#patricks point state park

[morningcallsphotography]

Patrick's Point State Park Trinidad, CA NY -> CA (and back), 2021

Contact ©morningcallsphotography

[thomaswaynewolf]

[porcelainseashore]

Into the Ether (3)

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Vampire! Toreador! Leon Kennedy x Fem! Reader

Summary: At the all-night events cafe you run, you’ve become acquainted with an elusive patron, Leon, though you can never remember the last moments of your interactions together. After a harrowing encounter, a love-hate relationship develops between the two of you as you grapple with your newfound status in a world of darkness and investigate the reasons behind the untimely attacks.

Content & Warnings: 18+ Resident Evil x Vampire: The Masquerade crossover, horror, mystery, romance, slow burn, strangers to enemies to lovers, angst, fluff, eventual smut, swearing, smoking, alcohol, drug references, non consensual blood drinking, blood bond, vampire turning, violence, injury, mild gore, torture, religious themes, minor character death, RE ensemble, VtM concepts.

Author's Note: Suggestive themes, violence and mild gore ahead.

Taglist: @admirxation @angelstargel @miss-oranje-disco-dancer ❤️‍🔥

AO3 Link

Chapter 3: Fires of Rebellion

“So, talk,” you demanded, crossing your arms as you kept yourself at a suitable distance from Leon. 

Both of you were currently walking up north along Good Street towards the City College. The plan had been to take a left at some point and head over to the park by Warren Street, where hopefully there would be some benches for you to relax on. It was still early enough in the night for your surroundings to be relatively bustling with people, so you weren’t too worried that the man beside you would try anything risky or stupid. In any case, you knew where you kept your pepper spray at hand if things went south.

“You’d already sensed it from the beginning,” he stated, swallowing thickly. How was it this hard to tell you who he really was? If he could sweat blood, he’d fill a whole bucket’s worth. Pig’s blood. A cop in pig’s blood. He knew plenty of people who’d pay to see him drenched in the vermillion fluid. “That I’m not exactly normal.” That was what he settled with.

“What, you mean like a serial killer or something?” you scoffed, shaking your head in mild vexation.

“No.” His voice was solemn but firm as he glanced at you briefly, making eye contact. “I didn’t… assault you, not in the way you think.” He pressed his lips together into a thin line. “I just— I do things… that aren’t exactly normal.”

Great, Leon. You just made yourself sound like a fucking magician. Sighing, he pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers and paused his footsteps. “This is going well.”

You almost felt sorry for the guy. He seemed to be having such a difficult time articulating what he wanted to say. Was it some sort of kink he was talking about? The logical part of your mind berated you, insisting that this could go down far worse than you imagined, but you pushed it aside.

“Like what?” you asked, your morbid curiosity getting the better of you.

His jaw tightened as he shifted his weight uncomfortably from side to side.

Before he could respond, you took the initiative, positioning yourself in front of him as a form of challenge. “Show me,” you requested.

His head darted in every direction, scanning the area with an animalistic instinctiveness and you thought you saw his eyes illuminate in a different color. However, when you blinked a second later, it had returned to its original pale shade of blue. “Too many people,” he muttered. “I’ll do as you ask, but we need to head somewhere quieter.”

You should’ve ran off after he said that, but your legs stayed rooted to the ground. Your lack of self-preservation was alarming. “The park, then?” you suggested.

He nodded in compromise. “I could work with that.”

The rest of the walk there took place in awkward silence, as you dwelled on what he would do and whether you were walking into one big, fat trap. Well, at least Patrick had his business card. And P.I.s, they had a registered license, didn’t they? It was too late to back out now, you’d gone this far and you wanted to see it through.

When you had found a secluded bench at one of the shaded corners of the park, he spoke up again. “Do you remember the first night we met? When—”

“You offered me cigarettes in exchange for coffee,” you finished the sentence for him.

“Yes,” he said with a wistful smile, as if reminiscing about a day he’d cherished but had long since passed. “You felt it, didn’t you? Compelled to stay, but with no reason why.”

Despite your reluctance, you had to agree with him. That moment between standing by his table and sitting with him to share in a smoke had been like entering the twilight zone. You were you, but yet, at the same time, weren’t.

“I can do it again here, if you want,” he murmured, his eyes burning with an intensity that seemed to bore right into you.

It wasn’t the first time you had leaped before looking. You’d always been known to be a little more reckless than your peers, but it seemed like you never really learnt your lesson well. “Be my guest,” you gestured melodramatically, as your hand swept across in one grand motion.

“Now, you’re just mocking me,” he chided, though a ghost of a smile still lingered on his lips.

This time, there was a tingling sensation in your body, like an invisible warm light gradually enveloping you, except it seemed to exude from him. You were entranced by his stature, the minute details of his face, everything about what he was, to the point where you couldn’t tear yourself away from his gaze.

“Sit,” he directed gently, placing his hand along the back of the wooden bench.

You felt nothing but desire. Desire to do anything he wanted you to. Without a word, you sank onto the bench like a doll, still giving him that doe-eyed expression one would normally reserve for a celebrity they were starstruck by.

Taking his seat beside you, he urged, “Come closer.”

Obediently, you shuffled up along the bench towards him, except it wasn’t out of fear of punishment, but a strange, radiant love that emanated from within you. When you were just inches away from his face, he slowly revealed the tips of his canine teeth, which were pointier than usual, and seemed to grow with each passing minute. As his features eased up, you could feel the uncanny warmth dissipate from your core, and though you were still captivated by him, his face seemed to lack the same lustrous sheen it held moments ago. Like a wandering spirit, you had arrived back into your own body. You were you again.

His eyes latched onto you, waiting, watching, biding his time, to see what you would do. Though he remained poised and composed, the unsteadiness of his breathing and the flicker of trepidation across his irises gave him away. He was afraid that you would leave him, for good. And after what he had given to have the right to Embrace you, he wouldn’t know how he would live with himself if he were rejected.

It felt like hours had gone by until one of you spoke up. “Do you hate what you see?”

“No,” you answered, almost too quickly, cupping his cold cheek in the palm of your hand. He closed his eyes and sighed blissfully into it, releasing a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. It felt moist and heated against your skin.

You surprised yourself with how well you were taking all of this in. This shouldn’t have been possible and nothing about what he had shown you made sense. You blamed your tolerance on the late, sleepless nights and hanging around with the offbeat characters who frequented your cafe. 

What if monsters did exist? you humored. Maybe not in the literal sense of vampires, but someone who relished the flavor of blood, and who’d learnt a few tricks of hypnotism. You tried to rationalize it as much as you could, but there were still so many missing pieces you did not fully understand.

“How many times?” you asked. “Did you force me… each night?”

He lowered his gaze, marred by shame, while looking to his hands nestled in his lap. “It was just that once,” he whispered. “I wanted you to stay with me.” 

He pursed his lips. “The rest, later on… was you.”

“Did you—”

“Yes.” 

You didn’t even need to continue your sentence for him to know what you meant. Yes, he tasted your blood. Yes, he enjoyed it. Yes, he came back for more. And more.

“I’m sorry,” his voice cracked.

You didn’t acknowledge his apology, allowing even more time to slip through your fingers. A while later, you ran them along his cheek towards his lips, where his teeth which now looked more like fangs lurked. Right, how would you explain that away?

He didn’t stop you when you traced one of their edges, as if trying to figure out if they were real. He let you press the tip of your finger against its peak, purposely pricking yourself in some kind of deluded masochistic fantasy. The rush you felt from it was indescribable, like a spike of venom flowing into your veins, though it wasn’t as intense as the previous times to truly immobilize you. Grasping onto the back of the bench, you steadied yourself from the dizzying sensation.

A dark, ruby bead blossomed at the site of the puncture. His mouth lay open as he inhaled sharply, gripping the trousers on his thighs, and there was a wild look in his bloodshot eyes. However, he remained motionless, restraining himself somehow, as if awaiting your instruction.

“You like this?” A mixture of bewilderment and arousal seeped into your tone, as you brought your bleeding finger to rest just at the entrance of his mouth.

All at once, his veneer of calmness shattered. He swirled his tongue against your fingertip, causing you to gasp as it made hot laps around the miniscule droplet of blood you had to offer him. Dipping his head, he took the rest of your digit into his mouth, eventually sucking on it whole as he emitted a low groan in pleasure. When he finally let it go, a slick string of saliva connected to it from his lips, wet and hungry with need.

“I, um—” you shuddered, at a loss for words, as you retracted your finger, folding it into your hand.

Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he straightened up in his seat, adjusting his attire and hair, as if he had come back to his senses once again. “You don’t have to decide on this right now,” he assured you.

“Okay.” You nodded shakily, your mind spinning from all the events that had just transpired. “Could we take another short walk before I head home?” 

It would probably help to cool off a little, you thought.

“Anything you need,” he asserted, getting up as he took another glance around the park, before extending his hand to you.

You stared at it, contemplating further. “Just don’t—” you hesitated, pausing to rephrase your words. “I want to trust you, Leon.”

“I’ll earn it back,” he promised. “However long it takes.”

That was all you needed to hear from him. Perhaps you were naive to a fault, but you took his hand anyway, allowing him to lead you out of the park, and to whatever else fate had in store for you that night.

━━━━━━━━━━━

Over the course of the evening, a thin fog had developed, shrouding the sky and enveloping the moon and stars in a blurry veil, casting a muted light over the city. You and Leon had taken a short detour towards the more touristy part of town, where the landmark Saint Michael Clock Tower overlooked the grand waterway.

The ornate, Gothic structure loomed intimidatingly ahead, its roof cloaked in a wispy gray mist, though you could still make out the time on its huge clock face. Ten minutes past midnight. It was getting late, and although you were accustomed to working until the wee hours of the morning, you preferred to get some sleep on your nights off when possible. However, right now, a part of you wished that the night would last longer. 

There wasn’t such a wide distance between you and Leon as before. In fact, your fingers were nearly touching, but neither of you had taken it further to close the final gap. Even in complete silence, punctuated only by the sounds of the city’s buzzing nightlife, both of you had somehow agreed on which pathways to take, falling in sync with each other’s footsteps, pauses and turns, like an unspoken dance. It was nice like this, having no expectations of the other person, just walking and feeling the thread of connection that bound the two of you.

Every now and then, he peered at you inquisitively, and you wondered if he had something to say, but when you looked his way, he turned his gaze back to the street in front of him. Coming to the entrance of a tunnel arbor near the clocktower, you paused to admire the sight of the vines and flowers that were wound around the metallic arches, interspersed with marigold fairy lights. There were still a decent number of stragglers in the vicinity. Probably the remaining tourists for the day who didn’t quite want to wrap up yet, some of whom were posing for pictures near the picaresque arbors.

“Cat caught your tongue?” Always the instigator and taking the confrontational approach. That was what you were known for.

“Hm?” he deflected, yet smiled at you knowingly.

“Just looked like you had something to say.” You shrugged, placing your hands on your hips.

“Nothing escapes you, huh?”

He was teasing you again; you were certain of it. Though this appeared to be twofold, where the second part was meant as a misdirection to hide a secret from you. 

“It should be obvious that I like you,” he stated plainly.

Obvious to the point where he couldn’t afford to have one of those obnoxious Anarchs stake their claim over you, just for a bit of territory. You were worth so much more to him than that. Surely, it would be the lesser of two evils for him to be the one to Embrace you? It was all he could think about when he made that deal with Ada. Always justifying and compromising. That was what he was known for.

You couldn't fathom the sheer astonishment and joy that overcame him when Ada returned with the news a few weeks later:

“The Prince granted your wish,” she mentioned with an indifferent wave of her hand.

“How?” he choked in disbelief. “It usually takes years!”

“You underestimate me,” she scoffed. “Have you forgotten that I’m the voice of society?”

“No, of course not.” He hung his head in disgrace, as if he had just been told off by a parent.

“Anyway, I don’t have to tell you twice that you should thank him in person.” 

Lifting a bejeweled chalice to her lips, she tasted its contents, allowing it to linger on the palate before letting it wash down her throat. “And by ‘thank’, I mean ‘grovel’.”

“Yes, sire.” He bent down on his knee and kissed the back of her hand in respect.

A shadow of annoyance flickered across her face, morphing into a frown. “You do know this makes you look weak?” she questioned rhetorically. “Being unable to convince the Prince yourself?”

He knew better than to respond when Ada was in such a mood.

“Don’t embarrass me.” 

Her warning rang loud and clear in his ears.

“Who is it obvious to?” you challenged, pulling him out of his reverie. Maybe you had an undeniable urge to see him lose control over you again.

At this, he drew closer towards you, his eyes ablaze like a blue flame, as he snaked his arms around your waist. That was it — the thrill, the feeling you missed. It rippled through your body, leaving goosebumps in its wake. But before he could go any further, a sudden force tore him from his hold on you, hauling him violently backwards. He was flung in the air across a couple of yards, landing against the wall of a building with a sickening crack.

In the background, you heard screams coming from all directions, alongside whooshing sounds, followed by loud thuds. One soon popped up behind you and in an instant you found yourself smacked to the ground. There was a shrill ringing in your ears, your eyes watered, and your vision blurred as you started seeing double in front of you. You felt the back of your head. Wet. Sticky. Flowing. Your fingers were red and the concussion you suffered induced a dizzying spell.

A grizzly face appeared before you, but you couldn’t quite make out any distinguishable features, except for the familiar shape of long fangs that glistened under the arbor lights. There was no time to put up a fight or even cry out for help, as you began to sink deeper and deeper into unconsciousness.

Leon had watched the entire scene unfurl before him like a twisted snuff film coming to life. The attack had taken him by surprise, but he quickly got up from his fall, resetting his bones and shaking it off like nothing had happened. The whole place was awash in scarlet. Blood streaked the city streets, trickling into every gap and crack, as the victims were messily drained of their lifesource. Whoever was behind this wanted the world to know. And that was when he witnessed the first of them turn.

