#no guys I meant bifocal!!!!

[pedropascallme]

The Good, the Bad, and the Better

Pairing: gunslinger!Joel Miller x f!Reader

Summary: "You stretched your legs when you got off the train, wondering how so much sitting could make your joints so sore. You had one bag, which was, truthfully, more than enough. You fit your entire life into the handheld leather case, and it felt both freeing and deeply, deeply woeful."

Content: Mentions of death, uuuh US cholera epidemic? gnc!Ellie because I said so. That's all for now. If I missed anything please let me know!

AN: hi I’m trying something new….felt the need to get Joel involved with a sexy lil cowboy AU. Full disclosure this was inspired by @qwimchii and the AMAZING gunslinger!ghost series she’s been writing (go support her work!!). Lmk if you guys want more of this in the future, I have….plans….for this story, to say the least, so treat it as an intro of sorts?

Jefferson Territory (Colorado), September 1847

The executor of your father’s will wore small bifocals, perched gently on the bridge of his nose. You bounced your leg, perhaps unladylike, but it was all you could do to steady your mind in the tight office that smelled of wood and purified alcohol.

You clutched your handkerchief to your chest, fresh out of tears to wring from your eyes and waiting to get the bequeathing over with. With breaths so deep they threatened the lace of your corset, you were able to look up at the executor, who had been kind enough to wait for you to give him the ok to continue.

“Alright, miss?” His voice was nasal, but not condescending. You nodded. “To my daughter, my only child and carrier of my good name, I leave my land in Texas; doing so in the hopes that she will live out her life there, with kin.”

The man stopped reading and looked up at you. That was all he had for you.

You hadn’t been expecting any more. Hadn’t even considered you would be getting any land—an unmarried woman with land, though, was sure to catch the attention of a gentleman, and you’re sure that your father had known that.

“Thank you.” You mumbled to the man, dry lips cracking under the moisture of the tears you had licked up. “Am I meant to sign anything?”

“No, miss.” He seemed sorry for you, and you felt a flare of anger at him in that moment; you were sick of hearing people speak to you so slow and soft, as if the weight of their words would knock you down and bury you along with your parents.

It hadn’t even been one year since the death of your dear mother, the woman who had brought you up like a proper lady, who had taught you your prayers, and the proper way to tie your hair up so that God would smile upon you along with the sweet church-going boy on the ranch next to your own home. Your family had been naïve in thinking that the cholera outbreak wouldn’t reach them in the west. When word first spread in the papers, it was a small number of people in the City of New York; your father was quick to dismiss the cases as God’s wrath upon those who didn’t appreciate the frontier, too busy with their fancy jobs and big-city values to go to church. But your mother fell ill that summer, vomiting and lethargic, and it wasn’t long until you watched the priest say his prayers over her coffin.

You admired your father’s will to keep going, until you didn’t. He kept busy, and you thought he would work himself to death—maybe that’s why he seemed so calm when he got sick, compared to the panic your mother had in her eyes in the days before she died; he knew he wouldn’t be on the mortal plane much longer, soul too deeply intertwined with your mother’s and ready to go where she went even in death.  

So here you sat, in the same mourning clothes you had worn for the past 11 months, listening to this law man explain that he would be taking care of any other business that had to do with your father’s measly estate. You thanked him, giving him a polite curtsey before you exited his office and found your way back onto the street.

You didn’t have much left in Jefferson Territory. You made the short walk back to your family’s home with your head down, ignoring the coaches that passed on their routes and the women who spoke in hushed tones when they saw you walking all by your lonesome. "Poor thing", “just a girl,” “should have been married off sooner.” You wanted to bite back at them, tell them you’d rather die along with your parents than ever abandon your family and run off with some boy just to mother ungrateful children who would in turn run off themselves. You were happy, at least, that your parents had died in your presence; you couldn’t imagine the suffering had you been gone from their home, the pain after being there with them when they took their last breaths was bad enough.

You walked through the door of the house, careful to close the door and lock it how your mother always told you—even without her present, you knew she would appreciate the little things. You appreciated them, too, now, more than you had ever thought you would.

“Auntie?” You called out to your father’s sister, hearing a bustle in the kitchen and smiling for the first time that day; your aunt was a wild woman, never married and never sitting. Her kindness was perhaps the only thing that motivated you to wake up every morning without your parents. You found her kneading dough, moving her whole body over the clay-like clump with a force, upper half covered with flour. “Auntie.”

She turned, noticing you for the first time since you arrived back home. “Welcome home, little one!” She greeted you, and you watched her run a hand over her forehead to combat the sweat running over her eyes, leaving a trail of flour over her brow. “You doing alright?” She turned back to her ball of dough, leaning an elbow into it, anticipating your answer.

You just sighed, pulling up a chair close to her and studying her movements, unsure of how to tell her just how alright you were; it was like you had no emotions left, your heart a husk keeping your body moving with nowhere to go. Not nowhere, maybe.

“I got land in Texas.” You were quiet, and her movements stalled.

“Texas?” She quirked a brow and slapped her hands together, sending flour to stray over her apronless front. “Who got you land in Texas?”

“Papa.”

“Your daddy had land down there?”

You shrugged, “That’s what the lawyer said. Said it’s all mine, now.” You hadn’t yet absorbed the news, unsure of what to do with yourself or your earnings.

“War’s bad, little one,” your aunt huffed, not angrily, but with a concerned look spread over her face, “not much use with Texan land until Mr. Polk can figure out how to appease the folks down south.” You nodded, aware of the conflict and uneager to get anywhere near it. “Still…” Your aunt looked at you now, the black fabric of your dress bunched up over your knees with the specks of white dust she had covered you with.

“Still?” You questioned, feeling a wave of anxiety cross you.

“…Nothing left for you here.” She spoke quietly, barely above a whisper, looking you dead in the eyes.

“You’re here!” You felt trapped, scared, but mostly confused. She of all people would be the only one to condone such an outlandish notion—dropping everything and running off to a war-torn territory away from everything you ever knew—but you had hoped she would appeal to her more realistic side in this particular matter and tell you to forget the whole thing before dinner.

“I’m not staying, little one,” her eyes were pleading, “got my own life, got people in other places to look after.”

You felt tears well in your eyes, appalled that you had any water left in your body to cry out today. “I don’t want to leave…I don’t want you to leave.” You felt yourself begin to cry again.

“I’ll never leave you,” she whispered, the ghost of a smile on her lips, “but I can’t stay in Jefferson Territory…got plans back east.”

“East?” You practically yelled it, offended that she would leave the life your extended family had built in Jefferson Territory despite the unease that churned in your stomach whenever you thought of living out your own life in the same spot you'd known since you could toddle.

“East.” She was calm, balancing your abject terror. “I’m sure you’ve noticed I’m not exactly cut out for…roughin’ it.” She emphasized the last words, using the accent your father had worn so proudly. “I got friends in New York—going out to be with them…it’s safer there, easier.”

You were enraged; the one final person you trusted was abandoning you for a life you couldn’t ever imagine. It was safe here, you were safe here—with her, and your mother, and your father. “Well, I’m sorry I’m not a big city fool like you!” You felt yourself tremble, “I’m sorry you’d rather have it easy than live the life God gave you!” You were seeing red, standing now to lord yourself over her and make her seem as small as you felt. It didn’t work, and she looked at you now like everybody else did—full of pity.

She let you cry, sobs taking over your body and forcing hiccups up your throat. You shouldn’t be mad at her, you realized, couldn’t be mad at her; she was a grown woman, with wants and needs, and maybe someday you would be, too.

“Take me with you.” You pleaded through sniffles, wiping your nose on your sleeve in a move that your mother would have tutted you for. Your aunt stayed silent, placing a hand on your head to smooth over the hair that had come undone in your rage.

“I would,” she explained, “but I don't think you...I don't think you'd enjoy it any more than you enjoy it here. Not now, at least. Not yet." The pity in her eyes faded to reveal the compassion she had for you, and you nodded into her chest when she pulled you into her, acknowledging the truth she had spoken. You wouldn’t know up from down in a place like New York; too many people, too much smoke and noise. You let her hold you for as long as she would, soothed by the hand she combed through your hair and the way her heartbeat thrummed in your ear. Maybe someday.

“We’ll get you a train ticket,” she murmured above you, chin resting on the crown of your head, “I know a fella in Texas—real gentleman, cross my heart—and I know he’ll have a place for you away from all the ruckus.”

“Cross your heart?” You asked her to promise once more.

“Cross my heart, little one.”

~~~

Texas, October 1847

You stretched your legs when you got off the train, wondering how so much sitting could make your joints so sore. You had one bag, which was, truthfully, more than enough. You fit your entire life into the handheld leather case, and it felt both freeing and deeply, deeply woeful.

Your aunt had arranged for her associates (her words) to pick you up, show you around, and help you to your new home, but she hadn’t given you much of a description; you had no idea who you were looking for, or what they might look like. All she had done was give you a name. You felt small, already sweltering in the Texan heat and feeling out of place in your black mourning gown. Maybe it would be ok, given the circumstances, to forego the entire outfit, and simply wear a veil, but you felt that the only thing grounding you was the way you were dressed, the reminder of why you were here in this dusty sand-and-brick station.

You looked around, not minding the jostling of the people passing you to get to where they needed to go. You tried to identify anybody that might look as if they were waiting on a lonesome orphan, but all you saw was a pool of sweaty businessmen and women in large hats.

Attempting to find a map to get the lay of the land, you turned a corner, and collided into the chest of a tan man with long black hair and a hint of a mustache.

“I’m terribly sorry—” You felt yourself go bright red, already a nuisance and you hadn’t been in Texas for all of ten minutes.

“Woah, there,” the stranger tipped his hat down to you, offering a wink and a toothy grin, “no harm done, ma’am.” He patted down the front of his vest, smoothing out any wrinkles that remained from the collision. “Y’look lost.”

“I am lost,” you straightened your posture, trying not to seem so inconsequential compared to those around you, “Um—I’m looking for…Mr. Joel Miller?”

The man in front of you laughed, and he flashed the same toothy grin again. His laugh came from his stomach, and you watched him take his hat off to fan himself after he calmed down.

“Found her, El!” He called over his shoulder and a shorter, much younger boy appeared; he was wearing the same style of hat but was much paler than the man who had yet to introduce himself. His clothing gave away how young he was—that, and he was shorter than you, with a babyface and nary a whisker on his chin. He looked almost feminine up close, and was clearly quite a few years your junior.

“Oh, I’m sorry—you’re Mr. Miller?” You closed the confused ‘o’ of your mouth to form the question.

“No, no no no—I’m Tommy Miller,” he put his hat back on, “Joel’s my brother.” You nodded, trying to appear as though you understood the series of events that were taking place in front of you. What an odd introduction to the people whose care you were in. You had never questioned the company your aunt kept—she had her life, and you had your own, much more conservative one. Still, you began to think that these men had just as little an idea as to what you were doing here as you did. “’N you’re Tess’s girl.”

“I’m her niece,” you clarified, “my parents are dead.” You winced when the words came out, unsure of why you felt the need to share that with a man you had just met. Surely he must have been aware by now, and if he wasn’t, why would he care?

Tommy let out a low whistle in lieu of an apology. “Best get you goin’ then, girly.” He turned on his heel, encouraging you to hurry after him through the crowds. El grabbed your sleeve in a manner that, although gruff, was clearly meant as reassurance.

“Mine are, too,” he spoke softly, and his voice was similarly feminine to his face. When you gave an inquisitory glance at him, he continued, “My parents. They’re dead, too.”

“Oh,” you tried to think of a way to make the subject more lighthearted, aware of how tiring it got to hear constant apologies for something out of everybody’s control, “so you’re not—”

You didn’t even have to finish your sentence; El had anticipated your question from miles off. “Do we look related?”

“Well…no…” You muttered, embarrassed by how obvious the answer was.

“They’re like…well,” the younger boy mulled over everything he could say, but instead placed his arm in yours and laughed, “you’ll see.”

~~~

The ride back to the Miller’s land was long and bumpy—or maybe it just felt that way with Tommy looking back on you and El to ask various questions and soothe any anxieties, though it wasn’t as much help as he had thought it was. You taught El cat’s cradle with a string you had found in the cart, and it amused you for long enough before you switched to cards instead. El was shocked to hear you didn’t know how to play poker, and tried to teach you blackjack before Tommy reprimanded him for trying to corrupt you; you opted for go fish instead.

The cart came to a short stop in front of a rundown shack. There was a horse tied to a post with three feed bags in front of it—the extra two, you assumed, belonged to the two horses pulling the cart you were in.

Tommy helped you down, and you were careful to pat down the front of your dress when your feet touched the ground, not wanting to look unkept in front of new company. El jumped down behind you, making quick strides towards the door of the cabin. You and Tommy followed suit, with the older man taking your arm to lead the way.

When the door opened, El swore. “Jesus H., Joel!” he jumped backwards when a large figure stepped over the threshold and onto the dirt outside, “Scared the hell out of me!”

“Language, young lady.” The man in the doorway was tall, with a chest and shoulders to match his height. He was older than Tommy, and had the salt in his beard and dark hair to show for it. He wore the same hat, but didn’t have a full outfit on, with only the pants of a gentlemen to go with his undershirt and heavy boots.

So this was Joel Miller.

You were so focused on the new addition to the group that you almost didn’t catch what he had said to El—“young lady.” Tommy, still holding your arm, sensed your confusion.

“Well, cover’s blown,” he laughed, and El rolled his eyes. Taking off his hat, you watched thin, curly locks of hair come down to frame his face, and when you looked under the dirt and grime that coated his skin, you saw a little girl.

“El’s short for Ellie,” El laughed, tossing the hat in the air and catching it before walking past Joel to go inside.

You were almost more confused now than you had been.

“Little girl living with two grown men, wearing men’s clothes?” Tommy read the look on your face, trying to offer an explanation, “she’s a natural at bein’ a boy—‘n it draws less questions.” You nodded.

Joel continued to stare at you, and you couldn’t help but feel exposed to him despite your body being covered in the modest dress you had on. He was riddled in scars, and his tan skin flexed under his white undershirt; he looked so masculine, and it frightened and excited you in a way you decided to repress. He strolled over to you, taking slow steps and examining you with dark eyes that looked like honey under the Texan sun. He stopped in front of you, and you let go of Tommy's arm to curtsy, unsure of what else to do under his gaze.

“You’re Tess’s girl.” He said it with more confidence than Tommy had when he found you. Joel didn't bother returning the friendly gestures of introduction you had extended, shifting his weight on his heels and letting his eyes drag over your face.

“I’m her niece.” You clarified as you had at the train station.

“I know, darlin’.” He smirked down at you, and the way it was painted on his face made him look almost predatory. You offered a weak smile in return, hoping he would mistake the blush creeping up your face as a sunburn. He grunted something that sounded like approval.

Joel turned around and walked in after Ellie, leaving you with Tommy.

“Don’t worry,” Tommy took your arm once more, “he’s like that with everyone.”

You didn’t know if you liked that.

[neonponders]

A Merman themed part 38 for @wrecked-fuse ‘s pocketverse 🧜🏻‍♂️ ~ marine biologist!Steve x shark!Billy with his pilot fish guppies 🍣

Part 37 (merman!billy pt.1)

Part 36 (main plot)

Part 31 & 32 (werewolf!Billy chapters haha)

( pt. 7′s art 🎩 ) ( pt. 9′s art 👀 ) ( pt. 14′s art 💨 ) ( pt. 19′s art 🦇 ) ( pt. 20′s art 🍳) ( pt. 27’s art 🦦 )

~ on ao3 ~

• • •

“Deep breath...good! Other side.”

The littles rolled over in the lagoon between Steve’s hands. He had to use magnified bifocals that dentists used in order to see their gills expand between their tiny ribs, but they looked clean and healthy. “You guys look beautiful.”

“Heh, hearw that, Biwwy?” the blond fish said proudly, “Bewtifuwl.”

“You think so, Stevie?” his own asked, swimming over his palms excitedly.

“I say it every time,” he confirmed. “Now let me see those teeth.”

There really wasn’t anything he could do if there were something wrong with their teeth. They were simply too small for dental care, so Steve hoped they had the perks of sharks and that their teeth could grow back if they fell out. As things were, he held a micro cotton swab for them to at least brush some of the fish smell out of their mouths.

Speaking of sharks, he thought to himself and turned -

Billy lounged eerily close to him. Within kissing distance. My turn? he asked inside Steve’s head, and caught his body when it sagged under the weight of his siren’s song.

“Biwwy,” the littler Billy groaned.

“Stevie can’t take carwe of us if he’s sweepy,” little Steve seconded.

“Use yourw out-here voice.”

Big Steve mumbled, “Do you have one of those?”

Billy hummed something like a laugh in his throat...not in Steve’s head. His brown eyes widened as Billy’s large, clawed hand adjusted the baseball cap on his head. Steve didn’t like the thought of sunscreen steadily seeping off his body into the water when he was with these guys, so he’d donned the hat to protect his face. Every time he wore it, the guppies laughed and laughed, calling him a funny looking bird.

“Fix his beak, Biwwy, and wet him see you,” little Steve coached.

“My turn?” Billy repeated, this time out loud. It was the same voice that he swamped Steve’s brain with, but something about hearing it on the air tickled Steve’s ears.

“Yeah. Uh. Yeah,” he stammered, fixing his crooked glasses. Billy poised an arm in the shallow sand, holding himself on his side as he inhaled and spread his ribs and gills wide. When Steve declared, “This side’s good,” he rolled over while the littles swam around his head, sometimes holding onto a lock of hair for anchorage.

The strip of green fluttering out of Billy’s gills was not hard to find. Steve ducked an arm under Billy’s waist, as if he needed the help staying up. “You’ve got some seaweed on this side. It should come right out.”

With impressive speed, the littles swam over to see. Like a tug-o-war rope, they grasped the end and Steve kept an eye on Billy’s gills -

“Wait. You’ve got a couple of seed pods stuck in there. Just breathe normally for a sec.”

Steve’s floating tool bag drifted a little in the mellow surf, but its dumbbell anchor kept it close. Steve found his long tweezers and warned, “This will probably itch. Big breath this time.”

He followed the green line all the way to the small golden pods, doing his best to play Operation and not touch the metal tweezers to Billy’s gills. The effort totally failed when his ribs closed around the tweezers because the pods brushed against the soft, frilly gills. At least Billy didn’t smack him with his tail this time.

“I got it. Pull,” Steve narrated, and could hear the muffled war cry of the littles underneath the water as they got the debris out of their shark. “Good job. Everything looks great.”

Billy rolled onto his stomach...and swam a lazy circle around Steve and his pilot fish. Steve’s brows furrowed since this usually meant a shark was hunting. Then in a fast, graceful turn, he caught Steve in his arms and tackled him under the water. Even down below, he could make out the littles’ laughter clear as a bell.

“Heh heh, check up’s all done!”

“Swim with us!”

“Check up for Stevie!”

Steve kept calm so he could hold his breath a little longer. His pink shirt ballooned around him and he smiled at the tickle of the littles swimming around his ribs. He did come up to put his glasses and soaked hat in the tool bag, staying topside long enough to whip his hair off his face and earn the littles singing in the spray, “Wain! Rain wain!”

Steve took his tool bag back to the beach. He gulped down some water pressed on his skin to test how far he was burning, and then grabbed his goggles, flippers, and snorkel. He checked the time on his diver’s watch and finished the impatient circle Billy swam.

“You wook so siwwy,” small Billy said, knocking on the goggles lens.

Steve emerged just enough for the top of his face to be above water and shoved the goggles over his hair. “I can see you better with these on.”

“You can’t see us?” small Steve wondered.

“Up here, I can. If the water’s directly on my eyes, you’re blurry. I don’t know where to kiss otherwise.”

Small Steve screamed with glee as Steve trapped him in another lagoon of his hands and kissed his head. It was short lived, though, as Steve jerked back and rubbed one of his ears. “Wow. You have pipes of your own.”

“Hey!” small Billy demanded as he jumped in a clean arc over Steve’s fingertips to join the lagoon. “What’s goin’ on in herwe?”

“Kissy fish!” little Steve sang.

