought you would get away with it huh?!” Erik kisses his teeth, bending over to grip her chin roughly. Callie gulps, her lip quivering.

“Erik,”

“AYE.” She snaps her lips shut, her tongue rolling along the inside of her cheek.

“DADDY. Please, I’m-I’m fucking sorry okay I-I-I?!!”

“I-I-I-Too late Callie.” Callie could feel everyone's eyes on her, Erik looking up scanning the restaurant with malice.

“Fuck yall looking at?! Mind yall fucking business!!!”

Callie wanted to slap his fine ass clean across his face.

“FUCK-YOU-ERIK.” She said that with spite, already regretting it.

“Fuck me?! NAH, kill that IM FUCKING YOU. And I’m fucking you hard, and rough. Too many years in that fucking cell.” His voice grew so deep and terrifying. It not only had her fearing him, but it also had her pussy wet and calling for him.

The pleasure, the terror for the MAN.

“Round one of your punishment, I miss those naughty lips wrapped around my dick.” Erik lifted his shirt to his mouth, his hard, sensuous, able-bodied, sturdy, powerful, brick house frame came into view littered in these interesting scars that had her starstruck and dazed.

“Each one of these scars represents the number of days I spent behind bars, seven years worth of days.”

His thick fingers took its time to undo his pants, her throat bobbing and spit forming in the corners of her mouth. She salivated for this man, her face giving him a fake scowl. Erik knew her all too well, a mischievous smirk on his face as he stuck one of his hands down his briefs, pulling out a whopping 10 inches of thick dick, gripping it firmly at the base, Callie going cross-eyed as her eyes took in his thick head, and veiny shaft.

“What you supposed to do with this?” Erik could hear the audible gasps and objections from the people inside the restaurant. Callie’s tongue flicks her bottom lip slow, her eyes trailing from his impressive piece of meat to his sexy eyes.

“I’m supposed to suck it, DADDY.” Callie felt butterflies in her belly from that.

“That’s a start, and how you supposed to suck me off?” Callie wiggles on her knees.

“With both hands behind my back, using only my mouth.”

“THAT’S RIGHT. Only using that FUCKING MOUTH. No hands, just the lips, that tongue…”

Erik’s dick sits on her lips then, Callie’s head shaking from how good it felt to have that heavy thing rest on her bottom lip, staining it red.

“I don’t wanna see my dick, you better use that throat to your advantage! Make my shit disappear like you ain’t got no barrier!” He barked that shit out rough. Callie brings her hands behind her, opening wide, sinking her mouth on his stiff dick smooth and clean, her throat vibrating around him. It felt like home sweet home the way his dick sat deep to her uvula, her inner cheeks contracting around him giving his dick the best tension. She couldn’t believe that Erik had her on her knees, in front of EVERYONE with his dick in her mouth, fresh out of prison.

“Taste like it used to right? Ain’t change one fucking bit.” Callie nods her head, sucking him with a twirl of her mouth causing his dick to hit her inner cheeks each time, a hiss escaping his mouth deeply. She releases with a pop, spitting on it, then gliding her lips over him again, now bobbing her head quickly, the gurgling sounds so loud in her ears, the shock from the people around them became less audible. She loved it, every single inch of it no matter how upset she tried to be. She missed the dick, and it made her own the humiliation even more.

“Suck on my sack bitch.” That’s the only warning she needed, her mouth popping off his dick to suck on his hefty balls, Erik grabbing hold of his dick then, smacking her cheek. Her tongue thrashed wildly over him, sucking him up into her mouth one at a time, her pretty eyes taking in the strain of pleasure that was etched across his face.

“Look at you, for somebody that wanted to leave me so damn bad you sure as hell giving me a good welcome home present. Nasty ass.” Callie licks her way back to his dick, her lips sucking hard on the tip of his dick, which caused Erik to grip the sides of her face, fucking into her mouth so rough her nails dug into the skin on her hands.

“DON’T RUN EITHER LET ME TAKE THIS MOUTH.” He fucked her mouth like it didn’t belong to her, Callie’s body shaking and her entire face covered in spit. She couldn’t keep her eyes off of this sexy man, he was even sexier than before, and the thought of him fucking her tonight had her praying to God to wake up the next day with the ability to walk.

“Still got that dangerous tongue I see, FUCKKK.” He threw his head back, that lip she loved to suck on between his teeth.

“This my mouth now Callie, Let me cum in my shit.” Erik’s hips banged into her mouth faster and faster, his groans growing louder.

“FUCK YES!” She whimpers around him, his cum spilling out in loads down her chin, neck, and chest. It was SO MUCH, she couldn't even drink it all. Callie never knew Erik to cum that much.

Erik withdrew his dick, smacking her on the lips with it before scraping up some cum, feeding it to her. She drank every single drop with love and affection, her makeup ruined and clothes, the humiliation in the back of her mind.

Callie’s hands fought to gain control as she opened her apartment door, the hallway deathly quiet with the exception of Erik’s hard breathing on her neck. He yanks on her weave hard, pulling her back and causing her to slam her door closed after successfully opening it. Callie’s throat felt like she swallowed rocks from how sore it was, Erik, making her suck his dick again on the ride over.

“You thought you would run out on a nigga? Fuck another nigga?” Erik smacks her ass rough causing her to draw in a sharp breath.

“ANSWER ME!”

“No! I-I no Daddy no!!!”

“No? So you didn’t fuck him?”

Callie felt him yank on her hair again, her right foot almost causing her to fall.

“I-I, EEEEEEE.” She knew if she told him, he would get her.

“shut -that-whining-up-right-fucking-now.”

“DADDY, pleasseeee.”

“SAY IT.” Callie hiccuped from her whimpering.

“Yes. yes, I did.” She felt his nose press into her face, taking a deep breath in, blowing it out, then take another deep breath in, holding it. She did it.

“Open that door baby girl, right now.” Callie felt Erik release her hair, her hand gripping the knob to let them into her place.

“STRIP.” Erik doesn’t wait for her to get to the bedroom, let alone all the way into her living room, watching Callie step out of her heels, pulling her dress up and over her head, revealing an emerald green g string underneath with a matching push up bra. Erik runs a hand down his face as he takes in Callie’s heavy titties, down to her round belly, straight to her pussy, down her thunder thighs, and finally landing on her pretty toes.

“My nasty little bitch got thick on me. Look at you, mmm, ass so phat pussy so phat, titties sitting pretty, chunky and sexy.” Callie clutched her chest, the look in Erik’s eyes making it hard for her to stand on two feet.

“Now you KNOW that pussy too fat to fit into a g string, look at it.” Erik takes off his jacket, pulling his shirt up and over his head, practically knocking her out with that killer body. He looked like he belonged in the military running drills. With a body like that he could lift her up and over his head, knock a nigga out with one clean punch.

“Pussy lips hanging over the sides, eating that fabric.” His tongue flicked his upper lip repeatedly. Callie’s eyes were trained there, her mouth hanging open.

“You like that? You like the way daddy flick his tongue?” Erik started teasing her then, flicking his tongue over his lips LL Cool J style, biting them with a wrinkle of his nose, puckering them, flicking his tongue between his fingers, she couldn’t take it.

“I bet Lamont wack ass couldn’t eat the pussy like me COULD HE?” she jerked her leg to calm her pussy.

“Say no daddy.” He instructed.

“No daddy.”

Erik approaches her, taking his fingers to yank her bra down, her titties jumping out at him with surprise. Erik frantically lowered his mouth, sucking up her nipples in a sloppy manner, making lurid noises. Callie didn’t hold back a single moan as he attacked her heavy chest, her hand's yearning to touch him, causing him to smack it away.

“What I say? You punished right? Say yes daddy.”

“Y-yes daddy.”

Erik unclips her bra, tossing it to the side in her living room, grabbing two handfuls of her titties sucking her nipples so good it almost made her fall flat on her back.

“I missed this mouth daddy.”

“I bet your thick ass did. You can’t get nothing pass me.” Erik trails his tongue down her belly now, kissing and nibbling.

“You remember how daddy liked to eat the pussy?” Callie nods her head.

“You got a mouth right? USE THAT SHIT.”

“Yes, I remember.”

“So how Daddy used to do it then?” Without a further word, Callie got to the floor, turning with her back arched and bent over, her pussy spreading for him in that tiny ass g string.

“GOOD GIRL. You know your position like the back of your damn hand.” Erik kneeled in front of her, fisting her panties before ripping it clean off.

“DAMN DADDY.” Callie’s eyes rolled in lust. Erik’s hands came down on her ass roughly, watching her skin grow red. Callie winces, and each time she would assume he was done spanking her, she felt another ping of pain.

“OWW!” She wanted to grab her ass but Erik wasn’t having that.

“Say I’m so sorry daddy.” Erik’s hands weren’t letting up, Callie felt her eyes began to water.

“I-I-I’m so sorry daddy.” He wasn’t convinced. Erik takes three of his fingers, sucks on them slow, before arching her back further, sliding his fingers into her wet pussy in one motion, Callie’s fist hitting the carpet. She attempts to close her legs but NOPE, Erik wasn’t having that shit.

“APOLOGIZE BETTER THAN THAT BABY.” Erik pumps his fingers over her g spot, spreading her wider with his knees, watching the way her body bounced with a need on his fingers.

“Callie, what I say?!”

“IM SORRY!!” Erik’s hand came down on her ass again like a whip, while his three fingers pumped her pussy quick. Callie’s toes curled, and her ass jiggled from how forceful Erik stroked with just his fingers.

“CUM. That’s the only warning I’m giving you.” Erik wasn’t playing with her tonight.

“Mmm” *stroke* “mmm” *Stroke* “mmmmmm” *STROKE* *STROKE* *STROKE* It was sweet torture.

Callie’s body bent lower, her cries muffled into her arm as she squirts on her plush carpet.

Without warning, Erik bent down to her pussy, laying her flat against his mouth, his tongue thrashing and lips rubbing all over like a mad man. Callie felt like she was in another dimension the way he ate like a savage. He ate her like he was starved like he hadn’t eaten for months. She could only lay there and cry, and Erik just kept on going, aiming to give her orgasms that would shatter you from the inside out.

“FUCK MY FACE.” Callie began bouncing on his mouth, and everytime her pussy hit his lips, he would suck her up like she was running from him.

“Oooooooooooo I can't take it!”

“Fuck my face like I said, give Daddy that fucking pussy, MY fucking pussy.” She wiggled her pussy on his lips, the suction sooooooo gooooooodddddd it had her lifting from his mouth. This alone earned another thunderous smack to her ass.

“What I tell you to do?!!” His fingers gripped her hips hard.

“Fuck your face.” She shook madly.

“So where that pussy going? fuck-my-mouth-like-I-said-right?”