A Mass Embrace? These Kindred definitely reeked of the Sabbat, and if not, they weren’t anyone who had been presented before the Prince; he would know. There wasn’t a second left to spare — he had to find you immediately. In his line of sight, he saw one of the culprits feeding on you greedily, and the primal rage he felt within him almost caused his Beast to take over. He hunched over and growled ferociously. His features transformed into something monstrous and his eyes were crazed as globs of saliva dribbled down his mouth.

It was fanning the flames of a Frenzy, one where he would slaughter every being in his path regardless of who they were, tearing them from limb to limb, and eviscerating their carcasses for what they had done to you. But his concern for your well-being won him over. Mustering up his willpower, he resisted the Beast as much as he could, and though he was still enraged, he needed to think straight and prioritize getting you to safety. That was all that mattered.

In the bat of an eye, he zipped across, yanking the other vampire away from your limp body, as they traded rapid blows. Another aggressor joined in the fight, as Leon dodged their swift counterattacks with deceptive ease, before connecting his right fist to one of their jaws and dealing a precise uppercut with his left to the other’s ribs, catching both of them off-guard. 

Everything seemed to pass by in quicktime as he moved with an unnatural grace, spinning mid-air over one of their backs, only to grab the other from behind and slam him to the ground savagely. Gathering the rest of his strength, he took advantage of the momentum to stomp on the vampire’s head with the heel of his shoe. There was a nauseating crunch as his skull caved in from the blunt force trauma, splintering and sending blood splashing across the pavement, driving him straight into torpor. One down, one more to go.

The brutality of the violence he had displayed unnerved him, yet fuelled his excitement as adrenaline coursed through his veins. He attributed it to being partially influenced by the Beast the moment those bastards had put your life in danger. At least he had not fully succumbed to it. That was what he tried to tell himself while putting a lid on his unquenchable thirst for more. More violence. More bloodshed. They deserve it…

A cacophony of ghastly howls erupted from a distance, bringing him back to reality. Jill, it had to be, Leon realized. The Sheriff was coming to subdue this severe breach of the Masquerade. As the other vampire lunged at him, Leon’s reflexes took over, timing it such that he skirted the edge of the assault unscathed. Instead, he circled around, placing the attacker in an unyielding headlock. The vampire struggled vigorously, attempting to kick and claw his way out of Leon’s grip.

It was then that he heard Jill’s gruff yells in the vicinity, as the pack of dogs under her control barked and gnashed their teeth viciously at the remaining offenders, clamping down on their legs to prevent them from escaping. The Hound, a group of Kindred who reported to her, had arrived in tow, twirling wooden shafts in their hands, each sharpened at one end. Grinning menacingly, they struck at the assailants, staking them immobile before dragging them away.

“You need this one?” Leon called out. He might as well play by their rules where he got the chance, even if the Prince himself had decreed a perpetual Blood Hunt on the Sabbat. Anything to be in the former’s good graces. It was all for show, anyway.

Jill turned sharply, her mouth contorting into a wicked smirk, as she stalked towards him. “Leon… always at the right place, right time, huh?” Her voice was more akin to brutish snarl, but he knew when she meant her threats and when she didn’t. At this point, she was on his side.

“We have our hands full of the rebellious trash.” She jerked her thumb back to her crew, who were skulking around in the dark with their catch. “Kill this motherfucker.”

Without hesitation, Leon snapped the vampire’s neck clean, ripping his head off in the process as his lifeless body fell to the ground in a heap. Letting out a huff from the effort, he tossed the head aside, feeling nothing for the wretched being that lay at his feet. Or did he? He chose not to dwell on it any further, finding something else to distract himself with as he glanced down at his clothes, frowning when he noticed they were smeared with all sorts of fluids and innards. Dry cleaning was gonna be a bitch.

Jill signaled towards your body with her chin. “This one’s barely alive.”

“She’s mine.” A deep-seated possessiveness surged through him as he stepped between you and Jill, unwilling to let you be snatched away from his grasp again. Swooping down, he lifted you into his arms, ready to cart you off from this gruesome site. “Please, I don’t have much time.”

Narrowing her eyes, she tilted her head and a low rumble reverberated from her chest. “Alright, pretty boy. You’re answerable to the Prince though,” she warned.

“Understood,” he replied snippily, cringing at the nickname she often used to wind him up.

Directing her attention once again to her Hound, she commanded, “Torch the rest!”

The poor, newly created vampires never stood a chance, dealing with both the life-changing alterations to their bodies and the molotov cocktails now lobbed at them. They had no idea what was happening as they were set aflame in the towering bonfire, screeching and wailing until they were reduced to nothing but ashes. The smell of singed skin and flesh hung in the air.

Tightening his grip on you, Leon recoiled involuntarily in fear as he fled from the raging inferno. “Hang in there for me,” he whispered, praying to a long-forgotten god that he wouldn’t be too late this time. 

Racing like his life depended on it, he kept to the shadows, using the cover of darkness to navigate through the maze of Raccoon City towards his haven.

[minjiuhildegard]

Steel Heart

Part 1 of ?

Not my gif

English is not my native language

Patrick Jane x Oc! Irina Arkhangelsky

Summary : A murder investigation leads Patrick Jane to a military base, where he encounters not only a killer but also a woman with a heart of steel. Word count : 4.3 k

The morning was bright, with the intense sun lighting up the small province of Wyoga Lake. The road had been long, and those were Patrick's thoughts as he looked out at the landscape from the car window while Teresa drove. It had been nearly three hours on the road before they finally arrived.

When Teresa parked the car, a police officer stepped out of a vehicle parked near the barriers that separated the crime scene. He approached them as soon as he noticed the agents getting out of the car and walking toward him.

"Darrin Farr, Chief of Police," he said, extending his hand to Teresa. She shook his hand firmly. "Welcome. Are you Agent Lisbon?" he asked, giving her a keen look.

"Yes," Teresa replied with a nod. "And this is Patrick Jane."

"Hi," Patrick greeted with his laid-back, characteristic smile.

"Thanks for coming," Farr said, showing a slight smile of gratitude. "I've never called the FBI before. I want to see your work."

Both agents just smiled in response, and the police chief, seemingly understanding there was nothing more to say at that moment, began to walk toward the crime scene.

"Right," he said, tilting his head toward the body. "The victim's name is Lucy Greene," he informed them as he reached the body. "She was killed last night, around 11 p.m. Her throat was cut."

"Charming," Patrick commented with a sarcastic tone as he followed the officer, along with Lisbon.

"She had military identification," Farr added as they got closer to the body, in a more secluded spot away from the crowd. "She was active duty. A corporal," he explained while Teresa crouched beside the corpse. "She was probably stationed at Front Runyon."

"That's one miles away, right?" Teresa asked, glancing up at him as she stood up slightly.

"Yes," Farr answered nonchalantly. "Soldiers from the base come to town all the time."

"I see," Teresa murmured, looking back at the body before Patrick interrupted with another question.

"Ah, if the coroner isn't here, how do you know the time of death?" he asked, pointing at Farr while crouching beside Lucy, examining the scene.

"Someone called emergency at 11 p.m.," the officer explained. "They said a woman had been killed... in front of the church."

"Who called? Did they identify themselves?" Teresa asked, still crouched, looking at the officer intently.

"No," Farr answered. "The operator asked them to wait, that they would send a car. When she returned, the call had been disconnected."

Before anything else could be said, a sound from the street caught everyone's attention. They turned and saw a large olive-green vehicle pulling up in front of the crime scene.

"What’s this?" Teresa asked, surprised and confused by the sudden arrival.

"Military," Farr replied, as though he'd been expecting the situation.

"Figured as much," Patrick commented, watching the vehicle with a sharp gaze as the door opened and a uniformed man stepped out.

Jane stood up, followed by Teresa, who stopped beside him. Both watched as the military man approached.

"Chief Farr?" the soldier asked, calling the man, standing straight and completely ignoring the agents’ presence.

"Yes?" Farr answered, looking at him.

"Lieutenant Averill Lewis. Bravo Company, 2nd Platoon. I’m here under the command of General Arkhangelsky," the lieutenant identified himself, walking briskly toward the officer and shaking his hand firmly. "Thanks for letting us know," he said with the same tone before looking at Lucy’s body on the ground. "Damn! We’ll take over the case from here," he stated coldly as his eyes scanned the scene. Patrick and Teresa exchanged quick glances before looking back at the lieutenant, who was now being followed by other soldiers who had exited the vehicle. "They’re from our Investigation Division. Please, leave the crime scene for them."

"Lieutenant," Teresa interrupted, maintaining a professional stance. "I’m Agent Lisbon with the FBI. We’ll handle this."

"Ma’am," Lieutenant Lewis began in a serious, controlled voice, while Jane watched with an amused smile, "Corporal Greene was a medic in my platoon. It’s our responsibility."

"I understand why you feel that way," Teresa replied firmly, locking eyes with him, "but this case is ours."

"Chief Farr," the lieutenant started again, now completely ignoring Teresa’s response. "I think the decision is yours, right?"

"I was hoping your agency would send more than two people," Farr said, looking at Lisbon, clearly unsure about the situation.

"Our team is on the way," Teresa replied, a bit irritated by the lieutenant's attitude.

"Our team is here," Lewis said, once again ignoring Teresa, while Jane remained silent. "We’ve investigated homicides on four continents."

"Nice slogan," Patrick commented, with his playful tone and easy smile. "Four continents. Are these the guys?" he asked, turning toward the robust soldiers who stood with rigid posture, hands behind their backs and heads straight. "They look like they've never left Salt Lake City," he teased with a mischievous grin, before turning back to face the lieutenant.

"Who are you?" the lieutenant asked, hostility clear in his voice.

"I’m with her," Patrick replied, pointing to Teresa, who forced a quick smile, trying to maintain composure. "Lisbon, you used to play clarinet, didn’t you? What’s that tune?" he asked, pointing at a tattoo on Lucy’s ankle.

She stood up and walked to the feet of the dead woman, closely observing the musical notes tattooed there.

"Yes," she answered Patrick’s first question, still looking at the music notes. "It’s ‘Kansas City,’" she replied, turning her head to look at him, waiting for an explanation.

‘Kansas City,’ Patrick repeated quietly, before getting lost in thought for a moment. "What’s that?" he asked again, receiving curious looks from Farr and Lewis.

"You know," Teresa said before she began to hum the melody, accompanying it with hand gestures, then softly murmuring the lyrics. The reaction from the two military men was immediate, their gazes intensifying as Patrick smiled, recognizing the tune. He joined her, and they began singing together, their voices intertwining. Teresa stopped singing when she realized the two men were watching her with inquisitive stares.

"It’s really good," Patrick said with a genuine smile, clearly impressed by her talent. "Very good! ‘Kansas City�� is a blues classic. She liked blues," he concluded. "Is there a blues bar around here?"

"Cat’s Blues Bar, a few blocks away," Farr answered, pointing with his head in the direction.

"That’s where she was," Patrick said with certainty, looking around.

"Or not," Averill contradicted immediately, keeping his hostile expression, making Patrick look directly at him, his gaze challenging.

"Look at her left hand," Patrick asked in a serious tone.

"I am looking," the lieutenant replied, still trying to understand what was important there.

"If you looked a bit closer..." Patrick continued calmly but with a precise explanation, "you’d see a slight discoloration. It’s not easy to see, but if you looked at the hand in infrared... you’d clearly see a small, but stylized pink cat stamp," he explained, keeping his gaze fixed on the lieutenant, who was now examining the victim’s hand. "Like the ones they use on the doors of bars and clubs," he added, making the lieutenant look back at him. "So, Cat’s Blues Bar. Thanks," he finished, with an ironic courtesy, leaving both Lewis and Farr silent.

"Lieutenant, we can handle this," Teresa said, breaking the silence with a defiant stance.

"That’s what it seems like," Farr commented, raising his eyebrows at the lieutenant, as if asking him to wrap it up.

"If that’s your decision," Averill said casually, nodding as he turned back toward the vehicle he arrived in. "Let’s go," he said to his soldiers.

"Alright," Patrick commented, humming ‘Kansas City’ again with a satisfied smile.

"Stop that now," Teresa ordered with a light sigh and rolled eyes.

"Army of two," Patrick joked with the police chief, grinning widely.

They gathered all the available information about Lucy Greene, an exemplary soldier who had returned from Afghanistan just two months earlier. During her mission, she was awarded a medal of honor for an act of heroism: she managed to stabilize two severely injured comrades under enemy fire and protected them until the rescue team arrived. It was a feat that reflected her courage and dedication to service. Her parents, residents of New Jersey, were devastated by the news of her death.

As for the anonymous call that alerted the police, little was known. The only concrete detail was that the call had been made from a payphone located near the site where her body was found. Authorities were still waiting for the recording of the call, which Teresa had requested to be sent to her email. The momentary silence in the investigation room was filled with the sounds of papers being shuffled and keys being pressed as everyone worked to connect the pieces of the case.

"Did the victim have any close friends?" Lisbon asked, breaking the silence as she mentally analyzed the collected data.

"Yes," Cho replied, still focused on the documents spread out in front of him. After a few seconds, he added, "Her emergency contact was another doctor from the platoon, Rose Sutfin."

"Jane and I will speak to her," Teresa declared, already decided on the next steps. Before leaving, she turned to Cho and gave another direct order: "Go check the bar where she was drinking."

Turning to Fisher, she asked matter-of-factly, "Who’s our contact at Fort Runyon?"

"Lieutenant Lewis," Fisher replied calmly, briefly looking up from her papers.