Small Billy blushed pink all the way to his tail. “What! I didn’t know we were pwaying!”

“Head start,” Steve caught off guard, smooching his blond head.

Why a fish needed such thick lashes, Steve didn’t know, but his eyes batted dreamily until he recovered with a feisty, “You pway dirty! Biwwy! Attack!”

“Wait a min--” Steve started, but the shark was already on him. Billy had difficulty separating uses for his lips, teeth, and tongue, so they all blended together on the bend of Steve’s neck and shoulder. He winced, but let Billy tackle him into the water, taking his time swooping back up to the surface. Steve knew there’d be a red crescent on his neck later, as if Billy licking the wound wasn’t confirmation enough. 

Billy had far more skill in swimming without kicking up sand; Steve let himself get handled since his flippers caused more disturbance in the water. Gingerly touching his neck to gauge the damage, he estimated it would be a hell of a bruise but the skin breakage didn’t feel too bad.

Donning his goggles once more, he said, “Let’s swim.”

Steve often wondered if Billy could do more than talk directly inside his head. Sometimes he looked at Steve as if he’d heard an internal idea, or smiled at whatever emotion Steve felt. He wore that smile as he swam in tandem with his pilot fish. It was beautiful how they knew his movements as he did them; they were so little but flitted around his head or shoulders like they were a part of him. Chatty little jewels who sometimes swam into the cloud of sandy blond hair to rest or hide.

Steve had been taking lessons in free-diving. He could hold his breath in repeated six minute increments, but eventually he did need to resign to snorkeling above the littles as they explored shells and the occasional rock.

Steve had a vague idea of where Billy lived, but he’d never asked. He left the opportunity open with prompts like, “Show me something,” and, “Where is your favorite place?”

Billy had taken him to a rocky shore - far too much trouble for tourists or even natives to get to - that hosted a beautiful reef. Regular black-tipped reef sharks had been there, swimming in their calm way and paying them no mind, but Steve did take note when the littles hid within Billy’s hair. Sometimes Steve was closer, so they went inside his t-shit. However much they liked the reef, it wasn’t safe enough to live full time.

Billy did not take Steve there today. Probably because the last time they’d gone, a barracuda had swum too close. He hadn’t seen any quick movements that might’ve suggested hostility in the fish, but Billy had snatched it and ripped its head off in one movement. Steve knew the predator and prey part of nature meant that an ecosystem was thriving, but it had been a humbling encounter.

It was with this memory floating through his head that Steve removed his flippers and started trudging through the shallows to the beach.

“Bye bye, Stevie!”

“We’wll see you tomowwow?”

He turned around to smile at the little ones, but it faltered at the solemn look on Billy’s face. As both a question and a promise, he nodded, “I’ll be here tomorrow.”

Then, in full force, he heard, Bring a boat.

Steve didn’t know how he was still standing, much less with the wherewithal to blurt, “Boat?”

A quiet boat, Billy confirmed, and then all Steve had was the blur of silver and all the greens and blues that reflected off of him, and he was gone.

[mmoxie]

Part 7 - Bifocals

Yosemite was gorgeous, even in February. Bearing south once she hit Lake Tahoe, Dani and Seebs both were transfixed by the endless sprawls of deep, old-growth forests and massive, rolling hills that leaned up past the horizon at points to become true mountains. The absolute tranquility had the old cat's ears flicking, picking out birdsong, and the million colors of the natural world cut through years of cynicism to strike right at Dani's core.

It kept her from beating herself up for at least half the drive. At one point it might have seemed completely insane to drive hundreds of miles on a lark, but... it wasn't as if she was gonna be late to work.

Her radio was acting up, but fiddling with the knob didn't get her anything she recognized. She tried the AM emergency stations, she tried the far ends of the dial- heard a peep at 107.9, but it was gone when she took a sharp turn- and switched to tapes when she was sure she had done her due diligence.

She lingered on the case for Thin Lizzy's Thunder and Lightning. Empty. She resumed her search before she could start berating herself.

"Oh shit, I have Seal in here?" If I ever get to breathe again, I've gotta rewatch the Burton Batmans.

And so, Kiss from a Rose ushered her down into a little place called Fish Camp. Population: 42. She consulted that brochure from the rest stop, and lined up the picture of the general store with the real thing.

"Clean match. Hang tight, Seebs. Gonna go find our guy."

Dani eased through the door, setting off jingling bells above her head. A young person- she squinted, then shrugged; gender had simply left the building- sat on a three-legged stool behind the counter, fiddling with their phone.

"Hey," they offered. The unmistakable grunt of a famous baby covered head-to-toe in peanut butter echoed them from the screen.

"Hey. I need directions. Think you can help?"

"I got google maps." They shook their phone.

"We all got google maps. I'm looking for a guy, supposed to live in town here?"

"Guy, guy, guy... I don't know any guys," the little shit said, eyebrows raised high and innocent.

Dani, be cool. They're like... fourteen. You were fourteen once.

"Alright, well, who do you know?"

The teenager grinned sagely and leaned forward on their stool, phone dangling between thumb and index finger. The upside-down image of a guy with a hat on walking into a low doorframe played over and over.

"That's a reeeeeal good question. I know everyone. Except you."

"Tradesies," Dani said suddenly. "I'll tell you something if you tell me something." Kids fuckin' love the Sphinx. I can do this. I'm not 52 at all right now.

"Nah."

Christ. "Give you ten bucks."

"Fifty."

"Yeah, fuck it. Now, do you know a guy named Butterbean?" Dani picked through the billfold. All twenties. She put sixty on the counter. Probably better to be rid of the cash anyway. Keep whittling it down.

The teen snatched the bills and folded them into a pouch on the back of their phone.

"Sure don't."

Fucker. "How about... Craig? Craig Palmer?"

Fingers with short, cracked, multicolor nails waved in front of her eyes in the universal gesture for 'pay me.'

Sixty more bucks hit the counter. It don't matter. None of this matters. --Oh, dissociating a little. That was new.

"Dr. Palmer lives in the houseboat out on the pond. Everyone told him not to, but now that it's there... nothing we can do about it. Based, t-b-h."

Oh, god. I don't know what they meant. Was that good or bad?

"Based," Dani repeated, tonelessly as she could. The teenager seemed amused by this, allowing a vague smirk as they tapped at their phone. Posting, Dani knew. This one's a poster.

The pond was visible from pretty much anywhere. It was more than a puddle, but not by much- and a houseboat floated in the middle of it, greening on the sides a bit.

A shirtless man lounged on the back deck, sprawled across a woven polyester beach chair. His uneven tan wasn't helping with the "leathery old piece of shit" look. Neither was the ring of white hair around his bald dome, or the square, serious glasses that harshly reflected the midday sun-- or the crazy fucking music he's blaring. What is that? Delicate, splashy guitar, chanting, flute- Looking at her tape case, it would be easy to understand why Dani thought she had heard it all. It absolutely rules. Maybe mom was onto something with this guy.

"What do you think, Seebs?" She sat on the hood of her car at the edge of the pond. Seebs was too old and too fat to run any risk of him wandering off, and so he was napping there next to her.

"No shot at a phone number, and he looks asleep. You gonna stop me if I start throwing rocks?"

Seebs, ever the enabler, did not answer.

And so Dani threw rocks. If a car passed by she changed from overhand to underhand, as if she were just skipping them for fun- and as soon as the engine noise died down, she was pelting high cheddar down on that little boat's stern.

"GOD DAMN IT STOP THROWING SHIT AT ME" came a distant voice. Suddenly her quarry was standing, hands on his hips- he was wearing khakis.

"MAKE ME!" Dani hollered, laughing. She was really getting into the whole throwing rocks thing. She had almost forgotten why she was doing it, and leaned into the euphoria of throwing something at someone.

Outboard motors kicked on, sputtered, and kicked again, and suddenly the Vanna White II was hacking its way along the pond's surface at eight, even nine miles per hour. Behind the wheel stood, she guessed, a man called Butterbean who came highly recommended.

"--Butterbean? What the hell are you talking about? Sure, I remember Jolene, but- huh?"

"She may have just made it up. I don't know, man. Uh- Doctor Palmer."

"Craig's fine, I'm retired." He crouched and led her through a beaded curtain. After a brief confrontation at the shore of the pond, and the invocation of Jolene DuFresnes as a sort of biblical power-word, he had stopped yelling, she had stopped throwing, and they were safely aboard. Even Seebs, after a little coaxing and hoisting.

"Alright, so be square with me," Craig faced away from her, rolling up his sleeves and turning on the kitchen sink. "Are you at the moment pursued by any federal or state government entity?"

"Not that I know of."

"That you know of?"

"I mean, I'm here because I'm in trouble. Trouble I, uh... ran away from. So I have no idea who knows."

"Well, you sound honest. Kind of a whiner, but honest. I've met worse." He pulled a knife from a block beside the coffee maker and ran it across a steel. "--Say, could you get in the door, there? I need the olives."

The houseboat kitchen was a tad cramped. With the sharpening steel, he gestured sharply at the refrigerator behind her.

"You wouldn't believe what they make you pay for rocoto up here. --Oh, and the queso fresco, too. Made it last night. Bottom shelf, green lid."

Dani hadn't said anything since he called her a whiner. She did open the fridge and retrieve the ingredients. For what, she had no idea. A skillet sizzled, and whatever panic she felt about this pushy old man evaporated into the smell of caramelizing onions.

"Can't get alpaca at all, though. Great sweaters, great cuts. But you get what you can get, am I right? So we're usin' goat. They're both ungulates, right?"

He moved with scary precision- not robotic, and not the moving-too-fast-for-safety chef showboating. He just never seemed to flinch, or miss- everything was perfectly measured, whether chopped vegetables or evened-off mounds of spices in plastic spoons.

He seemed to sniff a lot, Dani couldn't help but notice. He had less a mouth, and more a small pink shelf that held up the weight of a thick white mustache. The mustache did all the talking, really.

Oh no, is he allergic to cats? Or is that thing on his lip just getting the better of him?

"Rocotto Relleno," he said suddenly, "is one of my favorite things about Peru. You ever been?"

"No, I, uh... never left the States. Oh- wait, took a trip to Greece in '91. Last... oogh, last time I went anywhere exciting, actually."

"Well, forget about that. We're talking Peru."

He popped the tab on two yellow soda cans, and poured a pair of glasses. He had the pebbly-textured pizza house plastic cups, even in their classic, maybe only color, red.

"Inca Kola. Cousin to the champagne sodas. Little bit of that bubble gum action. Goes down just like a cold beer when you're enjoying your rocotto."

"What are you doing?" Dani finally shouted, loud enough that even while he was on a roll, Craig had to stop and consider. While he did, his record player filled the silence with more of that spectacular guitar picking.

"Acclimating you," he replied simply. "Because- take it from me- you're gonna be living off this stuff. And me personally, I love it. My time in Puerto Maldonado was a wonder. But who knows? You could have IBS. Might need to put you on a different ship, send you out to Bacolod, have you pretend to be a nun instead."

Dani let her mouth hang open, and squinted long and hard at Craig Palmer. He said nothing, but sniffed as he plated up some very fragrant, very red stuffed peppers, oozing with molten cheese. For once, Dani sniffed too.

"Damn, Craig. You talked me into it." What could she say? She had been living off of fun-size bags of fritos and gas station energy drinks ever since her flight from Eureka.

He reached under a wall panel with his foot and hooked his ankle around a hatch handle. With a tug from bending his knee, he unfolded the dinner table, the collapsible leg beneath it thudding to the linoleum floor.

"Alright. First eat, then talk. While you do, I'm going to drop some information on you. Full mouths don't interrupt."

Couldn't argue with that. Dani dug in- and held back a painfully caucasian spicy shriek- and then the goat, the olives, the spices, the cheese, all came to the rescue. Okay, she thought. I'm going to Peru. Say whatever you want, man, I'm in.

-snif- "I worked for IBM back in the '80s. Even then I wouldn't say I was fresh out of college, a season or two had turned. Termed me right before I could quit. --Can't blame them, I was stealing printer ink for resale. Put that money in the check next time, then.

"Turns out if you steal a little printer ink, you go to jail. If you steal a lot of printer ink, a man in a suit comes and shakes your hand, flashes a little badge, and offers you a job. Guy named Goose."

"Gooth?" Dani's mouth was a little too full.

"Last name Cook. Goose Cook, I shit you not. Had it in the little -snif-badge billfold thing they all wear." The more he spoke, the more he became a Brooklynite. "And he says, 'Palmer, I got your number. But all this goes away if you hand in your research. Gesture of good will. Show the economy you don't mean any harm.'"

He paused to take a bite of his own rocoto, and that's when Dani heard a faint, dry sound that she recognized. A fuzzy old bastard's paw pads, sliding across a smooth surface like a cabinet, or the bathroom door, or the knick-knack shelf.

...Or a turtle.

In the low, circular den of the ship, Seebs was padding and padding- curious, deliberate, and quite insistent, with just his front left paw. His pink-and-gray beans scratchily slid across a domed, groovy shell, unable to find any purchase.

"I think they're making friends," Craig remarked, following Dani's gaze. "Don't worry about Mr. Price." -snif- He's good company."

Dani gave Craig a long, searching look, but didn't say anything. This all still felt more than a little strange. She was apparently going to be expatriating soon, but not before taking a Master's-level course on Peru.

"--Vincent Price. That's my boy. Ahem-" -snif- "Hermann's tortoise. Grecian. You went to Greece, yeah? Anyway, this research- it was dangerous stuff. Not exactly nuclear, but... something we didn't- don't- understand. Playing with fire kind of stuff."

Dani couldn't help but raise her eyebrows at that. Phrasing.

"Anyway, I asked for some time, and used that time to draft 'em up some dud blueprints. Looks legit, but... it's a maze with no exits."

Dani was interested now. She had recently gotten into crime, it would be nice to get advice from an expert.

"Anyway, I wasn't as smart as I looked, and back then, I looked like a real drip. They found out, I ran. It was surprisingly easy- apparently it ain't for everybody. I've never been the strings-attached type, so I guess it just comes natural to keep moving until you get to stop. Hence, Peru. A beautiful land, a spectacular culture, and food, my god, -snif- bury me under a pile of huancaina potatoes and I'll eat my way out or die trying. If you gotta go, you go there. Monologue over."

Dani drank, and sat in silence for a long time. The corner of her mouth twitched uncertainly, and she watched Seebs and Vincent Price continue their little orientation. Price had walled up in his shell, and Seebs was asleep on top. That was something like symbiosis.

"I have killed two men," she eventually said. Her voice was low and grave. She had always been a little brusque, maybe even unladylike, but she was coming close to eulogizing, in her own sort of scratchy, grit-teeth fashion.

"One was named Mark LaGrange, of Chevette Arkansas, and he came to me in a moment of weakness. I opened my mouth to ask his pardon for... god, whatever it was, and when I did, I... exploded him."

"You WHAT?!"

"Give me a second, alright. Then there was... alright, so I got a little out of control. This guy, Sean, Mayor Sean, tried to get me into a gladiatorial match with a weird old man. For... man, I'm hoping it's just for sport. They did mention blood a couple times."

"Beats what they used to do."

"...Eesh. I let his friends- god knows how many local politicians, business dudes, apparently a Pepsi guy was there- go. And the old man, too. I was a little bit, uh..."

"Oh, you had your electrochemistry going, sure."

"So I said some pretty crazy shit. And then, well, I made them give up Sean. Made him watch as they all sold him out. Tried to play nice, but... went a little nuts. Something about him just hurt me. It was like..." Vincent Price. "...Dracula, in a cross factory."

"That's... mm. I'll tell you, but I need to keep it to myself for a minute. I need to keep listening." He was about to go in on his second pepper.

"Alright. Well, I grabbed him by the neck, and just... filled him up with fire. I could have done it any other way. Got my leatherman on me. I didn't stop burning him until there was nothing left for my hands to hold."

"This was something you could control. You manipulated the spread of fire, somehow? --Without tools, though." He furrowed his sharp white brow. "There are -snif- implications, there."

"If you know something I don't, you gotta tell me. They remake the Fantastic Four every few years, so I had my own suspicions. But no, it's not 'big emotions.' It's... near big emotions, but I know that doesn't make sense."

"Try me." He sniffed again and suddenly stood, setting his hands on the edge of the sink. He stared out the window. The horizon had little to offer but trees and a general store, but he looked into it as if he'd find something he hadn't seen before.

"It seems to... go off whenever I want to kill myself."

"Huh?"

"Well- wow, that sounds really bad. I'm not-" She pinched the bridge of her nose and started over. "I can be a real defeatist sometimes. I stay distracted and stay content, because if I get in my own head while it's quiet, I'll drag myself through the mud."

"Jesus, that's awful."

"You get used to it. But... when I... got, Mark, I had just been suspended from work."

"For what?"

"Working too hard. So I was outside smoking, and he doesn't know I'm kicked out, and tries to hassle me about work I was dragged away from, because I do it too often, so that I can be told to go home and miss out on three hundred bucks, during which time I will not be able to do the work, so my section falls behind, and they get a shiny new reason to drag me up to the boss--"

"Hey, hey! Look at me." He whirled around and set his hands firmly on the fold-out dinner table, and stared at her, wide-eyed.

-snif-

"Houseboat. Can't have you burning holes in it. Dani Dufresnes, do not sink my house."

She took a deep breath and nodded, and the fire whirling up between her knuckles receded, leaving trails of black soot on her skin.

"So yeah. Work was bad. And I was mad as hell about it! But when Mark came through to rub my nose in it, whether he knew it or not, I sort of collapsed. Mentally. Had a big pile of junk I had climbed to the top of, and when I realized I was going to have to apologize to this piece of work, I just..."

She closed her eyes. "Decided to jump. Heads, they win, tails, I lose. So to hell with them, and to hell with me. I opened my mouth to say I was sorry for the trouble, and when I did..." She curled up her fingers, then suddenly popped them apart. "Full Zilla. I couldn't stop it, and he sure as hell couldn't live through it. --He didn't deserve that. I don't know about Sean, but Mark didn't deserve that."

They sat together for a long time. There'd be the occasional -snif- or twitch of the mustache, but Craig was well outside of his wheelhouse now.

"Alright. That there, propped up behind the old fridge, is Andrew Carnegie. Now, I- I'm not really comfortable trying to trigger this response, if it works the way you say it does. But if you think you can manifest this effect again, I'm here to record it. A-and look out for you. Scout's honor." He even held up the three fingers.

They had taken Craig's car- a '66 Wagonaire the color of honey mustard that shuddered when you took a turn too sharp. The back seat was taken up by a large cooler and a tacklebox, and Johnny Cash was singing One Piece at a Time in the tape deck.

"I got a place," he had said. "Used to do some machine shop stuff out there. Fire marshal got on my ass last Fourth, thought I was setting off roman candles in the ponderosas."

So they got to his place, a dead-end service road made to reach through the woods and connect society to a lone firetower. He sat on the hood with a camera hanging around his neck and an egg salad sandwich in his hand, waiting for anything.

She stared at the mannequin. It didn't have any hands, or any legs, and the head was a shiny aluminum while the torso was crumbling and white.

It seemed a little too pathetic to kill.

But it was quiet, and that helped. Or hurt, depending on how you looked at it. No music, no birds now that it was closer to sunset, just the occasional creak or distant whistle.

The perfect environment to be extremely unwell.

She didn't talk to herself, not really. There wasn't any Dani-within-Dani, mocking the one on the surface. Thirty years of television brain rot made it more like flipping channels. ShameTV, American Misery Classics, Discover(ing you're a murderer) Channel...

"God, I'm so sorry," she murmured.

And then Andrew Carnegie, the refrigerator underneath him, and about twenty feet of brown, wild grass, exploded.

Craig yelped and snapped photo after photo, burning through the film inside until all he got was click-click-click.

Dani sighed and let her arms hang at her sides. How fun. I'm Jubilee for depression.

"You ever gonna stop clicking that thing?"

"What? I-" His mustache twitched, and he looked at the camera for a moment. Something was still clicking, but he wasn't doing it. He sniffed and ran around to the back of the car, popping the trunk after a quick fight with his keyring.