“Yeah.”

“Well let’s go then I haven’t eaten all day bitch,” Callie whines her hips on his tongue, Erik slowly french kissing her pussy, actual kisses involving the slow sensual movement of your lips, with the surprise of a tongue, and the deep suction of the mouth. That’s what Erik gave her, but with more force.

“HAHA, That's the way you feed a nigga some pussy.” She fought the urge to grip his dreads.

“Yeah, daddy yeahhhhh.” She whimpers repeatedly like a song, her body tensing up as Erik continuously swiped his lips and tongue over her clit. Callie’s arms gave out on her, her body collapsing as her pussy creamed his entire mouth, too weak to jerk let alone moan. She passed out on his mouth, Erik still sucking like she had some left, but her pussy felt like he sucked her dry. He parted her pussy lips, sucking on everything there, flicking his tongue in its wake, causing her to flutter, her belly growing tight. She places her head on her arm, rocking her body back and forth while he did what he came to do FUCK HER UP.

Erik came to give her that torture and now Callie was a moaning mess, her clit so sensitive and the pressure in her belly so tight that she lifts from him frantically, crawling away. Erik growls in anger, his dreads wild in his face. Callie couldn’t even make it to the wall without him slamming her against it, parting her legs, laying flat on his belly while he finished the job. Callies, toes pointed roughly into the carpet, thighs shaking, her hands gripping a handful of his dreads.

“Ima squirt, ima squirt!” She squeezes her eyes shut, the pressure knocking at her hard, and finally gaining access to Erik's mouth as she slid down the wall. She gave silent cries to his assault, finally feeling his lips leave her pussy, but of course, he smacks her there.

Erik’s chest rose and fell rapidly, lips set in a hard line as he removed his bottoms, kicking them off. She couldn’t keep her eyes off his DICK. It was so damn big it made her moan just from the sight.

“Oh don’t worry, you bought to get it now.” Erik picks her up and over his shoulder, guiding her to her room.

“I haven’t heard you cry enough tonight. I’m gonna make you scream from this dick.” Erik kicks open her bedroom door, throwing her down onto the bed watching her body bounce and jiggle.

“If I buss it wide open will you scream for Daddy?” Erik yanks her pillows and covers from her bed, kneeling between her legs. He brings his hand to her wet pussy, smearing the sloppy juices over his hand, and bringing it to his dick.

“If I pound you into this bed will you cry? I really wanna make that ass cry.” Erik pulls her legs back so far she winces, her feet touching her headboard and her knees touching her ears.

Erik leans over her, his dick sliding between her folds, whispering low into her ear, his breath fluttering against it.

“Daddy gonna stretch this pussy.” He whispers so low you have to be still to catch it.

“Daddy gonna beat it up.” Callie taps her toes against the headboard.

“Watch how daddy does it.” Erik lifts, his hands latched to the back of her thighs, his dreads hanging in her face, and his dick slowly sinking into her purposely. Callie frantically shakes her head, pushing at his rock hard chest, the texture of his scaring soft against her fingers. He jerked forward rough, causing her to bounce. She felt like the wind had been knocked out of her chest. Erik repeats himself, the sound of smacking flesh hard and rough in her ears, the springs creaking like they begged to break. She shook from the pleasure and pain as her eyes swam with tears and her jaw dropped. Erik went without stopping, Callie no longer differentiating between consciousness and unconsciousness.

“You watching me punish you, look what you got me doing.” Erik drew his lips into his mouth, his eyebrows scrunched and his dimples smiling at her.

“Keep them eyes on me, watch me fuck this pussy up.” She gritted her teeth, nothing left to do except to grip anything. Her eyes observed his dick fucking her while his pupils flared. Callie couldn’t take the way his strong arms held her big thighs open, and the way his thick dick went in and out with a stream of wetness coating it.

The momentum increased times 1000 now, Callie digging her nails into Erik’s shoulders, his big goliath frame pumping her pussy so hard, her body jerked like a fuck doll, a shrill scream escaping her mouth.

“There you go, that’s it. Scream while I’m in the pussy.” There was sure to be a gaping dent in the middle of the mattress the way Erik fucked her, using Callie’s pussy like a punching bag, his stamina insane just as much as that dick.

“I gotta cum!” Callie cries.

“You always gotta cum, ain’t nothing I don’t already know.”

“Daddy it’s right-there!” She screams to the ceiling. Callie’s pussy was THROUGH she couldn’t take anymore.

“Where the fuck is it?!” Erik searches with his eyes, his lip between his teeth while glowering.

“DADDY,” Callie jerks so wild that Erik’s grip on her slips, her liquid pouring on him.

“You getting more of this dick though so BEND OVER.” She couldn’t even move without falling into the mattress, Erik flipping her over, positioning her so that her ass was in the air pointed to the ceiling and her arch was so deep her spine was non-existent. Erik grips her wrists, jerking forward into her cleanly, her head throwing back before falling forward in defeat.

“Say fuck this pussy hard from the back daddy.” Erik jerks slow.

“Daddy-fu-fuck this pussy hard from the back.”

“Where your fucking manners??”

“Fuck-fuck this pussy hard from the back pleassse.”

“GOOD JOB.”

If back shots could kill, Callie would be dead. If getting your back blown out felt like the dick itself fought to claim your soul through your pussy, then Callie would be a shell. Erik fucked like a monster, his dick not only residing in her guts but her damn chest. Callie turned to look at him in the middle of his assault with a tear stained face and a blank gaze, her hair a tangled mess and her lower lip quivering.

“You look lost, something I can help you with??” her ass was a tidal wave as it bounced off his body.

“Slow down daddy.” Callie practically pleaded with this man.

“How old are you?” Erik asked between deep breaths.

“28.”

“So what that make you then? A little girl or a grown woman?”

“A grown w-w-women.”

“So be a grown woman AND TAKE THIS DICK, take it no problem.” Erik lifts one leg, crossing his arms on her back, fucking her as hard as he could go, Callie’s head falling to the mattress, so close to banging on the headboard. Erik noticed her eyes rolling to the tops of her lids, her arms going limp in his.

“I can’t believe this shit, my dick got you passing out!” Erik couldn’t help the triumphant smile on his face, His dick growing sensitive in her pussy he just KNEW he would feed her his cum.

“Whether you’re here with me or not tell me if you feel this nut in this tight SHIT.” Erik groans repeatedly, finally snapping his hips forward rough, his nails dragging over her skin. Callie felt possessed, her pussy like a cream filled doughnut. Her eyes snap open frantically, as Erik jerked himself empty, her arms flailing in his grip. “We don’t run from the dick Callie! Stop acting defiant.” Callie pushes at Erik with her foot, rolling off the bed and running for her bedroom door with a limp in her walk. Erik wanted to yell from how angry she just made him.

“WHEN YOU GONNA ACT YOUR AGE AND TAKE THIS DICK CALLIE?!!!” Erik lifts from the bed, his dick swinging, searching for her with a swing of his head, dreads shaking.

“We playing hide and seek now?” Erik chuckles deep, turning left in her living room finding call standing on the other side of the table with a pleading look and a continuous shake in her thighs.

“The fuck you doing?! Bring that ass over here now!”

“No E! I can’t take it no more the dick is too much! What the fuck You been doing lifting weights with the dick?!” She observed the way his dick stood erect, hard enough to break a damn brick in half.

“That shit just won’t go soft.” She cried like a baby.

His forehead creased in frustration, “when I catch you, I’m fucking you into whatever surface there is. EVERY TIME YOU RUN, it’s just gonna earn you a harder fuck.” Erik jolts left while Callie goes the other way, pausing when Erik makes a quick move to her side. She tried to run but her foot caught on the side of her dining room table chair, causing her to trip and Erik to wrap his big arm around her waist, lifting her naked body up and on the table. The plant in the middle falls over, littering soil on the surface and water. He has her ankles now, pulling on them and finally resting them on his shoulders.

Her eyes were glossy, head shaking as Erik spread her legs again, yanking up her hand and wrapping it around him.

“Put this dick in my pussy.” He instructs. Callie does as she’s told with a shaking hand, her pussy disobeying her advances from how tight and swollen she was.

“Oh so now the dick can’t fit?! It was just in there a minute ago!” Erik starts jerking his hips, the more he jerked, the more his dick would stab into her pussy. Callie’s brows drew together, her back arching as Erik’s stiff dick finally made its way into her pussy again.

“You know what I think?” Erik grips her hips, pulling her body onto his dick like she couldn’t move a muscle.

“I think you like to play like you don’t want me to fuck you. But guess what? I like the chase, the more you do it the more I want it.” His hips snapped forward and the muscles running along his abdomen flexed each time. Callie couldn’t take the sight of this beautiful man fucking her.

“You taking my pussy daddy?!!” Callie’s mind and body seemed to warp to his control. She felt him bring her knees to her ears, angling her body so that each time he pounded, her lower half would meet his thrusts. Callie screams from the deep diving of his dick, causing her to slap him hard across his face, so hard she could see the vein in his neck snap.

“DO THAT SHIT AGAIN.” Erik dated her to, his eyes damn near black, face contorted in fury. Callie slaps him again, the sound compared to the sound of a belt breaking skin. He growls.

“You so mad at Daddy fucking you into this table slap me again! Hit me again right?! Do it bitch since you so sick of me fucking this pussy up!” Callie started to punch at his chest, her hands now yanking hard on his dreads, bringing his head towards hers, his eyes squeezed shut from the tension. Erik stabbed his dick angrily into her, the table scraping against the floor now hitting the wall.

“You mad and I’m taking this pussy AND you can’t run.” He was smug about that. Callie’s walls clench and unclench around his dick then, her tiny hand coming to his throat then.

“YOU JUST LOVE MAKING ME SQUIRT HUH?” She yells. You could hear her wetness building inside of her like Erik was plunging his dick into a body of water repeatedly.

“You love ME making you squirt. Like I told you, I’m taking this pussy and every single squirt and cream with me.” Erik bit down on the hand that tried to choke him, causing her to wrap her legs around his neck, her body shaking like a wave, squirting on this mans dick AGAIN.

She watches as he slips out of her, bringing his mouth to attack her wet pussy.

“You eating it for what though?!!” She cries, her body already going limp from Erik’s tongue.

“Spread that pussy open Callie.”

“No nigga.” She pushes at his big head, but of course, his neck is made of muscle too.

“No? You don’t tell daddy no you tell daddy yes.”

Erik sucks her up so much her liquid began to form around his mouth in bubbles, she had NEVER been this damn wet. She couldn’t control herself, as much as she cried and pleaded her hips rolled over his tongue.

“Fuck you and that mouth!” She could feel it growing in her belly again.