"Great," Teresa commented, barely concealing her displeasure, before leaving the room to get a coffee, leaving Kim puzzled by her reaction.

The investigation was progressing in calculated steps, but the glances exchanged between the investigators revealed a growing tension. It was clear that Lucy Greene’s case was complex. Dealing with military matters was delicate in itself, but with those individuals? Extremely delicate.

The military base of Fort Runyon was immense, perhaps larger than the province where it was located. Upon arrival, they were met with stern looks and a palpable tension that seemed to permeate the air. However, no one drew Patrick Jane’s attention more than the woman he spotted while following Lieutenant Lewis alongside Teresa. She was overseeing the training of rookie cadets, issuing orders with unquestionable authority. It was impossible not to deduce that she was superior in many respects.

Tall and with an impeccable posture that exuded command, she was the very embodiment of discipline. Her curly hair, black with bluish highlights, was tied back in a large, tight bun, while her dark brown eyes seemed as deep as these were impenetrable. When they landed on Averill Lewis, these grew even darker. The contrast between the ethereal softness of her appearance and the almost cruel coldness of her expression was, to say the least, unsettling.

As they approached the base hospital, Lewis broke the silence:

“Corporal Greene worked at the hospital,” he commented, pulling Patrick back to reality and diverting his attention from that imposing figure. “Most of the doctors here hold a position there. Know that I bear no grudge about having the case taken from us…” he continued, walking with firm steps, “but I’d appreciate knowing its progress.”

Lisbon responded promptly, trying to stay focused:

“We’ll do our best,” before asking, “Did you know Lucy well?”

Lewis hesitated before replying:

“No.” His voice sounded ordinary, but he quickly added, “I took over the platoon just a few mon...”

A woman’s deep voice interrupted him abruptly:

“Lieutenant Averill Lewis.”

The strength in her tone immediately caught Patrick’s attention, making him turn his head, followed by Teresa. The voice was commanding, laden with a flawless Russian accent, which seemed to match her presence perfectly. Lewis straightened his posture almost instinctively, as if reacting to a conditioned reflex.

“General,” he quickly replied, offering a reverence that made Patrick raise his eyebrows and smile, while Teresa frowned, intrigued.

“You know, Lieutenant Lewis, I received a curious and certainly unexpected call from Police Chief Darrin Farr.” Her expression remained hard, a mask that Jane tried unsuccessfully to decipher. Observing her was like staring at a smooth wall, without any visible mark or crack. Yet Patrick felt, with conviction, that there were hidden fissures in that seemingly unshakable structure, and his curiosity was piqued to uncover them.

Even as the General’s words echoed, Jane’s mind wandered, absorbed in details. He noticed the perfect angle of her chin, her military cap positioned with precision, and the uniform adorned with medals of honor. The latter intrigued him particularly, as she did not appear old enough to boast so many achievements.

“He apologized for dismissing an investigative team sent under my command to investigate the homicide of Corporal Lucy Greene.”

The mention of the case brought Jane back to reality. He registered her accent, which he found sensual, even amid the severity of her tone. Lewis lowered his head and tensed his jaw under the General’s sharp gaze, like a reprimanded child.

Lisbon, on the other hand, remained focused, listening intently to every word from the General. Something about that dialogue seemed to foreshadow trouble.

“I thought I had been perfectly clear when I ordered you to leave this case to the local authorities. Or was I not?” The question was accompanied by a subtle raising of her eyebrow, so slight it almost went unnoticed. The movement made Lewis lower his gaze to his own feet.

“Answer when I ask you a question, Lieutenant.”

Her tone didn’t change, but the hostile authority in her speech was enough to provoke an automatic reaction from Lewis. He raised his head and answered:

“Yes, ma’am,” swallowing hard. On the side, Jane smiled more and more, clearly amused by the dynamics.

“Well, if I was clear, why did I receive that call?” she pressed. Her impassivity remained, and her attention was entirely focused on Lewis, still ignoring Jane and Lisbon.

Lewis seemed to struggle against the intimidation. Standing a few feet away, Patrick and Teresa watched the scene while the General suffocated the Lieutenant with her unyielding, predatory gaze, like that of a hawk.

Jane, observing, noted that Averill seemed to suppress his fear, though his body betrayed him. The mentalist was fascinated by the General’s presence. She was intimidating in an almost natural way, a dazzling figure whose aura of command defied any resistance.

“I asked you a question, Lieutenant Lewis. Answer.” Her tone was unchanging, her posture rigid, and each word carried a calculated weight. Jane remained intrigued, noting the nuances in her eyes, which seemed to hold a mysterious fire.

Lewis finally replied hesitantly:

“Because I led the investigative team to the city to handle Corporal Greene’s case.”

“Excuse me…” Teresa tried to intervene, but a simple gesture from the General, with her open palm, silenced her.

“Let me correct your answer, Lieutenant Lewis.” She spoke slowly, almost like distilling venom. “You disobeyed a direct command from your General… again.”

The tension was increasing. Jane, oblivious to the growing discomfort, seemed to enjoy himself more and more. He was relishing watching Averill in that embarrassing situation, but his true curiosity was fixed on that woman.

“I apologize, General Arkhangelsky.” Lewis’s voice carried a failing attempt to conceal his nervousness.

“I hope this apology is more sincere than the last, Lieutenant.” She approached with calculated steps, stopping directly in front of him. “I’d hate to have the work of signing your demotion after having signed your promotion so recently.”

Patrick observed her every move, analyzing the military precision even in the smallest gestures she didn’t even seem aware of.

“Remember your place, Lieutenant, and… above all, mine.” She concluded, looking him directly in the eyes without wavering. “You have work to do with the new cadets in training. I’ll handle the visitors from here.”

Lewis responded with a “Yes, ma’am” before leaving, visibly displeased.

The General turned to Teresa, who promptly tried to initiate a greeting. Jane, however, stepped forward, interrupting her. He extended his hand with a warm smile:

“Patrick Jane, consultant.”

The General evaluated him briefly before shaking his hand coldly and formally, cold even on such a hot day. For that brief moment, he was close enough to catch her scent.

What is that? Cherry? Roses? Both?, he wondered. However, she simply ignored him afterward, turning to greet Teresa in the same manner.

“General Irina Arkhangelsky. I was informed that Fort Runyon should cooperate with your investigation.”

Still intrigued, Jane noticed that her impassiveness was even more unsettling than her appearance. He tried to make conversation:

“Cooperation would be great. You have a beautiful name, General, as unmistakable as your lovely accent… Care to grab a coffee? I know some great coffee shops here in Salt Lake.”

Lisbon quickly intervened, her eyes wide:

“Don’t mind him,” she said, laughing nervously. “I’m Special Agent Lisbon, FBI.”

The General didn’t reply, nor did she show any reaction to Jane’s charm. She merely gestured for them to follow her to the hospital. Patrick, however, knew he had found a new one mystery: to decipher her, even if it was like deciphering a wall. To him, the General was like a fortress—and he was determined to find the key.

"Corporal Sutfin is conducting inventory," Irina said after a long period of silence, her footsteps echoing through the narrow, orderly corridors. Each of her movements was robotic, as though she had rehearsed the routine countless times and could now walk those halls with her eyes closed. At every corner they turned, soldiers adjusted their posture, puffing out their chests in automatic reverence, only to be ignored by the General. Patrick followed closely behind, quickly skipping to keep up with her, which contrasted with her firm march, while his carefree smile seemed glued to his face. Teresa, on the other hand, trailed behind, huffing, clearly irritated by the brisk pace.

Irina stopped in front of a gray metal door. It showed no signs of wear, despite constant use. She opened it with a firm motion. Without saying a word, she stood still, waiting for them to enter.

"Thank you." Lisbon said, walking past Patrick and her, quickly stepping into the room.

The General followed Teresa with a clinical, impassive gaze before turning to the blond man who, instead of entering, decided to approach her.

"Is there a problem, Mr. Jane?" she asked, her voice cold as steel, her eyes, burning with their own emotionless void, scanning him with machine-like precision, never lingering on anything twice. These were the same eyes that had intimidated Lewis minutes earlier.

"You don't have to be so formal, General. You can call me Patrick," he replied, his tone light and relaxed, the unwavering smile framing his face. Holding the door open with one hand slightly above her head, he leaned forward slightly, using the moment to take in her distinct scent. "It would be rude of me not to hold the door for a lady, especially one so beautiful as you are."

Patrick’s smile widened, but as expected, he received no reaction.

The brunette didn’t respond, turning without hesitation and stepping into the room, leaving him alone, still holding the door. He watched as her figure, perfectly composed with an impeccable silhouette, even in uniform, walked away. Despite the lack of reciprocity, his smile remained fixed on his face as he followed her.

"Corporal Sutfin." Her voice cut through the air, drawing the attention of a short blonde woman who quickly turned around, clearly startled—likely expecting Lewis, not Arkhangelsky.

"General." The response came with an almost mechanical movement as she stood at attention.

"Corporal." Jane greeted her, casting an assessing glance her way.

"At ease, Corporal," Irina ordered with crisp efficiency, though Rose’s posture didn’t relax. "These are the investigators I trust Lieutenant Lewis had the competence to inform you about. Assist them as needed."

"Yes, ma’am," Sutfin replied, nodding slightly before the General turned to leave them alone.

"You still haven’t answered my invitation, General." Patrick’s voice rang out loudly, cutting through the silence just as she was crossing the threshold. Irina neither turned nor slowed her pace, ignoring the provocation without hesitation. "Alright, you can answer later, if you like," he added, still smiling.

Jane's informal and provocative manner of addressing the stern Slavic woman caused Sutfin to look at him with a mixture of horror and disbelief. Teresa, meanwhile, huffed, exasperated for what felt like the hundredth time in a few seconds, though she suspected it might somehow relate to the case.

"Which one was Lucy’s locker?" Patrick asked, straightening his posture and shifting his playful expression to something more serious, though the smile never fully left his face, and his posture remained casual.

"Number 116," Sutfin replied, moving to one of the lockers aligned on the wall and pointing at an open one. "Over there. I already had it unlocked for you."

"Oh, thank you." Patrick leaned in to examine the locker’s interior. Every detail was meticulously organized, almost spotless.

"How long had you known Lucy?" Lisbon asked, crossing her arms as she observed the interaction.

"Two years," Sutfin replied quickly but with a touch of nostalgia. "Since my first deployment to Afghanistan."

"What was she like?" Patrick asked again, his gaze fixed on her.

"Smart. Very disciplined. General Arkhangelsky liked her, and she doesn’t like nearly anyone." Sutfin responded without hesitation, but her tone carried a tacit respect. "Even before Afghanistan, the General said she appreciated her work and that Lucy didn’t have to learn from mistakes. She didn’t make any."

"Well, discipline comes at a price," Patrick remarked, glancing briefly at the door Irina had exited moments earlier. He mentally noted her appreciation for order, which was already evident, but he wanted to know the price she paid for it. Turning his attention back to the corporal, he asked, "What did she struggle with?"

"People, I think," Sutfin replied after a moment of reflection. "The guys in the unit, mostly. She was the first to admit she was addicted to the rules. Really detail-oriented." She paused to sniff slightly. "She would point out our mistakes—not everyone likes that, especially the mens."

"Did you defend her?" Patrick asked, his voice a little softer but still incisive.

"I tried," she whispered. "She looked out for me."

"Did anything unusual happen recently?" Teresa intervened this time, breaking the moment.

"Someone was sending her flowers," Sutfin revealed thoughtfully. "Someone from the clinic. She didn’t say who it was. I think she was worried."

"What clinic?" Lisbon asked, narrowing her eyes.

"The psychology clinic," the corporal replied simply. "If she wasn’t here, she was accompanying the General there. You should talk to Dr. Bowman." She paused before adding, "He was her supervisor when the General couldn’t go with her."

Teresa took a few steps to the side, answering her ringing phone. "Excuse me," she muttered as she walked away.

"Is that all?" Sutfin asked, looking directly at Patrick, whose expression had returned to a more relaxed demeanor.

"Oh, yes," he replied after a brief silence, then gave her a steady look. "Unless you want to talk about that other thing."

"What?" The confusion on the corporal’s face was genuine, but there was something more. She seemed uncomfortable.

"The one you didn’t want me to ask about." Patrick’s brief smile gave his statement an even more enigmatic tone.

"I don’t know what that is," she replied, trying to remain impassive.

Patrick narrowed his eyes slightly, analyzing every detail of her reaction. "Neither do I." He took a few steps toward the door but stopped abruptly, spinning on his heels. "Actually, there’s one more thing I’m curious about."

"What is it?" she asked, now visibly tense.

"Your General. Irina Arkhangelsky." He pronounced the name slowly, watching her reaction.

"Is she a suspect?" Her voice trembled slightly, laden with panic. It was clear she admired Irina and would defend her tooth and nail.

"Oh, no, no," he chuckled softly, brushing off the idea. "I’m just curious, to say the least. What do you know about her?"

"Ah." Sutfin exhaled, relieved but still disconcerted. "I think everyone inside and outside the base has that curiosity. No one knows much about her, to be honest." She paused, as if searching her memory. "The only person who knew anything about her was the former General, Armand Russell. He retired due to age and passed the position to her. His son, Theodore Russell, was a medic here, and she was close to them."

"Was?" Patrick arched an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued.

"Well…" Sutfin hesitated, casting a nervous glance at the door. "He died in Afghanistan in a terrorist explosion with six other injured soldiers about three years ago. There were a lot of rumors about Corporal Russell and General Arkhangelsky when she was still a lieutenant."

"What kind of rumors?" he pressed.

"I only heard a few, one about them being half-siblings, because they looked alike—the only big difference being their eye color; his were blue like marbles," she explained under Patrick’s watchful gaze. "And there was another about them having a secret relationship. From what Lucy told me, they were protective of each other, and Theodore always managed to steal hugs from her. At his funeral, they said she shed a few tears, and after that, she took almost a year off. When she returned, it was like her heart was made of steel. No one ever found out why. When she came back, she became the General."

