#please change your flag again Arkansas

[mrpagesfrontispiece]

you wanna know a fun fact about the flag of Arkansas?

no, you don't. However, I’ll tell you anyway, just in case! Arkansas’s flag originally designed by a Ms. Willie Hocker, had three stars in the middle, like this:

solid flag, right? It’s a diamond because Arkansas makes diamonds, 25 outer stars, because Arkansas was the 25th state in the US, and three central stars, representing how the land that is now Arkansas was owned by the Spanish Empire, the French Empire, and the United States of America before the Louisiana Purchase and Spanish-American war and all that. (it was also owned by the Indigenous Americans who had lived there for centuries but I digress) so far, so good! Then, Arkansas updated their flag to this:

United States Star is on top, (because they were of course who Arkansas was at this moment a part of, perfectly justified) and they put the word “Arkansas” in the middle. Kind of tacky, sure, but I guess that if they really want to make sure no one forgets who’s flag they’re looking at, then it works. But then, in the dark year of 1923, they changed the flag once more, to this:

Oh my, they've added a fourth star! I wonder what that one symbolises! Can you guess, loyal viewers?

If you guessed the traitorous rebellion that attempted to shatter the Union over owning human beings, you'd be right! THE FORTH STAR REPRESENTS THE CONFEDERATE STATES OF AMERICA! As you can imagine, this caused an uproar. The Traitors being represented on the official state flag was not without precendent; look to Florida, the old Missisippi flag, Alabama, and countless county flags in the American South to see examples there, but symbolically putting them on the same level as the real United States of America was a step too far. Also, it made the flag really ugly and destroyed the deeper heraldic meanings I haven't gone into today. So, an emergency session was called, and the new flag of Arkansas was forged:

Alright, they've rearranged the stars. They kept their precious “cultural heritage” through the Confederate Star, but now it’s on the bottom, where it belongs.

Right?

RIGHT!?!?

NO! THEY PUT THE CONFEDERATE STAR ABOVE ALL THE OTHER ONES! I’M CITING THE WEBSITE OF THE ARKANSAS SECRETARY OF STATE WHEN I SAY IT WAS TO, QUOTE, “commemorate Arkansas’ membership in the Confederacy.” AND THEY JUST LOOKED AT THAT AND SAID “YEP! THIS IS FINE! WE SHOULD PLACE THE REPRESENTATION OF THE TRAITORS WHO LOST ABOVE OUR CURRENT ALLEGIANCE!” AND THE NATION LET THEM GET AWAY WITH IT! But that’s not the end of the story! In February 2019, Arkansas Representative Charles Blake introduced a bill that would change the meaning of the Confederate Star to mean, wait for it, those Indigenous peoples I mentioned earlier! You know the ones who lived in Arkansas before any of the stars on the flag! But because it’s Arkansas the bill was actually never even voted on. Anyway, what’s the moral of the story? I'm not sure, other than maybe to avoid Arkansas when possible.

[seljepw]

Sleeping With the Enemy: Part 3

A/N: My beloveds.  Thank you for your unending patience with my slow-ass story crafting.  This one has been in the works for a long time, and I’m so freaking happy to share it with you.  Sláinte.

When last we left our heroine: A year ago, Crowley and the reader came to an agreement.  Since then, they’ve fucked seen each other twice, and it’s no longer as cut-and-dry as it once was.  What is going on, here?  Just great sex?  Just business?  Or something more? (Catch up on previous chapters HERE)

Menu Warnings: HERE THERE BE SMUT.  Demon power kink, unprotected sex (you know this is pretend, right??), public sex, orgy, Crowley’s dirty mouth, etc.

Weighing in at: 7,780 words.  I’m not even sorry.

The King of Hell had been fucking with you for months.

Note: fucking with you, not fucking you.  Therein lay the problem.

It started the morning after his last visit.  You had dragged yourself, sore and sleepless, to the shower.  You spent much longer under the hot water than usual, hoping it would wash away some of your confusion.  By the time you got out, the huge bathroom was full of steam.  In the condensation on one of the mirrors was a large heart, around your first initial and a capital C.  Crowley’s voice echoed in your mind.  

“I didn’t expect you to pine away, doodling our names in little hearts on you chemistry notebook…”  

You hastily wiped your hand over the drooling lines, and hoped that neither of the Winchesters had wandered in in the last hour.  