“You love it when I make you cum stop acting brand new!!!” She screams, her pussy squirting on him AGAIN. She almost falls to the floor from the feeling, Erik’s face shining, his lips dripping, his chest and abs glistening. Callie slips from the wet table, backing away from his crazy ass before running to her door. Erik doesn’t move just yet, kissing his teeth in annoyance before looking down at his still erect dick. His conscious begged him to cum again, he had to. Imagine being away for so long with only a memory to beat your meat to and not the real thing. Erik walks into the living room to find Callie unlocking her door, slipping out. He runs like he was doing sprints on a race track, catching her by her hair, closing the door, and lifting her body to the door. There they both stood, naked in the hallway for any of her neighbors to see, and I guess they both got there wish.

“What the HELL is all that noise out here!!” Callie’s neighbor Miss Daniels yanks her apartment door open in one of her house dresses, old titties swinging and shower cap halfway off her head.

Callie didn’t mean to give the old women a heart attack she really didn’t, but the look on her face made it look like she needed medical attention. Erik didn’t even give the lady a glance, his eyes fixated on Callie’s voluptuous body up against that door.

“Miss Daniels go ahead back in he’s not gonna move.” Callie warns the women, watching as she closed the door softly, her eyes popping out her head.

“You catching cardio while I’m tryna get in them GUTS. You got the neighbors watching and shit fuck wrong with you?!” Erik takes his dick again, teasing her tight entrance before sinking back into her so deep her eyes roll cross-eyed. Erik smirks at this, now bouncing Callie on his dick so good and loud everyone in that apartment we’re definitely sure to hear now.

“You gonna run from this good dick again or act right?”

Callie’s lip trembles from the way his head glides along her g spot.

“Act right Daddy.”

“And if you don’t act right, what Daddy gotta do?”

“Punish me further.” She whispers

“Yeah, that’s what daddy gotta do. If you just let me paint them walls again with this nut, I’ll leave you alone for the night.” Erik opens the door, walking into the apartment with Callie still around him, bouncing her slow.

“You still keep that vibrator in your top drawer between your socks?”

Callie couldn’t believe this nigga wanted to use a sex toy on her after already torturing her pussy enough that night.

“Mhm.” That’s all she says, her head falling back and Erik’s lips and teeth latching to her neck. Back into her bedroom that reeked of sex, Erik puts Callie on the bed, walking to her dresser to find her vibrator. She had a few new ones now, pulling out a gspot one that he itches to use. Erik walks back to the bed, flipping Callie up on her side, resting behind her while bringing her leg up and to her shoulder. Erik couldn’t keep his hands from gliding along her wet, sloppy pussy, finally turning on the vibrator and placing it inside her sitting right over her spot.

“Ahh!” She attempts to curl her body up, making Erik dig into her hips, dick twitching as he sinks into her again with a shake of his head in blissful ecstasy, rubbing along her outstretched thigh before gripping a handful of her ass from behind. Erik could feel the vibrator jump along the tip of his dick each time he fucked up into her.

“DAMN, we gotta do this more often. Shit feeling good.” He bites her ear hard, causing her to screech.

“Shit feel amazing right? Say uh huh daddy.”

“Uh huh daddy yess” Callie’s body couldn’t help it, the way he rubbed in her and the way that vibrator glided on her spot had her shaking with pleasure.

“You don’t wanna run no more huh? You tired of running from this dick?”

“Yess.” Erik keeps his eyes on the side of her face, his dick buried deep like he was digging for gold. Callie turns to meet his dark eyes, bringing her mouth to his frantically, letting this man use his cum stained tongue to ravish her mouth. Erik wanted her wider, trying to stretch her body more and more so he could feel the vibrator too. That shit had him going wild, his teeth biting down on her bottom lip and his abs flexing on her back.

“You gonna cum daddy?! You better cum too since you fucking me so much!!” She spoke that through clenched teeth.

“Cum in me deep daddy pleaseee!”Callie asked innocently her hand gripping his face. 

“BEG ME.”

“Fuck me good and cum in me deep DADDY! please, please fuck!” Erik trails his eyes down to her pussy, his head falling forward as he roughly fucked up into her, her body jerking and hands pulling at the last bit of sheets on her bed. She couldn’t take it, her head fell back against him and her eyes fluttered shut. Here she was, giving him her final squirt of the night, the most powerful squirt mixed with his thick white cum.

“LET ME CUM IN YOU DEEP.” Erik was frantic.

“So fucking deep you better SUCK ME DRY.” He bangs into her two more times, before shouting a string of curse words to ceiling, the pressure of his dick against that vibrator causing Callie to release herself all over him some more.

Erik slipped out of her slow, his dick throbbing, and the vibrator buzzing madly on the bed. Callie could only lay there, feeling the bed shift behind her from Erik rising to turn off the lights. She felt used and filled, laying in her own juices while Erik draped his heavy ass arm over here in the dark. He gives her cheek a sloppy lick, and then a kiss, snuggling close to her with his dick pressed between her cheeks.

“You off punishment. Get some sleep.” That’s all he says, his nose buried in her had and his breaths evening out into that of quick slumber. All she could hear was his snores in her ears, and all she could see was pitch black. Callie couldn’t help the frustration that began to settle within her.

This nigga then fucked her so good she couldn’t even sleep.

Fuck that jailbird.

@panthergoddessbast @whoramilaje @allhailnjadaka @vikkidc @erikismybitch @eriknutinthispoosy @hearteyes-for-killmonger @blackpantherismyish @trevantesbrat @hdkween @wifin-niggaz @blowmymbackout @killmonger-dolan @killmongersaidheyauntie @killmongersgurl @killmongersmistress @wawakanda-btch @wakanda-inspired @muse-of-mbaku @thiccdaddy-mbaku @madamslayyy @chaneajoyyy @bidibidibombaclaat @scrumptiouslytenaciouscrusade @laketaj24 @abeautifulmindexposed @blxckquiescent @missmohnique @misspooh @missumuch1918 @supersizemeplz @unfriendly-blk-hottie @princessstevens @princesskillmonger @blue-sunflowerr @youreadthatright @youcantkillamutant @disneysdarlingdiva @purple-apricots @softnani @loosewindmill @janelledarling @ange-sensuel @n-jadaddy @forbeautyandlife @deja-r @wakandawinning @thehomierobbstark @jozigrrl @shesakillerkween @sonofnjobu @drsunshine97 @iamrheaspeaks @brittyevans @killmongerdispussy @marvelpotterlove @heyauntieeee @tiava143 @raysunshine78 @destinio1 @forgottenthoughtsandmemories @thehonorablekingerik @shookmcgookqueen @hidden-treasures21 @nickidub718 @tamagxtchii @teheeboo

[frigginwriting]

Howdy howdy! As I’ve mentioned before I changed my Nanowrimo goal to write The Tales of Kredos with @sweetfaerycherry, and we’re making fair progress on that. Only 5k words behind now.

I thought I’d put up the first chapter to see if I could get some opinions on it! We’ve written a lot more than this of course, but one chapter is long enough as it is. I’m gonna pop the first chapter under a read more here, if anyone gets the time some feedback would be delightful~

The world itself had no name, or at least the name was long lost in the tangles of vines around ancient ruins. Light from the moon peeked through dark clouds, and laid against old alabaster walls that shimmered with ancient enchantments. 

The walls stretched each way for thousands of miles, straight through the sacred forests. On the other side were massive pits where foul smelling black smoke billowed into the air. It blanketed the small rickety towns of the outer ring with an eternal overcast, as night bound people sulked around, looking to complete what they needed before the sun rose and the majority of the population was out for the day.

Further in, the smoke dissipated. Past the forest between the rings, were the second ring cities with better infrastructure and cobblestone streets. Then were inner ring towns with asphalt and oil street lamps. From there was the epicenter of the Triune Kingdoms– Centura. It was the Capital of Kredos, the walled continent safe from the savagery of beasts and monsters in the Wilds.

Centura was an odd assortment of buildings cobbled together, as the next technological century rammed full force into the past. It was the pinnacle of humanity, in all of its various forms. Near the center was a massive blocky skyscraper, metal shining in moonlight. Near there was the Palace of Power, where the four royals met twice a year. The last landmark was the capital temple, a big grand building of white marble, meticulously maintained. Inside was the large gold plated insignia of the sun, and in the still dark morning hours the new neon lights that lay over it’s edges lit the way.

Surrounding these three impressive landmarks were numerous businesses, and further out houses of gothic architecture. Down the street from the marble temple was a house that stood from the rest, small and old, unpainted wood, with sigils carved into the door and window frames. It had one large door, and on this early morning it swung open.

One person emerged with an errand to run, Runimo Avis, a seventeen year old with an array of colored hair and dark skin. As he left he carried with him his bag, one empty bottle, the goggles he wore, and the cane he kept outstretched in front of him.

The walk from his house to the main street market was more than most people in the capital cared to take, and by the time he reached it the sky was lightening up. He saw people roaming about already and felt relief, thinking he might have been too early still. As the light grew clearer with the rising sun, shapes grew clearer, still blurry and dark but with enough of an edge and enough contrast for him to tell where one thing ended and another began. 

Runimo kept a hold of his cane anyway, knowing it would make the shopping trip quicker and easier. He couldn't imagine anyone remembering all of their customers in the capital, but he of all people should have been a face one couldn't forget easily. Still, holding it, he got far less of an annoyed or irritated tone when he asked people to point him to something or read a label for him.

"Runimo!"

Focused on his own preemptive agitation, Runimo jumped at the call of his name.

"Oh, gods, sorry I didn't mean to startle you."

David, Runimo's friend. A light elf in shift, apparent by the point to the ears and to a lesser degree, his sturdy features and aquiline nose which weren't uncommon in them. The most notable trait of elves outside of the ears was the metallic, foil-like sheen to the iris of their eyes.

Runimo relaxed when he realized who it was.

"Nah, I just was thinking about stuff." Runimo said. "What are you doing up already?"

"Couldn't sleep." said David. "I suspect you're in the same boat?"

"Kind of." Runimo said. "Been up since two. I thought I'd run a couple of errands and maybe get a short nap in before. Hey, listen, do you smell coffee?"

"Coffee?" David asked, and paused to smell the air. "Huh. Yeah I suppose, do you have some, or..."

Runimo could tell from the cutoff of David's voice, that he'd come to the same assumption that Runimo had some time ago.

"I've been smelling coffee since I woke up." Runimo said. "I'm pretty confident in Granddad's wards, but I'm not particularly fond of the idea that some dark magic source has been following me all morning."

"Oh Lessers," David looked around as if he could spot the source, "have you told anyone? Have you told your grandpa?"

Runimo made a face.

"I'd rather not stress him out I think." He said, and it was obvious what he really meant.