The clicking grew louder. Dani, worried it was a bomb- because Craig Palmer was still a hard man to trust- kept her place.

"CHRIST ALMIGHTY YOU COULD TALK TO GILGAMESH WITH NUMBERS LIKE THAT."

His distant shouting did little to move her, but that wasn't slowing him down. "SIXTY ZEEN. SIX-OH. REDLINED IT. DANI YOU GOTTA SEE THIS."

Well, if she was being called over by name...

She looked over Craig's shoulder at a machine that filled up most of the Wagonaire's trunk. And it still clicked, it certainly did that.

"I've got to make some calls," he was saying to himself. "Sixty fuckin' zeen. Changes everything we know about predictive model- no prediction needed. Didn't figure out everything, did you, Hoyle? Maybe we call this the "reactive" model? "Ignition" model? Well, it's not a model until I actually do the work, but... sixty zeen."

"Craig, what the hell is zeen? None of this means anything. You sound like Brent Spiner for chrissakes."

"Ah, hell. I can't explain it all right now. No, really. Not being a shithead, this shit is just so..." He raised his arms and pushed at the sky, as if he were holding up an incomplete tent. "...beyond, Dani. It's beyond anything we do around here. Hell, we stopped doing it a century ago because it scared us."

"You're talking around it. Help me understand so I can do something about this. I can't unkill those men, and that's a whole separate problem, but if I can figure out what kind of disease I have, maybe I can treat it. Alright?"

Craig sagged and set his hands on the sides of the machine.

"You're not sick, Dani. You're a singularity. Zeens- Zeners, Zn, they're a measure of the pressure that consciousness puts on the space around us. Back in the thirties or so, there were some experiments at Duke about powering lightbulbs with psychic action. Predict the right card, produce a charge, light goes on. That kind of thing. Nobody really loved it- before all else, it was friggin' impractical- and it left the limelight. Dr. Zener's cards showed up in Ghostbusters, though."

It was a lot to take in, and a lot more to take in and understand. So Dani fell quiet, holding her forehead, and heard the old man out.

"Usually to slide over one dimension, you gotta get really high. Really high. Ayahuaska, coke, mushrooms, DMT. High-capacity, high-priority, high-intentioned, high. And then that open-brainedness and intentionality generates about, eh... seven or eight zeen, as you produce friction against the planes."

She wasn't following, and Craig could tell.

"You just produced the psychic energy of over a half-dozen lifelong meditators taking their first steps out of samsara and into enlightenment. And you did it stone cold sober. No wonder he exploded. Dani, you're the three-dimensional shadow of four-dimensional anger. All this crap you told me about- you didn't just bury it down, you liquefied it into emotional sweet crude!"

"Come on, man."

"Listen. Everything that is, is the same shit. Science is magic is spirituality is math, let's all hold hands, blah, blah. Explain it however you like. I like zeens. They give you a sense of scale. But if you're a living rupture between axial planes, then..."

"I'm really trying, here. So I packed away all my feelings until they got so heavy that something broke, yeah, and it's pressurized- and so... all the time I'm keeping a seal on it."

"And when you loosen the seal- Dani, when you want to die, that's when you can't maintain the seal, and everything comes pouring back through."

It wasn't the whole picture, and she could feel that, but there was comfort in understanding something. She was still a murderer, but it wasn't demonic possession, at least. Eventually they shut the trunk, and were chased out of the old firetower road by a forest ranger who seemed to know Craig by reputation.

"Now, you need to lay low if you're going to Peru. Which, again, I recommend. Learning the language isn't hard, and then there's Vinicunca- rainbow mountain, most gorgeous thing I ever saw. Nothing compares, you're gonna love it. So we gotta have you silent running before you ship off. What kind of work did you do before this?"

"I, uh... well, I worked at a grocery store." She frowned and looked at the horizon. They were passing into town... and then through it, just like that. Craig was going to park the Wagonaire somewhere out of sight and walk back, to keep from getting towed.

"That's great. You're overqualified. There's a Turtlebees about five miles east of here. You pick up some shifts there under some comfortably falsified credentials, and before you know it, bam- Vinicunca."

Turtlebees.

Make it happen here.

God damn it.

<-Prev Next->

[nathank77]

11/12/24

8:22 p.m Added to Significantly

I'm watching Bates Motel and one of the characters who has a crush on Norma bc she's GORGEOUS, wears glasses. And he takes them off when they go out to coffee and he stops wearing them. I don't remember everything but I think they have sex. They were obv distance glasses bc of when he was wearing them or bifocals anyways...

And I mean I guess that's probably my problem, in every photo on dating apps, in virtually every photo of me in the last 3 years I'm wearing glasses. He takes them off when they go on a date.

I mean research has shown that people without glasses are more attractive generally. Just like guys with hair are more attractive than bald guys.

I mean I went on that date with Jenny in my glasses.. maybe i shouldn't have. Although me being trans was really the issue.. but maybe i got to actually take them off bc tbh even this pair causes eye strain...

Idk....I do believe in her. But to be brief I noticed.. and I noticed when. But I don't want to get over excited bc for one I could scare her away if it meant anything and for two when it goes back to the way it was- i don't want to get hit with depression bc I had expectations......... so I've just pretended nothing changed. So when it goes to the way it was it'll only hurt a little but it still partially confirmed just maybe she's here.

I know she would want me to wear my glasses but I'd be tempted as friends to not wear them. As a potential partner which i know would never happen id wear them bc she likes them... but as a friend only I'd just be the awkward nerdy friend so I'd aviod it.

Anyways i probably should stop wearing them cause not only do i look better in my Ray-Bans and they hurt but glasses are less attractive to most people

Also I'm thinking about wearing hats again..... I don't really like them but it hides that I'm bald a little and adds some style. I mean Jenny swiped on me when my main photo was me with glasses and a hat but also my nip was showing in my shirt and it made me look like I was fit and had nice pecs muscles....

I kinda outgrew the hat.. I only really wear it for sun protection for my bald head but i mean maybe girls will think i look good with it... i think it makes me look like a teenager and I don't want to hide my bald head or look younger. I'm bald and I'm okay with that. I just wish someone else was.

[leam1983]

Types

I used to think that being poly meant an end to most fantasies. I thought it would mean those three or four OCs I spent using strictly as a medium to yank on my crank would be pushed in some musty corner of my subconscious, but a check-in with Walter was all I'd need to realize that fantasies are like cockroaches. You can't kill them, but they also have a role to play in your relationship's ecosystem.

We just settled into bed and I mention this to Walt, who seems nonplussed. "George Grimm isn't real and he couldn't be real, hon. Am I supposed to be jealous of a made-up guy you've pulled up AI art renders of? He's never actually touched you, never actually kissed you - and you know what I noticed?"

Walt smirks. "You're feeling guilty about it. That means you probably went at it last week, during one of the two evenings I spent at the office, and now you've got irrational guilt pangs about having cheated on me with a JPEG of a guy that could be me if I got everything tailored on Saville Row and had absolutely zero backdoor shyness in regards to your kinks."

His smirk turns into a chiding gesture. "You're being silly, you silly goose. We've sploshed - you know we're open concerning our kinks. Come on, tell me about him. Tell me about George Graham Grimm the Food Vampire."

I figure I'll do it like this, instead.

George was a solid coping mechanism in my late teens, someone who's cropped up in my dreams during a phase of my life that saw me define myself as unloveable by default. I don't remember the specifics of that particular dream, but I do remember the broad strokes.

I dreamt I was dragged to some sort of symposium by my Ph. D. of an aunt and was forced to spend four hours dipping my lips in cheap champagne while pretending like I didn't have a piteous inferiority complex. Dreams go as they're wont to do, elastic and fluid in their arrangement of Time, and I find a secluded dining room on the floor being used by the reception. Its décor is ornate, and its four massive tables are arranged in a square. In the middle of one of the sides is seated a mountain of a man, about four hundred pounds and change, and he's dressed in custom-tailored clothing that's probably cost a fortune. As obese as he is, he's the most smartly-dressed of the assembly, with a bowtie and vest combo that's so perfect you'd swear he was born with them. His thick fingers are impossibly agile, swiping things from the piles and piles of food waiting on the table and wolfing them down with a mixture of sheer abandon and meticulous precision - extended pinky finger included. He somehow never stains himself and his thick and flowing beard remains immaculate no matter how fast he goes. His utensils are barely touched, and he instead keeps going back to sucking on his fingers. He's a very vocal eater, groaning in appreciation or drowning a satisfied chuckle in an umpteenth bite. He does it all with his eyes closed and a light frown, almost as though he's got a mental map of the table's furnishings he keeps perfectly up-to-date.

Considering the amount of food that's involved, my first thought is that this is actually a buffet and this dude here's just decided he'd click on that I Will Attend link for the RSVP for the exact purpose of stuffing his face with free food. I don't remember the exact dialog in the dream, so I'll sub what was probably said with what actually makes sense in-context. Guy sounds like Tony Jay and Sydney Greenstreet made love and had a posh, congested and vaguely eerie descendant - and he stops between two bites, eyes opening to reveal two gray slivers behind his bifocals and his thick and well-groomed snowy-white eyebrows.

"Pardon the intrusion, but I don't recall the help replacing the buffet sign on this table..."

Just that is enough to prime my hind brain. This man's voice is the stuff my insecure adolescent self's dreams are made of. The snootiest Received English Pronounciation imaginable, rendered in a low and rough timbre by a guy who looks more fit to mumble than ti articulate - except everything is crisp. My flustered teenage brain thinks he's being contemptuous so I nervously blurt out a response - and he laughs.

I woke up, the first time my subconscious made George Grimm laugh. Again, it's Tony Jay and Greenstreet melded together, as if normal people had Plosive Laughing Prefixes without veering into outright guffaws, or as if your classic swell of Evil Laughter could've actually sounded congenial.

"Never you mind, dear boy - I was merely... indulging."

Over time, I'd realize George refuses to call eating what it is. He seeks repaste or regales his tastebuds, or maybe he prays to the God of Luxury, which I've always taken as being my subconscious regurgitating my brief obsession with Roman mythology. Grimm does fit the bill for some sort of modernized and expanded take on Dionysius and he did first come into being during my High School History classes on the Roman civilization.

"Go on, fix yourself a plate," he then says. "I'll hardly miss these bites you'll take."

I realize that he's serious, at that moment. He was rearing to polish off all four of these tables on his own. Something makes me want to keep my distance and to settle with clearing off a bit of table surface for my plate - and what I put in it never quite gels into something. It's like AI Art's idea of a plate of food, with chunks of unidentified meat, mounds of recursive and self-cannibalizing stringy pasta, black masses that might be meatballs or olives, it's hard to tell - and Dream Logic being what it is, I'm not fazed by this at all. My plate seems endless, but I work through it at a pace that I assume matches with my usual pace for a normal-sized meal. In the meantime, the big man's gaining speed at an impossible rate. He's slurping, gnashing, worrying, moaning and grunting his way towards my location, and I get the sense that he'll just keep getting faster if I try and slip away. So, half-convinced this just flipped into Nightmare Country, I feel the dream turn lucid as the overly-dressed organic Shop-Vac I'm seated with works his way through enough food for twelve people in a few seconds. He stops right next to me, daintily raised a tiny piece of cheese to his mouth and politely covers his mouth. If he's burped, no sound's been made.

He turns to face me and outstretches a hand that certainly has the mitt-like qualities of the appendages of particularly fatter people, but with an almost feline level of grace.

"George Graham Grimm - monster, scholar, gentleman, professor amongst others - at your service."

I take his hand. There's an instant of tension, the sense that Grimm's hunger's just shifted - and he's warm, warm like I've never felt anyone's hands being, before.

What I remember is that this was enough for my dream self to practically climb over his immense paunch and perch myself on it. His amusement and surprise immediately turns to relish, and George's kisses would be my measurement for Decent Snoggings for years, up until I met Prof - and eventually Walt. The specifics leave me, but I do know I dump everything on this posh quasi-ogre. Time dilation being what it is, George ends up being the perfect listener, as you'd assume, and he knows his voice is basically single-malt whiskey down my ears - again with weird plosive inclusions that make it so he hungrily moans or grunts at the beginning of every other sentence.

Obviously, my subconscious and my loins don't care about logical progression - we're Together, and that's it. George would crop up every now and again, typically when arousal was mixed with loneliness, and he'd call me his "dear boy" by repeating the word dear a good ten times or so.

Unsurprisingly, Younger Grem had Sugar Daddy fantasies and dreamed of a man large enough to be heavier than a loaded semi who'd take him out to walks and daintily request stops for "snacks" that would involve lifting hot dog carts à la Obelix the Gaul and tipping them into his open gullet. I understand that I spoke, in those dreams, but I don't remember anything I ever said. Even George's actual words faded, but I was left with a sense of either glowing praise or the sort of public expression of physical attraction that would normally make people ill-at-ease. Dude was horny on main the same way I was, adolescence oblige, and bowties-plus-silk-scarves affairs turned into spy thrillers as we both tried to find a sufficiently quiet and secluded space that would let us screw each other wild instead of catering to a gaggle of strangers in galas and receptions neither of us knew what to do with.

Then came Prof, and now Walt and Sarah. I started to feel guilty about an overdressed fatty that would've never left the confines of my mind - especially in regards to Walt.

The coincidence didn't escaspe me, back then. George Graham Grimm. Walter C. George. Walter's actually Grimm with the brakes on, the much more realistic idea of what it means to have a plus-sized boyfriend. The closeness isn't always welcomed on my end of things, seeing as I want to enjoy the Actual Man's emotional and intellectual availability, but my hind brain wants the Fake Man's relentless libido or his appetite. It's not that much of a problem, but it makes those occasional times that see me superimpose red paisley-patterned silk over Walter's gray gabardine feel like a dereliction I'm the only one to perceive.

I guess I needed George Grimm, back in the day. I needed a belly platform so big I could sleep over his chest without my feet touching the mattress, or the eventual internal running commentary on the various happenings in my life. I needed a guy with so much self-confidence and zest for life that he could turn morbid obesity around on a dime and make it look sexy. I do channel him on occasion, when I have to be snippier or more authoritative than I usually am. I probably needed the embryonic forms of the Loudest Fake Lover in Existence to make some inroads about my sexuality. I probably needed the imagined bedroom theatrics, Grimm gnashing his perfect teeth at me over climax, heatedly declaring that "our exquisite flesh" would "endure for aeons".

I think everyone needs or wants a concept of a certain "Forever Love", past a certain age, and it's probably natural to start out with an idea, a dream, a fantasy that's gone a little haywire in my case, that still sometimes looms over me while I'm working on our server stack, smelling of expensive cologne and of the cooked juices of something that's been expensively prepared. I don't need running commentary from Walt; he's always right around the corner!

George Graham Grimm, however - monster, scholar, gentleman, professor amongst others - hasn't really left my side for a good twenty-three years.

[skruffie]

I went on tiktok trying to see if I could find a video to demonstrate an interesting encounter I had today and this one is actually perfect. We had someone come in who originally had scheduled for an exam yesterday but didn't realize there would be a $10 copay, so he rescheduled to today and brought in cash. Our assistant manager told him to bring at least $80 because I think we were believing he didn't have insurance, but he did!

His insurance plan had a material copay of $25 but when it came time for the glasses he said he wanted only what his insurance would cover. His current glasses were similar in thickness to the ones in this video and, going with his prescription, they would not be any thinner.

Insurance companies (at least here in the states) will cover the cost of basic plastic/CR-39 but lens upgrades to something thinner and generally more comfortable to wear are rarely fully covered. Where I work, the retail price for polycarbonate single vision (no bifocal) is $220 but insurance plans can bring that cost down to around $33 sometimes. Polycarbonate is often fully covered for kids because it's also impact resistant and it's a safer choice for younger patients.

This guy should have been getting hi-index, which is the thinnest one we have (optical folks out there: ours is I think 1.66 and our lab is out of state so I don't know if we can offer Trivex or anything thinner), but... whatever insurance covers, it's not going to be the hi-index. Out of pocket cost for that can range for SV to about like $70-80 with a lot of plans, and ours is bundled with a non-glare which bumps it up over $100 just for the lenses. He found a frame that was fully covered but the material copay kept him from buying them.

So if you're getting glasses and the optician is recommending upgrading your lens materials, it's not meant to be an upsell. It is for your own literal comfort and, in some cases, because the frames you picked might not be compatible with a thick lens. If you're getting base plastic but your prescription is -6.00/+6.00 or stronger, you are going to want a fully enclosed frame, preferably plastic. If you get a thin metal frame and you're only able to afford the CR-39, be aware that the lens may sit kinda heavy on your face and in some cases with stronger prescriptions you might not be able to close your temples.

[softer-on-the-other-side]

Prompt: "Bowl Full of Jelly"

Pairing: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier

Setting: Eddie has convinced Richie to be Santa for the local orphanage this year.

“This is fucking stupid,” Richie mutters.

Eddie nudges his arms further up and continues measuring, saying, “You’re the one who volunteered, dumbass.”

“Yeah, well, you’ve never seen your stupid puppy dog eyes. They’re like. Irresistible on a physiological level, Eds. Like some kinda magic bullshit.” Richie pauses, as Eddie gives him a different look altogether. “Oof, ouch. Okay, see, this is what I’m saying. You just dealt actual psychic damage to me with that glare-- Ow!”

“Oops, the tape slipped,” Eddie says flatly, as if he didn’t just pinch Richie’s arm with the force of a thousand crabs. He moves the measuring tape down to Richie’s hips, glaring when he tries to put his arms down. “Are you done complaining?”

“That depends, are you done being a bitch?”

This time, when Eddie goes to pinch his side, Richie is prepared and jerks away with an offended, “Stop that!”

“Fine,” Eddie says, then immediately follows through on the pinch when Richie relaxes.

“Fuckin ow, dude! I didn’t even say anything that time!”

“That was for the bitch comment, dipshit,” Eddie replies, rolling his eyes. “And I doubt you can even feel it that much anyways.”

Richie pauses. “...What’s that supposed to mean?”

Eddie looks up from measuring his waist, frowning. “What do you mean, what does it mean?”

“Like, that was a hard pinch, why wouldn’t it hurt?” Richie asks. He’s not being a dick, for once, he’s actually confused.

Eddie narrows his eyes. “Did it hurt?”

“Well, no.”

His eyes squint further. “And you have no idea why that might be?”

“...You were being gentle because you love me?”

Eddie snorts incredulously instead of answering, which. Yeah, fair. Love has never stopped either of them before.

When Richie doesn’t offer up another reason, Eddie huffs. “Jesus, Rich, you really haven’t noticed?”

Clueless, Richie shakes his head. In response, Eddie sighs and his face does that thing where he tries not to look endeared by Richie’s antics. Or obliviousness, as is apparently the case here.

“Look, how wide was your waist the last time you bought yourself a pair of jeans?”

Richie blinks. “Uh, I don’t know. 34 maybe? Why?”

Eddie holds up the tape, thumb marking the spot he’d just measured. Richie squints at it, the numbers fuzzy despite him definitely not needing bifocals.

41. Huh.

“What does that have to do with--” Eddie raises his eyebrows expectantly, and the pieces click into place. “Oh. Shit, really?”

More gently this time, Eddie tweaks the flesh of Richie’s hip. And yeah, woah. There’s like, a lot there. Like enough to fill Eddie’s hand, and it’s all lined with stretch marks that range from pale white to angry red. Richie stares in bewilderment.

Wait, but if he has love handles that big then-- he turns his gaze to his belly, and stares. Half-disassociating, he brings both hands up to cup it, and sure enough the soft flesh fills his hands and then some.

“But it’s so big,” he murmurs, unwittingly.

Eddie huffs and says, “You’re an idiot of legendary status, Rich.”

That shakes him out of it. “Well, how the fuck was I supposed to know? You’re the one who always pushes seconds on me! And none of my clothes have gotten any tighter or anything--” Eddie quickly breaks eye contact as his ears turn deep red. “Oh my god. Oh Edward you snake! This is sabotage of the highest degree!”

“Beep beep, Richie,” Eddie grinds out, and Richie laughs in his face.