A month later, you had opened the shitty motel room door in po-dunk nowhere, Arkansas, to find the entire room covered in flowers.  Every kind, every color possible.  On the pillow, tied to a black rose with silk ribbon, was a note.  “Your favorite must be here, somewhere.”  When you climbed in the car the next morning in your FBI duds, Dean asked if you were wearing a new perfume.  

You managed to keep the boys out of your room for the remainder of the case, and every night when you “went to get ice”, you discarded another bin full of flowers.  

You did keep your favorite bloom, though.  Pressed in your hunter’s journal with no other context.

The fancy underwear had shown up next.  Scraps of red lace that looked like they had been made to be taken off almost immediately, but would disintegrate with normal use.  When you left them in the box, the next day they were replaced with soft, clearly expensive pajamas.  Those you wore.  But not out of your room.  Sam and Dean were observant enough to notice when you got new clothes, and you didn’t want to have to come up with a groggy, pre-coffee lie, one morning.

It went on for months. Pizza you didn’t order arrived at the library where you and the guys were pulling an all-nighter.  On laundry day, your clothes were magically folded and arranged in a C on your bed.  A box of bandaids in Baby’s backseat, the day after you put down a rugaru, with a note inside that said “Just protecting my interests…”.  It was getting infuriatingly difficult to explain away or hide the evidence of demonic visitation from the Winchesters, despite the fact that you hadn’t actually seen your demonic visitor, at all.  

And then there were the dreams.  

Every few nights, you would dream of Crowley’s hands on you.  Burning fingers on your thighs, breasts, wrists, pussy… one night, you woke up coming.  Most nights, you just woke up frustrated, flipped the pillow to the non-sweaty side, and tried to get back to sleep.

You (ahem) filled the void with a few guys here and there, but mostly, they just took the edge off enough that you didn’t literally claw your way up a wall.  Nothing quite matched the intensity that you had experienced with Crowley.  Eventually, you gave up on outside help, and invested in a large pack of batteries.

It had been almost six months since your last… what to call it?

“Encounter”? Too spaceshipy.  

“Assignation”?  Too romance-novely.

“Date” was flat-out wrong.

Whatever it was that you and Crowley had indulged in, it had been too long since it happened.  