"Hey, look," David said, "your grandpa wouldn't keep you from running the course if it wasn't for a good reason. You aught tell him, maybe he can do something about it, or at least make sure it's something unimportant. What if something messed up happens while you're out there?"

Runimo huffed a little. He knew all along, of course, that he should have told his granddad from the start. Part of him was hoping someone would say something to the contrary. His grandpa was already worried about him running the course as it was, the last thing he really wanted was to put out another excuse for him not to.

"Yeah alright, I know." Runimo said. "I'll tell him when I get back. I've just got some fish and sunflower oil to pick up for him, maybe a couple other things here and there."

"Yeah alright, mind if I come with?" David asked. "I'm just killing time until graduation."

"Haven't any reason why not." Runimo said, as he went back to browsing. "Makes my time easier."

"So Gavin says they finally told him what temple he's going to be assigned to, and you're never going to believe which one." David said, walking with Runimo.

"He wanted to go to one of those poor outer ring towns," Runimo said, "that hasn't changed has it? Is it one of those?"

"He's going to Pigsfoot, when he graduates." David said. "And he's actually excited about it, can you believe that?"

"He wanted to go to one of those poor little towns, so I mean yeah, one of the county capitals makes sense." Runimo said, and then with a teasing tone– "I can believe he's happy about it, some people are actually in this for the benefit of others."

"Listen, I want to help people as much as the next guy," David said, and placed his hand on his chest with a tilt of his head, "I didn't go through five years of priest's training because it was a cushy job. If I wanted high paying and cushy, I'd go work for Osseo... but I can smell that place just thinking about it."

"Well I mean it's a recycling town." Runimo said, and he paused to ask David to grab him a bottle of sunflower oil and leave the bottle be brought back. They paid the two gold kredits, and continued on. "I imagine you just get used to the smell after a while. It's probably not as bad as you imagine."

"Get used to the smell." David scoffed. "I tell you what, if you ever see me in a place like that, you can just assume I've lost my dang mind."

"You say that as if you aren't crazy half the time anyway." Runimo said, glancing David's way.

"Then assume I've really lost it." David said, pointing his finger at Runimo. "Speaking of crazy, there's supposed to be this new stall in the market today, we should check it out before you go home again."

"What's what have to do with crazy?" Runimo asked, and the two paused briefly in their walking.

"It's crazy because," David said, voice practically bouncing with anticipation, "it's apparently a stall for Grim Curios."

"Oh gods, that place." Runimo leaned his head back rolling his eyes in exasperation. "I know you've the tackiest taste of anyone I've ever met, yet still you continue to astound me with it."

"It's an airship shop," David said, "I've always wanted to see what they have inside, it's suppose to be real freaky. Beatrice said her aunt got her a nice necklace from there last Che'ibas, and it was enchanted so that she couldn't tell any lies."

"It was what?" Runimo asked.

"Yeah, I guess she ended up telling like half her family during dinner that she thought they were all uptight, overbearing, and ignorant." David said, and shrugged his shoulders, mirroring Runimo's surprise. "Of course she also told her aunt that her awful hairstyle looked like a nest of rats, and was probably what kept scaring away her various boyfriends so..."

"Lessers, and you want to get something from there?" Runimo asked, incredulous.

"Well at least look." David said. "Buy something if I think it's worth it, but mostly look. I don't know if it's going to be a permanent Sunday market thing or if it's just in town since the ceremony is today."

"You want to do an awful lot before... What time is it?" Runimo asked.

"Uh," David checked his watch, "six forty-five."

"You want to do an awful lot before it's even seven in the morning." Runimo said. "How do you know it's even open yet?"

"I passed it a bit ago, someone was setting up. They looked about finished to me." David said, and Runimo shook his head in the way that one did when feigning disappointment with their friends.

"Fine, if we simply must indulge in your terrible tastes." He said. "I want to get the fish first though."

"That's fair." David said, and they continued walking again. "I think it's nearer the back today."

They walked a ways back and Runimo knew they'd arrived when he heard a familiar voice speak.

"Good morning Avis, you're early today. You want the usual?"

"Yes please, Mr. Charles." Runimo said, coming to a stop beside the stall.

"Keep it cold for an extra gold?" 

"Yes as well, I think I'll be browsing a bit before going home." Runimo nodded.

The man behind the stall laid out a paper that was marked with sigils that Runimo couldn't see but knew would be there. He laid out two large fish and wrapped them, then a separate package of prawn, before wrapping them all up in the paper that had first been laid out.

The corner of the paper was pressed with a sticky seal, and for a moment the sigils lit up, before becoming dull marks again. Mr. Charles handed Runimo the package, and it felt chilled in his hands when he took it.

Runimo pulled out five gold, the usual price, and Mr. Charles tried to stop him.

"Nah, on second thought, don't worry about it. It's on the house just this once, you've got a lot to handle today." He said, and Runimo laughed slightly, pressing the coins down onto the top ledge of the market boxes.

"Let's not jinx me." Runimo said. "Thank you Mr. Charles, hope you get to see the ceremony."

Runimo and David set off once more, this time to the stall that David seemed so eager to drag him to.

When they arrived it appeared unattended, and Runimo was underwhelmed, unable to make out enough details to tell what all was there.

"Wow," David said, "they've got a pretty good collection of wands here."

"Wands are expensive as is." Runimo said, moving the goods he carried to his other arm. "I can't imagine coming from an airship shop. What else have they got?"

"Uh, some accessories, some spell scrolls, runestones, and potion and ingredient bottles." David said. "Looks like hand made foods too, probably enchanted like the rest of it all. Some bones."

"Bones?" Runimo said, reasonably off put.

"Says they're replicas." David said. "Though I'm not sure what someone would want them for."

He'd barely finished when someone spoke up behind them.

"Can I help you two?"

The voice was somewhat deep, but seemed genuine in it's inquiry. Regardless, when the two turned, they both let out a startled shout. 

David saw the details Runimo couldn't. Skeletal face paint that stood out on dark skin, a black and white pinstriped suit, and a bright splash of neon green hair.

Runimo saw the figure of a man who was no doubt nearing eight feet tall, looming over them.

"Wh– uh– Grim?" David managed to get out, and gestured a thumb behind him to the stall, flustered at his involuntary shout.

"Hex." Said the person who stood over them. "That is, Gossamer Hex. I am maintaining the stall here today."

"That's quite a name." Runimo said. 

"I'd agree it makes a bold statement. Whether it's a good or bad one is debatable," Hex said, "but I would say as far as rarity is concerned, it's about as common as a name like Runimo one would suppose."

Runimo blinked behind his goggles.

"You look like your grandfather, that's all." Said Hex. "The priest's outfit makes it a dead giveaway. Anyway, can I help you two?"

"I think we're just browsing for now." Runimo said. There was a moment of silence, a bit uncomfortable, as Runimo could only assume Hex was looking them over. Finally the guy piped up again.

"That's fine. I got a special going on today." He said. "First time with a stall here, and ceremony day and all, seemed like a good plan."

"Uh, what's the special?" David asked.

"Cracker candies." Hex said. "Of my own making. One free."

Runimo could say that neither he nor David had any real interest in children's toy housing candies, but it was free so he shrugged at David and nodded.

"Sure I guess. You make them yourself?" Runimo asked, as Hex rummaged through a bag on his waist. "Anything particularly special or just something to hand out to kids?"

"They aren't for kids." Hex said, pulling out two candies wrapped in wax paper. "They don't have toys in them. They have fortunes."

"Fortunes?" David asked with a weak incredulous laugh. "What, like you're an oracle or something?"

"No, nothing so complex. I assure you if I was I'd be living the high life in a decked out palace room, not selling candy on the street." Hex said, and handed the two each a candy. "I don't come up with the fortunes, I simply enchant the paper. When it comes into contact with a new person, the fortune writes itself. It's random, mostly a novelty as opposed to a real fortune."

"Oh," David said, looking at the candy in his hand, "that's actually pretty neat."

It was a rather fun idea, it was a wonder someone hadn't thought of it already. Runimo and David unwrapped their candies, and bit them in half. The candy was sweet and tart, firm, but not tooth breaking. Both boys pulled out the little slips of paper as they ate the candy that held them.

"So what's your say?" Runimo asked David.

David held the paper up, chewing on the candy, as the words wrote themselves onto the slip.

"...Huh. Golden eyes tell golden lies. A gentle hand means to do you harm." David said. "I don't think these make much sense. It is good as a novelty though I guess, but you might want to work on them more."

Hex only shrugged, and Runimo handed David his piece of paper. The words had already written themselves on there.

"What does mine say?" He asked. David took the paper and brought it up.

"The path to your future is paved with injustice. It begins with a ruse, and ends with a universal truth." David handed Runimo back the slip of paper. "These are kind of depressing, buddy, I don't think people are going to buy them if they just keep getting weird ominous junk."

"I suppose you may be right," Hex said, "I think I have to tweak the enchantment some. Perhaps I'll refrain from giving out the rest of them. The candy good at least?"

"Oh yeah, the candy is good." David said with a nod. "The tart sells it I think."

"Appreciated." Hex said. "How about one more thing, on me? Nothing fancy, but hopefully considerably less depressing."

Runimo and David couldn't help but snicker a little, and Runimo tucked his fortune into his satchel as Hex grabbed a couple of things off the table. Runimo didn't even have to ask what he was being handed, as David made it clear right off the bat.

"Oh lessers, wands?" He said, upon being handed one.

"Sure," Hex said, "but don't get too eager. I only do this because I make these in mass, so they're not really personalized to your magic."

"Don't these take a ridiculous amount of effort to make anyway?" Runimo asked, feeling the one he'd been handed. It was light and smooth, with a cool band of metal around the handle. He could feel a gem embedded into the band, something smooth, not cut.

"I mean I could take them back if it makes you uncomfortable." Hex said. David nudged Runimo.

"No no, we'll keep them for sure." David said. "I mean, even if quality suffers a little, I'm not going to lie, these things are usually expensive. You'd have to be a pretty big idiot to pass up free wands."

"I figured as much." Hex said. "Go easy on them now. They're made resilient, but I don't think they'll take big surges of magic. I'm still working on that."

"You sure make a lot of stuff yourself." Runimo said. "That's pretty cool. How long have you been doing it?"

"Oh, maybe about two years. I didn't start until I was seventeen."

"Wh– wait you're only–" Hex cut Runimo off.

"Oh, I think you ought to get going, haven't you?" He said. "The sigil on that packaging doesn't look like it's made to last real long, you should get that fish in your ice box before it's allowed to get warm. It'll start getting hot out here before long."

Runimo looked down to the package of fish and bottle of sunflower oil he held, and then he tucked the new wand into his bag and picked up his cane again.