“Oh fuck no, buddy! You think I’m shutting up about this? About the fact that you’re feeding me up and buying new clothes behind my back so I wouldn’t notice? Eddie, my dear husband, love of my fucking life, I am never letting you live this down.”

“It’s not like that!” Eddie snaps, the flush spreading to his cheeks. “I just didn’t want you to think I didn’t like it or that you needed to lose it--”

“Well no, of course not, because you’re clearly a filthy fucking pervert.”

Apparently, this is when Eddie reaches his breaking point. He makes an infuriated sound deep in his throat, throws the measuring tape to the ground, and grabs Richie’s face to pull him in for a rough kiss.

“You keep fucking talking like that and I’m gonna have to remind you who’s boss,” Eddie growls, when they part.

Richie is stunned, and he’s pretty sure he’d be gaping if Eddie didn’t have such a firm grip on his chin. Luckily, talking has always been his primary motive, so it’s easy enough to egg Eddie on. “...You know, I've got a good start, but I think they meant someone a little bigger when they talked about Santa's bowl full of--”

He doesn’t get to finish the sentence before Eddie is pushing him towards the bed, obviously both annoyed and turned on.

Okay, yeah. Richie probably should’ve picked up on this whole thing sooner.

Which, y’know. Annoyed and turned on is Richie’s favorite version of Eddie.

He thinks he should probably avoid cracking an obvious joke about Eddie’s repressed mommy issues. At least for right now. Maybe later, after sex. And after dinner. If Eddie’s too mad, he might not make the cookies he’d promised for so-called Santa practice…

Sue him. He’s a stay in the moment kind of guy.

And in this moment, he’s about to get very, very lucky.

[xbladekitkat85]

You Have a What Now?!

Warnings: Referenced/Implied homophobia/transphobia

A/N Morgan is aged up, about 16 and Peter and Harley are in their mid twenties. Also, regarding the warnings, there is a happy ending don’t worry!

Peter's POV

I was sitting in my room, trying to find Christmas presents for Dad, but usually, that's impossible since he has everything he wants. I was debating whether to just give up and take a nap or keep searching when I heard a knock at my door.

"Come in." I said.

The door opened and Morgan, my younger sister, poked her head in.

"Hey Peter? Can I tell you something? And you have to promise not to tell dad."

"Ok, what is it, Morgs?"

"Well, you know my friend I told you about? The one in my robotics class who's really nice to me?" She reminded me.

"Carter, right?" I said, sipping my cup of hot chocolate.

"Yeah, well, he asked me out and I said yes."

I choked on my hot chocolate and had to take a moment to process this new information.

I knew this day would come eventually. I have been thinking about it since the day Morgan started talking about how cute that friend in her homeroom and robotics class is. How he had been the nicest to her when the popular girls hated her for not hanging out with them. And he helped her when she was struggling to figure out why her calculations were messing up her invention.

But I didn't expect the news to be dropped this fast. I mean, they've only known each other for about 5 months.

"Peter, you know how dad is!" She begged. "Please don't tell him. Carter really wants to be accepted by you guys. He has a hard enough time at home already. Please don't mess this up."

"Ok, I will try to keep this a secret but I can't keep any promises." I said.

"Keep what a secret?" I heard Harley ask from the doorway.

We both froze.

"We know you're gay!" I blurted without thinking.

Harley raised any eyebrow.

"And how did you come to this conclusion?" He asked.

"He was just joking, Harley." Morgan said.

"Ok, what's really going on?" Harley asked

I looked at Morgan to check if she was ok with me telling Harley her secret.

She nodded.

"Ok, our baby sister has a boyfriend now." I said slowly.

Harley looked unsurprised.

"I figured. I knew you were texting someone. You were giggly when I asked last week." He said.

"Can you not tell dad please? If he finds out, he's going to threaten Carter and I don't want that!" Morgan said.

"He's not the only one. I'll threaten him myself." Harley said. "I'm gonna get my potato gun and hit the road. Morgs, what's his address?"

"Are you actually serious? You're going to threaten Carter with your potato gun?" Morgan asked incredulously.

"Whoever dates my baby sis has to be threatened by the eldest brother, that's the way the world works." Harley stated. "If you don't give me his address, then I will ask FRIDAY to do it. Then dad will find out."

"No, no way. You are not threatening Carter!" Morgan protested. "If you do that, I will personally disassemble your potato gun and lock you out of your lab so you can't rebuild it."

"Oh yeah? And how will you lock me out of my own lab?" Harley challenged.

"I have my ways. Who do you think hacked dad's protocols and renamed them?" Morgan asked.

"I thought that was Peter." Harley said confusedly. "Renaming the enhanced vision option in the Iron Man suit, Old Man Bifocals Protocol sounds like something Peter would do. And do you even know how to hack security programs?"

"I can reprogram security measures just as well as protocol names, Harley." Morgan shot back. "Just because I am the youngest, does not mean I am the most inexperienced."

"I believe you." I piped up.

"Shut up Peter." Harley snapped.

I raised my hands in surrender.

"Ok, I will only tell you the address if you agree to not take your potato gun." Morgan said. "You may take something like, I don't know, a spoon. Something you can improvise with, but not actually be able to do anything with. Then, and only then, will I tell you Carter's address. And you can only go there until 6 pm. That's when his parents come home from work."

"Fine by me. I know how I can threaten your boyfriend with a spoon." Harley said in a slightly concerning tone.

"Ok, I'll text you the address." Morgan reluctantly said.

"Don't scare him too much." I said. "Although I was dreading this day, I still want to meet Carter in one piece. Harley, please don't kill him."

"You got it." Harley replied, pulling a large metal serving spoon out of his backpack.

"Harley, what the hell?! Why the heck do you have a giant freaking spoon in your bag?" Morgan asked, baffled.

"Reasons." He replied simply. And then he walked out of the room without another word.

"Should I be worried?" Morgan asked me.

"Honestly, that is a total Harley thing to have in a bag, so, no." I replied.

*Time skip to Christmas Eve*

Morgan's POV

Christmas was finally here after what felt like months. As usual, we are having a family game night before we open the first present at midnight. Things were going well with Carter but he was still having troubles at home. I just hope his Christmas wasn't too bad.

*RING RING RING*

I pulled my phone out of my pocket to see that Carter was calling. I sighed softly because Carter usually texts me. He only calls in emergencies. I excused myself from our game of Monopoly Deal and answered it.

"Are you okay Carter?" I asked quietly.

I heard a sniffle on the other end.

"You know how I came out to my sister that I was trans a week ago and made her promise not to tell my parents?"

"Yeah... Oh my gosh, she told them didn't she."

I heard Carter sob on the other end.

"They kicked me out." Carter sobbed. "They didn't even listen when I tried to explain how much it would mean to me if they at least tried to accept it. Please, Morgan. Can I stay with you? I don't have anywhere else to go."

"Of course you can. I'm on my way, where are you now?" I asked, grabbing my car keys.

"I'm at the subway stop on 50th street. By the Broadway Theatre."

"I'm coming, don't worry. Stay where you are."

"Ok. See you soon. Thank you Morgan, I don't know what I'd do without you."

"Anytime you need me." I replied soothingly.

I hung up the phone and started making my way to the garage.

"Hold it! Where are you going young lady?" Dad asked.

"To pick up someone. He needs a place to stay." I said, continuing to walk.

"Honey, who are you talking about?" Mom asked in confusion.

"I'll explain later. Just wait until I get back."

*After bringing Carter to the house*

"Ok Carter, you can sleep on the couch in my room and I'll make sure you have everything you need."

"So, you're Carter." Peter said intrigued.

"Uh, um yeah, that's me." Carter said nervously.

"I would like to know what the relationship between you two is." Dad said, sipping his wine. "Friends, BFF's, I don't really know."

I took a deep breath.

"Mom, dad, I have something to tell you. This is my boyfriend, Carter."

Dad choked on his wine and mom smiled.

"Good for you. I was wondering when you would find someone." Mom said.

"Pep, what do you mean this is good?! She can't be allowed to date! She's too young!"

"She's independent enough to make her own decisions without us approving them." Mom reasoned then turned to look at me. "Unless they're dangerous. Then you have to get our ok."

"Dad just try to accept this for now, Carter is already stressed and scared." I pleaded. "He just got kicked out of his own home."

"Did Carter do something wrong?" Dad asked.

"No, he just... It's his family, they don't accept him for the real him." I tried to explain, without giving too much away. "Carter needs a safe place and I hoped this would be it, but you are acting like you have a stick up your butt!"

"Wait, the real him?" Dad asked. Then he realized what I meant.

"Holy shit, Carter I'm sorry." Dad said.

Carter looked at his feet in shame but to my surprise, everyone came and gave Carter a group hug. I joined in and we all hugged Carter the way that his parents wouldn't: with understanding and acceptance. I knew that my family accepted him and I couldn't be any happier.

"Well, I guess we got a new member of the family." Peter said.

We broke apart from the hug and Carter had tears of joy in his eyes.

"Thank you for accepting me into your family when mine wouldn't." He sniffled. "You have no idea how much this means to me."

"Of course you'll be accepted here." Dad said. "I will always accept anybody who has to go through having horrible parents not accepting them. I came out as bi a few years before my parents died and my dad threw a hissy fit. My mom was more accepting. I wouldn't wish for anybody to have a horrible dad like I did."

"Thank you. I'm sorry for intruding on your Christmas but I knew Morgan was the one I could trust."

"Don't worry Carter ." I said. "Whenever you need a place to crash, we will always have our door open for you."

Carter kissed my cheek and dad gasped dramatically.

"How long have you been kissing my daughter?!"

Carter visibly tensed up.

"Dad, don't worry about it." Peter said. "Have more wine. Then we can watch you make a fool of yourself while playing Balderdash!"

"Ok, Carter, you want to join us?" I asked holding out my hand.

Carter smiled and took it.

"Thanks for everything Morgan." He said softly.

*

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Taglist: @frostedgiant

If you wish to be tagged, feel free to send me an ask!

[losvcr]

all i want (reddie)

Summary: Eddie is dying. He knows he’s dying. He can’t die without telling Richie the truth. If it’s the very last thing he does, Eddie will make sure that Richie knows how he feels about him.

Pairing: Reddie

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: a homophobic slur, cussing, near death

A/N: y’all are probably gonna see a shit ton of these fics around bc we’re dramatic hoes who need to see our boy live and get the ending that he deserves. this is not beta’d, but the spirit hit me and i had to write it. hope y’all enjoy!

AO3 link: here

“I fucked your mom..”

Eddie let out a choked laugh before rather quickly easing off of it, not enjoying the extra dose of pain his body received from moving even a little bit. At least the severe pain he’d been feeling was starting to numb.

Fuck. That’s not what I meant to say.

There was so much he wanted to say.

Eddie had pondered death before. Who didn’t? He had faced it several times, in fact. But it was real, now. Eddie knew that he was dying. He was running out of time.

There was still so much he had to say.

Eddie could hear them talking. He watched them make a run for it so that they could continue the fight. But not Richie. Richie stayed right next to him. Richie.

Richie.

A small smile came onto Eddie’s face as he gripped Richie’s jacket tightly, not even remotely thinking about ever letting go of it. “..h-hey, Rich...?”

“Shh.. save your energy, Eddie. I’m getting you out of here as soon as I can. But until then, shut the hell up.” Richie whispered as he held onto Eddie tightly, and Eddie watched as Richie’s eyes flickered back and forth between him and the horror that their friends were trying to overcome.

Eddie loved that about Richie. That trashmouth idiot might always talk a lot of shit, but he cared. He cared about them. Richie cared about him.

For so long, Eddie had tried to deny it. Even when he left and his memories became repressed, Eddie had always known that something had been missing. He’d known that his marriage with Myra was safe, but it wasn’t what he wanted.

Coming back home and seeing that goofy grin and huge bifocals made him remember.

Now he was at death’s door and Eddie knew it was now or never. If he didn’t say it now, he would never get the chance to. He had already lost that opportunity once.

“R-Richie...”

“No.” Eddie stared over the side of Richie’s face in confusion, shakily reaching one of his hands up to cup Richie’s cheek that was wet. Richie was crying. “You’re not leaving me, alright? Whatever you have to say, just don’t. You can tell me once we get out of here.”

There was something in Richie’s tone. It took Eddie a second, but he was quick to pick up on it. It was desperation. Richie was scared. Richie didn’t want to face what was happening.

Eddie could feel his vision fading in and out, just wanting to close his eyes. But they were almost there. Eddie could feel it.

He also had something to say before that. He had to say it.

“Richie--” He could see Richie gearing up to interrupt him again, a fire in his eyes, but Eddie rushed to get it out before that could happen. “I love you..”

He watched as Richie froze momentarily, any berating dying in his throat. Eddie didn’t care what happened after this. He just needed Richie to know the truth before he left the world. If he died, if they all died, he just wanted Richie to know how he really felt about him. His best friend. The boy who made terrible mom jokes and baited Eddie like no other. The boy who never shut up but made him laugh all the time. The boy who didn’t want to share the hammock when his ten minutes was up.

Now they were adults, but Eddie didn’t feel any differently. Richie was the same person he had loved all that time ago.

“H-hey, what’d I tell you? No more bombshells until I get you out of here. Give a guy a ch-chance to stop shitting his pants before--” Richie choked up, unable to finish, but all Eddie could do was smile fondly at him―the same person he’d fell in love with.

Eddie’s eyes fluttered closed, his thumb softly stroking over the flesh of Richie’s cheek and feeling hot tears continuously flowing. “Please open your eyes, Eds. We--we’re almost there. You have to wait for me to say it back.”

"Don’t... call me Eds...” He barely got out through a chuckled whisper. Eddie couldn’t hold on any longer. He felt drained and he just wanted to sleep. So he did.

---

Lights. That was the first thing. Lights.

Then there was noise. It sounded muffled, but it was there. The muffling noises slowly began to turn into ringing, and then the ringing shifted into voices.

After that? That was when sensation started to return. There was a tingling sensation in both his arms and legs and Eddie felt like it was impossible to move. Along with that, it felt like his whole entire chest was burning and he wanted that to stop. Except, it was as if he were in a fog; A half-sleep, half-awake state.

But then there was a gasp that made his muscles twitch with a jolt of fear. That had been much louder than the voices he heard in the background. It wasn’t until he heard a familiar voice practically screaming for a doctor that Eddie realized something.

He wasn’t dead.

Blearily, Eddie began to blink his eyes open slowly and drowsily, everything a blur to his vision. He wasn’t all the way there yet. All he knew was that he wasn’t dead and that Richie was there.

That was enough comfort for Eddie to give in to the wave of exhaustion that kept trying to pull him back under.

---

This second time around was a lot more unpleasant.

Where before he had been slowly trying to adjust to becoming conscious once again, this time had no compulsion or the sympathy to make his awakening less harsh.

Eddie could feel something in his mouth and throat that was making it difficult to breathe and immediately, he reached his left arm up to try and pull out the offending device, eyes still closed and the action more subconscious than anything else.

But a hand grabbed onto his and stopped him, easily lowering his hand back down to the bed. “Hey, relax. Open your eyes, Eds.”

That voice.

It was like that was all he needed and after blinking a few times, Eddie was finally seeing.

There Richie was, sitting right on the bed next to him and looking like he hadn’t seen a shower in weeks.

Eddie tried to grumble something, but the tube prevented him from speaking and again, he attempted to reach up to dislodge it, but Richie was still holding onto his hand and keeping him from doing so.

“Someone is coming right now.” He heard a female’s voice and turned his head slowly to see Beverly standing at the door, her arms crossed over her chest and a look of relief on her face.

Now that he was starting to come to even more, he could see that the others were there too, every pair of eyes trained on him. It didn’t take Eddie long to figure out they were at the hospital, but now he had to recall how he got there in the first place.

It.

Eddie could feel a small dread building up in his stomach, and it was like that reaction was enough to remind him of the fact that he was injured, feeling a pang in his lower shoulder that started to throb the faster his heart began to beat.

“Eddie, breathe.” His eyes flickered right back over to Richie again, watching tears stream down Richie’s face. “It’s okay. You’re okay. We did it.”

We did it.

Before he could even try to process it, they weren’t alone anymore.

Hours later, after the assisting tube removal, multiple test, and pain-killer induced sleeping, Eddie was finally coming to. This time, he was alert.

He looked around the dark hospital room and his friends were no longer there, but there was one person there in the chair besides his bed, body draped over and face pushed into Eddie’s bed.

A fond smile came onto Eddie’s lips and his hand moved to rest against the top of Richie’s head, gently running fingers through his hair. There was so many questions Eddie had, but he didn’t think he could voice any of them. He was just so relieved. He was relieved that he wasn’t dead; Relieved that he saw the others were okay; Relieved that Richie was here.

It was foggy, but Eddie remembered. He remembered entering Neibolt. He remembered going to the well. He remembered entering its lair deep in the ground. He remembered the horror and he remembered saving Richie, only to feel the worst pain he had ever felt in his lower right shoulder―it felt like he had completely lost that part of his torso.

Eddie’s gaze hesitantly drifted over to his right side and he saw a huge white bandage running down his arm, a sling holding it up. The discomfort he felt throbbing there, pain muted by the opioids, let him know that he hadn’t lost that side like he had been so sure he had.

Swallowing hard, he turned to look back at Richie and felt a shock run through his system when his eyes met with a pair of gorgeous blue ones.

“You’re awake.” They both said at the same time.

Richie snorted and started to sit up, and Eddie placed his now-free hand into the bedding, pushing so that he could sit up as well. He winced at the wave of pain the sudden movement created, hissing low.

“Hey, take it easy.” Richie said, his tone laced with concern as he stood and helped Eddie to sit up against propped-up pillows. Eddie threw Richie a fleeting, but thankful smile as he settled again. “You’re acting like you didn’t get skewered by a demonic spider clown.”

Eddie glared at Richie playfully, but his expression immediately softened when he looked over Richie again. Richie looked like he hadn’t slept in days and despite the joking, he could tell that his best friend was still shaken up.

“It’s okay, Rich.. we did it, right..?” Eddie’s voice was a little rough and quiet from disuse, but he knew that Richie could hear him.

Richie let out a soft sigh as he sat on the edge of Eddie’s bed, and Eddie couldn’t help the warmth that shot up his spine when Richie was grabbing onto his hand. “Yeah, we.. it’s dead. For good, I think.”

Thank fuck.

Silence soon settled between them and Eddie suddenly remembered his confession just before he caved into unconsciousness, causing a bright red blush to take over his face and for the hand Richie was still holding onto to feel like it was on fire.

He should probably say something.

“Rich--”

Eddie stopped short when he heard a quiet sniffle, and his gaze lifted from their hands to look at Richie who was crying again. He could feel his heart break a little at the sight, confused as to why Richie was crying if it was finally over.

He didn’t have to wait long for an answer.

“Don’t do that to me again.” It was whispered, but Eddie could hear a pin drop in the silence of the room. It was like the air was vacuumed so that he and Richie could talk without any interruption or overhearing. “You... you didn’t wait for me to say that I love you too.”

Eddie could feel his face becoming hot again, the heat rushing through his body and making him shudder involuntarily as tears began to develop in his eyes. Richie loved him too. “Richie...”

“No, Eddie. They thought you died, that you would die if you weren’t already dead, but I didn’t care. We carried you because I knew.. I didn’t know, but I just didn’t fucking care. I needed you to be okay and for fucks sake, if you weren’t, I wasn’t gonna leave you down there. Eddie, just let me―I have always been in love with you, okay? Ever since we were stupid fucking teenagers. I wanted to tell you back then. I did. But.. I was so fucking scared. I couldn’t lose you. I would rather have you in my life than not at all. We all know how they treated fags, right? I should have known you would never be like that.”

There was an intensity in Richie’s voice that had Eddie in awe, unable to blink or speak. Richie had loved him this entire time? “Even... even when I forgot, there was always something missing. Not just our childhoods or friendships or family, but you, Eddie. I might not have been able to name it, but fuck, it’s always been you, Eddie.”

Richie’s voice grew weak, probably from trying not to sob, and Eddie knew he needed a moment. Gently, he broke his hand from Richie’s grasp and moved it to cup Richie’s cheek instead, giving him a watery smile as tears silently streamed down Eddie’s face as well.