October came again.  You hadn’t heard from Crowley for two months.  No semi-intrusive gifts, no cryptic notes, not even a bathroom mirror doodle.  You tried not to think anything of it.  So, he had gotten tired of toying with you, and moved on.  Fine.  Good riddance.  You would just have to compartmentalize and move on with your own life.  It wasn’t like he owed you anything.  This all started as basically a business deal for an ancient, witch-fighting talisman.  Nothing personal, right?  In fact, it was a relief not to have to hide the evidence from Sam and Dean.  You definitely did not miss him.  Or, so you told yourself at least twice a day, when you caught sight of the Luisgeàrd as you changed clothes, or felt it pressed between your breasts under your shirt.  Despite yourself, though, you never took it off.

~~~

Another vampire, another hunt, another po-dunk nowhere.  Two lane blacktop and spanish moss-layden oak trees whipping by the open window.   Unseasonable heat that was sticking to your skin, making you itch from the inside out.  Dean singing and drumming on the wheel.  Between the sexual drought and the muggy air, you had to concentrate hard on not throttling him.  

When you and the boys finally tracked down the vamp, you spent a little longer than normal beating the shit out of it before the killing blow.  Sam had given you A Look, but said nothing.  Dean offered to buy you a drink.

The town bar was a standard Southern-American dive.  The kind of place where a night had never passed without at least one drunken sing-along to “Friends in Low Places”.  Women and men in ass-hugging jeans and tank tops bumped around like bubbles in a kettle.  Dean was in heaven.  Soon, he was hustling pool in the corner, a blonde woman giggle-whispering in his ear, a huge grin on his face.  You saluted each other with your respective drinks through the neon light and loud voices.  

“You good?” his raised eyebrow asked.

Your smirk and sip responded, “Not as good as you, but I’ll keep.”

His head tilted a bit to your left.  “Heads up, lame pickup line at 9 o’clock.”

You turned to face the guy just as he slid into the stool next to yours.  In the time it took for him to smile at you, you gave him a once-over.  Not bad.  Cute, in a Friday Night Lights kind of way.  No outward display of “southern gentleman” that really covered up misogyny.  And the lack of a rebel flag on his shirt was a welcome change from the other customers.  He’d do.

Before he could say anything and ruin the moment, you spoke first.  

“Buy me a drink.”  It wasn’t a question.

“Yes, ma’am!”  

A beer and a half later, things were right on track.  His hand on your thigh and his mouth on your neck and your thoughts most definitely not on the King of Hell, thankyouverymuch.

“Let’s get out of here,” you murmured in his ear.

“Aw, fuck, yeah!” was his charming response.  This guy was lucky you were so hard-up.  

“Just gimmie a minute to freshen up.”  You extricated yourself from his grip, slid off the stool, and headed for the bathroom.  As you passed the pool table, you and Dean had another silent conversation, where you assured him you had things well in hand, and would call him if needed.  

You actively didn’t think about Crowley.  You didn’t think about Crowley while you checked to make sure you had a condom in your bag.  You didn’t think about Crowley while you sat on the toilet.  You didn’t think about Crowley while you washed your hands.  Then you glanced in the mirror and saw the note.

“Enjoy the junk food, Love.  He’s cute.  You deserve a treat. -C”

In your shock, the only thing you could think was, So, the King of Hell uses Post Its.  Good to know.  Then the rage hit.  How dare he pull something like this?  Months of radio silence, and then suddenly popping up and implying that he was giving you permission to sleep with what's-his-name, out there.  Fuck.  That.  You were not going to give him the satisfaction of feeling like he could control you.  

“Fuck you, asshat!” you snapped to the empty bathroom.  Then you were through the door, pushing past drunk rednecks, not hearing Dean calling your name, not seeing the confused look on “junk food’s” face, until you were out in the humid parking lot, the Post It crumpled in your fist.

Dean had the good sense not to press you.  The drive back to the hotel, breakfast at a diner in the morning, and then the whole way back to Kansas, he didn’t ask what had happened in the bar.  He didn’t ask about as loudly as a person could, in fact.  Sam kept giving you the patented Winchester Look Of Concern™ when he thought you couldn’t see.  But they knew you.  They knew that when you had shit to deal with, you did it alone.  The only one who’d ever meddled in your all-alone shit-dealing was Crowley.  Damn him.  You twitched angrily and turned up the volume to your headphones, closed your eyes, and ignored the Winchesters all the way to the Bunker.  It wasn’t until Dean killed the engine that you opened your eyes and realized your fingers were tangled in the Luisgeàrd’s leather cord.  

~~~

You almost didn’t open it.  The box on your bed.  Large, white, and tied with blood red ribbon.  You were considering how to get it to the garbage chute without Sam or Dean seeing it when you read the note attached.  

“Please wear this when you yell at me. -C”

“At least he said please this time…” you grumbled.  Curiosity got the better of you, and you opened the box.  

It was a dress. A white silk gown that poured over your hands as you rustled it out of the tissue paper.  You held it up for inspection, and stared.  Simple.  No frills, no lace.  Just artfully draped white silk that fell to the floor.  Despite your anger- which hadn’t abated, by the way- you were enchanted.  You thought back to last Halloween as you kicked out of your jeans and flannel, and then slithered the silk over your head.  

The gown you’d worn to Crowley’s masquerade ball, when this whole thing started, had been uncomfortable and heavy.  Swathes of red velvet that left you restricted and off-balance.  Undoubtedly gorgeous, but so not you.  The leather mask that hid your features and cut off your peripheral vision hadn’t helped, either.  The foreignness of your costume that night had lent an overall feeling of Other to that whole experience.   And that feeling had colored everything that came after.  Added to the confusion.  Was still adding to the confusion.

This dress was exactly the opposite of last year’s getup.  You regarded your reflection, spinning slowly.  It fit you well.  More than that, it suited you.  You could move easily in the lightweight fabric.  It didn’t get caught under your feet as you walked, and the sleeveless bodice gave you full use of your arms.  The glowing white of the silk played with the tone of your skin, making you glow, too.  The Luisgeàrd, in it’s constant position around your throat, nestled comfortably in the neckline, which looked like it had been cut specifically to show off the talisman.  

“Sneaky fucker,” you murmured, fingering the wooden disk.

“I prefer to think of it as, ‘Romantically Mysterious’,” rasped a familiar voice in the corner.

You’d been expecting this, but you still flinched.  Whirling to face him, months worth of angry thoughts stampeded to get out of your mouth and bottlenecked, leaving you working a jaw around silent fury.

“You look radiant,” was all he said.