"I suppose you're right." Runimo said. "Thank you again for this. I’ll give the wand a whirl, spread the word if it's good and all."

"It would be much appreciated." Hex said, and waved. "Good luck today you two."

The two boys headed off once more, Runimo ready to head home, and when they god out of earshot David spoke up again.

"Well that was weird." He said, and nudged Runimo. "Can you believe he's only nineteen? The guy was huge!"

"Gargoyle hybrid maybe." Runimo said. Very unusual to see in the capital. David scoffed as the suggestion.

"With all the free samples and not a single purchase?" He asked.

"Fair point." Runimo replied. "I'm not sure what else is that big though."

"Something we'll have to contemplate later," David said, slapping Runimo's back, "I've got to get back to dad. He wants to get as much help out of me at the shop as he can before I graduate, and I'm sure he'll be opening up any minute now, if he's not already."

"Suppose he'd have quite the fuss to find you're not there." Runimo said with small amusement. "Alright then, I'll see you and Gavin later, if you see him first let him know I said hi."

"Will do!" 

David waved, gesturing wide, before hurrying off and leaving Runimo to head home. Runimo went ahead and kept the cane in hand so that he could relax a bit more on his walk home. As he walked he passed someone headed the opposite direction, back into town.

He caught a strong whiff of coffee, as if the grounds had been shoved in his face.

He stopped and turned to look behind him, but when he did nobody was there. He paused, watching people further away walk back and forth, before turning back ahead on his path. After another beat he continued on his way, shaking his head.

Nerves, perhaps. He would be dealing with demons today after all. Someone walks by with a cup to go, and suddenly he thinks he’s smelling dark magic everywhere.

[samsterham]

The Fuckening, Entry # 1

Despite the novel covid-19 being around for a pretty hot minute now, I have only been self-quarantined about 6 days. There have been several confirmed cases in my county, and today the county had it’s first death.

If it’s not apparent by the title, I’ve decided to officially from here on out refer to this entire debacle as The Fuckening. I will swear. A lot. 

I figure it might be somehow lucrative to record my experiences throughout the pandemic, at least as it is pertinent to my country & area. Aside from broader, more public events, it might be interesting to someday look back on my day to day & how we dealt & felt & what we did. I should have been keeping a diary of my life anyway & had intended to despite never making it a priority. Now is as good a time as any.

Anyhow, I anticipate this being a rather disjointed project, variable in moods, topics, formats, etc. & rife with grammatical errors. I haven’t decided how revealing of my identity & location I would like to be, I suppose that’s something I’ll decide as I go. All I’ll reveal for the moment is I live in the U.S. in Pennsylvania.

Recapping what I can right now:

I’m in about day 6 of self-quarantine. All schools have cancelled regular classes and have gone exclusively online, as has happened pretty much everywhere else. My community college also followed suit along with probably every college & university at this point. I’ve had a little over a week off for faculty & staff to prepare for the shift. Class resumes this upcoming wednesday online for the rest of the semester. Curious to how they’re going to structure & grade our biology lab credits. 

Bars & restaurants have been state-mandated to shut down except for take-out. Now the liquor stores have shut down as well. Somehow the beer distributor down the street is still open however...

Me & K (boyfriend) haven’t gone nuts with preparations, but we did have 1 significant shopping trip before the state officially began recommending social distancing. We got enough non-perishables for several weeks. We’ve made a couple mini trips for things like milk & fresh veggies. 

I also have a few immunocompromised friends who I’ve gone shopping for. I expect to continue doing so as needed. One such friend has a bitch of a rare disease which is frankly on the verge of killing her if she sneezes or coughs too hard. There is so, so much more to it than that, than I dare go into here for privacy reasons but I have spent the last month as one of her actual medical advocates. She is partly the reason I would like to focus my education and eventual clinical research on rare diseases such as hers. Anyhow, despite it being flat out unsafe, she was discharged from the hospital yesterday as my city prepares to get slammed with covid-19 cases.

Both my cats got a stomach bug just 2 days into self-quarantine. It began with Crowley puking, then what looked like bloody emesis & trip to the emergency vet. Sent home with stomach meds & instructions for supportive care before jumping into more than basic testing. He was fine within 36 hours, just in time for Aziraphale to become a little vom-bomb. This lasted for 3 days, with many debates as to when we should finally get her poor little fuzz butt medical attention. She thankfully healed on her own, just as I was about to break down & take her to the vet.

Not to make light of the fact that they were sick, but Zira’s throw-up noise is THE FUNNIEST sound I’ve ever heard in my life. It begins with that usual choppy but also deep guttural *hork hork hork* followed by a very abrupt & very loud  scream “rrRAAHH!” as things made their way up & out. I couldn’t help but kinda lose my shit as I pet her & cleaned up the mess. I’m probably going to hell for this.

Me & K have enjoyed spending more time together during quarantine. We have only had 3 friends over since, all being of our regular weekly crew of Sarah, Greg, & Amanda, & all of who are otherwise self-quarantined. Sarah & Amanda came over last Saturday, Sarah made “Quarantinis,” a goddamn delicious cocktail of vodka, lemon, honey, & crystalized ginger. Us girls & K got quaran-trashed, ate dinner together, played Cards Against Humanity, & watched Waking Ned Devine.

We have been making the FUCK outta some food. This is easily the healthiest we’ve eaten in a long time. Thank God we both can cook.

The weather has been fairly forgiving & the two of us have made efforts to get outside as much as possible while it’s nice. K works from home with some good flexibility & I was fired about a month before corona shit hit the fan. We’re enjoying the local parklette & the humongous cemetery in walking distance from us. 

Yesterday was mostly blustery & rainy, save for a 2 hour break in the weather where it was sunny and around 70 degrees. We trekked through said cemetery. As we were on our way out, we rounded the bend of one of the long paths, along the side of a large grassy hill. From that initial perspective of the hill, there was a large pile of indiscernible objects about halfway up the hill. As we came around, we noticed the pile was next to a grave very freshly covered in dirt. Upon closer inspection it became apparent that the “pile” was actually a man wrapped in blankets, with one arm stretched over the dirt of the grave. On the road at the bottom of the hill was what I assumed to be his car. I don’t know who he was, I don’t know who he lost, but they’re burned into my memory forever. It was one of those sights that breaks your entire heart. I cried a little & held K’s hand a little tighter as we made our way toward the gate. K kissed the top of my head & gave me a loving squeeze.

 I didn’t get fired over anything serious; my chronic migraines plus a personal failure to obtain intermittent FMLA in a timely manner resulted in termination. My bosses didn’t want to let me go, but you can only fight HR of a corporate health system so much. Oh well. I wasn’t happy there anymore anyway. After 3 years I was bored, having trained up as much as possible without my degree. Some toxic personalities made their way onto our floor staff in the last year which made some shifts absolute hell despite my efforts to avoid them & remain utterly professional. Aside from running out of money, I’ve been incredibly relaxed since being let go. I’ve even lost 4 pounds in the last month. My hair is currently a weird ginger-pink, the result of a failed self bleach job, but it’s not entirely embarrassing so I’m going to let it recover before I try it again & go teal.

I never got around to watching Breaking Bad when it was popular, but last night I finally saw the first episode. K has seen it before, it’s one of his favorite tv shows & he’s ecstatic to watch it together. One episode legit got me hooked already. I know the premise of the show & I can’t wait to see how it pans out.

The political fuckery around this has been.... ugh. I wanted to say “staggeringly defunct” but what else is there to be expected from this current administration? I have designed most of my tumblr to be apolitical but that will change with these specific entries. I’m politically outspoken on Facebook & Twitter & I wanted one or two platforms that could just be fun and neutral. My current politics are very leftist, a head-spinning 180 degree turn from my upbringing & early voting habits. The last four years have sent me purposefully, intentionally & determinedly headlong into the progressive movement, feminism, and hunger for democratic socialism. The only conservative thing left about me is my stubborn remaining infatuation with firearms & gratitude for the 2A. Counterintuitively I’m very pro-sensible gun control, but having the discussion with either side of the issue mostly leaves me wanting to knock heads together. 

I digress, the administration’s response to the pandemic has been unsurprisingly subpar, yet somehow not as awful as I expected. Trump went from “not a big deal” & “liberal media hoax” to “oh shit, I actually better get my shit together for this” real quick. I don’t know if it’s because it’s an election year or if there’s actually a shred of competency that’s been hiding under the comb-over but I’ll take what we can get from him, including that $1000 check. Getting unemployment has been a bitch. None of this however, changes the fact that Republicans have known about the crisis since December & instead of preparing the public, decided insider trading was a better idea. This doesn’t change the fact that the DOJ is trying to invoke indefinite detention as a “crisis response” and the only thing standing in the way are House Democrats. And it doesn’t change the fact that our hospital system is overloaded & underfunded, and the Republican controlled government would still rather bail out large corporations as we plunge into an inevitable recession. 

I’ve spent too much energy fighting ignorant shit sticks on the internet over all this, including people I know in real life. I gotta keep remembering that all I can do is my best, that you can’t change the world but you can make a dent. On that note, I finally introduced K to Danny DeVito’s cinematic masterpiece Death To Smoochy.

Today I finished reading Darker Than Amber by John D. MacDonald. Quick, fun read, definitely a product of it's time.

That’s all I have in me for today. My neck hurts. Sleep sweet and WASH YOUR FILTHY PAWS. 