Patrick considered this for a moment, his mind already forming new connections—though too many to draw a conclusion just yet. Even if Irina kept her pieces hidden, he knew he would find where she had hidden them.

"It was a pleasure meeting you, Rose." He concluded with his characteristic smile, leaving the room without waiting for a response, leaving her even more perplexed.

Next

[mentally-unstable-hottie13]

⭐️senior year sucks⭐️

Henry Bowers x FEM!reader

Chapter 1 here

Chapter summery: right as you were making progress Henry's crazy ass friends have to ruin it.

Word count: 3,161

Estimated reading time: 14 mins

A/N: thank you for being patient with me

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Chapter 7

That stupid fucking bandaid

WA! WA! WA! WA!

You smacked your alarm clock off the bedside table with a groan. You didn’t want to get up. Your bed was so warm and cozy. Who the fuck even told the sun it was allowed to come up? They should fall into a hole to rot while maggots feast on their ears.. You groan and throw the covers off you. It was Friday. The school decided not to have the first week of school be an actual full week so students could get back to being used to school. You wake up killer and take him downstairs to feed him before you get ready. To your shock, Kevin was awake and at the kitchen counter drinking his coffee. He was never a morning person so seeing him awake this early was a treat. You nod him a ‘hello’ before getting the bag of killers food. As you are bending down to pour the food in the bowl, Kevin starts to talk.

“I heard you with someone last night.” He states.

You stiffen.

“Hmm?” Is the best reply you can give.

“After you were in the kitchen last night I heard 2 sets of footsteps go up the stairs, and I know it wasn’t the dog.” He blows on his coffee before taking another sip. He’s not angry. Just curious. “Who was it?” He asks.

You finish with the bag of food and put it up. “I don’t wanna tell you” you say softly. You know Kevin doesn't care for the Bowers after telling you to not only stay away from that pig cop but also Henry and his friends. Kevin’s eyes soften and he sets down his cup.

“You don’t have to tell me, as long as you promise that you were safe.”

“I can pinky promise” you giggle.

“Good,” he gives you a short hug. “Now go get ready. I’m taking you to school today.”

You beam. “Really!?” You ask excitedly.

“Yeah I got some errands to do for the shop, I’ll drop you off then pick you up and we can buy you some shit for school.”

You run up the stairs to get ready and he laughs. You brush your teeth and hair, put on your minimal makeup then get dressed. Because you wouldn’t be riding your bike today and it was still a little chilly, you put on a blue and green, flower designed, long bell sleeve top that ties in the front. For bottoms you paired the top with a long ankle length white skirt. You left your hair down and added some jewelry to feel sparkly. You threw on your shoes, got your bag and ran downstairs practically leaping off the last few to get to the bottom floor faster. Kevin who was waiting by the door guffawed at your theatrics and opens the front door for you. Today killer would be staying home because of the errands Kevin had to do. If you could take killer to school with you, you would.

You arrive to the school a few minutes later than you usually do which means everyone was also getting there. You saw where the losers were and pointed to them.

“Those are my friends. Right over there.”

He looks at them as he pulls up to the front.

“Why not invite them to the shop after school Monday? I’ll buy some food and y’all can hang out?” He proposed.

You feel giddy again. “I’d love that.” You give him a hug and a kiss on the cheek before hopping out of the truck. You pull up your skirt a little a jog to the losers. Kevin speeds away in his truck, passing the entering trans am full of teenage boys as he exits the school parking lot. Belch notices him.

“What the fuck is that weird dude from the record shop doing in the school lot?” Belch wonders.

Patrick laughs“Ohh~ didn’t you hear. Him and his little assistant are” he thrusts his hips. “Involved.” They all laugh. Well. All but Henry. They don’t know about you like he does.

“Shut the fuck up” Henry growls.

The gang didn’t know what the fuck was up today. They knew his old man was probably pissed about the knife. And after Butch “got on him” about shit like that Henry was always in a bad mood, but this morning was different. He was irritated at everything, everyone said.

The gang pulls into the lot and get out. As they exit they take a Quick Look around. Patrick is the one to notice you talking to the losers by the front.

“Ohoho boys, why did no one tell us the new hottie was friends with the freaks?”

Henry immediately looks up to where Patrick is facing. And sure enough, there you are plain as day. You're laughing at something one of those freaks said and have your hand on your stomach. He didn’t tell the guys he saw you in the woods. He just said he went after Beverly and she got away. Now there was no hiding you from them, from him. He wasn’t going to change his behavior to the group because of you. If you were in it, you were gonna get the same treatment, no exceptions. That was, at least around others. Henry was in control of people by fear. If he was suddenly nice to the losers, no one would fear his as much as they should. Henry was dangerous, and it’s better if everyone knew that right out of the gate so they didn’t get themselves killed. You knew it, you just, for some reason…. Pushed it aside. That’s what confuses him.

You and the losers walked inside as the bell rung and went your separate ways. You saunter into Chem class and take your seat. Leaving the window seat for Henry. He went through the ringer last night. The least you can do is give him his seat. Henry walks in with that signature sour look on his face. He glances at you before sitting down in his seat. The teacher turns off the lights and begins to project a video onto the projector screen.

A few moments into the video you look at Henry. His eyes are out the window, you take something out of your bag and slide it over to him. He looks down at the table to see a brand new bruise cream and 2 more of that stupid fucking band aid. He looks at you but your eyes are on the screen. He takes the bandages and cream and stuff them in his pocket.

You still have a black eye. He feels a little bad about it. Even with a big ass bruise on your eye you look so pretty. He can’t believe you are so kind to him. He wonders what the fuck your motive is?

Class dismissed and you wave Henry a small goodbye and leave. Classes from then on were just plain old boring.

The lunch bell rings and you get your of class. As you exit you run into Mike. You had no idea his class was right beside yours. You go to him and lock arms, as you walk with him the 2 of you discuss this new video game he’s playing. It sounds like a genuinely fun game. At one point Mike says something funny and you can’t help but laugh. You were always like like with friends. You held their hands, you hugged them, maybe depending on the person you kissed them on the cheek. Why be friends with someone if you couldn’t be close? So far the losers didn’t seem to mind.

As you laugh at what Mike said you pass the Bowers gang. To be honest you really didn’t even see them. Henry and Belch were leaned up agains lockers as you passed while Patrick and Vic stood in front of them.

Patrick whistles at you and you turn, Mike keeps walking. He knows better.

“Hey pretty girl. Why not take a ride with me tonight? I’ll give you the time of your night.” He holds up a v with his fingers to his mouth and begins moving his tongue between it.

You cringe at him and give a fake ass smile.

“No thanks man. I appreciate the offer but I like my men mentally stable and preferably bathed” you blow him a kiss and jog to catch up with Mike, who looks like he’s trying to become invisible.

Patrick frowned at your retreating body while the boys laughed at him. Henry sure as fuck didn’t like what Patrick said. But it looks as though you can handle yourself in a verbal back and fourth with the psycho.

Patrick turns to the group and hits Belch upside the head for laughing.

“Did you fuckers see that? She was walking around with that fucking crack baby?!” Patrick pouts. He’s trying to egg Henry on. He knows for a fact that Henry hates Mike more than any of those other freaks. “She was walking with her arm in his! The bitch was all fuckibg over him” Patrick continues.

It worked.

Henry growled and hit his hand on the locked before pushing off it to walk outside. The gang follows him, So ready to have some fun.

They march through the front doors and look around. They see all of you riding your bikes toward the bridge. He focused on you. You were on the back of mikes bike. With your arms around his waist. Where the fuck was your bike? He stomps toward the parking lot and the boys sprint to follow. The gang piled into the trans am and Henry lit up a cigarette as belch pulled out of the spot and tried to exit the lot.

You were currently having the time of your life. All of you were laughing and swerving the streets like birds. Mike let you hitch a ride with him because he actually had back pegs and a longer seat. The group of you were giggling your heads off at nothing in particular when you hear a loud sound. The sound of an engine. The sound of an engine coming right at you.

You look behind you and yell in fear.

“BOWERS!!!”

All the other losers look behind them and try their hardest to speed out of the way before the trans am could hit them. Lucky for them. They were aiming for you. Not just you. Mostly Mike , you were just a 20 point bonus.

They swerve to try and hit you causing Mike to also swerve in fear and drop the bike. Both you and Mike fall and look up at the boys in the car. Henry stood out of the windoe and flicked his cigarette at the pair of you.

“STAY OUT OF MY FUCKING TOWN!!” He screamed before getting back in the care and speeding off. As they sped you could hear them laugh as they kicked up dust. You and Mike cough and hack while he stands to offer you a hand. You gladly take it and rise. The others run over to you.

“Are you guys okay?” Ben asks worriedly.

“Of fucking course they aren’t. Henry just tried to kill them. Then he dusted them with this poison mixed with homeless men’s possessions” Eddie replied before you could while he took a puff of his inhaler.

He was in fact always this on edge.

You dust yourself off and get ahold of your coughing.

“I’m fine” Mike says. “Are you?”

“Yeah…yeah I think so.” You tried to dust off your skirt but for now it was a lost cause. You’d have to wash it to get all the grime off. What a shame. You felt really pretty in this skirt too.

What was that about? You knew you and Henry wouldn’t be besties but you thought he would at least not try to kill you? He was so confusing. There must be something wrong with that boy. He didn’t seem to mind you in class and now he was yelling at you to “get out of his town”? What the fuck does that even mean? You didn’t know that what he yelled wasn’t for you. It was for Mike, it just so happened that you were hit with the cigarette making it seem directed at you. You weren’t burned though. Thank god.

You really didn’t know how much more of this you could take. This boys mood swings were too much.

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You wide mouth yawn and rub the tiredness out of your eyes. You swear, schools purposefully make the last class of the day the most boring. They want you to sleep and fail. Those heartless school administrative heathens!

You stand up to leave class as school is dismissed and see Richie, Eddie and Bill walking out of the parallel classroom. You run up to catch them. You walk next to Eddie and join the conversation. They nod you hello and continue speaking.

Eddie continues talking. “So there's like this church full of Jews right? And Stan has to take this super jewie test.”

Ah. They were talking about Stan’s late bar mitzvah. Stan’s dad was the Jewish priest or something. Crazy how he didn’t get it at 13. I guess his family pushed it aside until now. On his 16th birthday.

“But how’s it work?” Bill asks confused

Eddie raises his hands and answers “they slice the tip of his dick off.”

You snort. You wonder how Stanley will handle his Brit Milah at such a grown age. That’s gonna suck for him.

Richie comments, “but then Stan’ll have nothing left!” He looks at you, as if for you to agree.

“Wow what a real knee slapper, Rich. Really. So funny I forgot to laugh” you reply.

“So which is it doofus? A knee slapper or so funny you forgot to laugh? Can’t be both moron.” He shoots back at you in that signature Richie way.

“Hey guys wait up!” Stan yells before running up behind Bill and Eddie.

Curiosity takes over Bill and he finally asks Stan, “So Stan…w-w-what happens at bar mitzvah anyways? Eddie says they slice the tip of your d-d-d-dick off.”

You all turn a corner down a hallway towards the entrance.

“Yeah and I think the rabbi’s gonna pull down your pants, turn to the crowd and say “where’s the beef?!’” Richie remarks and all of you laugh. Stanley explains to y’all that he reads from the Torah, does a big speech, and ba-bam he’s officially a man.

“I could think of way funner things to do to become a man.” Richie says.

“Yeah. Like Eddie's mom.” You snort.

“Heyo!!” Richie shouts before reaching above everyone to high five you.

You all pass the Bowers gang in the exact spot they were for lunch and the boys all keep their heads down. You. On the other hand, were so disgustingly stubborn and refuse to bow your head. You walked with your fucking head up. If they didn’t like it they could suck your metaphorical dick.

After you pass them Richie turns to y’all. “Think they’ll give me todays notes?” He jokes. You think if he even approached them they’d whoop his ass.

You all turn again and go down the stairs. You walk with the boys to meet with the others and pick up their bikes. After retrieving their bikes you all walk to the front.

“How are you getting home with no bike today?” Ben asks sweetly.

“ Kevin is pickin me up today.”

“I’ve been meaning to ask…” Stanly meekly pauses. “Is he like.. your dad or something?”

“No. He’s just Kevin.” You laugh.

They all look at you funny. Clearly wanting more details. You huff.

“We were friends growing up, I had some issues back home and he allowed me to come and stay with him. End of story. There’s not much to it.”

“You're so lucky you get to live with a friend though. It must be a lot of fun.” Beverly smiles sadly.

‘Wonder what’s up with that?’ You think as you look at her sad face.

Unexpectedly Ben’s phone rings. Blasting a 1 direction song. Beverly told you he was a boy band fanatic. Now you really see what she means. You and Beverly look at each other while the song blasts. You take her hand and the 2 of you begin dancing like children and giggling your heads off. You 2 laugh while singing the lyrics and hopping around while the boys laugh and watch.

“Baby you light up my world like nobody else.

The way that you flip your hair gets me overwhelmed,

You both jump and flip your hair to the song.. well… kinda flip it. More like frantically headbanging while laughing.

And when you smile at the ground it ain’t hard to tell,

You don’t know-oh-oh! You don’t know your beautiful”

Ben’s face is a bright red from embarrassment but Beverly winks at him as the 2 of you goof around and now he’s pink for a completely different reason.

While the pair of you danced, neither of you knew of the group of boys watching you from the steps of the school.

Patrick whistles. “Would you look at that?” He gestured to you and Beverly. “Now there's a pair I wouldn’t Mind getting between. A hot girl sandwich sounds like my kinda night” he chuckled.