“You know, Richie.. I would watch your comedy specials sometimes. I.. of course, I couldn’t remember you. But I would always laugh. I would sit there thinking ‘god, this idiot reminds me of someone who I grew up with’. I was always on the cusp. Always so fucking wistful whenever I watched those specials.

“S-so... y’know.. you weren’t the only one missing something. It took me coming back here to realize that I married someone who was exactly like my mom.” Eddie made a face of distaste, gently slapping at Richie’s shoulder when he laughed at the revelation. “Fuck off, alright? It’s fucked up, I know. But Myra was safety, Rich. I.. I didn’t have to think about the way I felt about other men when I had her constantly reminding me that I had to be good.

“I thought I was gonna die down there, Richie. I knew that if I died, if we all died, that I needed you to know the truth of how I felt about you. You made me feel like it was okay to be myself. You.. you just make me feel okay, Richie―”

Eddie cut off short when he suddenly felt a warm pair of lips pressing to his and he was already melting, eyes wide and body shaking from it.

It was too quick. The kiss was only for a moment and Eddie couldn’t stop the soft whine he let out when Richie pulled away before he could kiss him back.

His hand shot up, fingers brushing over his lips as he stared at Richie shyly with a bright red blush on his face. It definitely made him feel better to see Richie’s ears flushed just as brightly, looking as if he would freak out at any second.

Eddie couldn’t let that happen, could he?

Thankfully, Richie hadn’t gone too far and Eddie was able to lean in and close the space between their lips again, kissing Richie with a tenderness he hadn’t realized he was capable of. Once he felt Richie relax and kiss him back, his hand moved to the back of Richie’s neck, allowing their connection to continue for a little while longer.

When they pulled away this time, they both were a little breathless and Eddie couldn’t help the smile that found his face when he saw Richie grinning at him.

“I’m not letting you go this time. I swear it.” Richie promised. Eddie’s eyelashes fluttered when he felt Richie cup his cheeks and he sighed quietly when Richie pressed a small peck to his lips.

“Good. I don’t want you to. Now, tell me where the others went and how you were able to stay.” Eddie demanded as he relaxed back into the pillows, and Richie grinned sheepishly at Eddie after dropping his hands.

“I might have lied and told them that I was your husband.”

“Richie, what?! What the hell were you thinking? You know that they can figure out if that shit isn’t true, right?”

“Oh, relax, spaghetti. I had to find a way fucking somehow, didn’t I? S’not like it won’t be true in the future.”

Eddie could feel his heart squeeze hard in his chest and he knew that he was fucked in the best way possible. He would have to deal with Richie ‘the trashmouth’ Tozier for the rest of his life, now.

He was okay with that.

---

“Richie, I thought we were meeting with the others one last time.”

Eddie huffed out as he followed Richie across the bridge, wishing he could take his itchy cast off. He had broken in his arm in several places and apparently had been lucky that his arm wasn’t gone, or better yet, that he wasn’t dead. Eddie knew that he had almost died a few times, but he liked to believe that he had held out for his friends. For Richie.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.. Look, I just have one thing to show you, and then we’ll go. Calm that cute ass of yours down.” Richie winked, and Eddie rolled his eyes playfully at his boyfriend.

“You’re the worst.” He mumbled out as they finally seemed to walk up to what Richie wanted him to see. “What’s this? Oh god, Richie, did you really just take me to this damn―“

Eddie stopped short when he saw what Richie had crouched down in front of, and he was soon walking in closer and bending down to see if he hadn’t been imagining it.

‘R +’

Was that...?

Eddie could feel tears springing into his eyes when Richie held out a pocket knife to him, his gaze warm and excited. “I.. I started it a long time ago. I.. was hoping you would finish it.”

The breath was knocked out of Eddie and he let out a choked laugh before he carefully grabbed the knife and started to kneel, helped down by Richie.

‘R + E’

The E was faded, but it was there. He had never doubted that Richie meant it when he said he had feelings for Eddie back then, but Eddie didn’t know he had done this. So many times, he walked past this bridge without thinking twice about it, and this secret had been etched there for years for only the two of them.

Eddie glanced over at Richie with nothing but love and fondness in his teary eyes, and then he got to work with his left hand. It was a little shaky because it wasn’t his dominant hand (and also because he was trying not to cry - god, Richie was such a sap), but the job got done and Eddie could feel his chest tightening. It was completed.

He thanked Richie quietly once he was helped back onto his feet, and once the pocketknife was put away, Eddie was quick to grab Richie’s hand. “Okay, loverboy. We’re etched into this bridge forever. How about we go say goodbye before we go home?”

There was no way he was going anywhere that Richie wasn’t. California had just as many people who needed limo services and it was about time that he expanded his business anyway.

When instead of a verbal answer, he got a kiss, Eddie’s eyes fluttered closed and he pressed into it, feeling a happiness he couldn’t describe.

“Yeah, guess we can go say goodbye to those fucking losers.” Richie smiled, starting to lead Eddie back the way they’d come.

Everything would be okay. They were all okay. It was over. They had defeated It, and now, they all had each other again.

[slash-em-up]

Smoke Screen Pt. 2: The Djinn x Reader

Heeeyyyyyy here’s a part two!!

---------------------------------------------------------------

There was a jaunty swing to your step as you walked home from the swap meet. You felt good about the purchases you’d made and couldn’t wait to sort through that pile of jewelry for any small treasures that the previous owner might have overlooked.

It felt like a ‘treat yourself’ kind of morning – and for you that meant cinnamon rolls and a giant cup of coffee.

The bakery on the street outside your apartment smelled like heaven. Your stomach rumbled in anticipation of your doughy indulgence as you pulled the door open with a pleasant tinkle of bells.

There were a few other people in line ahead of you, so with a nod and a smile to the owner, you joined the group waiting for their coffee or pastry fix.

You rifled through the small box filled with your recent acquisitions in search of your wallet, which had immediately drifted to the bottom as you stuffed your purchases inside, and your hand clutched around looking for the slim piece of leather.

Knick-knacks from Dell... Nope...

Necklaces... Nuh-uh.

Stone... No.

Ah HA! Success!  

You smirked in pride as you extricated the wallet from its crowded resting place and pulled your debit card loose.

A gentle but urgent tap on your shoulder brought you back to the moment.

“Um, excuse me; but your box is smoking...”

“What?!”

Sure enough, there was a small, but rapidly increasing stream of smoke coming from inside the cardboard walls.

“SHIT!”

Abandoning the line, you dashed into the nearby restroom, ready to splash the container with water – or just fully toss it into the toilet if it came to that.

Figures you’d end up buying one of those electronics that exploded. And the day had been going so well too...

Uncaring for the state of your items, you tossed the contents of your box onto the floor, scattering several under one of the stall doors.  

You frantically scanned the floor for the source of the smoke and followed its trail to one of the items that had slipped under the stall.  

Yelping in panic, you flung the door wide – you would not be responsible for burning down your favorite bakery!  

Any and all further thoughts were abruptly cut short as a loud BOOM sounded and you were flung against the far wall, hitting your head soundly on the hand-dryer.

The smoke billowing out of the stall began to drift over you as your vision began to fade in and out.

Why hadn't anyone else come to investigate?

Where was the fire-department?

Oh god, you didn’t want to die like this...

Another gust of explosive energy knocked you back once more, and the last thing you saw before the world went completely black was a sinuous, dark form seemingly clawing its way out of the floor.

... Shit.

--------------------------------------------------

The echo of a loud roar reverberated through the small room as your eyes blinked open.

Your head felt like it had been sandwiched under a steam roller.

Groaning, you gingerly began to pull yourself upright against the bathroom wall; but froze nearly immediately at the sight in front of you.

A very angry-looking, VERY naked man is crouched in front of you, looking at you like he’s trying to make you disintegrate with his eyes.

He lunged forward as you opened your mouth to scream, clamping a long-fingered hand across your face, wrapping the other around your wrists as you reached out to hit him.

“That would be very unwise.”

Vaguely you noted that the man's voice was extremely attractive; but since he was naked and nearly straddling you, you had other, more urgent, matters to think about.

He shifted and began to speak again, positioning himself directly over your knee, and with as much strength as you could muster, you drove your leg up into his junk.

The man yelped as if he hadn’t anticipated pain like that from your kick.

You squirmed your way out of his hold as he dropped his hands to hold his injured appendage and turned to land another kick directly under his jaw.

He made a noise like a wounded dog and grimaced as he curled in on himself, eyes coming up to rest on yours with a look in them like he wanted to pull you apart with his bare hands.

Not wasting a second, you turned and fled from the bathroom, racing past the counter and the line of patrons staring at you like YOU were the crazy one.

You yelled a vague “CALL THE POLICE” over your shoulder as you booked it down the street and around the corner to your apartment building.

The only thing that stopped you from flying into your home and hiding under the bed for the rest of the week was the bone-chilling realization that you’d left your  stuff back in the bathroom with the crazy naked guy. Phone, keys... wallet. Fuck, if this guy wanted to find you, he wouldn’t have any trouble doing so.

Your head hit your door with a loud ‘bang’, which you immediately regretted as your recent head-injury made itself known once more.

Whimpering, you shuffled across your hall and knocked gently on your neighbor's door.

Mrs. Sandowsky was probably well into her 80’s and blind as a bat – complete with inch-thick bifocal glasses; but you’d still trust her over any security company or guard dog; which is why you’d given her your spare key, just in case something like this happened.

She was irrefutably the floor busy-body; but that was as much of a boon as it was an annoyance, and you offered a warm smile to the woman as her blue-tinted perm poked its way past her triple-chained door.

“Oh, hello dear – did you lock yourself out?”

“Something like that Mrs. Sandowsky. Do you have my spare key handy?”

The old woman blinked up at you.

“Of course, dear; but you should be able to just knock. That man is waiting inside for you.”

You froze.

“The who, now?”

“That charming gentleman caller of yours. He held the door for me when I was coming back from the laundry room. Very handsome. He was carrying a box.”

Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit.

“.... Mrs. Sandowsky. I’m going into my apartment now... If I don’t come see you again in five minutes, please call the police...”

Mrs. Sandowsky’s eyes widened comically behind her glasses.

“Yes, of course, dear.”

“... And can I borrow one of your frying pans?”

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Questions like ‘how did this rando beat you to your apartment when you’d been running at a dead sprint’ and ‘why did the door guy let a naked man into the building’ were rattling around in your brain as you snuck into your apartment as quietly as possible – Mrs. Sandowsky’s wok held high like a bat above your head.

You left the door open in case you needed to make a speedy exit and began slowly stepping into the living room.  

“Oh, crazy dude... Come out, come out...”

You circled, keeping your back to the wall.

“I promise I won’t hit you if you don’t startle me...”

That seemed to go over as well as pregnant pole-vaulter, because the next thing you knew the door to your apartment slammed closed, revealing the tall man behind it.

You screeched in surprise and brandished your weapon.

Thankfully the man was no longer naked; but it looked like he’d mugged a homeless person to correct that situation, making his presence only slightly more tolerable.

He raised his hands in surrender and began slowly walking towards you.

“I believe we may have started off on the wrong foot.”

You made a quick swat with the pan.

“You think?! What the hell do you want with me?”

The question brought a sneer to the man's face, making his pretense at civility drop for a moment as he snarled.

“I want NOTHING to do with you, human!”

Shrinking back, you watched as the man took a deep breath, calming himself.

“You woke me.”

You blinked.

“I’m... sorry? I promise I won’t do it again?”

Now the crazy person was looking at you like you were an idiot. Great.

“Not in the physical sense. You woke me from the stone. Into your world.”

“Uh huh... Well, you can go back to sleep now.”

The man muttered something beneath his breath.

“Make a wish, human.”

You were tired, you were stressed, your morning had gone from lovely to terrifying in less than an hour; so you felt fully justified in bursting into tears and yelling “I WANT MY CINNAMON ROLL!!”

There was a disgusted sigh and a slight pop before the scent of cinnamon and baked dough filled the room.

Snotty, and still crying, your mouth dropped open at the sight of a perfectly made pastry appearing out of thin air before you.

Teary eyes met crystal blue as you looked up at the man standing in your living room.

“Now, let’s talk.”

[lpdwillwrite4coffee]

CHILDREN OF LILITH CHAPTER NINETEEN

Serena was going to kill him. Slowly and painfully. She might not even use her tools to rip out his insides- just her nails, new manicure be damned.

Every time she set out to finish her job, one of Nicholas’ pathetic packs of Newborns was right around the corner already fucking everything up. He was being careless; oblivious to anything other than his own scheming. Typical.

Striding out of the elevator, Serena blew past several human Familiars, none of whom were hers. She’d lost her desire for a pet a while ago, when-

She cut her own thoughts off with a short grunt at the back of her throat.

One of Nicholas’ many secretaries stepped out from behind her desk, moving towards her. “I’m sorry, Mr. Bradley is in with-”

“Does it look like I fucking care?” Serena snarled, fangs jutting against her bottom lip.

Stiletto heels grinding into the carpet, she proceeded to the end of the hall and threw open the door. “What the hell is wrong with you?” She shouted.

Then she noticed the other woman sitting across from Nicholas, sipping from a cup of tea and tossing her dark wavy hair over her shoulder. Her laughter faded at Serena’s entrance, but her warm eyes still danced with the joy from the moment she and Nicholas had been having.

She was beautiful- slender and olive skinned- and she held herself like she was aware and proud of her appearance. Serena immediately hated her.

“Who the hell is this?” Serena asked, motioning to her while glaring at Nicholas.

Leaning back in his seat, Nicholas smirked. “Which question would you like me to answer first? Wait, never mind, I don’t care.” He glanced over at the other woman and winked. “Serena, this is Caroline. She’s a Public Relations adviser for City Hall.”

“How exciting,” Serena deadpanned.

Nicholas continued through her interjection. “She’s also Alexander’s newest acquisition.”

Serena blinked. “What?”

Caroline smiled over the edge of her cup. “You act as if I’m a prize.”

“A woman as beautiful as you is a prize,” Nicholas said, grinning. “One a man like Alexander must have fought very hard to win.”

“He certainly put forth a considerable effort,” Caroline said, finishing her tea. “He even sent over flowers to my office this morning, just because.”

Serena folded her arms over her chest and sneered. “You might want to adjust your definition of ‘considerable effort’.”

Caroline’s lips twitched as she set her cup down on the low side table. “You really weren’t exaggerating, were you Nicholas?”

“And this isn’t even the worst of it,” he said, eyes flicking over to Serena.

Death was too easy for him. Serena was going to split him apart a thousand different ways but leave his heart safely behind his sternum, just so he could suffer in agony for the rest of eternity.

Serena took a step forward, ready to leap over the desk and begin dismembering him, when another voice joined them.

“Caroline?” Alexander stood in the doorway, a thick stack of papers in his hands. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to see you for lunch,” she answered with a knowing smile. “Nicholas found me wandering the halls and offered me a cup of tea while I waited for you to wrap up your meeting.”

“It was the least I could do,” Nicholas said, eyeing Alexander. His expression was polite but there was a cold edge in his gaze that made even Serena nervous.

Her Sire noticed it as well, given the sudden stiffness in his shoulders. “That was kind of you, Nicholas. Thank you.” There was no hint of gratitude in Alexander’s voice. Looking to Caroline, he said, “Have you finished your visit or should I leave you to entertain Nicholas some more?”

“No, we just finished.” Standing, she flashed a brilliant smile at Nicholas and said, “Thank you again. It was lovely to finally meet some of Alexander’s colleagues.”

“The pleasure was all mine,” Nicholas said. “Enjoy your lunch.”

Wrapping a protective arm around Caroline’s waist, Alexander lead her out of the office, but not before staring Nicholas down, irises flashing white.

When the two had disappeared down the corridor, Serena squared her shoulders and faced Nicholas. “What was that about?”

“I was intrigued by the girl,” he said, lounging casually in his chair. “And she smells like honey. I love honey.”

Serena rolled her eyes. “I was talking about the serious round of hate eye-fucking you and Alexander were giving each other. Poor Caroline must have felt left out with all that potent eroticism bouncing over her head.”

Chuckling darkly, Nicholas stood up. “Believe me, I won’t be the one getting fucked in this scenario.”

“What does that mean?”

“Aren’t you tired of following him blindly?” Nicholas asked, walking to his drink cart and reaching for a decanter of scotch.

“I don’t follow anyone blindly,” Serena snapped.

“Sure about that… kitten?”

Her snarling rippled through the air and Nicholas lifted an amused eyebrow.

“Whoops. I forgot only he calls you that.”

“Exactly.” She took a step forward. “So give me a reason not to cut your tongue out.”

“Because I’m looking out for both of us,” Nicholas said, turning with his drink in hand.

Serena frowned. “You’re not questioning anymore, you’ve already decided. You don’t trust him.”

“I don’t trust anyone. Not even myself,” he added with a smirk.

“Does this have anything to do with what you said yesterday?”

Slipping his hand into his pocket, Nicholas leaned back as he took a long pull from his glass. “Things aren’t adding up.”

“Care to explain further?” Serena asked.

“Whether or not it benefits our reputation, don’t you find it a bit reckless of our Sire to allow that girl to continue running through the city, just to be publicly ruined?” Nicholas finished the contents of his glass and turned to pour another. “Do you know what that book called her? ‘The Fire that Overtakes.’”

Serena scowled. “What does that mean?”

“It means she’s a lit cigarette ready to be tossed into a patch of dry grass,” he said. “And Alexander refuses to stamp her out before she causes real damage.”

Unease settled in Serena’s stomach. “What other reason could he have to keep her alive?”

Nicholas’ stare became distant as he absently swirled the liquor in his glass. “I haven’t figured that out yet.”

Agitation curled under his skin, causing him to fidget with the rolled sleeves of his button down. Swallowing his drink in one gulp, he slammed the tumbler down on the cart and started towards the door.

Watching him, Serena called, “If you think he has some kind of hidden agenda, then what purpose does Caroline serve?”

Nicholas paused, looking askance at her. “My guess? In two or three years, she’ll be your replacement.”

Unmoving and blind with dread, Serena stared into the space previously occupied by Nicholas until she couldn’t hear his footsteps any longer.

And then she growled.

* * *

“I don’t like this,” Nikki said, staring at her warped reflection in the stainless steel elevator doors.

Sliding a new magazine into his gun, Griffin cocked it before glancing at her. “What? That we’re crashing your doctor’s office or that we didn’t take the stairs?”

It wasn’t just the Underground’s patterns Nikki was discovering, she was discovering the patterns of the people too. And with Griffin, his use of sarcasm was directly proportionate to how tense he was.

Well fine, if he was going to be that way...

“Actually I was talking about how much I don’t like the carpet they put in,” she said, motioning to the floor. “Too much paisley, don’t you think?”

Griffin huffed out a laugh and she narrowed her eyes on the distracting tug at the corner of his mouth.

“I meant this.” She said. “All of this. Going in there, armed to the teeth-”

“I only brought my guns and four knives. I hardly see how that’s ‘armed to the teeth’.”

“He’s a fifty-something neurologist from New Hampshire.”

“Who’s also a Vampire’s Familiar,” Griffin added, lifting an eyebrow at her.

“He’s human.”

“Humans are dangerous too.”

Nikki’s stare was drawn down to the visible edge of his holster strap, like it was emphasizing his point for him.

“Let’s just try not to scare the guy too much okay? It might give him a heart attack.” She turned away with a sigh.

“Fifty’s kinda young for a heart attack,” Griffin muttered, glancing at the LED screen above the door.

Making an aggravated noise at the back of her throat, she started to retort back when she saw his smug grin and the fine wrinkles at the corner of his eye, and lost her words.

That bastard.

Nikki groaned and rolled her eyes, facing forward again. She would not smile back. She would not indulge his impish behavior.

Except that was definitely a grin she saw in her reflection.

Damn it.

The elevator doors separated with a ding and the warm, flirtatious tendrils surrounding them evaporated as they both remembered why they were there to begin with.

“Which way?” Griffin asked, stepping into the lobby.

“Left,” she said, following at his side.

A nurse at reception saw them both and nodded in greeting. “Hi there, how may I-?”