[parkinsiin-blog]

what do you think pansy's family was like?

an ask from four months ago that i will finally get to answering!@lyraxlestrange

funny you should ask…

i actually have deeply extensive headcanons regarding pansy’s family, the ones she knows and the ones she doesn’t. lets start with the basics? and cut because this is long and i haven’t even gotten to the complicated bits.

pansy was raised in her mother’s family’s very crumbling and in-need-of-being-condemned home, that had once been a very fine manor in a sort of boring backwater county in the middle of the country where nothing ever happens except the occasional barfight at the muggle pub in the little village down the way. a place pansy was never allowed to go.

she grew up with her mother corva, her grandfather aleister boysenwood, and her older brother briar- who was nearly 6 years older-, and that’s it. her father, alberto parkinson, died in the first war, fighting for the cause alongside rabastan lestrange. 

corva parkinson is a bit of a woman lost. she drinks heavily, but in that upperclass sort of way. she pretends the house isn’t falling apart, covers it up with charms and paste. briar is the apple of her eye- in her mind pansy has only one use. the parkinson clan won’t support them at all- they don’t believe in the legitimicy of either briar or pansy, and therefore won’t bother to pay a knut for them, so it’s on corva’s family, the boysenwoods. and the boysenwoods have no money. pansy’s job is to marry rich and save what’s left of the boysenwood name. from the day she sent pansy to school, the only thing she said to her was, “get the malfoy boy. whatever it takes. whatever he asks of you. get him. nail him down.”

and she taught pansy the skills to do that. all the charms to make her robes look nicer than they do, makeup potions, charms and potions to avoid pregnancy. oh yeah, pansy knew that one when she was 11. she shouldn’t have needed to know that until she was old enough to make choices but she did. oh and all the healing charms pansy learned after draco got hurt- corva taught her those.

so that’s corva. kind of a bad mother. but she’s broken for a reason. we’ll come to that later.

grandpa al died when pansy was very young, which is good, because he was a grumpy, sort of hateful lecherous bastard. one thing corva would never admit to anyone even to her dying breath is that she wasn’t the child of al and some witch he met on a wild beltane night. she was the child of al and the daughter of the muggle pub owner’s daughter. who he seduced and then turned away when she turned up at his door pregnant. months later, when corva was born, she dropped the baby off on his doorstep and threw herself into the local river. so that’s the kind of guy al is. the fact he kept the baby and managed to raise her is a miracle. but they still had house elves then. by the time al died, they did not.

briar is honestly some kind of anomaly in this family. he was captain of the slytherin quidditch team, played catcher. he wasn’t quite the best in his class, but he was very good in his classes. handsome, charming, popular, very friendly. but he had a little secret he kept pretty tightly to the vest- he had always known he was gay. it wasn’t until after he graduated and managed to move out of the family home that he could move in with his boyfriend.

the one place briar fails, a bit, as a brother, is that he was very aware of the way corva treated and groomed pansy, and didn’t do anything to stop it. however, after the battle of hogwarts, he does his best to help her and support her.

then there’s the parkinsons, who pansy never met. they’re a british family who moved to argentina in the 1880′s for business matters, and set up a massive family campo outside of buenos aires, where there is a perfectly reasonable magical school, but all of their children attend hogwarts anyway, because they maintain their home london as their main residence. alberto was the firstborn, but of a second son, and was never really going to be important. miguel, the patriarch of the family, never believed that either of corva’s children were really alberto’s, felt alberto was a fool, and when he died, happily cut corva and both her children- pansy was still in her womb at the time- off entirely, threw them out of the house they’d been living in, and basically told them they were nothing.

and that’s the core of the parkinsons. but wait. there’s more.

turns out? miguel parkinson? wasn’t wrong.

neither of corva’s children were actually alberto’s.

time to take a trip back in time! and please know, this is SPECIFIC to the rodolphus lestrange as played by @peaceinourrtime - and the day she brings him to tumblr again, i’m busting out a sideblog for corva.

corva went to school at the same time as rodolphus et all. and my own personal bella was actually dating my own personal rabastan at the time. rod? was dating corva. it wasn’t until rod was recognized by lord voldemort, while he was still in 7th year, for an act he performed that papa lestrange began to view his eldest son- who was illegitimate, with a woman he’d met on a trip to french polynesia, and was raised there until his mother passed when he was 11- over his second, legitimate son, as his heir, that shit hit the fan. by the time he graduated, papa lestrange and papa black had arranged a marriage between bella and rod, which blew up all kinds of shit- rod and rab didn’t speak for ages, rab basically told bella she was a broodmare and he didn’t need her- lies, he was deeply, deeply in love with her and it broke him so badly- and corva…

corva was BROKEN. she wasn’t after rod for his money or anything like that, she LOVED him. and she lost him in an instant, and in slid al parkinson. she didn’t have a lot of options, there were lingering questions about her blood status, and she just…accepted her fate.

a few years later, a chance encounter with rod ended up with briar being conceived. al parkinson was shooting blanks, although he didn’t know and wouldn’t have admitted it, and it was a miracle baby neither had anticipated. briar’s coloring seemed close enough to al’s that only miguel parkinson questioned that he was al’s baby, and life moved on.

and then the war started, really. bella was gone to her obsessions- even rab had lost her by then- and some day i’ll write up all my headcanons about bella and all the babies she lost in an effort to give rod a child until THAT drove her to desperation and in that desperation she found evil and voldemort. rod turned to corva for comfort a few times, and then cut it off. corva realized shortly after, she was pregnant again. a little girl, this time. a baby girl that she brought to the trial when rod was sentenced, along with little briar in hand, giving rod one chance to see his children before he was taken away. (i do headcanon that rod got to meet briar before azkaban, several times, never able to say, “i’m your father”, just you know, hello, young man.)

so, the long and the short of it? pansy and her brother briar are actually lestranges, not parkinsons at all. corva was a mess because the love of her life was lost to her forever and her husband was dead and she was trapped in a crumbling mess of a house. briar does his goddamn best to keep the family together and fails, usually. and pansy walked out of hogwarts during the battle because my pansy at least was three months pregnant and terrified for her baby.

[twdeadlysins]

Days Gone Bye: Part One

Season one, episode one (1/2)

Pairing: Eventual Daryl Dixon x Reader

Word Count: 3,883

Warnings: slow burn, the usual walking dead violence and such, language, minor character death, blood

Summary: Your life wasn’t anything special or out of the ordinary, so you didn’t expect much. That was until your best friend, Rick, got shot and fell into a coma. Oh and did I mention the damn apocalypse started?  

Author’s Note: I don’t own anything from The Walking Dead, so all credit goes to their respective owners. This is the first episode, but the reader inserted into the story line and all the character’s lives. I did and will continue to use some dialogue from the actual show because I wanted it to be similar to what you’ve already watched, but obviously have the reader in it.

If you want to tagged in this series rewrite, don’t hesitate to send me an ask or message and I’ll add you. The same goes for any other fics! I’m in no way, shape, or form a writer. Any feedback is appreciated, but hate is a different story. Thank you and enjoy!

The gifs I use aren’t mine, so all credit goes to their respective owners.

It was another day on the job as a deputy of the King County Sheriff’s Department … or at least you thought it was.

The sheriff forced you to take Leon, a childish and cocky rookie under your wing and show him the ropes. You wished you could be partnered up with Rick since you two worked better together, but Shane insisted on spending more time with him on the job. You didn’t want to be selfish and you practically were Rick’s family, so you didn’t object.

Leon and you were in your police car eating lunch while he talked your ear off. You tuned him out and kept chewing on your burger, nodding here and there to make him believe you were listening. Eventually you dazed off looking out the window, enjoying the weather and the scenery, but it was cut short when you got a radio call stating that two armed men in a vehicle were going down Highway 18.

You slammed your foot on the gas and made your way to the location meeting up with your colleagues.

“Sounds like they’re chasing those idiots up and down every back road we got,” the sheriff said, taking cover behind one of the car doors aiming his shotgun.  

You exited out your door and whipped out your pistol keeping your eyes fixated on the road ahead, quickly taking place behind the door waiting for the two armed suspects to run over the spikes Rick and Shane had placed.

Leon glanced at the sheriff with a huge grin on his face. “Hey, we’ll get on one of those video shows, you know, like World’s Craziest Police Chases, what do you think?”

You rolled your eyes thinking how inappropriate he could be at times, you all are in the middle of getting ready for a gunfight and he’s making jokes. It’s just another day on the job for you, doesn’t matter to you what they put on television or not. You gave Leon the side eye and noticed his safety was still on … idiot, you thought. You were about to embarrass him and call him out on it, but Rick beated you to the punch.

“What I think, Leon, is that you need to stay focused. Make sure you got a round in the chamber and your safety off.”

Leon realized he didn’t do any of those things and quickly tried to fix his mistakes earning a smirk from you.

“Would be kind of cool to be on one of them shows,” Shane shrugged.

Before anyone else could make a comment, the suspected car came into view speeding down the road followed by two police vehicles hot on their tail. You had a feeling by the speed they were going that they would flip once their car made contact with the spikes, you just hoped it wouldn’t tumble in your direction.

Your prediction came to life as the car’s tires popped earning multiple flips hurling towards the side of the road.

“Holy shit,” is all you managed to say before the car came to a stop upside down and the driver came out with ease with a gun in his hand.

“Gun, gun, gun!”

“Put the gun down! Put it down now!” Rick instructed, but the driver disobeyed and opened fire. Several shots were exchanged and one struck Rick making your eyes go wide.

The driver was put down after a couple more shots were dealt and out came the other man ready to retaliate, but you fired one shot to his abdomen and he collapsed. You turned your attention to Rick.

“Rick!”

“I’m alright, Y/N!”

“I saw you get hit, damn, you scared the hell out of me.” You sighed, relieved he was okay.

“Me too. Son of a bitch shot me. You believe that?”

Shane came over just as relieved, “he got you in your new vest,” he pointed.

“Yeah, Both of you don’t say a word to Lori about what just happened. Ever. I-”

You didn’t comprehend whatever Rick said next because you saw movement near the wrecked car in your peripheral vision. A third man no one was aware of aimed his shotgun at Rick and you sprinted to push him out of the way preparing to take the hit, but it never came … you were too late.

You kneeled down next to Rick not even bothering to look over or help take down the assailant, you knew the situation was handled. If some reason a bullet went into you, then so be it, you weren’t leaving your best friend. Rick was gasping for air and blood was seeping through his uniform near his shoulder. You frantically unbuttoned your shirt and shrugged it off putting it over the wound with shaky hands, tears escaping your eyes dampening his shirt.

“No, no, no. Rick. Rick! Shh … shhh, it’s going to be okay. You’re going to be fine, you hear me? You aren’t allowed to die on us … on me.” You heard shouting, but didn’t know what was being said. All you could focus on was your best friend and trying to keep him alive.

***

That was few weeks ago … before the entire world had gone to shit.

After Rick was shot, he fell into a coma. You took some time off the job earning worried phone calls from your aunt and uncle, and they urged you to come with them on a camping trip to relieve your mind. At first you were hesitant, but you ultimately decided it would be best to get out and the outdoors always calmed you, giving you a sense of peace.

You felt bad for not visiting Rick as often as you’d like, but seeing him in a coma was too much for you to handle. You couldn’t even imagine how Lori and Carl were doing and you wouldn’t know because you haven’t seen them since before the incident. Shane told you that he would handle telling them the news seeing how you couldn’t fathom witnessing their reactions.

Some nights you wished you were the one who got injured and was stuck in a coma because Rick had a family to care for and be with. Yes, you had Jolene and Chris, but you didn’t have a family of your own besides you thought they would manage.

***

You’ve been camping for four out of five days and you would be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy it. It was getting fairly dark and Jolene suggested to roast some marshmallows and make smores.

The two lovebirds were huddled in front of the fire with a thin blanket draped across their shoulders while you sat on a log roasting everyone’s marshmallows. After roasting the treat to a coffee color like crisp, you noticed you forgot an ingredient.

“Sorry to break you two up, but I left the graham crackers in my tent. One of you mind getting them for me?” you shyly asked, hating to interrupt.