Henry’s resting bitch face was ever present as he watched you dance. He hated Patrick’s comments about you, but that didn’t mean he disagreed. He was a teenage boy. Nothing he could do about it. Nevertheless, whether he agreed or not, the comments themselves soured the fuck out of his mood. You were the “hot new ass” in town. And Henry was no better than any other man with a wandering eye.

You didn’t find yourself particularly gorgeous. You were pretty of course, but if you had to think of someone gorgeous, you’d pick Beverly. That’s why she was bullied by other girls. She was beautiful. Every boy wanted her. And you could see why. You truly believed that standing next to Beverly dimmed your light. Standing next to her on the street, boys would always look to her before you. At least that’s what you believed. You were by no means ugly. Quite the opposite actually. You just had a bad problem with comparing yourself to her. You loved but also envied her. You feel that if you weren’t the new girl no one would be anywhere near as interested in you as they were.

Now if you told all that to Henry, He’d think that’s just plain not true. He would never tell you how beautiful he thought you were and how much he loved your eyes, mouth, and skin, and smell. He was confused with what he thought of you. You pissed him off and he didn’t want to be friends or anything other than a dude you sit next to in class, but he also felt relaxed around you and could not deny that you were an attractive girl. But just because you find someone attractive doesn't mean you have to like them in any way.

Right?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 8 here

@amber-sekio update!♥️

[truecrimecrystals]

Franchesca Alvarado had a lot to look forward to during early 2012. The then-22-year-old woman was living in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania at the time, and she was ready to begin her next chapter in life. Franchesca had plans to enroll at the Community College of Philadelphia, as she hoped to pursue a criminal justice degree. Unfortunately, she would never have a chance to take this step - as she vanished on March 17th, 2012.

According to reports, Franchesca arranged for a babysitter to care for her then-3-year-old daughter before leaving for Atlantic City to celebrate St. Patrick's Day. She was reportedly accompanied by Tracy Williams, an older male acquaintance. Franchesca never returned home from this trip, and her loved ones never heard from her again.

Franchesca's siblings knew something was off when days passed without any contact from her. One of her sisters, Frances, decided to go to Franchesca's home in Hunting Park to check in. Frances was greeted by Franchesca's roommate, who said that Franchesca would be back from Atlantic City in two weeks. This seemed odd, as it did not seem likely that Franchesca would take a trip that long without telling her family. 

Eventually, Franchesca's loved ones reported her missing. They then passed out fliers, organized rallies, and continuously searched for Franchesca. Meanwhile, police searched for leads. Tracy Williams was questioned, and he reportedly told police that he and Franchesca separated at some point during their night in Atlantic City. He said that he last saw her by the Borgata. Franchesca's roommate was also questioned but was reportedly uncooperative. 

Over a year later, in August 2013, a fisherman at Corson’s Inlet State Park in Ocean City found a severed foot floating in the water. The foot was still wearing an Adidas high-top sneaker, which led both police and Franchesca’s loved ones to believe that the foot did, in fact, belong to Franchesca. This was officially confirmed just a few days later.

At that point, it became clear that Franchesca met with foul play. To this day, many questions remain. What happened to Franchesca? Who is responsible for her death?

[read more]

[honeysmokedham]

A Graveyard Haunt || Emilio & Nora

TIMING: April 6th, 2023 LOCATION: Mistwood Park PARTIES: Emilio @mortemoppetere & Nora @honeysmokedham  SUMMARY: Emilio is lurking around Nora's graveyard, and she's not sure how to feel about it. CONTENT WARNINGS: alcoholism tw mention, parental abuse tw mention

Most nights went like this, these days. Emilio, alone in whatever cemetery had the most cursed bullshit of the moment, trying to see what could kill him the fastest. Tonight was largely a bust. There were a few stragglers here and there but, for the most part? The cemetery was quiet. Quiet enough to leave Emilio with his thoughts in a way he hated. 

He took his flask from his jacket pocket, taking a swig of whiskey before slipping it back with a sigh. It was getting late enough — or, early enough, he supposed — for the sun to start making its appearance in the sky and, usually, that was a sign that it was time for Emilio to call it. Most of the things he hunted didn’t roam in the light of day, after all. He made a face of general displeasure, readying himself to turn and walk back towards Axis when a sound from a nearby crypt caught his attention. Ah. Might as well take out one more spawn while he was here, just for the hell of it. If he was lucky, maybe it’d be something more substantial; at least that would mean the night wasn’t a total bust.

Sleep was not Nora's friend that night. She had to have been laying there for two hours, tossing and turning in her sleeping bag. This was just another night of her telling herself she needed to get something else besides a sleeping bag. Something that would make the floor of the crypt softer. Babadook, on the other hand, was out of it. His soft mournful dog snores filled the cave with a relaxing rhythm. "Come on Munch. We're going for a walk." Nora picked up the haunted clown doll she'd recently rescued from a ghost trafficker. He didn't speak much, but Nora figured after being stuck in a trunk for a few centuries he might enjoy seeing some sights. 

Nora climbed the narrow steps out of the crypt that lead into the church only to almost run face first into an adult man. Fuck dude. When would she learn to start using her nose to see if someone was there. "Oh hey fat-" Nora's eyes landed on the man's face. That wasn't the priest. The church was mostly abandoned except for Father Patrick who came by for weekly upkeep. He was easy to avoid because he was either very slow or truly didn't care she was living there. "You're trespassing." Nora stated. She lifted Munch up to stare at the man. "He'll remember this." She pointed at the clown's sad face. Hopefully it would haunt his dreams or something. 

There was no subtle prickling on the back of his neck to warn of something undead, which meant the weird kid carrying a doll through the graveyard wasn’t the kind of problem he could stab. Part of him was almost disappointed at the loss in convenience, but… Well. He always felt a little sick when the thing he had to take out looked like a kid, even when he knew it wasn’t. Some things were hard to shake.

“I think it’s… open to the public,” he said, unsure how to phrase the statement and equally unsure on how accurate it might be. Were you not supposed to go in cemeteries after a certain time? Emilio had been doing it since he could walk, but he could also admit that his experiences didn’t always align with the laws of the land. He hadn’t known you were only supposed to cross the street in certain places until a week or so ago, and that law seemed a lot stupider than ‘don’t go in cemeteries at night,’ so who knew? “Why are you here? You probably shouldn’t be here.”

“It’s open to the public but Munch says its closed to you.” Nora pointed at a wall of the church. Her illusion magic came quick making a beautiful Not Welcome poster with the man in front of her. “What did you do to get kicked out? Kill everyone here?” Nora moved out of the door way to the stairs, shutting the door behind her. No good to have strangers in your home. She relaxed her small frame agaisnt the door, the picture of bored teenager. “I know everyone is dying to get here, but it seems you have to wait.”

Nora held the clown doll up to her ear, as if she was listening to something it was saying. She wasn’t. Munch had been very quiet the whole time, but Nora was finding out she should have gone into theater instead of art. “Now he says you look suspicious. You’re not trying to find a place to hide a body are you?” Nora’s eyes moved around the room. The only ghosts she saw were regulars of the area. “Does anyone know this man?” A ghost drifted up, a scowl etched across his old face. 

“Yee, that der is Emilio. Fuckin’ ass detective. Kill one of me mates. Turned him into dust right before my eyes.” 

“Emilio?” Nora repeated the name, staring back at the stranger. “You…turned someone to dust?” 

Emilio’s eyes darted up to the wall she pointed at, furrowing as a poster with his face on it seemed to appear out of nowhere. Not a normal kid, then. Spellcaster, maybe? But why was she hanging out in a damn cemetery? “Pretty sure everyone was dead when they got here,” he said dryly, looking back to the kid with a new curiosity. Her joke wasn’t bad. A little funny, even. But Emilio wasn’t in the right headspace to laugh at it, caught someplace in between confusion and concern. “Who’s Munch?”

The question was answered as the kid lifted the doll to her ear. The doll said he looked suspicious. The fact that, in this town, that didn’t actually sound crazy pissed him off just a little. “Does it look like I’ve got a body to hide?” He didn’t, at the moment. And if he did, he probably wouldn’t hide it here. Cemeteries were already crawling with beasts and ghouls that ate corpses; the last thing Emilio wanted to do was attract more of them and create more work for himself. 

His expression, which was one of mild amusement, quickly darkened when the girl called him by name. He glanced around the cemetery, heart pounding in his ears all of the sudden. Was there something here he couldn’t see? There had to be. There was no other way for this girl to know his name. “If I turned someone to dust, it’s because they deserved it,” he snapped. “Who are you talking to?”

‘Who’s Munch?’ Nora gave Emilio the most deadpan stare as he asked that. As if it wasn’t obvious, she pointed to the sad little clown doll she held. “He’s only been talking to you for the last minute,” Munch mumbled something about keeping words out of his mouth. That was fair, but Nora had committed to the bit already. She liked her new ghost friend but he really had no sense of humor. Nora placed the doll in her pocket. “You hurt his feelings, he will no longer be talking to you.” 

Nora’s arms crossed over her chest as the man defended himself for multiple actions. No, it didn’t look like he had a body but, “Why would you bring the body with you when you’re scouting to see if the cemetery was clear? You could be scouting out graves right now.” There was some prime real estate open that Nora had noticed when she took her nightly walk. Nora's eyes flicked up and down this man's body in a very judgemental way. He looked sad. Nora decided he was truly bringing down the vibes of the place. Not that her unkempt appearance was doing anything for the vibes. 

Nora's eyes flicked back to the still-rambling ghost. "I'm the ghost of your future, past, and present. Don't you recognize me?" An illusion drifted over her face. Emilio would see, reflected back at him, what Nora thought he'd look like younger. Fewer wrinkles, a smile, a little bit of innocent happy eyes. The illusion flickered into a direct mirror of who he was now. She held it for a moment before flickering it again. "Oh... That's odd." The illusion fell. "I can't seem to find our future. Emilio. Where did our future go?" Nora's head tilted to the side, an illusion turning her eyes pitch black. "Emilio... I'm scared." 

“Somehow, I think I’ll survive,” Emilio deadpanned, squinting at the doll. He didn’t hear anything coming from it, of course, but if it were genuinely haunted, he wouldn’t. For all the abilities a slayer lineage passed on, seeing ghosts wasn’t among them. If he was being honest, Emilio was a little grateful for that. The idea of seeing the people he’d lost as twisted, transparent versions of who they’d once been was perhaps the only thing more terrifying than the idea of never seeing them again at all. This girl, if she was talking to an actual ghost, didn’t seem to mind it much, though. In fact, she seemed to be enjoying herself. Fucking typical.

She was annoying, but not in the way most people were. He’d be less patient if she were older, he knew; fatherhood had really upped his ability to deal with bullshit when it was coming from someone young enough to be considered a kid. He used to find Flora’s antics funny, even when Juliana hadn’t. “If I were scouting out graves, I probably wouldn’t have stopped to talk to you.” Did people come here looking to get rid of corpses often, he wondered? If so, her being here was dangerous. People would do all kinds of things to avoid being caught. 

His heart picked up a little each time she said his name, nervousness sticking to him. There were plenty of people who wanted him dead in a pretty specific kind of way, so a stranger knowing his name was… unsettling. But she didn’t seem to know the last name, and that had always been the only one that mattered. Emilio could be anyone. It was the Cortez part that always ended up giving him problems. “Stop it,” he snapped. The image of his own face, looking young and carefree in a way he never really had, was a little unsettling. But when the illusion fell and she began talking about his lack of future… it might have had the opposite of the intended effect. The idea of not having a future wasn’t one that scared Emilio. If anything, it was a comfort. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. This was a bugbear thing, wasn’t it? He’d never met one in person, but Juliana had. He remembered the way she’d spoken of it. I’d rather stick to balam, she’d griped. Less annoying. He understood the sentiment now. “Look, kid, you’re not making a meal out of me. Better to just call it a night and go home.”

“Everyone stops to talk to me. I’m delightful.” Delightful was actually a word a magazine had given her once. Her fathers had paid handsomely to publish a compelling interview about her when she was sixteen years old that made her appear delightful and approachable. Nora had no part in the interview process, and the only interaction she had with it was reading it in Vogue magazine while waiting for her dad to finish a meeting so they could get something to eat. Personally, she thought the interview made her come off as boring. Interview Eleanor hadn’t even tried to tell a scary story. If Nora was being honest, the published version of Eleanor was always boring. Nora hated her. 

‘Stop it.’ Nora's eyes bore blankly into the man. The man who’d come into her home and hadn’t even offered himself up as a good meal. Nora let all traces of illusions go. She’d get him eventually, but sometimes you couldn’t force a scare. Time was needed to give an emotional reset, and Nora was good at playing the long game. The real problem here was he was telling her to leave and go home. Nora found herself faced with two issues. The first was, she could pretend to leave but if he was interested in going to the crypt she wouldn’t be able to circle back in time to stop him. The second was, if she was too reluctant to leave he might get suspicious and go into the crypt and see all her worldly belongings, a sleeping Babadook, and come to the conclusion that she was homeless. Some people hated homeless people. Nora didn’t know why they felt the need to call the cops on people who don’t have homes, but they did. Nora wasn’t scared of the cops, but it would really suck to have to find a new place to leave. 

Nora let out a bored yawn, fake. “I’m not done talking to ghosts. Mr. Dunsmen was telling me about his friend Armand Bandares.” From the story, which Nora had only been halfway paying attention to, it didn’t sound like Armand was his friend. It sounded like Armand made Mr. Dunsmen into a ghost before he was ‘turned to dust.’ “How do you turn people into dust?” Nora asked Emilio, “Are you a murderer?” 