All the trapped words coiled in your throat like an about-to-cry lump.  You managed to gasp in a breath, then blurted out, “Where have you been?”

Seriously?  You berated yourself.  ‘Where have you been?’  Like you’re some neglected housefrau confronting an errant husband at 2:00am.  Fuck, get your fists off your hips.  You don’t care, remember?

You crossed your arms, suddenly feeling foolish in the gorgeous dress. Still, you had promised yourself you wouldn’t back down.  Crowley unsettled you, and that was unacceptable.  You weren’t unsettled.  Ever.  You couldn’t be, in your line of work.  You put on your fight face and looked him squarely in the eye.

He just stared at you for a moment, something like sadness around the corners of his eyes.  “I was watching,” he finally said, quietly.

“You were watching?  Well, thank you.  That’s not creepy at all.”

“It occurred to me that we both might need some space, after…” he stopped and looked away.  His glance fell to your bed.

The memory surfaced.  You and Crowley, face to face, sweaty and sated...

“What the fuck are we doing, Crowley?”  You’d asked.  “What is this?  I mean, I barely know you.  Half the time, I don’t trust you...  What are we doing?”

You remembered the feeling of his palm on your cheek and his forehead pressed to yours.  The way he had whispered, “Y/N, I-”

...And that was when the boys had come home, and everything had gone to shit.  

You took a small step forward.  His eyes darted to the silk rustling around your feet, clinging to your thigh as you moved.  If you didn’t know better, you’d say he looked… scared.  It was unheard of to see Crowley, King of Hell and consummate cocksure ass, off his game.  Maybe this dress was exactly what you needed.  Leveling the playing field, so to speak.

“After what, Crowley? After last time, in this room, in that bed, when you almost said something you’d regret?”  You’d closed the distance, now.  If either of you reached out, you could grab the other.

“I need your help,” he said, finally meeting your eyes, again.  There was no guile.  No half-smile in the words.  Just fear and perhaps a little shame.  “All right?  There it is.  I need your help.”

You were stunned.  “You… what?!”

“There are some rumblings in my kingdom.  Pissants who think I’ve lost my edge; that Hell’s not what it could be under my rule.  ‘Make Hell great again’, and all that twaddle.  I’ve made a shaky alliance with a coven-”

“A coven?  Of witches?!  Crowley, do we need to have another talk about what I do for a living?”

He continued speaking as though you hadn’t.  “-A coven that’s powerful enough to sway the dissidents.  If I can show that I’m strong enough to forge a treaty like this, it would go a long way to restabilizing my reign.”  Somewhere in that statement, he had rested his hands on your hips.  He gave you a gentle shake and looked at you through his lashes.  “A delegation from this coven is coming to the Halloween ball, tonight, but they’re old-school.  They respond favorably to symbols and archetypes.  Pomp and circumstance.  They may not like dealing with me alone.  I need backup, Love.”  He hooked a knuckle under your chin and lifted your face to his.  “I need a Queen... for the night.”

“A…. a queen.  You mean… me?  Me, queen?” Great, now you had devolved into Tarzan sentence structure.  Get a grip, woman!  

He smiled at you.  A real smile.  You weren’t sure you’d ever actually seen Crowley smile, before.  It was gorgeous.  His hands were still on you- hip and chin- and he used the leverage to pull you forward into a kiss.  

Warm and soft and gentle, this was one of those kisses that seemed to wrap around you, raising goosebumps and relaxing every tense muscle.  You wanted to swim in it.  Drown in it.  

Crowley’s sulfur/incense smell was everywhere.  His hands whispered around your waist and into your hair.  You signed into the warm solidness of his chest pressed to yours.  The feel of his suit coat under your fingers.  It went on forever.  It was, ironically, pure heaven.

When he reluctantly eased his lips off of yours, your face felt cold.  It took you a moment to resurface and open your eyes. Crowley’s earnest face stared back.

“Please, Y/N.  Will you help me?  Just for tonight?”

You stayed silent for a moment, slowly working your fingers through his hair, not looking at his eyes.  Letting yourself enjoy the feeling of making him squirm, for a change.  You carefully wound his tie around your hand; got a good grip.  That’s when you met his gaze.  With a deliberate tug, you command his full attention.

“I’ll make you a deal, Crowley,” you said, low and only a little breathless.  “I’ll be your Queen for the night.  And afterwards, you will owe me a conversation.  About feelings.”