Your uncle was in the process of getting up, but your aunt prevented him. “I’ll go get them, honey. I have to get up anyways to use the bathroom,” she shrugged off the blanket and kissed his forehead before making her way to your tent.

“Thanks for taking me with you guys, it feels good to do this again like old times,” you smiled earning a wave of dismissal.

“Y/N, you’re always welcome to join us.” Chris gestured his head to the tent, “she’s missed you a bunch. I even think she wants you around more than me.” He laughed and you shook your head with a grin plastered on your face, but it was short lived when you heard a deafening scream.

You bolted up and threw the marshmallows on the ground replacing them with your machete while Chris grabbed his hunting rifle racing to help. When you caught up with him, you stiffened as your aunt came into view, she was on the ground with something on top of her … devouring her.

Chris was in complete shock, not moving an inch and you needed to stop this, so you tighten your grip on your machete and you creeped up on the creature. Once you got close enough you were about to grab the creature’s head, but paused. You were trying to comprehend what was right in front of, but you didn’t want to believe. All you could hear was the constant gnawing of your aunt’s flesh and guts, you just wanted it to stop.

You reached out and grabbed their hair roughly bending the head back and sinking your blade into the back of it. You instantly let go of the creature dropping your machete in the process feeling overwhelmed and the body lands face down. You fell down out of shock and something wet dropped on the back of your hand, you didn’t even realize you had been crying the entire time.

Forcing yourself to pull it together, you stretched over the body, roughly grasped their left side and faced them up gasping at the sight. You sealed your eyes shut hoping this wasn’t real, that this was just a nightmare and you would wake up any minute. That minute turned into five and then ten when you finally opened your eyes compeling you to accept that this was reality. Someone just like you murdered your aunt, but the difference between you and him … is that you’re alive.

***

You sat with your elbows on your knees still staring at your aunt’s colorless face with tears streaming down your cheeks. Chris gradually made his way over and knelt down with a clenched jaw trying not to shed anymore tears.

“I’m so sorry,” he sobbed. “I should’ve protected you … it should’ve been me. Why could it not have been me?” He stroked her lavender scented locks and placed his fingers over her lifeless eyes to shut them. “Wait for me, baby. I’ll be with you soon.”

Forcing yourself up, you strided over to your tent collecting all the things you can grab and forced them down in one of the bags you brought.

“Chris…” You tried to form a sentence, but a lump in your throat prevented anything audible to come out. You quickly cleared your throat and swung the bag over your shoulders. “We … we have to go, there could be more of those things.”

“Yeah … yeah you’re right.” Chris kissed Jolene’s forehead before he got up and brushed off his knees. He was coming towards you when you spotted about ten more “people” come out heading in your direction. “Chris!” He noticed your shocked expression and whipped his head in the direction of your terrified orbs. Chris sprinted to you while you tossed him his hunting rifle and he fired, striking one between the eyes.

You only had your machete at hand, but you knew getting too close to one would result in more crowding around you, so Chris pushed you behind him while he continued to keep them at a distance. One man was struck in the shoulder, but he didn’t even flinch, he just kept coming like it was nothing.

It all happened so fast, one minute they were dropping like flies, then the next you were overrun. Chris couldn’t protect you anymore because they started getting too close for comfort, so while he pulled out his hunting knife you were slicing and dicing.

You were in the middle of stabbing one in the brain when all of a sudden hands latched onto your hair making you plummet to the ground. It was about to pounce on you, but you rolled to the right and once you got to your feet you sunk the blade into their skull. “Y/N! Grab my rifle and the bag and just leave!” Chris shouted while a woman tried to grip onto his arm, but he was quicker and stabbed her multiple times in the eye making her fall to the ground. “No, I’m not leaving you!” You screamed running to aid him, but one dominated your uncle biting into his forearm making you wail.

Chris howled out in pain, “Go Y/N! Run and don’t look back!” You wanted to try and save him, but you knew it was no use. He was right, you needed to book it out of there, so you hurried and slung the bag over your shoulders and grabbed his rifle.

When you looked back, you could see through your tears that they were feasting on your uncle still giving you a chance to escape. You darted through the woods brushing past trees and jumping over logs trying to find your way of out through your tears, but everything looked the same like you were going in circles.

It must’ve been ten minutes worth of running when you finally approached pavement, a road. You looked left and right trying to determine which one would lead you home, but luckily there was a sign that read, “CAMP EXIT, .5 MILE.”

You were exhausted, your feet were in a great deal of pain, and the blood that was splattered across your face and body had already embed into your skin never leaving even if you tried to wipe it off. All you wanted to do was get home, to receive an explanation for what had happened back in the woods.

You’ve been walking for what seemed like days when you embark a sign, “King County, 1 mile.” A break sounded great to you, but you couldn’t knowing that if you did that you would have a breakdown. Keeping busy would never give you the time to be alone with your thoughts, so you kept moping on the path.  

Once you reached King County, you saw millions of cars trying to get out of town. You glanced at people in their vehicles and they looked absolutely terrified especially when they saw your bloody figure. One family locked their doors when you trudged past their car, so you didn’t even bother asking anyone for help or a ride.

It was a long journey, but you made it to your street seeing your neighbors frantically stuffing their vehicles with anything they could. You spot Mr. and Mrs. Blake, an old couple who you knew very well, shut their trunk ready to follow the train of people getting out of here.

“Harold!” You yelled, but they got into their car without even acknowledging you. “Hey, Harold!” You were now banging on the driver’s window when he looked up giving you apologetic eyes and started to drive off. You kept banging and banging following the car down the driveway before they sped off leaving you there to watch them get smaller and smaller.

Everyone was gone and you were all alone in your house trying to pack everything and anything that could fit, but you didn’t have a car because it decided to break down a week ago. You had tried calling Shane a thousand times, but no answer. You gave up and started to exit your house when you saw those things everywhere, in the yards and especially in the streets. No way you could go leave town and survive, so you decided to stay put and pray that they would leave. The world was laughing at you and made sure you knew it too.

Staying cooped up in your home for three weeks took a toll on you. You hallucinated Jolene and Chris and talked to them because you had no one else, but you knew they weren’t real. Every time you would carefully look out your window, there were still swarms of them outside.

Some days you would contemplate whether or not to just try your chances and make a run for it. Some days you wanted to accept your fate of never getting out and just let the dead have you, and one time you almost did.  

You didn’t want to die of starvation or go insane, so one day you opened the back door and saw that three of them managed to get pass your fence in your backyard. Slowly walking down the creaking steps, one of them groaned and started to drag their feet towards you.

The thing was getting closer and you held out your arms, ready to die, but the voices of your aunt and uncle were swimming inside your head. When you opened your Y/E/C irises, you saw the two of them standing on either side of you, pulling your arms down.

“Fight, down let them win,” the voice of Chris pleaded.

They saved your life even though you knew they weren’t actually there, but if it wasn’t for that you’d be dead right now. You realized you never tried the back way of your house and it was less crowded than the street, so this could be your chance to finally escape.

You gathered a few cans of tuna, some clothes, and your knife collection in your bag. Some knives went into your thigh holster and you strapped your uncle’s hunting rifle onto your back while handling your machete as your primary weapon.

The back door swiftly swung open as you quietly exited your home for the last time under the moonlight. The dead didn’t acknowledge your presence giving you an easy escape over your fence and down the street. The only thing you could think of doing was to head towards the hospital to see if they evacuated and if so, what happened to Rick?

***

The sun was peeking through the trees by the time you got to the hospital and the bodies across the ground in front was clear that they didn’t evacuate the hospital, they exterminated it. You didn’t come all this way for nothing, so you walked between the bodies and made your way to the fire exit door. Something deep down within you had hope that Rick somehow woke up and was long gone by now with Lori and Carl.

When you stepped through the door, you were met with darkness and you mentally thanked yourself for bringing a flashlight. You carefully stepped down the stairs through a door that you believed would lead you to the recovery ward. Turning off your flashlight, you froze in place witnessing the once pristine, crowded hallway now a dead zone with blood at every corner. You slowly walked down the hallway taking your surroundings in when you saw Rick’s room come into view and you frowned seeing a hospital bed blocking the door. Was it keeping something in or out? When you reached his door you heard a huge thump coming from inside making you not move a muscle. “Nurse!!”

You recognized the voice instantly and immediately shoved the bed out of your way entering the room to see Rick struggling to get up. Without hesitation you gripped his arm while your other hand was against his waist hoisting him to his feet, but he retracted not knowing who touched him until he turned around realizing it was you. “Y/N? What are you doing here? What’s going on?” You were hesitant, not knowing what to tell him. “Uh. Rick … you’ve been in a … um … a coma for about five weeks now.” Rick’s eyes were going back and forth trying to grasp what came out of your mouth. If he couldn’t handle this, then you knew he wouldn’t be ready to hear that the damn apocalypse had started. “Where are the doctors? Why haven’t they came in yet?”

You gulped, not wanting to frighten his already fragile state, but he was going to have to find out sooner or later.

“Rick, the world… the world isn’t how it was before you slipped into a coma. It’s only you and I here,” you softly replied. That response didn’t ease him one bit because he had even more questions and you would eventually answer them all or at least try to, but you wanted to get out of this horrid place stat. He kept asking why you had blood on your clothes and what the backpack was for, but you kept dodging his questions wishing he would just drop it.

You both were about to round the corner when Rick abruptly stopped in front of a boarded up chained door that read, “Don’t Open. Dead Inside.”

“Rick, come on, let’s go,” you urged him, but he didn’t listen and shuffled to the door. You went to grab him because you obviously knew what was inside, but you missed, hitting air. The door started to push open, but the board and chain with a padlock on it prevented those things from ever reaching you. Some pale, dirty hands started to come out of the door and that’s when Rick started to withdraw in terror.

Finally making it to the exit, you helped Rick down the stairs, but that’s when he noticed the hundreds of bodies. You sighed seeing him limp towards the bodies in horror and disgust. You wished he didn’t have to see all this especially after coming out of a coma, but it’s reality now.

***

Rick wanted to go to his house to see if Lori and Carl were there and despite all your protests that they most likely weren’t there he threatened to go by himself. You couldn’t and wouldn’t let that happen, so here you were running up on his porch.

“Lori … Lori! Carl! Carl! Lori!”

He searched throughout the house while you sadly watched him, too afraid to say anything. He fell to the ground, sobbing, “Lori! Carl!”

You bent down in front of Rick with tears in the brim of your eyes. “Rick, I’m sorry, but … but they aren’t here,” you choked up on those last three words.

“Is this real? Am I here?” He lightly patted the ground and then started to hit himself across the face. “Wake, wake up!” You grabbed his hands forcing him to look at you, “I’m sorry, but this is real. I’m real, you’re real, it’s all real.” You assumed they found help and booked it out of town with the rest of the town the first chance they got.