“Maybe,” Emilio replied, “but I don’t typically like making conversation.” Not that he believed, for a second that she thought she was delightful. It was the kind of ‘obvious lie’ joke that he tended to gravitate towards himself, when his mood was right. Which it wasn’t, at the moment. Finding kids in crypts after wholly unsuccessful nights of hunting tended to put him in a foul mood. Who knew?

The illusions dropped all at once, and in spite of the fact that he hadn’t been particularly bothered by them, he was glad to see them gone. Fear wasn’t the right word for what he felt for things like that, which meant neither of them was going to get anything good out of the whole exchange. If the kid really wanted to scare him, well… she’d have to do a whole lot more. It was difficult to scare a man who’d already lived through every parent’s worst nightmare and come out the other side with his heart still tragically beating, after all. 

The ghost thing threw him off a little, though. He didn’t know a lot about bugbears — Juliana had mostly stuck to balam and werewolves when she was going after something humanoid, and Emilio hadn’t bothered looking into things his wife wasn’t activelyhunting when he had more than enough undead things of his own to worry about — but he didn’t think ghosts were part of the deal. Maybe he was wrong about that. Armand Bandares did sound familiar, after all, though it was a little hard to place. Emilio killed a lot of vampires. Sometimes, the names blended together. “It happens on its own, actually. To people who don’t leave crypts when I tell them to. I don’t do anything at all.” 

If he didn’t typically make conversation what was he still doing there instead of walking away to go mind his own business. Instead, here they were having the worst stand off of all time. He probably thought he was being the adult making sure the ‘hooligan child’ made it home safely from the ‘dark and dangerous grave yard.’ Instead, he didn’t understand that Nora was the most dangerous thing in the graveyard. All he was doing was wasting both of their time. 

Emilio decided to resort to threats. But it didn’t sound like a real threat. It sounded like the kind of threat someone would make to their kid, when the kid isn’t behaving and they are running out of words of reason. Nora wasn’t a child. She was a grown adult capable of making her own decisions and being out in a cemetery at the middle of the night. She also knew how to use reason. When reason was on her side. “If you’re going to turn me to dust, you might as well get it over with. Otherwise we’ll just be playing a game where you tell me to leave, I finally say okay I’ll go, I wait for you to move on and I turn back around and finish what I was doing.” 

Babadook chose that moment to wake up. Nora knew because he let out a loud mournful howl. Nora presumed it was asking her where she was, or if she was near. She knew what Emilio would hear was the sound of something crying. The joys of having a silly little dog breed. “Wow, is that someone crying outside?” Nora redirected. “You should go check it out.” 

Ah, shit. He liked the kid. The realization came more with dread than with amusement, because she didn’t seem like a particularly good kid to like. Kids who hung out in cemeteries in Wicked’s Rest were kids who weren’t long for this world, bugbear or no, and Emilio didn’t have it in him to enjoy someone’s company just in time to see them a corpse. He’d done plenty of that already. 

“If I was going to turn you to dust, I’d have done it before you started talking. Easier that way.” She was right; she was going to do whatever she was going to do, and there was very little he could do to stop her. He wasn’t her father. (Wasn’t anyone’s father now.) And she didn’t strike him as the type who’d take the word of a stranger, even if that word was offering what, in his opinion, was damn good advice. 

Before he could offer any more sound advice, they were interrupted by the sound of — crying? It sounded like a kid. More of a kid than the one in front of him, in any case. Someone younger, someone closer to… Emilio took a small step back, amusement falling off his face, replaced with a brief flash of something a little more real than he’d typically let show. “Are you doing that? Stop.”

The good emotion fell from Emilio’s face to be replaced by something Nora didn’t recognize. Her head tilted to the side as she tried to understand what the man was feeling. The emotion was gone in a flash, but Nora had seen it. She wished she could understand humans and everything they felt. Instead, all she knew was how to make them scream. Roles were roles, Nora told herself. It was time to get back to scaring.

“That’s not me,” Nora answered him. She stood up straight, vacating her place leaning against the door. “This has been fun, but you need to leave before he shows up.” Everything was a game, after all. A game to make every human terrified, and Nora was the game master. Nothing was ever real. Nora stepped forward, grabbing at the man’s arm and trying to tug him after her. “He doesn’t like it when strangers are here.” She tried to inflect emotion into her monotone voice. Something like panic to speed this up and get him to vacate her home. 

“Hurry.” Nora appeared to be desperately leading him toward the door. “It’s better if you just leave the cemetery now and never come back.” Nora wondered how hard she should sell it. He’d already been immune to her last fear. Oh, what the hell. Going all out was always the more fun option. “I don’t think you deserve to die. Please just leave.” 

He was pretty sure she was bullshitting him. He was pretty sure she’d been bullshitting him the entire time they’d been conversing, pretty sure she was one of those people who avoided anything real like it might bite her if she got too close to it. But pretty sure was never the same as certain, and there were some chances Emilio wasn’t quite willing to take. Of course… his reaction to this particular farce probably wasn’t going to be exactly what she was hoping for. If nothing else, Emilio had always lived to disappoint.

“If there’s something dangerous out there, kid, there’s no way in hell I’m leaving you here on your own.” Even if she did seem pretty sure she could take care of herself — even if Emilio thought she probably could, too. Even before he was a father, he’d never been fond of the idea of leaving anyone to fend for themselves in a situation like this one. It was one of the things his mother had always cited when complaining about how soft he was. Some people, she would say, you have to leave behind. It’s the natural way of things. 

But he’d never been good at that. He’d never known how. Especially not in a situation like this one, when the person in question didn’t look like much more than a damn teenager. There was probably nothing out there, he knew. It was probably her trying to scare him again, or trying to convince him to go. But either way, he wouldn’t risk it. “Look, kid, you can tell me what’s actually going on, or I can camp out. Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve stayed the night in a cemetery.” Though it would be the first time he did it exclusively to annoy someone.

This old man was especially suspicious. ‘If there’s something dangerous out there, kid, there’s no way in hell I’m leaving you here on your own.’ First off, she wasn’t a kid. She was a full-grown adult who had fought tooth and nail to obtain her agency by leaving behind everything she’d known and loved. Secondly, she was the dangerous thing lurking in the graveyard. Alas, Nora should have known that little humans who played in graveyards had no sense of fear. Nora respected that. Nora would never admit she respected that, but she did. Humans without fear were intriguing. Maybe, the gears in Nora’s mind were going over time with this thought, he wasn’t human. She’d met a werewolf. Maybe he was something else.

“Nothing is happening. I’m trying to summon Satan, but you’re harshing my vibe so I guess I’m done.” Just like that, Nora was back to her unbothered monotone. Her posture went back to a slump, dropping all tension from when she tried to convince him something terrible was happening. “I hope you brought your camping gear. It’s going to be a long night.” If it was the last thing she did, Nora would never admit to a stranger she was homeless. Especially not one so interested in policing her actions. It started with someone finding her home inside a crypt, and then the next thing the police would be installing anti-homeless furniture to make it uninhabitable. Then he’d go from someone pretending to care to someone actively depriving her of a place to exist. 

Nora decided he was more interested in her than the crypt. If he was going to be so nosy she’d lead him on a silly little goose chase. Nora started walking in the opposite direction from her crypt. There was a particularly interesting tombstone a few yards away. The family always dropped off candles as decoration. She could set up a fake demon summoning. That could be fun.  

The amusement was back in his expression, faint but present all the same. She was quick on her feet. It was clear she didn’t want him here, and Emilio had no intention of sticking around to… how had she put it? Harsh her vibe? If she wasn’t actually in danger. But Wicked’s Rest’s graveyards weren’t exactly the safest place to hang out, even for a kid with a little something extra kicking around in her head. He’d leave eventually, but he wanted to make sure nothing was going to eat the kid first. Even if she might prefer him to fuck off sooner rather than later.

“Don’t think Satan usually shows up to these things, anyway.” He hoped she wasn’t actually trying to summon anything. Demons weren’t something he knew much of anything about, but he knew enough to know they were nothing to fuck with. If she pulled one in as a joke, it’d probably end with her getting possessed. Or worse. Not exactly ideal for anyone involved, he was sure. 

Without thinking, he followed her as she took off, falling into step beside her as best he could. She’d probably be irritated by it. Part of him almost hoped for as much. He might not get the chance to be it much anymore, but Emilio had been someone’s annoying kid brother once, someone’s dorky dad. He missed that, sometimes. When he let himself. “What is it you want Satan for, exactly? From what I remember, he’s kind of a dick. Just gonna pull one over on you, you know.”

“He doesn’t? That’s rude.” Nora stopped at the grave full of candles, shoving them in her pocket. “You think he’d at least stop in and say hi. Being the guest of honor and all.” Once all the candles were safely tucked in her pockets, Nora started walking again. “Do you think he wants a certain grave?” Nora asked Emilio and the few ghosts standing near. The ghosts expressed their distaste for this plan, before drifting away from the commission. Imagine being dead and still being scared of fun. Nora could never.

Nora had never been on the other end of unasked-for company. Everyone Nora had ever known, apart from her fathers, made it their life goal to stay away from her. There was something interesting about being the one leading instead of following. It was a sensation she couldn’t name. An emotion she never got to experience. It felt warm. If having someone hang out with you made you feel warm, why did they always run from her? A question for another time. 

One of Nora’s favorite monuments was a weeping lady. That’s where she lead them too. Every few steps, Nora would check the scent in the air to make sure he was still following. A sniff of disbelief. When they reached, and he was still there Nora almost smiled. This was becoming too much for her. She shoved that emotion deep into the box of unknown emotions she couldn’t explain and decided to focus on her blank emotionless mask. 

Nora squatted in front of the monument, emptying her pockets. Candles, a dull pocket knife, her cell phone with a cracked screen, her small sketchbook, some pencils, a lighter,  some lock picks, and a live snake. “You brought chalk right?” Nora looked up at Emilio. “We need something to draw the summoning circle.” She didn’t think her pencils would stick to the ground. 

She didn’t seem to be actively trying to get away from him, which made Emilio feel a little less cautious about following her. He didn’t want to spook the kid, didn’t want to make her feel nervous or genuinely uncomfortable, but he didn’t want to leave her alone in a graveyard he knew was haunted, either. Not unless he knew she’d be all right. Safe in the crypt, maybe, but not wandering around the graves like this. 

“Seems like he’s more likely to send someone else.” Which, of course, was far from ideal. If the kid accidentally summoned a demon here, Emilio was going to feel obligated to do something about it. And demons were far from his area of expertise. He’d never even seen one, much less tried to fight one. But he figured trying to stop the kid would only make her want to do it more, anyway. Kids were like that, sometimes. Flora always had been. You tell them no, they get fixated. Obsessed. It was always easier to just… let them figure out it was a bad idea on their own.

He trailed behind her as she walked, giving her space but keeping an eye on her. She could take off running if she wanted to, if she felt like she needed to, but if anything jumped out of the shadows to try to make a meal out of her, he was close enough to stop it. It felt like a good in between, as far as distances went. 

Slowing to a stop as she kneeled down in front of a monument, Emilio inspected it carefully. Didn’t look like anything that was going to come alive and try to kill them, but you never knew, right? When he was satisfied, he looked back down at the kid, watching as she emptied her pockets. The knife was too dull — she ought to have something sharper if she was going to hang around graveyards alone at night. The phone was in bad shape, but the one in his pocket wasn’t much better. It might have even been worse, given how many times a week he dropped it on the floor or tossed it against the wall. Sketchbook, pencils. Some kind of artist, then. It felt fitting. Lighter, but no cigarettes. The snake was definitely weird, but… a little on brand, given the small amount he knew about her. When she turned to him, he offered a shrug. “Damn. Must have forgotten to grab it from my coffee table.” His tone was dry and sarcastic, because of course he didn’t own any damn chalk. But he figured she knew that.

"Sending someone else doesn't seem right." Nora mumbled as she started arranging the candles in a circle. It'd be like if someone invited you for dinner and I showed up." At the mention of food her stomach did its normal grumble to let her know it would be okay if she chose to eat. Nora ignored it, she would have to so something for food later. "I can do that for you, if you'd like." Nora added on. Maybe he had dinner obligations he didn't want. Then she could get a free meal. Probably two if they weren't as boring as this guy. 

Once the candles were displayed nicely, Nora started shoveling everything back into her pockets, leaving the lighter in her hand. Since Nora was nothing if not this generations creative genius, Nora used the lighter to move the earth into a pentagram. That seemed right. People were always talking about how pentagrams were for the devil. Once it was complete Nora lit the candles. "Ominus omnibus hail Satan." Had Nora thought far ahead enough to realize she had absolutely no clue what words would summon Satan? No. Was she going to admit defeat in front of Emilio? Double no. "Satan summoned we call upon you!" If there was a better call to Satan then they were fooling themselves. That one was directly to the point. 

Nora waited a bit. Nothing happened. Nora side eyed Emilio. Something had to happen. For him. For the show. Sure he didn't believe any of her previous illusions but this could be the one! She couldn't let the opportunity pass her by. A red figure, deeply resembling Him from Power Puff Girls, emerged from the ground in front of them, letting out a deep cackling. "Hey hons… you rang?"

“That’s the devil for you,” Emilio replied dryly. “Guess people might prefer having you over to dinner than me.” He’d never been a particularly good dinner guest… or a particularly good guest of any kind, really. Given the way her stomach chose that moment to rumble, it seemed as though she might need some kind of dinner soon. Was no one feeding this kid? Those old, paternal feelings stirred in his gut, dusty but still present. He wasn’t sure they were the kind of thing that ever really went away. “Anybody ever invites me to dinner, you’ll be the first one I send,” he assured her, though he doubted it was a situation that would ever arise. People didn’t tend to invite Emilio much of anywhere. He preferred it that way.