A hint of terror darkened the corners of his face, but his overall expression was one of hunger.

“It’s a deal.”

There was a lurch somewhere in your guts, and suddenly you found yourself standing in a dim alcove, like a theatre box, overlooking a familiar black marble ballroom.  

Hell’s Halloween Ball was in full swing, already.  The assortment of attendees echoed last year’s.  Fae, vamps, and even a djinn or two wound their way around and through the crowd of demons, all decked out in elaborate costumes.  

You looked down from the shadows of your hiding place, and once again, the feeling of being so terribly human overwhelmed you.  Like a goldfish in a school of sharks.  That was when you realized that Crowley had zapped you here before you’d had a chance to grab a single weapon.  Or shoes.  ...Or underwear.  That off-balance, othery feeling took hold of you.  You shivered.

“Something wrong, darling?” Crowley rumbled from behind you.  

“Just feeling a little underdressed, all of a sudden.”  You kept your voice down, even though you were so high above the dance floor, no one could possibly hear you.  

Crowley hummed low in his throat and pressed himself to your back, snaking his hands over your silk covered hips and nipping slightly at your earlobe.  

“Underdressed is exactly how I like you,” he growled.

Your whimper was purely instinctual.  So was the way you arched back, rubbing against him and offering your neck for kisses.

Crowley groaned and bit down on the junction of your throat and shoulder.  A slight keening sound happened somewhere in the vicinity of your vocal chords without your permission, and you ground against him again.  You had just a heartbeat to enjoy the feeling of Hell’s most impressive cock rolling against you before that feeling was replaced by a sharp slap on your ass.  You pulled a breath through clenched teeth and gripped the railing in front of you.

“Careful with that.  It’s loaded,” you said, and shook your ass at him.

“And who’s fault is that?” He retorted.  

“Who’s fault?” You huffed a laugh. “Yours!  It’s been a while, you know.”  

“You didn’t listen to me- I tried to steer you towards that little snack back in Alabama.  You chose not to take the offer.”

“Oh, fuck you,” you said without any real anger.  “Like I’m gonna do what you tell me.”

“Cheeky.”  Another sharp spank, softened by a kiss behind your ear.  “We can-and will- play later.  Now, it’s time to work.”  

He stepped back and let you turn to face him.  At some point, he had donned his costume.  It was the same from last year, you saw; a red cape draped over his impeccable black suit, a multi-horned devil mask covering the top half of his face.  Standing in the shadows of the alcove, the flickering lights from the ballroom below picking out the lines of that mask, Crowley was back to the mythical dark figure you’d encountered a year ago.  A wolf-in-the-woods kind of shadow that made all the animal parts of you quiver.  The devil that had fucked you senseless in the dark above his library.  God, you wanted him to do it again.

He must have known how his appearance affected you, because he licked his lips, smirked, and crooked a finger in your direction.  His eyes flared red as you took an involuntary step forward.  

“That’s it, my Queen,” he murmured low, “Come to daddy.”

You snorted in quiet amusement as you crossed the carpeted floor to him.  “Ass.”

From behind his back, Crowley produced a mask for you.  It was white filigree, not solid, so it wouldn’t cut off your vision like the last one, the metal swirls were wrought to dip low over your nose and high on your brow, almost horse like.  The antlers that sprouted from the top gave the appearance of a crown, much like the demonic horns on his own mask.  You reached a tentative hand out to touch one of the points.

“A deer?”

“A hart.  A White Hart.”  When you looked askance at him, he continued,  “The White Hart, in stories, is a traveler from another world.  An emissary of sorts.  And the bestower of blessings upon Kings.  I told you- symbols and archetypes.”

“So this is a political move, not an aesthetic one?”

He rolled his eyes.  “Sweet missionary on a spit, woman.  Have you seen yourself?  It’s both.”  