Griffin didn’t break his stride as he spoke. “Doctor Oliver. Where is he?”

“He’s with a patient right now.”

“Where?”

Panic widened the woman’s eyes as she reached for the desk phone. “Sir, you’ll have to wait-”

“Fine, we’ll find him ourselves,” Griffin said as they passed her.

Moving down the corridor, they both started pushing open exam room doors, ignoring the shouts from the nurses behind them. At the end of the hall at the left Nikki spotted the room she was most familiar with- Doctor Oliver’s private office. He had brought her in there after their first appointment to discuss her eligibility for the medical trial he was conducting. At the time the room had felt comforting, but now it reminded her of a steel trap. Jogging ahead, she threw open the door and rushed inside.

Doctor Oliver sat across from a young woman no older than Nikki, with a thin medical file in his hands and wire rimmed bifocals pushed to the tip of his nose. The woman gasped, glancing between Nikki and Griffin and then back at the doctor.

“Miss Anderson,” Doctor Oliver said with wry smile. “I’m sorry, but as you can see I’m with a patient, so if you’ll just wait-”

“Sorry doctor, but I’m not exactly in an accommodating mood,” she cut him off. Looking to the other woman, Nikki jerked her head towards the door. “You should leave.” When she didn’t move Nikki added, “Trust me. You don’t want this guy anywhere near your brain.”

At that, the woman gathered her purse and hurried past them, knocking into the nurse that was entering.

“I’m so sorry doctor, I told them to wait. I’ll call security-”

“No Linda, that’s alright,” Doctor Oliver said, removing his glasses and standing up. “I have business to discuss with Miss Anderson. Shut the door, will you?”

Confusion furrowed the nurse’s brow, but after a moment she did as she was asked and left the three alone in his office.

“So I take it you were expecting us?” Nikki asked.

“Somewhat,” Doctor Oliver said, edging around his desk. “I anticipated some sort of confrontation, but I hadn’t thought you’d bring your own attack dog.” He motioned towards Griffin, who only smirked menacingly.

Nikki leveled her stare on the man. “Well when you find out your physician is working with a Vampire, it’s a good idea to bring backup.”

Doctor Oliver regarded her with interest. “So, you’ve been made aware of the Underground.”

“I’ve been made aware of a lot of things,” she said, stepping forward. “Like how you’ve been peddling a drug made by Nicholas Bradley’s company while simultaneously being Alexander Rex’s bitch. Both of whom are Vampires, and one an Alpha.”

“Only one?” Doctor Oliver quirked an eyebrow at her, unfazed by her accusations. “Hmm. You might want to reconsider your source.”

Nikki’s throat went dry as she stared back at the man. “Both Bradley and Rex are Alphas?”

“That’s not possible,” Griffin said. “Each territory only has one Alpha.”

Doctor Oliver lifted his dark eyes to Griffin’s. “According to the old Codes. But those aren’t in existence anymore.”

“Says who?”

To Nikki, the gentle doctor had always had an air of benevolence surrounding him, making it even easier to trust him with her health and well-being. But in that moment, as a slow grin cracked his aging face apart, she saw the twisted malignancy hiding under his surface all this time.

“My Master, of course,” Doctor Oliver said, looking back to Nikki.

“You mean Rex.”

Licking his lips, Doctor Oliver said, “Your corpse will be the foundation of his empire.”

“Why?” Nikki snapped. “Why does he give a damn about me?”

The old man studied her a moment. “You already know.”

“Because I’m a Hunter? That’s why he poisoned me?”

“Poison?” Doctor Oliver frowned. “You weren’t poisoned. You were tested.”

Fear settled under Nikki’s skin like frostbite. “Tested for what?”

“To see if you were from the right bloodline.”

Griffin moved forward, crowding into the man’s space. “How about you start giving us the full story, before I really get impatient.”

“We had to be certain you were who my Master believed you to be,” Doctor Oliver started, looking at Nikki. “The rarest breed of Blooded Hunter… A Luminari.”

“A what?”

“The fire that overtakes,” Doctor Oliver continued. “Your kind present a very difficult obstacle if not dealt with immediately. Which is why we needed to find you as quickly as possible.”

She scowled at him. “By giving me fake migraine medicine?”

“’Fake’ isn’t exactly an accurate descriptor,” he said. “More like amplified.”

Griffin glared down at the doctor. “Meaning?”

“The pills Nikki took were about a hundred times the strength of a normal dose of Vicodin,” Doctor Oliver explained. “For the hundreds of others that took them, it was strong enough to kill them. But for Nikki, it was like taking a fast acting aspirin.”

Nikki’s face distorted in horror. “You murdered hundreds of people, just to see if they were a Hunter- a Luminari, like me?”

“We did it in search of you,” he clarified. “And we’ve been looking for a very long time.”

“But why?” She shouted, rushing forward. “What does being a Luminari have to do with your boss or his fucking empire?”

In a burst of manic energy, the doctor came at her, thrusting her against the wall and sending several framed pictures clattering to the floor. “Because you’re the only one that would be able to stop him and any other Vampires that got in your way! So we had to stop you first! We had to snuff you out before your fire engulfed us all!”

The tip of a silver blade appeared at the doctor’s neck and Nikki’s stare flashed up to see Griffin’s fist tightening around the handle.

Voice low and lethal, Griffin said, “How about you take a step back, before I snuff you out.”

Releasing Nikki, the doctor moved away with several halting paces, keeping his hands up in surrender.

“You don’t understand,” he said as he backed up against his desk. “I did what I had to.”

“You purposefully killed hundreds, maybe thousands, of people because your Master told you to,” Griffin said with disgust. “You’re nothing but a well-trained sheep.”

“It’s better to be a shepherd’s livestock than a wild beast caught in his snare,” Doctor Oliver replied, eerily calm.

“The only beast I see is you,” Griffin bit out. Turning, he went to Nikki and wrapped his hand around her arm. “C’mon,” he murmured, trying to lead her to the door. “He’s not gonna give us anything on Rex.”

“Wait,” she said, pulling away briefly and facing the doctor. “So who really wants me dead? Bradley or Rex?”

Doctor Oliver was quiet for a beat before he said, “Every Vampire in this city wants to watch you be drawn and quartered so they can suck the marrow from your bones.”

Nausea washed through her as she gaped. “Go to hell,” she spat.

“He’ll ruin you, like he’s ruined others,” he continued. “He’ll never stop. There’s no hope for you Nikki. You’ll burn, by his hand or yours, it doesn’t matter- You’ll turn to ash no matter what.”

“Enough,” Griffin shouted, wrenching open the door. As he did a scream echoed down the hall, only to be cut off by a wet tearing noise.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” a female voice called out, taunting them.

Griffin and Nikki both stepped out of the office, staring down the long corridor. Blocking the main exit was a pack of ten- no make that twelve- Vampires, with the same black haired female from earlier at the head of the group. She held Linda’s lifeless body by the front of her pink scrubs, blood still gushing from her ravaged throat. Dropping the nurse, the female prowled forward, licking her fingers clean.

“So it is you,” she said, eyeing Griffin with a fanged smile. “Griffin O’Connor. We all thought you were dead. It was in the papers and everything.”

“Is this the part where I tell you not to believe everything you read?” He said, a mocking edge creeping into his words.

The female ignored him and flicked her blanched eyes to Nikki, adding, “And there’s your girlfriend. The Hunter bitch everyone’s been talking about.”

“Careful.” Nikki warned. “Bitches in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones.”

“Cute.” The female smirked. “But you should probably start running now.”

As she spoke the Vampires behind her crouched down, readying themselves to launch forward at a deadly sprint. With a lion’s growl, the female snapped her jaws, and in a blur of motion the whole pack funneled down the hall towards them.

Gripping her hand tight, Griffin started running and pulled Nikki with him, through the side corridor and to the right. A red exit sign caught his attention and he aimed their trajectory, barreling past the metal door and down several flights of stairs.

“Griffin, something’s wrong,” Nikki gasped behind him.

“What?”

“I can’t… I’m trying to run faster, like I did before but-”

“Shh, it’s okay,” he cut her off, afraid of any inhuman ears catching on. “C’mon.” He slowed at the eighth floor entrance and led her into the hallway.

The entire floor was under construction, probably Rex’s doing after he bought the building, with the overpowering smell of fresh paint and drywall clinging inside Griffin’s throat. Tarps were thrown over new furniture and cubicles and equipment had been left out near unfinished projects. Griffin scanned the area but from what he could see, the floor was empty of workers.

The room was quiet. The dogs, however, were howling at the encroaching Newborns. They had broken up their stampede and taken to the ceiling, stalking closer.

Brittle tile crumbled under a hard footfall and a heavily muscled male leapt down, hissing through elongated fangs. Two more followed suit, landing in lithe crouches behind the first.

Griffin’s gun was in his hand before he blinked. Three bullets found their marks and each body thudded to the concrete floor, dust swirling out from where they fell.

Wrapping his hand around Nikki’s, he quickened to a sprint, hauling her with him. She had been right- Nikki’s speed wasn’t a fraction of what it had been the day before or even that morning. Her limbs faltered and she stumbled several times, only staying upright because he caught her.

“Griffin,” she panted with fear behind her eyes.

“It’s alright, I’ve got you,” he told her as they jogged down another flight of stairs.

Zigzagging their path would hopefully slow down the ones following them, and fade their scent trail enough to confuse the others that had split off from the pack.

Hopefully.

They bolted into another empty floor of half completed offices under construction and he made sure they got close enough to the cans of paint and primer to mask their smell.

“Oh no,” Nikki whispered, fingernails pinching into the back of his hand as she squeezed him tight.

“What?” He slowed momentarily, staring down at her.

At first he didn’t understand where the red drops on the concrete came from. The office walls were obviously being painted a dull white, so there would be no need for scarlet paint…

And then he saw Nikki’s other hand. Her fingers were smudged with an even deeper shade of red, the kind that twisted a huge knot in his stomach. It was the same color he’d been helpless to watch pool around his own abdomen, as he bled out on the floor of a burning night club.

Cursing under his breath, he pulled her to a halt and snagged a relatively clean rag off a work bench nearby.

“Here,” he said, pressing it under her nose.

“I’m okay,” she whispered. “It only just started.” She looked around at the floor and rushed to a collection of painting materials. Popping the lid off a can of paint thinner, she dumped it over, covering the thin trail of blood she’d left behind.

“Okay, let’s go,” she said, taking Griffin’s hand again as she started to run.

“Nik-” He planted his feet, the soles of his boots squeaking on the slick floor. “You have to go.”

Wiping away the last smear of blood from her nose, Nikki stared up at him. “Yeah, I know we need to go, c’mon.”

Griffin’s hand, the one still firmly locked in her grasp, started to tremble. Painful realization clutched his insides, constricting until he couldn’t breathe.

He shook his head, swallowing hard. “Not us. You.”

A frown etched deeply between her brows. “What?”

“You have to run,” he said, pulling free of her and digging into his pocket.

“Griffin? What are you-?”

“Here.” He pressed keys into her palm and folded her fingers over them. “Take the van and drive as fast as you can back to the house.”

Nikki blinked. “No.”

“I’ll find my own way back.”

“No, Griffin.” She stared up at him, bright eyes wide with disbelief.

“I’ve gotta give you a fighting chance,” he said, leaning in and locking his gaze on hers. “I can hold them off long enough for you to make it outside, but you have to hurry.”

“No.” She shook her head, trying to hand him back his keys. “Griffin, I’m not leaving you.”

“I’ll be fine.” It was a lie.

Blue irises flashed gold as she grabbed his arm. “No,” she shouted.

Cupping his hand around the back of her head, tangling his fingers in her hair, he held her so their faces were inches apart. His voice dropped to a firm whisper. “Listen to me. Nikki, I have to keep you safe. That’s all that matters now.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You heard what Doctor Oliver said. You’re important- more important than we ever thought.” Griffin’s throat tightened, straining his words. “I have to keep you alive. You have to come out on the other side of this Nikki, and this is how.”

Angry tears stung her eyes. He wasn’t giving orders for an escape plot. He was trying to say goodbye.

“No, Griffin.” She fought to shake her head again, but his grip was too strong. “There’s too many of them. I’m not just gonna abandon you here.”

He paused, only for the span of two heart beats, memorizing the details of her face…The brilliant color of her Hunter eyes.

Then the dogs started to snarl a warning.

“Yes you are.”

It was a stunning flurry of movement Nikki couldn’t process.

His hold on her still firm, Griffin swept her towards the door and shoved her through, releasing her into the stairwell. He slammed the door in a deafening clang and twisted the dead bolt, locking her out.

Nikki’s horrified gasp echoed off the cinderblock walls around her. Breaking out of her shocked stillness, she leapt at the door, pulling violently at the handle but to no avail.

Bruised fingertips slid down the gray metal. “No,” she breathed, staring at the thin sliver of light at the frame.

“Run, Nikki,” Griffin shouted through the door.

Jagged keys bit into the flesh of her palm. Shoes dragged in uneven steps, backing her away from the door.

A fist pounded against the steel, and Griffin bellowed, “Run!”

Demonic growling filled the air around her and Nikki did as Griffin told her.

She left him behind.

* * *

There were few moments when Amsterdam wished the modern world was aware of the existence of Vampires, but he found himself having that desire now. It would mean they would have invented a phone casing capable of being chucked across the room and not obliterated by his inhuman strength. Unfortunately, cell phones were too much of a pain to replace every other day, so his stayed intact in his grasp.

There was a tiny new crack in the screen though. Perhaps he wasn’t as good at controlling himself as he thought.

Tapping the keypad as gently as he could, he redialed Griffin’s number for the fourth time and waited for the inevitable.

“You’ve reached Griffin O’Connor. I’m unable to come to the phone right now, so please leave a message and I’ll get back-”

John ended the call and exhaled through his nose, jaw clenching.

This wasn’t the kind of news to be left on an automated voicemail service, and it was certainly too urgent to wait much longer. He dialed again.

“For God’s sake,” he growled, swiping his thumb over the end call button.

As a last stitch effort, he scrolled through his contact list, scanning the names. He was almost certain Griffin had given him the number in case of an emergency…

Double tapping the icon, he pressed the phone to his ear and waited.

“You’ve released Boz the computer genie, what are your three wishes?”

“Ah…” John drew his brows down in confusion. “Boz Cavaletti?”

“Speaking.”

“This is John Amsterdam.”

“Oh, yeah, hey John! How’s it going man?” He crunched down on a mouthful of what sounded like popcorn and smacked his lips. John struggled not to be horrified by his manners.

“I was trying to get in touch with Griffin,” John said, pacing in front of his windows.

“Oh, sorry I’m not with him. I’m out dealing with something in Queens,” Boz said. There was a moment of tense silence before he continued. “Wait, is Griff not answering his phone?”

“I’ve called several times, but I only got his voicemail. Is he with Lisa?”

John could hear the creak of a desk chair and fingers typing over a keyboard. “No, she’s out on patrol.”

“And Nikki?” John glanced over the nearby rooftops at the small collection of rainclouds in the distance.

“She’s still with Griffin,” Boz answered, still typing.

A pit of cement took form in John’s stomach. “Oh.”

“Do me a favor and put me on hold while you call him again, ‘kay?” Boz asked and John could hear the sequence of keys being hit. It had the cadence of someone typing in a specific password.

“Of course, just a moment,” John said. Touching another icon on the screen he brought up the call log and hit redial. Ring… Ring… Ring…

He switched to the other line. “It’s still his voicemail.”

“That’s okay, I traced the signal,” Boz told him. “I gotta go. Thanks John.”

“Yes, but-”

The line cut out and John was left staring at his phone.

With yet another crack in the screen.

* * *

Breathing wasn’t easy.

The act of it was. Cyclical patterns of inhaling and exhaling that continued without conscious effort- that was easy. But once the brain and body disagreed, things became difficult.

Breathing when every nerve ending rejected its simplicity and lungs begged to let loose in a torrent of screams or sobs or both, was another matter.

Nikki stood with her hand tightening compulsively on the door handle, gulping down air and forcing it out. He told her to do it. He had told her to leave. Thrown her into the stairwell and ordered her to run.

She could hear the noise from the city outside, just on the other side of the gray metal expanse in front of her. Pressing her forehead to the door jam, she listened to the passing cars and pedestrians. The van was parked only a block away. She could make it there safely in less than two minutes.

Except… she couldn’t. She couldn’t run.

“Goddamn it,” she snapped, releasing the knob and spinning the opposite direction.

Her speed wasn’t anything to be envious of, but at least her legs felt steadier than moments earlier. She climbed each flight taking two steps at a time, using the banister to pull herself along. Nikki stopped when she reached the floor Griffin had last been on, and tested the door handle. It was still locked.

Silence. She held her breath, hoping to hear some faint noise of life, but…

He’s fine. He’s going to be fine. He ran… lead them away from her….

Stamping down the panic, Nikki started running again, up two more floors to where Doctor Oliver’s office was located. If the pack was chasing Griffin she doubted they’d loop back to where they’d started. Racing as quietly as she could down the corridor, she glanced into each examination room in case anyone was lingering, but the whole floor had cleared out.

She rounded the corner, heart dropping at the sight of nurse Linda’s corpse angled grotesquely between the reception desk and the wall. Nikki looked around again before ducking into Doctor Oliver’s office and heading for the desk.

She’d thought the doctor would’ve had a letter opener or a tool kit hidden in a drawer somewhere- any sharp object she could use to defend herself. But all she found were loose paper clips and the occasional staple. Not exactly Vampire resistant.

Finally, under a stack of printer paper, she found a box cutter with a retractable blade.

“That’s stealing you know.”

Nikki jerked her head up as Doctor Oliver moved further into the room… with a revolver gripped at his side.

“It wasn’t supposed to happen this way,” the doctor continued, with eyes wide. “I wasn’t prepared.”

Nikki could only stare at the older man. She wanted to ask what he meant, but the glinting lethal promise he clutched in his hand kept her silent.

“My Master warned me,” Doctor Oliver said. “He told me to push you, to jab at you like a rancher does to cattle, herding them along.” A manic grin split his face and he chuckled darkly. “But instead I opened the gate and let you run wild.”

“What do you mean?” Nikki asked, in spite of her fear.

“I betrayed the cause,” Doctor Oliver answered. “Your legend was meant to end in bloodshed. But now you know too much. You were never meant to know!”

Nikki locked her stare on the muzzle of the gun, now aimed squarely at her chest.

She felt utterly small in that moment. A speck cast into the void. At the mercy of every imaginable influence. And everything went still.

“You don’t have to do this.” The words were firm as they passed over her lips. “Rex doesn’t own you. He can’t make you do anything. You still have a choice.”

The doctor laughed and the sound fell around her like glass shards. “I am bound by loyalty.”

“It seems to me a man that cruel isn’t deserving of your loyalty.”

“Watch it,” Doctor Oliver shouted, taking a step forward. “You don’t speak of my Master that way. He has done everything necessary to bring about a new empire. Nothing great was ever constructed without bone dust.”

“And this empire of his,” she started. “It’s my bone dust that will help make it?”

“The extinguishing of your flame will forge his steel.”

Nikki’s jaw tensed. More riddles, she thought.

“So, I’m special. I get that,” she said, taking half a step to the left. “But is killing me really worth all destruction he’s already caused? I’m just one woman.”

“You’re more than that,” the doctor blurted. “You’re a Luminari. The rarest of embers made to spark a war.”

Nikki frowned, his words taking root in her core. The familiarity was as if he was reciting a poem she’d heard before, but had since forgotten.

Doctor Oliver advanced another pace, adjusting his grip on the revolver. “But my Master will prevail. He always has.” His dark gaze held hers for a moment before he said, “I can see it… your fear of what’s coiled up inside you. It’s already started to work against you.” His eyes flicked to the red stain on her hand. “You’re already losing the battle.”

Nikki clenched her fist against her thigh. The shadows edging his words were filled with a mangled truth she wanted to understand, but knew she’d never be able to.

The smile that curved across Doctor Oliver’s face was one of bitter acceptance.

“At least my death will be quick,” he said, just before he jammed the muzzle under his chin and pulled the trigger.