He watched as she lit the candles, raised a brow as she began to speak. Emilio didn’t know much about summoning anything — he was a hunter, not an exorcist — but he didn’t think this was exactly how to go about it. It seemed like the kind of thing that would require a little more fanfare than this, like something you’d need to really put effort into. A few candles and yelling ‘Satan’ in an empty graveyard probably wasn’t going to do the trick. That was just as well, he figured. 

And then, a figure appeared. Having already decided that the kid was something in the firmly ‘non-human’ category, Emilio wasn’t as surprised as he probably should have been. What did surprise him, though, was what she’d gone with for the illusion. He coughed to cover up a surprised laugh, bringing a hand up to his mouth. Emilio had never been the type to have a problem with holding back laughter, but… This was just enough of his kind of humor to strike a certain nerve that made it difficult to keep a straight face. Fuck. Was she going to be offended if he cracked up here? “Yeah. She’s a big fan,” he said, inclining his head towards the kid. 

“Bet.” Nora would remember the promise to be sent to someone as a dinner guest. In fact, she was looking forward to it. Maybe those people would understand all the hard work she put into making scares and do something that wasn’t being completely unimpressed by her illusions. Like, come on Emilio! She was proud to say every single one of her scares were custom creations. Crafted perfectly for the situation. There she was, thinking on her feet, doing the most, planning and plotting. And all she got in return was a stop it. Without even a hint of fear! It was rude! 

With her illusion in play, Nora’s eyes were back on Emilio. No fear. But he was covering his mouth. Was he laughing? Nora looked back at Him. Well, he was pretty funny. Nora let herself fall to the floor in dramatics, the illusion flickering out of existence. “Why aren’t you scared of me?” Nora asked Emilio. “What are you scared of?” Nora lay on the cold cemetery ground, surrounded by candles and staring up into the starry night. All things considered, all scares put aside, this had been a fun night. 

"You know I'm not leaving any time soon, right? Do you really want to spend the next forty hours following me around a graveyard?"  Nora wasn't really trying to get him to leave. Now that they were far from the crypt she figured her homeless secret was safe. Instead, she want to know how long the fun would last. A human who couldn't get scared, and a graveyard full of fun games they could play. Nora had never played games with anyone other than her fathers, so she wasn't sure what kind of games friends play with each other. Maybe they could play steal the body or graverobbing. Those seemed to be environmentally appropriate games. 

He wasn’t sure what they were betting, but he figured it was better not to ask. With this kid, the answer was going to be something he didn’t particularly want to hear. Instead, he simply nodded in response, vague enough to keep from actually committing to the presumed ‘bet’ without inspiring her to push the subject. Sometimes, a happy medium was the best you could really hope to find.

The illusion dropped, and the kid looked a little disappointed. Still, the question came as a surprise, if only because he hadn’t expected her to ask something quite so straightforward. He considered it for a moment, considered what fear actually was. Was he afraid? His heart pounded in his chest sometimes, but he wasn’t sure he’d call the feeling fear. Fear was more like what he’d felt the first time his mother locked him in a small space with something angry and undead and refused to open the door until the fight was over. Fear was holding his daughter for the first time, and then again for the last. Fear was something he felt back when he didn’t want to die. “Guess I’ve already gone up against my worst one,” he admitted, uncharacteristically honest even if it wasn’t a particularly detailed response. “Hard to be scared of much else now.” 

She was planning on staying in this graveyard for forty hours? Emilio furrowed his brow, trying to decide if it was an exaggeration. It seemed like she ought to have someplace else to be, but… she certainly seemed to be in no hurry to go anywhere. It was a little concerning. “Wouldn’t be the most unproductive forty hours I’ve ever spent,” he admitted with a shrug, deciding not to let any of his concern show. She seemed like the kind of kid who’d hate it, anyway. “Might need to break to stop by the liquor store at some point. Flask won’t last me forever. Why? You kicking me out?”

“It would be polite to be scared of me.” Nora pointed out. With every passing person Nora met who wasn’t scared of her, her worldview began to shift. She didn’t like it. For years it had been her against the world and herself. Nothing was more terrifying than the unknown of whatever monster she was. Then she’d come here. And here was full of people who weren’t scared by a thing that could turn into a bear, summon illusions or feed off of fear. It was like her visual of the world was being compressed into a small ball while her understanding of the world grew, covering the small ball and leaving it smaller than she could have imagined before. It was hard to conceptualize, much less reconcile with. 

Nora remained laying on the grave staring at the sky, perfectly at ease. Nora feared no one, not a strange man following her around a graveyard or the idea that monsters could come and kill them. In the star-filled sky, she imagined what terrible fears Emilio could have faced. Giant monsters with teeth gnashing, and claws the size of cars. Never once, due to Nora’s limited experience in living, did it cross her mind that his fears were related to what had happened to those around him and what he’d lived through with them. Nora considered that it might be his own reflection he was scared of, and was forced to face his fear daily. Nora could understand. 

Pushing herself into a sitting position, Nora looked at Emilio. She took a deep breath in. He smelled like Irish Spring Soap, cigarettes, and the normal scents associated with people being outside for a long period of time. If she hadn’t been searching for it the scent of whiskey would have gone unnoticed. “Oh. So you’re a homeless alcoholic?” Things were suddenly clicking into place for her. A willingness to lounge around outside for forty hours combined with only needing to go to a liquor store? No mention of stopping home to grab food? Yeah. She’d met other homeless people before. “The ghosts here tell me this is a bad place to stay. People go missing here.” Nora turned her head to the side as if listening to someone, not that any ghosts were talking at the moment. “Everyone is free to do what they want. That’s what being an adult is, right?” She’d made her free adult choices and they had led her to this graveyard, who was she to deny others the same path? "So no, not kicking you out. You should just watch yourself." 

“I’ve never really been very polite.” That was one lesson his mother hadn’t bothered teaching her children. Hunters weren’t people so much as they were weapons, and a blade didn’t need to say please in order to be effective. And, considering the existence of fae, it was better to never get into the habit of doling out thank yous. Politeness would find you more trouble than it could ever hope to get you out of, in Emilio’s opinion. 

But… part of him almost wished he were afraid of her. She seemed a little lost without it, a little sad. The way she was looking up at the stars now, the way she seemed haunted even as she tried with everything in her to be the thing that was doing the haunting instead, it was familiar in an unfamiliar sort of way. Emilio was familiar with taking your own shit out on other people. For this girl, maybe that looked a little something like trying to show people their worst fears in a graveyard. For Emilio? It always looked a little more like snapping at Vida when she was trying to help him, or running away from Rhett when he was all he had left. It never made anything any easier, but sometimes it let you pretend. 

He huffed a surprised laugh at her conclusion, which… probably wasn’t entirely far off. The homeless part was untrue — his apartment was a shithole, but it was a roof over his head. But the second part? Emilio found it was probably better not to think too long on it. “Something like that,” he replied with a shrug. His brow furrowed just a little when she mentioned that this was a bad place to stay, wondering if there was genuine concern there or if she just didn’t want him in the place she liked to hang out. “I’ve stayed in worse places than this,” he replied, “but I’m not planning on moving in. Might hang around for a while, though. The ghosts aren’t so bad.”

[news4dzhozhar]

White supremacist to spend rest of life in prison for 2019 Walmart mass shooting

**So, he killed 23 people based on their race and while labeled a white supremacist that committed a mass murder hate crime, he managed to avoid getting the death penalty. You can't tell me it's not because he's white & his victims weren't. A blatant double standard. If he were Muslim he'd have gotten the DP so fast it would make your head spin.**

“What happened was a cold, calculated scheme targeting immigrants and Hispanics,” Hanna said. “A shooting spree that spared no one. It was not a crime of passion. It was not an accident. It was a calculated act that he planned."

The gunman drove 700 miles from Allen, Texas, to El Paso on the morning of Aug. 3, 2019, and parked in front of the El Paso Walmart at 7101 Gateway Blvd. West, near Cielo Vista Mall.

He then exited his vehicle carrying a GP WASR-10 semiautomatic rifle — a Romanian-made firearm variant of the AK-47 assault rifle — loaded with 7.62 x 39 mm hollow-point ammunition, court documents state.

He began gunning down innocent people in the parking lot before moving into the store and killing and wounding dozens more who were in the aisles and a bank inside the large store. The death toll rose to 23 people in the days and weeks following the shooting.

He confessed to law enforcement that he was targeting Hispanics to dissuade Mexicans and other Hispanics from coming to the United States.

The white supremacist claimed the motive behind the shooting was because "they (Mexicans and other Hispanics) were to blame" and "he was trying to defend his country," federal prosecutors said.

Minutes before the shooting, he posted a racist diatribe online outlining his hatred for Hispanics and his motive for committing one of the deadliest shootings in U.S. history.

The charges were 23 counts of hate crimes resulting in death, 23 counts of use of a firearm to commit murder during and in relation to a crime of violence, 22 counts of hate crimes involving an attempt to kill, and 22 counts of use of a firearm during and in relation to a crime of violence.

[morningcallsphotography]

Patrick's Point State Park Trinidad, CA NY -> CA (and back), 2021

Contact ©morningcallsphotography

[igettalk]

Jose Antonio Ibarra, a 26-year-old Venezuelan citizen, was found guilty of the murder of Laken Riley, a 22-year-old nursing student at the University of Georgia. The verdict, delivered by Superior Court Judge H. Patrick Haggard, sentenced Ibarra to life in prison without the possibility of parole.The incident occurred on February 22, when Riley, a student at Augusta University College of Nursing, went missing after a morning run on the University of Georgia campus. Her body was discovered later that day in Oconee Forest Park near a jogging trail, with officials stating that she had died from blunt force trauma. Ibarra was arrested the following day after a substantial amount of evidence pointed to him as the perpetrator.During the trial, which Ibarra waived his right to a jury for, Judge Haggard found him guilty on all ten counts, including malice murder, felony murder, aggravated assault with intent to rape, and kidnapping with bodily injury. Prosecutor Sheila Ross had provided overwhelming evidence against Ibarra, including DNA found under Laken Riley's fingernails and on a jacket linked to Ibarra, as well as surveillance footage showing him near the crime scene.The case gained much attention due to Ibarra's status as an undocumented immigrant who had crossed the U.S.-Mexico border illegally in 2022. This aspect of the case has been brought up multiple times by President-elect Donald Trump and other Republicans, who criticized current immigration policies and used Riley's murder as an example of the dangers posed by lax border security. On X, Trump expressed his condolences to Riley's family and reiterated his call for stricter immigration controls. https://twitter.com/realDonaldTrump/status/1859305952945557883 Laken Riley's family and friends were deeply affected by her loss, with her mother, Allyson Phillips, tearfully describing the impact of the murder on their lives. "He took my best friend," Phillips said. "He ripped away every beautiful memory we will ever be able to make with her again." The family urged the judge to impose the maximum sentence on Ibarra, which he ultimately did.The trial also saw defense attorney Kaitlyn Beck attempting to cast doubt on the evidence, arguing that it was circumstantial and that there were alternative interpretations. However, the judge found the prosecution's case compelling, supported by forensic, digital, and video evidence that left no room for reasonable doubt. Video below shows moment Judge Haggard delivers final verdict in Laken Riley's case. https://youtu.be/BLM4MSSQaIA?si=zBVpm7SdMng9PYDb Read the full article

[mexican-texican]

Day 4, 1.2 million still without power:

Centerpoint had fleets of technicians crowding parking lots on standby ready to go at a moments notice but weren't allowed to move until an agreement had been made on pay rate negotiations. They were still getting paid to sit there, though.

Greg Abbott continued on to his nine day tech mission across East Asia the Friday before Beryl hit, and claims to be going back and forth with local officials yet Biden stated he hadn't been able to reach neither Abbot nor Dan Patrick about providing aid and emergency generators.

Meanwhile, Dan Patrick is too busy on Twitter pointing fingers literally everywhere else to pick up the phone.

Ted Cruz had left to SoCal over the weekend for a whale watching excursion but came back the Monday after the storm had hit to make a video for Twitter of him standing next to a flooded freeway. Judging by the weather I'm assuming well into the evening.

Meanwhile our power outage numbers look like this:

And our homes are reaching dangerous levels of Satan's asshole hot.

People are scrambling to any grocery store with power that won't kick them out to charge their phones and laptops (I'm side-eyeing the fuck outta you Whole Foods, don't think I haven't heard about kicking people out of the designated sitting areas in several locations) and are struggling to get anything that doesn't require refrigeration to prepare for dinner by candlelight.

All the while lingering after storms keep reflooding areas that are struggling to eliminate floodwaters.

(that's not a river, that's a thousand foot long underpass)

Everyone on Reddit keeps going on about how ridiculous this whole situation is because it was barely a Cat 1, but people forget too easily that "When you've seen a hurricane..., you've seen a hurricane." They're not cut and press, there's no two alike. I mean fuck man, Alison wasn't even a category and yet was the costliest bitch of them all (the amount of people we lost and witness drown to death, get sucked into open manholes at piss poor attempts to relieve street flooding)

Yeah, Centerpoint-less is a monopoly of a power company that shouldn't be ALLOWED to exist as it is and that's its own issue (they're literally the only allowed electric provider down here) but we also have to take into account who is allowing them to continue this way, because Hurricane Beryl should not have been able to get as strong as it did as fast as it did This Early In The Season and this is just a taste of what we have in store this season.

[kevin--of-desert-bluffs]

WTNV quick rundown - 134 - Fall Football Preview

Read the rest here!

There is no I in team. This has been a partial list of Letters Not Found in the Word 'Team.' Welcome to Night Vale.

NV HS Scorpions kick off the varsity football season against last year's district champions, Red Mesa.