If they did, then hopefully Shane was with them. You couldn’t help, but to feel abandoned because he never came for you. You thought maybe it was because he knew you were away on a camping trip, but you realized you never told him about it. Did he really not think of you when things went south and people started getting killed and turning into those things?

Your thoughts were interrupted when Rick trudged outside and plopped down in frustration on the steps to his house and you settled down next to him unsure of what to do next. You were about to ask when you noticed he was eyeing at something in confusion, so you followed his gaze to a man in the street. Rick had started to wave him over while you moved your hand to block the blinding sun. It wasn’t a man, it was like the things that killed your aunt and uncle. You looked over at Rick to tell him, but suddenly darkness took over you.

[kimnamjooonz]

London Calling - Chapter 1

Cambridge 

Okay, this is my second project. I started writing it in early 2017, one week after I heard about Seb for the first time (yeah, I know I was late). He stole my heart in fifteen minutes and I started writing stuff like this.  So... this is it. 

Songs that inspired this Chapter: 

Piece of my Heart - Janis Joplin

It’s My Life - Bon Jovi

And basically any Queen Song from the first Greatest Hits album.

Summary:

After getting bored of the academic life at the University of Cambridge, young Celine Cadwallader moves to London trying to find new challenges. Meanwhile, international movie star, Sebastian Stan keeps trying to expand his horizons. They will cross paths in a way either of them know.

Cambridge, England. March 2016

It was Celine's last night in Cambridge and her friends had decided to make a special farewell party to her. And that meant drinks, snacks, a bonfire and Charlie's crappy covers of Oasis songs. She had spent the last ten years in Cambridge, nine of them getting two doctorates and the one left working as part of the Faculty of History's Research Team. Life was decently good. She had her friends, a little flat and the perspective of maybe being successful in the field of History. She had two PhDs after all. Well, all of her friends had at least one. But Celine was ambitious and in the last months she had started to feel a bit stuck in Cambridge and had decided to expand her horizons. London seemed to be the best place for a historian. The only downside was that none of her friends were joining her in her adventure. ''I hope you don't end up working as a guide in the Tower of London'' commented Joel, one of Celine's closest friends. ''Explaining stuff to school children''. All of them laughed. It was widely known that Celine wasn't at all fond of kids. ''I already have a job'' she commented, while devouring a couple of Maltesers. ''I'm an assistant at the Spanish Embassy. Better than the school children''. ''And do you have a house?'' asked Amy, another of her friends. ''If you want to call it a house... I prefer to call it 'shoebox' ''. ''In every movie I saw the London adventure doesn't start this way'' added Alize, another member of the group. ''Because life is not a movie and I can't afford a house in Notting Hill or Covent Garden. I guess South London will be my Kensington. At least I can stay in a place with a roof. That's something''. Everyone was very used to Celine's dark sense of humour. ''Promise one thing'' said Charlie, who had stopped strumming his guitar. ''That if you fail in London you'll be back here with us.'' ''Thank you for your faith'' she said with sarcasm. ''But yes, I can promise if by March next year I haven't moved to a nicer place and made at least one friend and gotten a promotion, I'll be back''. ''And also a boyfriend'' added Joel. ''Shut up, idiot, that's out of the question.'' Celine's love life had been completely nonexistent with the exception of a boyfriend she had had nine years ago. They had lasted a week and had gone to only one date. Not that she cared. ''Do you even know where Danny is?'' asked Charlie, referring to Celine's old boyfriend. Honestly, Celine had no idea. She had even forgotten how he looked like. ''I know.'' said Joel, who knew everything about everybody. He was Cambridge's King of gossip. ''He graduated and now he's a doctor in County Durham. And he's married''. ''BORING'' shouted Celine and Charlie. ''Yeah, because is so much better to live in a room in South London'' debated Amy with sarcasm. ''And being a proud member of the Fellowship with no Rings, that you invented and has three members: Charlie, Joel and you''. ''At least is exciting'' Celine defended herself. ''It's London, baby. And my Fellowship is great''. After that the conversation shifted to some other topics like the government, the upcoming Glastonbury festival that they were not attending and the next nerd movies they were going to see. Celine wasn't included in the last topic as she was clueless about almost everything that was trendy. ''...I can't wait for Captain America: Civil War'' said Amy. ''Captain America vs Iron Man. That movie is going to destroy Batman v Superman''. ''Sebastian Stan!'' yelled Alize. ''I'm in whatever team he's in''. ''Team Cap, of course'' said Joel, rolling his eyes. As Celine didn't know any of these people she just stared at the fire. Thankfully the conversation switched to football. ''If Real Madrid gets to the Champion's League final, we'd go to London and see the match together. Like in 2014'' proposed Joel. Celine's eyes lit up. ''That was the most crazy and best day ever''. ''It's getting cold'' moaned Amy. ''I guess we should make Joel pay his bet and let's go inside and sing some karaoke'' said Charlie. Between them they were all the time betting and the loser had to have his or her underwear burnt in the next bonfire. Celine was glad that she had never lost one of these bets. ''Celine, if you want to do the honours...'' Joel threw his underwear at Celine's feet. ''You're leaving tomorrow. Damn, this is painful. I'm talking about the underwear. They're Calvin Klein''. Charlie laughed. ''Yeah, Calvin Klein that you bought on the street market''. ''It's what this humble Doctor in astrophysics can afford''. he sounded affected but he obviously wasn't. ''Celine, make sure your London boyfriend that you don't have yet wears real Calvin Kleins not this pitiful imitation'' Charlie remarked. Celine just rolled her eyes and grabbed a stick to throw Joel's underwear into the fire. There was no way she was going to touch it. ''This is for never growing up!'' yelled Celine, throwing the underwear into the fire. The other four cheered her.

Half an hour later they were far from tired and all them were into a karaoke competition. It was Celine's turn and she was 'singing' Janis Joplin's Piece of my heart with Joel who was singing the backing vocals. ''OH COME ON, COME ON, COME ON, COME ON AND TAKE IT, TAKE IT! TAKE ANOTHER LITTLE PIECE OF MY HEART NOW, BABY OH OH BREAK IT! BREAK ANOTHER LITTLE PIECE OF MY HEART, DARLING, YEAH, YEAH, YEAH, HAVE A! HAVE ANOTHER LITTLE PIECE OF MY HEART NOW BABY! YOU KNOW YOU GOT IT IF IT MAKES YOU FEEL GOOD!'' ''This may be the best musical duet since John Travolta and Olivia Newton John in Grease singing You're the one that I want.'' Charlie commented to Alize and Amy. ''They are going to leave me deaf'' complained Alize. ''It could be worse.'' said Amy. ''I'm not saying that Celine is the next Beyonce but she sings better than she cooks. Charles, I'm worried. I don't know how she's going to survive out there with such poor house skills. The woman has two doctorates but she can't feed herself properly''. ''Relax, Amy. She'll be okay. Celine's made of iron. Apart from that if the London adventure doesn't work out for her, she'll be back with us''. When Celine and Joel finished their song, it was Charlie and Amy's turn. ''I promised I was not going to drink but I don't think that a beer will do much damage'' she told Joel and Alize. ''You know what you're doing, Celine Elizabeth'' Joel smiled and handed her a beer. ''Remember you're leaving early tomorrow'' Alize warned her. A beer might not have been much to a normal person but for Celine it was like drinking a bottle of vodka. She had alcohol intolerance and a sip of a strong drink could leave her singing on the table with no shame. That was something that had happened many times before. They finished the night dancing to Charlie and Amy's horrendous karaoke version of Bon Jovi's It's My Life.

The next morning it was clear that Alize had been right and Celine shouldn't have drank. At nine am she was standing in the platform of the train station with the rest of the group, ready to leave to London. She looked terrible, pale and had to wear sunglasses to cover the bags under her eyes and a hood to cover her messy hair. ''Okay, I'll see you guys soon.'' the only thing she wanted was to be on her seat and sleep. The trip wasn't very long unfortunately. ''We're just 50 minutes away, it's not that you're leaving to... Manhattan'' said Charlie. ''Don't be a jackass'' warned her Amy. ''If you meet Tom Hiddleston by some chance, hook up with him and tell me all about it'' said Alize making Celine roll her eyes. ''Get a boyfriend!'' yelled Joel and she showed him the middle finger. ''Goodbye, idiots!'' shouted Celine. ''See you when I'm a millionaire!''

50 minutes later she was taking a taxi from King's Cross to South London. She had been in London many times before so she knew exactly where everything was. Pr almost everything. The neighbourhood where she was going to live wasn't exactly very nice but at least it wasn't a red zone. And it had a Greggs a block away. Brilliant. After paying the cab she went towards the building. It looked very similar to the Number 12 of Grimmauld Place in the Harry Potter series. Except from the magical stuff. In less than ten minutes Celine met the landlady (a lively Scottish woman with a thick accent) who guided her to her 'flat'. It looked more like a room with a bathroom with a bed and small table that had a kettle. At least it had a window. ''Darlin', the kettle and the mattress are brand new and they are yours to keep. When you move you can take them with you''. A free kettle and a mattress. Sweet. ''Thank you so much Mrs. Donaldson.'' ''Anytime, Doctor Cadwallader''. After she left her alone, Celine started tiding the place and placing her few belongings wherever she could. She had left more things in Cambridge with the hope that Joel would take good care of them for the moment. She made the bed, put her clothes under it, stored the bathroom with some essentials, placed her Macbook beside the kettle and stored some snacks and cookies in any place she could. Yeah, it wasn't so bad. It wasn't very different from the first dorm she had had at Cambridge. It was good for starters. She had been lying face down on the bed for quite a while when her phone rang. It was Joel who was texting her. 'Celine Elizabeth, if you fail in London your underwear is burnt in the next bonfire'.

The Cast:

Sophie Skelton from Outlander is more or less how I imagine  Celine. She looks strong and smart at the same time.

Ben Hardy aka Bo Rhap’s Roger Taylor as Joel

Alberto Rosende aka Simon in Shadowhunters ( I LOVE him) as Charlie:

Mandip Gill aka Yazmin (from the latest season of Doctor Who, that is awesome btw) as Amy.

And Freema Agyeman aka Martha Jones from Doctor Who (I loved Martha and Doctor 10 so much my heart hurts) as Alize.

I don’t know why I do stuff like this but  I love casting people.

And I’m just setting up the story so I won’t introduce Mr. Stan yet because it’ll make no sense. I’m sorry but you’ll have to wait a lil. 

P.S- If someone wants to be tagged, just ask me. 

Tag: @delicatecapnerd, because you askem me ;)

Just comment, like if you want and thanks for reading.