The doctor’s body arched backwards, a spray of red and gray erupting along the wall behind him, just before he crumpled to the floor. Bone chips scattered throughout the river of blood pouring from the top of his head, adding a sickening topography to the white carpet.

Clamping her hands over her mouth, Nikki cut off her scream, but that didn’t stop the broken groans slipping between her fingers. She closed her eyes, but those few seconds replayed over and over until she was certain she would be sick.

Breathe… she needed to breathe.

And she had to focus.

She needed to find Griffin.

With shaking legs, Nikki skirted around the doctor’s body and ran from the room, box cutter in hand. She sprinted to the other end of the hall and took a left towards the second flight of emergency stairs and down three floors to a vacant hall that had just finished with construction.

She heard him before she saw him.

Halfway down the corridor, around the corner in the open cubicle space- That’s where she heard the chaotic sounds that made her heart fall into her gut.

Keeping herself close to the wall, she glanced around the corner at the ongoing brawl. Griffin was surrounded by eight Newborns, all of whom were taking their turns to attack in short bursts, wearing him down. He was holding his own, but Nikki could tell he was exhausting himself. Not to mention the injuries he’d already sustained. His lip was bloodied, and bruises were forming along his jaw and cheek.

The female in red plaid with ink black hair pounced on Griffin, delivering multiple expert blows that ended with a nauseating pop of his left shoulder. Griffin shouted in pain and folded in on himself so severely Nikki thought he’d fall to the floor. But then he was upright and slicing at anything near him with his blade, cutting into two males.

It still wasn’t enough. Griffin wouldn’t last much longer on his own.

I’ve seen Newborns rip each other apart over a drop of fresh blood…

They were his words, said only as an example of Vampire cruelty.

Nikki really hoped it wasn’t an exaggeration.

Staring down at the box cutter in her grip, she inhaled and leaned back against the wall. With the pad of her thumb she slid the blade up through the handle and laid its edge against her left palm. Searing pain burned along her hand, followed by a thin red line that welled over onto the floor.

Taking one last fortifying breath, Nikki stepped out of her hiding spot into the middle of the hallway.

“Hey,” she shouted, catching the attention of several Vampires. They lifted their heads, scenting the air and growling.

Holding up her wounded hand, she called out, “You want some?”, blood trickling down her wrist.

A group of four swiveled around, watching each other as they prowled closer.

“Yeah, that’s it,” Nikki coaxed. “Come and get it.”

A behemoth of a male, with broad shoulders and thick neck, took the first step out of formation and two females turned on him. One with blonde curls and the other a short brown bob, leapt onto his back and sank their fangs into sinewy muscle. The brunette ripped a hunk of flesh out of his shoulder, spitting it on the ground while the blonde had her fingers jammed into his eye sockets, plucking the gooey membranes from their cavities. He wailed in agony as he fell to knees, blood streaming down his face.

A leaner male with long dark hair took the opportunity to run at Nikki, only to have the brunette female give up the other male’s shoulder she was gnawing on to go after him. She swung at him, tackling him to the ground, but he flipped her and punched his fists through her ribcage like it was made of tooth picks. Twisting, he pulled out a mass of arteries and fibrous muscle tissue and crushed it in his hand. The female turned to ash underneath his boot as he stood.

Nikki could barely hear Griffin shouting at her over her pulse drumming in her ears. She clenched her fist and blood seeped through her knuckles. She just needed to give Griffin time…

Hair like the wings of a crow spread out across the male’s shoulders, his white eyes locked on her throat as he stalked closer.

Three… Two…

“Come on,” Nikki shouted before spinning on her heel and bolting down the corridor.

Blood splattered the floor, leaving a trail as she ran. Heavy foot falls were gaining on her at a pace that made her sick with panic. Her legs ached and her joints burned as she hung a right down a perpendicular hallway. She wasn’t going to be able to outrun him. She could already feel weakness taking hold, weighing her down.

Going left, she expected another long corridor but pulled up short in a dead end supply closet. Several meters away she heard his low icy chuckle. She was trapped, and the male knew it too.

A fire extinguisher hung in its case by the closet door, and she wrenched it free. Bloodied fingers yanked out the pin and gripped the nozzle, ready to squeeze the handle.

Nikki held her breath, watching the top of his shadow sweep across the wall and around the corner. Rushing forward, she aimed the hose, releasing a cloud of nitrogen gas directly into the male’s eyes. He cried out, covering his face with his hands, stumbling back.

Using both hands, Nikki swung the extinguisher like a baseball bat. The dense cylinder made contact with his chin, toppling him over with a satisfying crack. Dropping the extinguisher, she started to run, but he caught her by the ankle and dragged her to the floor.

Nikki screamed, digging her nails into the carpet as he hauled her back. She was flipped in an instant and he was over top of her, grabbing her legs and kneeing them apart. Throwing her elbow into his throat she was able to wriggle away, enough to rear back and kick him in the chest. She kicked again and rolled onto her stomach, crawling towards her box cutter. Just as her fingertips brushed the handle, he caught her by her calf and she felt his fangs shred the hem of her pants leg.

Fevered heat blasted through Nikki, and in a powerful thrust her heel found the underside of his jaw, bone cracking like ice. He roared and lunged forward, grabbing her arm. Contorting out of his grasp, she sliced the blade through the corded muscle of his bicep before angling upwards and stabbing him in the left eye. Kneeing him in the ribs, she leveraged his weight off of her and pinned him to the floor. She brought the box cutter down again, this time severing the main arteries in his neck and cutting through his vocal cords. Pulling the blade free, she stumbled away, tripping over his torso as she tried to regain her footing and make a run for it.

Someone caught her by the elbow, pulling her into the doorway of one of the offices, shoving her back. Her head swam and she slid to the floor, leaning against the doorframe. Long brown hair tied back in a ponytail billowed out as the woman disappeared around the other side of the wall.

Woman?

Two rapid gunshots fired, then a pause, followed by two more.

And finally, silence.

Nikki tried to get to her feet when Lisa appeared in the doorway, slipping her Glock back into its holster. Crouching down, she extended her hand to Nikki.

“You okay?”

Nikki was vaguely aware she was nodding. “I…”

“What happened?” Lisa asked, inspecting her wounded hand.

Hearing two other sets of footsteps, Nikki turned as Griffin and another woman rounded the corner.

The newcomer regarded Nikki with bright hazel eyes set against tan skin and thick black hair. She stared at her with curiosity and Nikki felt an eerie familiarity. This woman was looking at her just as Griffin had that first day in the coffee shop.

At the thought, Nikki glanced to Griffin, who hung back a few paces. Bloodied and exhausted, he cradled his left arm to his abdomen and stood favoring the same side. He wouldn’t look her in the eye. He simply stared into space several inches to her right, a muscle in his jaw working overtime.

“Nikki?” Lisa tilted her head. “What happened?”

Her voice as hollow as she felt, Nikki said, “I cut myself.”

[chiseler]

What the Cat Dragged In, and Other Tales of the Supernatural

One minute Marie was stumbling out of Bob’s Bowery Bar with her husband Jerry after celebrating her birthday with the two-for-one hot dogs special and lashings of Tokay wine for Marie and bock beer for Jerry, and then the lights went out and when they came on again she was standing at the bottom of the hill looking up at God’s big house at the top of the hill. “Great,” she said to herself. 
 Well, it had to happen sooner or later, so there was nothing to do but walk up that hill and face the music. It took her about five minutes to work her way up that winding stone path, so she had a little time to gather her thoughts and prepare her defense. This wasn’t the first time she’d been hauled up, although it looked like it was about to be the last time. There was St. Peter himself on the porch, wearing a colorless old canvas jacket and dozing in an armchair in front of a little table with a big leather book like a ledger on it. “Hey, wake up, pal,” she said. “You got business.” The old guy started awake. “Oh, sorry.” He looked at her, and then opened up his big book. “Name, please.” “Marie McCarthy. Mrs.” St. Peter turned the pages, looking through his bifocals, running his finger along the entries. “Ah, yes. Marie McCarthy. Mrs.” “That’s what I said, chief.”

 Apparently he found the entry. “Oh, boy,” he said. “I’ve been expecting you.” “Fabulous,” said Marie. “So do I get in?” “Do you get in? Mrs. McCarthy, you paid a man to kill your husband.” “Oh, come on, daddy-o. I didn’t mean nothing. That little guy I met at Bob’s?” Peter consulted his book. “Billy Baskins.” “Him,” said Marie. “Whatever his name is. I got my load on with Tokay, I start talking to this little guy, he tells me he’s a professional international assassin. So for a joke I ask him how much to bump off my husband, and the twerp says fifty bucks, and then I jew him down to a double sawbuck.” “You do realize I’m Jewish, do you not?” “Oh, sorry, man, I meant to say I negotiated him down to a double sawbuck, no offense.” “So you hired a stranger to murder your husband for twenty dollars.” “I promised him another thirty when I got my insurance payment, so that would have brought it up to fifty.” “You hired a man to kill your husband for fifty dollars.” “It was a joke, man, and it was the Tokay talking.” “Maybe to you it was a joke, but not to this Billy Baskins. He killed your husband with a brick to the head.” “He did? How come I’m only hearing about it now?” “Because about thirty seconds prior to bashing your husband’s head in he bashed you on the skull with the same brick, and you’ve been in a coma until you passed away a few minutes ago.” “Wait. What the hell did this idiot bash my skull for?” “Gee, I don’t know, because he’s an idiot, and he was drunk, and he fell asleep in an alleyway until he heard you two coming, and then he lurched out of the alleyway with the brick and he hit you by mistake? Then, realizing his mistake, he went ahead and bashed in your husband’s skull?” “Oh, so I’m at fault because this Billy Baskins is a moron? Listen, buster, I am not taking the rap for this one. And anyway, even if I had meant for this retard to really bump off Jerry, maybe Jerry deserved it, because all that guy ever did was get drunk, and when he got really drunk he’d slap me around, and when I threatened to leave him he said he’d break a beer bottle in my mug first so’s nobody’d want me no more. So, yeah, I ain’t saying I’m responsible for getting Jerry bumped, but maybe he deserved getting bumped. Look at my face. What kind of a man would threaten to break a beer bottle in this puss? Answer me that, St. Peter.” St. Peter looked at her prematurely worn and haggard face, and all the sad stories of a sad lifetime it told, and he heaved a great sigh. 

He closed the book, took out a pipe, and began filling it from a leather pouch. Marie waited. She had said her piece. She had put up with ten years of marriage to Jerry McCarthy, she figured she could take anything this ham-and-egger could dish out, and more, if she had to. St. Peter lighted up his pipe with a kitchen match, took a few puffs, and then finally he spoke, without looking at her. The docent led Marie through a great entrance hall, then through several long corridors and large empty rooms, and finally he opened a door to a barroom not unlike Bob’s Bowery Bar. It was crowded, and smoky, just the way Marie liked a bar to be. “Grab a seat anywhere, table or bar, and a server will be right with you.” Marie had always been a sit-at-the-bar kind of gal, so she headed for the one empty stool she saw, climbed up on it, put her purse on the bar and took out her cigarettes. “Well, look what the cat dragged in,” said Jerry, sitting there to her left. It looked like he was drinking his usual, bock beer. The bartender came over, and Marie ordered a Tokay wine. by Horace P. Sternwall (also known as Dan Leo)

a Perma Book “paperback original”, 1954; out of print.

[thatbluegibson]

CH 102

Liz flopped into the plastic seat next to Dave and held up their line ticket, making him snort a laugh. "You waited for that number," he accused.

"I let four people go ahead of us," she grinned. "Further proof that no one should ever let people like us sign legal documents unsupervised."

Dave put his arm around her shoulders and she leaned her head against him, closing her eyes against the harsh fluorescent lighting while an Oasis song played faintly around them and the other people waiting in the county clerk's office. They sat in silence for a while when Liz abruptly rammed her elbow into Dave's ribs.

"Ow! Goddamnit, Liz!"

"I just remembered you almost killed me on the bike yesterday," she said casually.

Dave rubbed at his sore side and glared at her. "That was the only way I could get you to pull over," he protested. "And I wouldn't have done it if I didn't think you're an excellent rider, I knew you'd stay on the shiny side."

She looked at him for a beat before opening her mouth to reply, but a window opened up and their number was called.

"Sixty-nine!"

"Worth it!" Liz giggled and hopped up.

She held Dave's hand as they walked to the window and smiled kindly at the small woman behind the glass partition. She looked a little like Anne Ramsey, which made Liz homesick for Oregon and her worn Goonies DVD, and wore a name tag announcing her name was Bernadette.

"Hi, Bernadette-," Liz started, but the woman roughly interrupted her by speaking into the metal microphone attached to her desk, suspiciously eyeing her and Dave's joined hands.

"It's Bernie. Annulment or divorce?" her voice wafted through the glass as well as projected through a small speaker to their left, giving her a strange delay effect.

"Uh... Annulment, please."

"Reason?"

"Icelandic moonshine?" Liz shrugged and Dave looked down at his shoes to avoid laughing while Bernie glared over her bifocals at him.

"Lack of understanding to consent," she said firmly, sucking all the levity out of their immediate area and reaching for a stack of papers beside her.

"Whoa, wait," Liz dropped Dave's hand and put her face close to the small holes drilled into the glass so Bernie could hear her clearly. It didn't matter what the phrase 'lack of understanding to consent' meant in reality, Liz knew that it once the legal notifications hit the media the word consent would be twisted so far beyond its original meaning that Dave would ultimately end up branded as a predator. It would hit the tabloids the very second it became public record, which could be in a month, in a day or in a couple hours depending on how well oiled the Vegas annulment machine was, and their age difference would be front and center, making a complete mockery of their relationship. They didn't have time to get back to LA to prep statements, contact managers, assemble lawyers... there just wasn't time.

Bernie sighed deeply, "Look, if you're drunk, you can't consent. Legally, the place shouldn't have married you in the first place."

"What are the other options? Are there other options?" Liz felt herself getting desperate. The minor inconvenience of walking three blocks off the Vegas Strip to get an annulment was fine, dealing with the media once they announced that her and Dave had a drunken 'fake' Vegas wedding was okay, but she wasn't sure he could recover the 'Nicest Guy in Rock' status if it seemed he coerced his much younger girlfriend into marriage and she wasn't about to be the cause of that.

"Is this Thomas Jacob Black person ordained with the state of Nevada?"

Liz looked back hopefully at Dave, who just nodded at her with an apologetic smile.

"Then all you've got-," Bernie slammed her elbow on the desk and held up her fingers, ticking them off as she spoke, "Lack of understanding to consent; also known as the inability to monitor your own alcohol intake; underage, fraud, insanity, previous marriage-"

"That! We have those!" Liz glanced back at Dave again.

Bernie sat back in her government-issued ergonomic chair, "If you aren't already divorced, that would be bigamy and you'd both be arrested."

"No... no, no," Liz laughed nervously as her eyes darted to the bored looking state security guard in the corner. "Just a couple of previous divorcees looking for an annulment. Can we translate drunken stupor to insanity?"

"Is he impotent?" Bernie dropped her eyes to Dave's belt buckle and Liz awkwardly cleared her throat.

"I'm so sorry, Bernie. I think I misheard you."

Bernie readjusted the metal microphone causing a loud feedback squeal to echo around them and a silence fell over the crowded room when she yelled into the microphone, "Did you two have sex after signing the marriage certificate? Did you consummate your marriage?"

Liz leaned her elbows against the small counter in front of her and covered her face in her hands while Dave spoke loudly, looking around the room to make sure everyone that was staring could hear him, "Yes! More than once! Several times!"

"Okay then," Bernie went on, her voice quiet again, "your only option for an annulment is lack of understanding to consent." She pulled the paperwork from a folder next to her and slid it and a pen through the gap under the window. "Come back to me when you've finished filling this out."

*

They sat together on a wooden bench in the hallway and stared at the wall ahead of them. The annulment paperwork lay in the space between them, still unread and unsigned after almost a half hour. Nothing had been said since they left Bernie's window and Dave was desperate to know what Liz was thinking. Their conversation on the way to the clerk's office had been brief and light, assuring one another that this didn't change anything, it was just a minor inconvenience in the big picture that was their life together and someday soon they would laugh about it. Though to him, it still stung to know that she didn't want to be married... not right away at least.

He jumped when Liz suddenly snatched up the paperwork and began to read it over, dragging the pen tip across the words. Her decision obviously made, he slumped forward afraid and angry that he might cry at any moment. He let out a shaky breath as she began to sign and watched her out of the corner of his eye. He had seen her sign autographs before and always thought they looked a little like an EKG readout; a stylized E followed by what might be interpreted as a C with some sharp lines in between, but this legal signature was like something straight off the Constitution. Maybe she had taken a calligraphy course, maybe she had just read too many old English novels, but she was signing with the steady hand of an artist. His eyes drifted to her shoe when she began to nervously bounce her leg, shaking the bench they were on and realized her pen had stopped midway through her middle name. With his heart in his throat, he jumped again when she slammed the paper and pen back down on the bench, yanked her phone from her pocket and began to pace the hallway they were in.

"Hey Soph, it's Liz... I'm okay, how are you?... Good. So, listen. I'm sorry to call on a Sunday, but I'm in Vegas and-..." she covered her eyes with her hand as she listened and squeaked out a hesitant, "Yes, I did... I'm sorry, Sophie. It just happened and honestly, it was going to happen soon anyways and I tried to avoid all of this by getting an annulment, but... Soph, I just can't and-... wait, do a what?... " Dave watched her grab the paperwork off the bench beside him and unceremoniously jam it into a tall silver trash can. "Okay well, we're headed back tomorrow morning so I'll let you know as soon as we..."

He didn't bother listening to the rest of the conversation, he just threw himself at her and sent them both into the wall, shoving the phone away from her face so he could kiss her.

*

"Last barbeque at the rental!" Taylor announced and slapped Dave on the back as he stood in front of the grill. "You gonna miss our mornings out here on the decks?"

Dave chuckled at that. "Am I gonna miss seeing your balls every morning when you do your weird naked yoga? Hell no. I'll still give you the finger when I get the mail, so it'll feel like nothing's changed."

Taylor smiled and took a sip of his beer. "It's not yoga, jackass. I'm just stretching."

"Whatever. I'm sure whoever ends up here after me would appreciate you putting on pants, though."

Taylor lightly swatted Dave's ribs with the back of his hand and leaned against the patio table. "Shane said that Violet finally came around on the whole wedding thing."

Dave shuddered a little at the memory of Violet storming off when he and Liz broke the news. The others were thrilled, especially Jack and Ophelia, but Violet's little outburst had definitely put a damper on Liz's mood. "Yeah, Liz took her out to lunch yesterday and they hashed it out. I think an afternoon off from school helped sweeten the deal, but we're cool again."

Taylor offered a quiet nod in response, then watched him fuss over the meat and veggies on the grill for a bit until he started getting antsy. "Al said Liz is all set for next week." It was his delicate way of bringing up the fact that things were starting to get real and Liz would hopefully be pregnant very soon.

"Oh, she's primed and ready to go," Dave muttered bitterly. The myriad of medications and injections she suffered through every night were one thing, but the fact that she was off limits until the transfer appointment made him crazy. They had just gotten married and all he wanted was fool around with his wife, but no. The most action he'd had in days involved sticking a needle in the side of Liz's ass to prep her body for Taylor's babies. Only five more days. "Thanks, by the way."

"Sorry, dude," he laughed. "I know you're newlyweds, but it's only for a few weeks."

Dave's spine snapped straight and he spun around to look at his best friend. "Wait, what?"

Taylor's beer bottle slipped from his lips as he frowned in confusion. "She didn't tell you she can't have sex for like three weeks after the transfer?"

Dave very carefully set down the metal tongs he was holding, followed by his beer. "Hawkins, I'm giving you a ten-second head start. I suggest you take it."

Taylor mimicked Dave's intense calm as he set his own beer down, then took off like a shot across the deck and down into the backyard with Dave close behind, yelling all the way.

"You can do other stuff!" Taylor yelped. "You said yourself that she's really good at-"

His voice was halted by Dave snatching him up by the back of the board shorts and launching him into the pool, then diving in right after to hold him under for a beat. They wrestled and fought in the water until Dave caught sight of Liz up on the deck watching them with amusement.