Nazr is not coaching this year, he's taking a sabbatical due to previous personal issues. Taking over in his place is Latrice Beaumont. She used to be a player herself and is the first Gemini ever hired as coach. She calls a conference to talk about her new strategy and changes to the game.

Players mentioned include; Junius Duncan who is 5'4'', 120lbs, has 8 legs, no arms, a thorax and can jump up to 20 times his height and Prince Reynolds who has hydraulic joints installed in his shoulders. There is also Timothy Llano, their offensive guard.

One of the changes is a crack down on endzone celebrations. District head of officiating Jake Kemp states that in his day everyone was more conservative and not selfishly making the game about them. He then blames Millenials for ruining everything. When it's pointed out that current high schoolers are not millenials and that he, at 33, is one, Kemp makes himself age to 93.

There is also a rule saying players must have two or fewer legs which means Junius can't play.

Red Mesa players mentioned are; Salam Talib and Trung Pham (who has 20 inch antlers).

Everyone in Pine Cliff is a ghost, which makes their defence really weak. Cecil makes a bad pun about them coming 'dead last' which his producer, Ian, dislikes because his mother was part of the Great Cataclysm of 2008 that resulted in the residents all becoming ghosts. Their running back is called Alfonso Menendez.

Cactus Park senior running back Patrick Lyle is being encouraged to hold the ball and not put it in his pocket.

DBToo now has a new team and wants to start playing again, although there are worries about crossing between the DOW and this one for other players, theoretical physicist Cedric Dumond from DB Junior College tells them they need to stop looking at the bad and think about the good instead. Their kicker is called Leonard Clayton.

The Whispering Forest is now an independent and ever growing township with it's own football team this year. Despite all of them being trees. They won't be able to do much but recruit the other team to their side by turning them into trees. Their team is the Wood Dogs.

Coach Beaumont's new strategy is 'surprise'. The team will play all 5 rival teams at once, in 5 minutes from her saying that. At first their chances of winning the game seem slim, then Beaumont gets Junius to stand on his back two legs and pretend the rest of his legs are arms, thus technically allowing him to play and win the game for them.

Weather: "Raising Helvetica" by Sims x Air Credits x ICETEP

Football games in NV start with the national anthem, the pledge of allegiance, the eldritch chant of national unity, the secret police helicopter flyover, and the pre-game Blood Stone Bacchanal Dance.

Cecil, Carlos, Abby, Steve and Janice all go and see the game.

The library is having a used book sale, which is a thinly veiled attempt at trapping people.

Traffic tells us about a woman called Lisa Farmer, who seems to be living a somewhat unfulfilled life.

Stay tuned next for "Gentle Takes": our political roundtable where the hosts listen to each other talk about their days while they knit and say 'thanks for sharing that with me.' Good night Night Vale. Good night. 

Proverb: Dress for the job you want (sports team mascot) not the job you have (customer service manager)

[swagrum76]

I once tried to write a book about Bill Nye the Science Guy turning evil and killing all of humanity. I even gave him a little backstory, and that backstory was basically that he worked for the Nazis in WW2, got shoved in front of a landmine, stayed at a doctors office for a few weeks due to ptsd, and then went home. (his home was ravaged by war so he checked the mailbox and there was a job application for an acting career in there.)

This is basically all I typed in it: [warning - mildly disturbing content. I wanted bill to gradually grow more and more insane until he snaps.]

­ The Billpocalypse

Chapter 1: Where It All Started Bill Nye served for Nazi Germany as a soldier during World War Two. He was often insulted and made fun of due to his clumsiness in the war, and as a result, someone named Carl decided to take advantage of that. Carl's plan took action on July, 6th, 1938, and he intentionally shoved Bill into a minefield during the German invasion of Poland. Surprisingly, the landmine did not blow any of Bill’s limbs apart, and he just was shoved up into the air like a ragdoll. He then fell onto the ground and his consciousness faded away. A few years after the incident, Bill regained his consciousness and woke up on a white hospital bed. After this happened, something snapped inside of him. He lived peacefully at the hospital until the war ended. After that period, Bill's main doctor, who was a stern German man named Patrick Robotnick, gave him one last psychological evaluation. It concluded, and Bill was allowed to go home. After 4 weeks of sitting in an airplane, he arrived at his brick house, but something was disturbingly wrong. All his family members were dead and his house was nothing but a pathetic little pile of rubble.He decided to at least check the red mailbox in front of his house to see if it had anything in it. To his surprise, it contained an envelope containing a white slip of paper. This white slip of paper contained a job offer that only required a five minute conversation. Having nothing to lose at this point, he said “that sounds like a great idea!” and took it. The job was for an acting position at a science tv show, and that show would be called Bill Nye the Science Guy. He ran as quickly as he could to talk to the location of his soon-to-be workplace, and he arrived at a parking lot next to a building which had an appearance similar to a Waffle House if it had red on it instead of yellow. He entered, chatted with the people there, and got the job.

Chapter 2 - Bill's First Work DayBill's first work day was hard. The pay was miserable and his boss constantly yelled at him all the time, even when he did nothing wrong. He worked at a boring old wooden desk and filed paperwork for 10 hours. It was weird. There was no stage, or any of that. Have I been given the wrong job?, Bill thought in frustration. After his shift ended, he asked his boss, who's name was Dave, for a raise. In response, Dave yelled at him with "Are you crazy or something??? You were a Nazi in World War Two! I ain't giving you shit!" Upon hearing this response, Bill Nye grabbed a red pen from the top of his desk, held it like a knife, and ran over to confront Dave. He then stated the following "Listen here sir, it's not right to judge someone based on their past! So you either give me a raise or die! Like my master in the war, I have a short fuse!". In response, Dave laughed at him and said "Are you seriously going to try to murder me with that pen? HAHAHAHAHAHA! Stupid Nazi scum!". Bill could hold his anger no longer. He punched Dave as hard as he could. Then he forcefully opened Dave's mouth and shoved the red pen deep inside his throat. Dave, of course, didn't like this very much, and he died from blood loss. A pool of crimson emerged from under Dave’s body, and got all over the tiled floor. Bill quickly fled the scene after this incident, and he would run deep into the woods, where he would find a old abandoned log cabin.

He stayed at said cabin for a few weeks and found a shotgun in a closet. But he had an unexpected guest after that time had ended, as he heard a loud knock at the door. This knock was scary for him, as he didn't expect any company since the cabin had been abandoned for so long. He cowered in a corner in fear after hearing the knocking. The wooden door flew off of the hinges and fell onto the floor, and a police officer and full riot gear appeared behind it. Bill loaded his gun and fired, but it was no use. The bullets just bounced off the transparent shield that the officer was holding.After this sight, Bill Nye was forcefully handcuffed and violently shoved into a police car. Then everything blacked out for him, as he was transferred to a concrete jail cell. Even the bars of the cell were made of concrete. When he awoke inside of his cell, he saw a buff man in an orange jumpsuit was in there with him. Bill didn’t know the man’s name, nor did he bother to ask, so he just referred to him as “Pablo”. Bill stayed in there for a few months, and voices were starting to speak to him within his head. He felt as if he was a fictional character, and that nothing he did mattered. This insanity, coupled with his time in the war and severe PTSD, led him to constantly punch the walls of the prison. His hands became wounded and bloody, but he didn’t stop punching. Eventually, Bill started punching Pable, but the guards didn’t do anything to stop them from fighting, as they couldn’t even get into the prison because the bars were made of concrete. Bill didn’t care how much pain Pablo was in, nor did he care that he was actively pleading for him to stop. A few minutes of nonstop punching later, Bill was satisfied with what he had done. Pablo was no more, and Pablo couldn’t bother him anymore. Bill then used his bare hands to tear out the arm bones of Pablo’s body. After that was done, Bill used his feet to set the bones in a corner and ripped the sheets off of his bed with his teeth. He had truly gone insane by this point, and to him, nothing was real anymore. With the bedsheets he had obtained earlier, he tied Pablo’s arm bones to each of his wrists via knots, and he began punching the walls again. Bill was actively looking for a way out of his cell, but he thought a weakness in the concrete itself would be the only way out. Unlike a sane person who would have been screaming in pain upon landing a punch on the walls of his cell, Bill was laughing like a madman each time he laid his fist upon the wall. Suddenly, after a few weeks of nonstop punching, Bill saw a crack in the wall appear, so he started kicking it, and then the wall itself crumbled into dust. It occurred so fast that to bystanders, it appeared that God himself erased a wall out of existence. Bill seized the opportunity and ran outside into the open air.

As he approached the streets in front of him, he noted now there were many other people near him. (the prison was near a busy city, ok?)

So he had the idea to run as fast as he could at anyone he laid his eyes on.

[us-cj]

A tad turgid, but the point is clear: "Analogously large but previously unrecognized uncertainties must therefore exist in all the past and present air temperature projections and hindcasts of even advanced climate models. The unavoidable conclusion is that an anthropogenic air temperature signal cannot have been, nor presently can be, evidenced in climate observables."

Propagation of Error and the Reliability of Global Air Temperature Projections, Patrick Frank*, SLAC National Accelerator Laboratory, Stanford University, Menlo Park, CA, United States

#ClimateChange is not man made

https://www.frontiersin.org/articles/10.3389/feart.2019.00223/full

[morningcallsphotography]

Patrick's Point State Park Trinidad, CA NY -> CA (and back), 2021

Contact ©morningcallsphotography

[mr880fan]

Are the Rocks Crying Out? – Godspacelight

1.3K by Catherine Lawton When I was a young child growing up in small towns, my preacher dad would take breaks from ministry pressures by going fishing. My sister and I happily followed him down trout streams as he sought the perfect fishing hole. We jumped from boulder to boulder or waded in the clear, cold water and delighted in discovering colorful, shiny rocks on the creek bottom. I saved some pretty pebbles and was disappointed when they dried and lost their shine. But a few came home in my pocket, nevertheless. Now, my children and grandchildren know I’m likely to pick up rocks anywhere I go. I examine special ones that catch my eye as I dig in the garden, walk in the neighborhood, hike in the mountains, and comb the beaches. I’m likely to have rocks in my pockets as well as a few rocks in the car, interesting rocks lining shelves and filling jars and boxes here and there in my home. 

Microphotograph of design in a rock A few years ago, my son gave me a rock tumbler for Christmas. Then I felt more like a serious collector. When my first batch of stones came out of the tumbling process smooth, glowing, and glassy—much like the creek-bottom pebbles of my childhood—I was hooked on collecting, learning about, creating with, and even meditating on rocks. 

A few of my favorites I have learned more about rocks in the process, and my children and grandchildren admire the polished rocks with me. Sometimes we look for pictures in their designs. I’ve even made a few Christmas gifts with polished stones.

A fun collage I made with beach rocks My favorite stones to polish are beach agates and jasper. 

Here I am searching (in a relaxed way at the time) for the semi-precious stones on Agate Beach at Patrick’s Point State Park in Northern California. Looking for agates on the beach is what it’s like for me, as a poet, to be present to the thoughts, emotions, winds, and waves of gritty life… to dig into my heart at the moment and find metaphors that seem to reveal themselves to me: reflecting light, shaped by experiences and observations, by forces of the environment, by the workings of Love Rocks appeal to us for many reasons: - The joy of discovering treasures. - Rocks tell a story, often an ancient story, about where they have come from where we have come from, and where we are headed. And we sing, “On Christ, the solid rock I stand.”  - Rocks feel solid and permanent when so much in life and in the world is fleeting and fragile. One of the prayers attributed to St. Patrick begins, “I arise today through the strength of heaven; the light of the sun, the splendor of fire, speed of lightning, swiftness of the wind, depth of the sea, stability of the earth, firmness of the rock….” Similarly, the prophet Isaiah exclaimed, “He will be the stability of your times” (Is. 33:6). - Rocks remind us of things hidden. We try to clear our vegetable garden of rocks, but every spring we find more rocks that have worked their way up from the deep. Small rocks seem to appear out of nowhere, but they remind me that rock makes up much of our earth’s outer layers, and rocks have a constant cycle of breaking down and being re-formed. - Rocks can speak to us. Even as a child, the famed Jesuit geologist and mystic theologian, Teilhard de Chardin delighted in the hardness and stability of translucent and glittering stones. He later wrote and taught how to see God everywhere, to “see him in all that is most hidden, most solid, and most ultimate in the world” (from Teilhard’s The Divine Milieu).  - Rocks preserve, encapsulate, and speak of history (for instance, fossilized rocks, moss agates, picture rocks, volcanic rocks, and precious gems). - Rocks are sometimes symbols of difficulties and trials. We might say, “I’ve been traveling a rocky road lately.” But rocks can remind us that while constant change is a given in nature and in our lives, God who is everywhere, including in the cycles and changes of seasons, is also unchanging in essence. God’s love will always endure and keep rising getting our attention and sending us reminders. Though God’s loving reminders may sometimes feel like obstacles when we want an easy path … If we give heed, the very rocks in our path will speak and have the potential to help form us. Beautiful rocks and fine gemstones were formed by extreme pressures over long periods of time. These gems uniquely encapsulate the effects of pressures and changes in the formation of our earth home. Examine the depth and design of many stones and you’ll see exemplified the beauty and creativity of God.

We respond to heart-shaped rocks found along our way as if they are valentines placed by God for us to discover. September 17 is “Collect Rocks Day.” So, take a walk and look for Beauty in beautiful rocks, Stability in solid, hard rocks, and Creativity in interesting rocks, and maybe even listen to what the rocks might say if you could hear them “crying out.”

Join Christine Sine on October 14 or watch the recording later. October and November, the season between Canadian Thanksgiving and American Thanksgiving, is the gratitude season on Godspacelight. Christine Sine will encourage you to enter into the practice of gratitude in this interactive retreat that will help us enter this season of gratitude with joy and delight in our hearts. Related Source link Read the full article