"What the hell are you two doing?"

Dave held Taylor under again, his entire body lurching about as his friend fought against him. "We can't have sex for three weeks? When the hell were you going to tell me?"

Liz waited for Dave to release Taylor, his blonde head popping up as he took a gasping breath and tried to swim away, but Dave wasn't quite done with him yet. He grabbed Taylor by the waist and yanked him backward, holding him tightly against his chest.

"Just as soon as we left the transfer appointment," she called down to them as Taylor repeatedly bucked against Dave. "But it looks like Taylor is taking care of things in my absence. Thanks, T! Oh and Dave, your mom is here."

Virginia slowly walked out onto the deck next to Liz and surveyed her son waist deep in the pool, fully dressed while holding Taylor in a very compromising position.

"Hi, Mom!" he yelled with a wave, only to receive a slow head shake in return.

*

"Liz, please..."

She didn't answer him, just dragged her suitcase behind her down the front steps.

"Baby, let's talk about this. Please."

Again, no answer. Her hair flipped over her shoulder as she threw her suitcase into the back of her truck and she shot him a glare.

"Baby, I love you. I'm so sorry," he stepped between her and the driver's side door hoping to stop her before she sped out of his life.

"Are you?" her green eyes were like fire, sparking with tears and anger at the same time. "Are you actually sorry?"

"Dave?" He watched as Liz's focus moved from him to the leggy blonde yelling from the front door. "Dave, let her go and come back to bed!"

The rest of his surroundings jolted into sharp focus. The burn of the hot concrete on his bare feet, the sheet gripped tightly around his waist, the sun on his back and his wild hair blowing in his face. He had done it again, ruined everything for a pretty face with a warm body that was eager and willing to spend a couple hours in bed before being shipped off with taxi money and a signed NDA. This was marriage number three down the fucking tubes because he couldn't or wouldn't keep his pants on.

"Dave..."

No.

"Dave, wake up."

Don't want to. I want to lay behind your truck and let you run me over.

He heard her heavy sigh, but only cracked one eye open when he felt her lips on his forehead. She was wheeling her suitcase out of their bedroom, fully dressed in jeans and her leather jacket and his eyes drifted to the clock on her side of the bed clicking over to 5:58 am.

Shit, she's leaving me.

He bolted upright and out of bed, running after her down the stairs. She stopped on the landing where he tripped on the last step, sending them both crashing into the wall behind her.

"Jesus, Dave!" she stared up at him wide-eyed as he held her face in his hands.

"Don't leave me," he gasped, desperately kissing her as hard as he could.

"I'm not-," she stopped to pry his hands from her aching jaw. "I'm not leaving you!"

He pulled back only a little, still not willing to let her go. "What?"

"I have to work today," she said quieter, realizing he had been having one of his vivid dreams. "Remember? I told you last night, it's the first day of principal photography."

"Yeah," he muttered, his heart still pounding from his dream. "Yeah, I remember."

"Okay," she whispered and craned her neck to kiss his forehead before pushing him off of her. "I'll see you at the house tonight."

He only nodded, shifting so that he was sitting on the landing next to a pile of moving boxes with his back against the wall. "Can you call me? Like if you get a break or something?"

She looked back when she made it to the lower level and flashed him a smile. "Sure. Try to get some more sleep, okay? I love you."

*

"Thank you so much for coming early," Dave said once he'd finished shaking the realtor's hand. Their appointment wasn't until 5, but Dave had asked if they could meet at 4:30 before Liz even left the film set.

"No problem at all," he smiled warmly and slid the large manila envelope across the counter. "Gate codes and keys are in here along with the closing documents. Just have her sign the pink highlighted areas and get them back to me by Friday. In the meantime, it's all yours."

They exchanged pleasantries and the realtor left, leaving Dave alone in the mostly empty house. He wandered around looking into each space, imagining what his life there would be like.

In the kitchen, he envisioned Liz singing happy birthday and carrying a cake full of candles for one of the kids; the two of them dancing slowly in the dark late at night when neither of them could sleep; her fumbling with the coffee maker half asleep at dawn during the mad rush to get the kids off to school.

He pressed his shoulder into the wooden arch that made up the dining room entrance and smiled at the enormous table he had custom made as a gift for Liz, imagining the loud and crazy holiday dinners with both of their extended families; simple weeknights eating with the kids, talking about school and homework; and just the two of them sharing a bottle of wine at the far end, quietly talking about their day.

Spinning around to the living room, now with a permanent grin and butterflies rising in his chest, he stood in the middle and pictured her napping on the couch with a dog; her standing on her toes on the top rung of a ladder to hang an ornament on their ridiculously tall Christmas tree while he nervously spotted her from below; her repeatedly tossing popcorn at his face as he tried to focus on a movie...

Skipping the formal living room and office by the front door, he took the steps up two at a time and ran his fingers along the walls wondering what photos she would hang on the landing.

Upstairs in each of the bedrooms, he could see the kids. Planets and stars hanging from the ceiling in Jack's room, trucks and construction vehicles littering the floor in Owen's, Beatles gig posters for the walls in Harper's, a mic and guitar set up in the corner of Violet's and the chaotic disaster that Phee's room always seemed to be.

But the master bedroom was his most favorite space in the entire house. It had french doors leading out to a little balcony just big enough for two chairs and a table, a bathroom with a huge soaking tub that Liz had climbed into fully dressed the first day they looked at the house and separate walk-in closets. Their bed was already assembled and positioned across from the french doors where Dave had insisted it be. He wanted to wake up every morning with the sun at the foot of their bed, where the red in her hair would glow against the white pillowcase.

He moved out to the balcony and was leaning on the railing, staring at the shop and thinking about her wrenching on a bike in there when a chime rang out from the lower level. From his spot, he could see the front door was deserted and looked around in confusion when Liz's truck cruised down the long drive and parked just beside his. Oh, right. The gate alarm.

Taking the steps two at a time again, he chuckled when she knocked. He yanked the door open, about to remind her that this was her house, but the sight of her in a grey fitted sheath dress and black heels ripped the words right from him.

"Hey," she smiled shyly from the other side of the door. "You wanna buy a box of cookies, mister?"

"Depends," he managed only after clearing his throat and took her hand to drag her inside. "What kind?"

"Oh, I've got lotsa kinds...," she mused, tossing her bag and keys on the kitchen counter before he pulled her out onto the deck. "Chocolate, peanut butter, those mint ones that everyone claims to love but are actually horrible, shortbr- oh."

She stopped at the sight of two teak chairs with deep red cushions set together on the wide part of the deck and a small table between them holding a bottle of champagne, glasses and a single flickering candle.

"Nice, David," she teased and let him pull her along, ignoring the second chair and choosing his lap to sit on instead.

"How was work?" he asked, reaching over to hand her a glass.

"Good," she thought as she sipped her champagne. "It was fun. JB can't wait to crash our first house party."

Dave chuckled at that and sat back as she leaned her head on his shoulder. He pressed his lips into her forehead and kept them there as he spoke, "Let's get that out of the way before we move the furniture in so he doesn't ruin anything."

She just smiled and closed her eyes, listening to the last of the birds sing before they retreated to their nests for the night.

"Oh shit," he muttered and shifted in the chair so he could reach into his pocket. "I almost forgot."

Liz grumbled at the movement, just wanting to sit in the quiet with him when he held her silver ring up in front of her, the same ring he had put on and then later tore off her finger back in Vegas.

"This is yours."

She didn't move at first, just felt the words rumble in his chest and stared at the band, thinking back on their silly little Vegas wedding until he twisted it just enough that the waning light caught the inscription inside. The engraving was in her Pops' shakey handwriting, done the night before his wedding to her grandmother in the mid-'50s.

Put it back on

"Dave?" she whispered, frozen against him. "Where did you get that?"

"Your dad gave it to me," he took her hand and eased it back on to her finger, then admired it for a moment. "Said I was the only man for the job."

She used her free hand to pull his face to hers and softly kissed him before dropping her head back to his shoulder. "He's right."

Neither of them were sure how much time had passed, but they sat together in an easy silence listening to the last of the birds and the breeze in the birch trees until the only light on the deck was from the little candle on the table beside them.

"Babe?"

Liz hummed her response, almost sound asleep on his shoulder.

"Do you feel like you're home?"

She picked her head up and looked back at the dark house, just the sight of it making her feel disoriented and out of place. It wasn't home yet. But then she turned back to him and slipped her left hand into his, their rings clicking against each other as she kissed him, then breathed against his lips, "Yep. I'm definitely home."    

[xtruss]

The Constitutional Crisis No. 1

— A twelvemonth after the Capital Riot, a look back at Dr. Franklyn’s views on preserving the Republick, and the tragic irony that a minority of Dicks weild Federal Power o’er the Non-Dick majority

— December 27, 2021 | By Teddy Wayne | Shouts & Murmurs | January 3 & 10, 2022 Issue

Illustration by Luci Gutiérrez

I ask’d Dr. Franklin, upon his departure from the Constitutional Convention, whether the newly form’d United States of America was a Republick or a Monarchy.

“A Republick, Madam,” He answer’d. “If You can keep it.”

He chortl’d, then with alacrity remov’d from his pocket a quill, inkwell & parchment, on which He had inscrib’d “Aphorisms for My Almanack,” & jott’d down his words with a pleas’d countenance behind his bifocals.

“Wait, what?” I queri’d. “If You can keep it?”

“Indeed, You may not be able to preserve this Republick,” He said with an impish smile.

“But, Dr. Franklin, whyfor?”

Now He appear’d less jolly. “I suppose Tyrants could exploit the loopholes We put in the Constitution.”

“Why did You not omit the loopholes?”

“Well, by the time We notic’d Them, We’d already finish’d, & it would have requir’d starting the entire thing over with a fresh scroll,” He said. “& ’twas getting really late, so We were, like—” He shrugg’d & upturn’d his palms.

“& why did the perishing of the Republick strike You as comickal?”

He said, “Mayhap I thought it funny in a morbid way, but not funny guffaw-guffaw.”

He stood in contemplation. “O, shit,” He said to Himself. “Fuck Me.” He look’d at Me with alarum. “I just envision’d the whole ‘People can have as many guns as They want’ thing Madison plans to tack on coming back to bite Us upon the Buttocks.”

“You proclaim’d ’twas a Republick ‘if You can keep it,’ ” I said. “Did You mean Me, personally? Will Women hold elect’d office?”

He burst into laughter. Upon seeing that I did not share his mirth, He affect’d a more solemn mien.

“O, You were serious,” He said. “ ’Twas more like a general ‘You.’ But not Women, obviously. Or, to be fair, Men who aren’t White. Or White Men who don’t own property.”

“How is any of that fair?”

“Figure of speech, Madam. I guess ’tis not ‘fair’ according to Webster’s definition. He said so the other night during tavern trivia. You know Noah Webster? Good Guy.”

“But We can all at least vote for our leaders, correct?”

“Um.” He clench’d his teeth & inhal’d loudly whilst wincing, as if to demonstrate that the topick was causing Him physickal distress. “I was pushing like Hell for it, but some of the delegates said that if We allow’d, say, Women to vote, it meant a Woman should sign the Constitution, which would screw up the name ‘Founding Fathers,’ which They’re really into. I maintain’d that this was a triviality compar’d to endowing all People with a voice in a flourishing Democracy. & They were, like, ‘Let Us not & say, rather, that We did.’ ”

Dr. Franklin add’d, “Sorry,” tho’ He pronounc’d it sah-wee.

“Which brings up another problem,” He said. “There is no polite way to say this to a Lady, but a lot of the Guys in this Country are, well . . .”

My eyes implor’d Dr. Franklin to conclude his doubtless brilliant insight.

“They’re Dicks,” He said. “& They will propagate yet more Dicks, & someday there shall be a profusion of Dicks, perchance nearly a majority, who, in a tragick irony, cite their purport’d reverence of the Constitution to conceal their Tyranny of Dickishness.”

“You said ‘nearly a majority,’ ” I rejoin’d. “Surely perspicacious minds like yours would not create a Constitution that permitt’d a minority of Dicks to wield federal power over the non-Dick majority.”

“Mm-hmm,” Dr. Franklin said, as his eyes shift’d rapidly hither & thither.

“How does One identify these Dicks?” I ask’d.

“Not every Dick simply wears a tricorne hat with ‘make america’ calligraph’d on it,” He explain’d. “Many cultivate full, unkempt beards, for instance, whilst others grow hair only on their chins in the unseemly manner of a goat. But one common element is that They buy their spectacles from the optician Thomas Oakley, who has pioneer’d a technique to tint the lenses dark, & to elongate the frames such that They cover a wide expanse of the face.”

“Is every Gentleman who wears his spectacles in this fashion a Dick?”

“A Total Dick,” He said.

“So,” I said, “You have draft’d a Constitution full of loopholes for a Republick found’d upon inequality & teeming with Dicks who wear Oakley’s spectacles that wrap around their faces.”

“Don’t forget the guns. O, & guess who loves guns? The Dicks.”

“I should not think this a worthy Republick,” I said.

“ ’Tis America, Madam.” He look’d defensive. “Love it or leave it.”

Dr. Franklin’s eyes lit up. He wrote this phrase on his parchment & chuckl’d as He recit’d it several times.

“Most amusing,” He murmur’d giddily. “A capital riot!” ♦

— Published in the print edition of the January 3 & 10, 2022, issue.

[mari-vargas]

Hey everyone! So I guess this isn’t a specific story, but it’s one of my “stories”. *Note from midway through typing this: I’m sorry, there in fact are several specific stories I’ve decided to delve into.

This one is about mine and my sister’s eyesight. **Note from further into typing this: I’m soooo sorry! Hopefully I’ll get to my actual original intent…

Let’s start with the fact that I was the last person in my immediate family to need glasses (okay *big shocker*, I know, I’m the youngest, but that’s not what I meant. I meant I was older than my sister had been when she first needed reading glasses). I had perfect vision until 5th grade (and I do mean perfect). Then my eye doctor said something along the lines of “…well, you don’t really need these but you’re borderline” and asked me if I wanted reading glasses.

Guys. I’m a nerd. I’ve always been a nerd, and I loved being a nerd. I’d always wanted the full nerd aesthetic, with the braces and glasses because how else were people going to look at tiny cute blonde me and think “yes that’s a nerd”. I was already halfway there what with having braces starting in first grade. But…see the thing is I had my teeth straightened in 2 phases: 3 years on starting in 1st grade, then they took them off because before they could do more they needed my mouth to grow a lot and I had no clue how long that would be. It was another 3 years and then I had them back on for 3 years to finish the job (and then I lost my retainer, found it lost it again, and by the time I found it again it no longer fit…I’m fixing it again and have just a few months left).

Wow ok tangent. My point is I kinda jumped at the chance to have glasses. My whole family had glasses and all I had were fake ones from Claire’s my mom had gotten me to bribe me into finishing getting my second ear pierced because my cousin was with us and was planning to get her ears pierced within the next year and I needed to set an example or something. So yes I got reading glasses. For all that I read though honestly I don’t think I wore them too much. I didn’t need them. And it kinda bothered me to see the words so much bigger than I was used to. At my next eye appointment, the optometrist once again said “well…you can decide if you need these because you see fine but you’re borderline” this time about what I called “all-the-time glasses”. Well guys I decided yes because it’s help me see even better than I did right? And they did! I remember the first time I put them on. My sister had come to pick me up from school and must have gotten my glasses on her way because the first time I put my glasses on I was in my school parking lot and suddenly I saw all the tiny beautiful details of the trees blowing in the wind that was threatening to lift me up and take me far far away. It was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.

I had to wear both the regular glasses and the reading glasses for a few years, switching between them. I’d joke that I was both nearsighted and farsighted. I could never remember which definition was for which because I mean well there was really only maybe a 2-5foot area of space in the middle where I could see perfectly fine without assistance. Eventually though I became decidedly nearsighted. I’m not sure if it happened in middle school (where all my classes were on the computer) or high school (which, regardless, turned my eyesight to crap between the sleep deprivation and the screen time). But ya. If I know I’ll be looking at something up close for an extended period of time (as in more than a minute) I’ll take my glasses off. I had contacts for a while back in high school and during college and my prescription didn’t change at all during that time—or at least not enough that my contact prescription would change even if my glasses would slightly. Ps I had swapped eye doctors a little before I stopped needing reading glasses—because the first guy really shouldn’t have pulled that bullshit. Pretty much everyone is in agreement that he probably started the degradation of my eyesight. Granted, it would’ve happened in high school anyways, but it might not have been as bad to start off with. I changed optometrists again I think after graduating from college because the one before was not using my insurance correctly and was convincing me to get things added to my glasses that I didn’t really need and adding to the out of pocket expense which should have been zero. And apparently they’d been ignoring my slowly degrading vision changes and actually a couple times triggered it to get worse.

I got my first new prescription in maybe 3 years the first time I went to the new optometrist. Right around when I started substitute teaching. I opted to not get contacts this time, deciding it was time to give my eyes a break, especially since I was on the computer a lot, job hunting. Then I started working in the QA/QC lab I’m at now and I was wearing safety glasses over top of my regular glasses. This meant I couldn’t take my glasses off to look at screens and my eye sight then got significantly worse. Probably the hugest jump I’ve ever had. Spoke with my eye doctor about my problem and oh my goodness this is genuinely the best experience I’ve ever had. I got two pairs of glasses, one regular and the other prescription safety glasses upon which I got bifocals that essentially revert the lens to what it’d be like if I removed my glasses entirely. I can say with confidence it’s going much better and my only regret now that we fully vaccinated folks no longer have to wear masks at my work is that my safety glasses don’t have adjustable nose pads and thus slide down without a mask on (the embarrassing truth behind why I’ve been content to keep on wearing a mask everyday even when I only see one or two other people (also vaccinated) for the entirety of my 8-16 hour shift(s)—I still wear them literally everywhere anyways, habit y’know? It’s hard for me to break and even harder when I don’t feel like there’s a need to).

Okay!

For those hoping I’d finally get to my original point: I’m terribly sorry I went down a huge rabbit hole of a tangent. The real story is actually about when my sister and I go to the ocean.

You see my sister’s non-reading glasses prescription is technically 0.00, and the optometrists are always confused about why she needs to wear glasses. That is, until they test her depth perception. She has none. Absolutely no depth perception. I really can’t even imagine. She can see perfectly well, but can’t tell where anything is. (As such I think it’s actually recorded that she’s legally required to be wearing corrective lenses while driving—my sister and her driving is enough fodder for several other story times and I doubt this’ll be the last time it’s mentioned).

Me on the other hand… I can’t see a darn thing. All I see are blurry color blobs that occasionally blend into new colors altogether. But I still have depth perception. I couldn’t possibly tell what a thing is but I can certainly tell you how far away it is and where it is in relation to other blobs. I’m honestly legitimately terrified of the idea of things being two dimensional.

So when we go down to the water line to jump in the waves, we leave our glasses with the rest of the stuff so we don’t lose them to the surf. Which presents a problem for us both. So we both need to have someone with us as, essentially, a guide. But!! We’re perfectly capable of going together without any other person. I’m able to tell her how far we are from something or something is from something else and she’s able to tell me what it is. We make an amusing sight apparently.

[denebola42-blog]

@googlepixel had this a while. I got it at Barnes and Noble. I'm always burying too many books. Recently spend my last cash on an ebook for dating for bookworms. http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/?ean=2940163465507 And I've got a bunch on books in Google play books and not just samples. I bought way too many haha. My nightmare episode on twilight zone is the guy who breaks his glasses in the end of times in a library. And he's a bookworm. The internet was meant by DARPA etc to be a big library. This now reminds me 100% of the game Myst. I also have them in kindle and audible. The nice thing about Google play books is it will read them to me as i misplaced my glasses again. I use bifocals. I'm not5 near and far sighted. This is kinda difficult to write. I get grumpy From tension headaches. I've been without my glasses for a few days now. 😂😆 (at North Ogden, Utah) https://www.instagram.com/p/CMPbm5Gn9ae/?igshid=1vh9rywpe525a