He helped you settle the mask in place- it was much lighter than you thought it would be- and offered his arm in a courtly gesture.  “I think we’ve reached ‘fashionably late’, by now.  Come on, Pet.  Let’s give them a show.”

~~~

The ballroom fell silent when you walked in.  The music died away, dancers stopped swirling, conversations ceased, and everyone turned toward the King of Hell as though it were choreographed.  You looked out over the sea of supernatural faces and tried to slow your heart rate.  If Crowley needed you to be a Queen, and it got you an honest conversation from him, by fucking Hell, you would be a Queen.  A deal’s a deal, after all.  

“Friends, demons, countrymen,” Crowley addressed them, a little sardonically, “Welcome to my annual ball.  As always, until sunrise, the legendary hospitality of Hell is open to you.  Enjoy yourselves!”

The music rose again, and the party resumed.  A path opened in the crowd, and Crowley led you to the dance floor.  Although the fizzle static of a few hundred conversations filled the huge room, it seemed that every eye was still on you.  Your bare feet, blessedly hidden by the liquid swirling of the dress as you moved, made no sound on the cool marble floor.  A lack of shoes allowed more maneuverability than last year’s heels, but it made you feel even more venerable.  And you still didn’t know how to waltz.

But Crowley wasn’t King of Hell by chance, and he played his role flawlessly.  As he swung you into into his arms, you felt the familiar hot pressure of invisible hands lifting you just an inch off the floor.  You fought a gasp and smirked at him.  The hands in question had lifted from just under your ass.  

“Bastard,” you murmured.

“Oh, darling, you say such lovely things,” he retorted, and began swirling you around the floor.

With the whirling motion blurring the world around you, it was easier to forget that you had entered the room as the center of attention.  

“So, this is a yearly thing, huh?  I didn’t know it was such a big deal.”

“Well,” he tilted his head conspiratorially, “It’s not like we’re the types to have a company Christmas party.  This lets everyone mingle, drink, blow off steam…” At that, one of the manifested hands under your skirt reached a little deeper, running a finger of heat through your folds.  You hissed through clenched teeth, to keep from crying out.  Crowley continued in a conversational tone, but low enough that only you could hear, “Have I mentioned how gorgeous you look, tonight, Y/N?  I can’t bloody wait to have the business bit over and done with.  I’m going to eat you alive.”  His eyes flared red as you moved through a small shadow on the edge of the floor, and an ethereal tongue joined the fingers under your skirt, lapping at the juices there.

“Fuck, Crowley, you fucking asshole… shit…” You whispered and writhed, trying to ease the pressure.  But his power just moved with you, and you couldn’t get away.  Your vision went white around the edges and your breath came in shallow pants.  The King pulled you closer, to keep you from swooning back, and never broke stride.  

“Oh, there she is.  Hello, darling,” he crooned, “Did you miss me?”  The spectral tongue never relented, and a sucking pressure was added to your clit.  You bit your lip in a desperate fight to keep quiet.  Crowley kept going.  “This is the version of you I like best, Love.  All flustered and pliable and dripping.”  The disembodied tongue pushed deeper, writhing inside.  You couldn’t bite back all of your pleasure and a small Aaaaah! Slipped out, buried in Crowley’s neck.  He continued, “That’s it, Love.  Let your King take care of you.  You like when I play with you, don’t you?  My squirming, soaking wet little toy.  I wonder how long I can keep playing with you until-”

The music died again and Crowley broke off mid-sentence with a whispered curse.  He stepped away from you, to greet the intrusion.  The invisible mouth abruptly stopped its torture, as well.  But the hands remained, more to keep you upright than anything else.  Which was a good thing, as you probably wouldn’t be able to stand on your own.  Again, the occupants of the room turned toward the main doorway, in which stood three women in glittering black gowns.  

The witches had arrived.

~~~

To help get your heart rate down and your brain back in working order, you took mental notes of the new guests.  Queen-for-a-night or not, you were still a hunter.  The blonde one was young.  In her early 20’s, if you had to guess.  She wore a white mask over her eyes.  On the other side of the doorway, there stood a statuesque brunette that seemed to be nearing 40.  Her mask was red.  The one in the middle was a head shorter than the other two, but was unquestioningly In Charge.  She was old.  Middle 80’s maybe?  You hardly ever saw a witch owning her age, like that.  Her black mask and black dress made her white hair stand out against the dark marble room.  

“Ladies,” Crowley’s tone was friendly, if a little cautious, “I’m so glad you could join us.  Please come in.”

A new path cleared, and you saw a small dais set at the end of the hall, on which sat two empty thrones facing the crowded room.  That was where Crowley led you.  He didn’t even look behind to see if the witches followed- just took your hand and proceeded to the thrones.  

You had regained most of your composure from his mid-dance teasing, and though you were still a little short of oxygen, you were able to tread silently on your own bare feet, once more.  You tried not to think about how many eyes were on you- you just focused on Crowley’s warm, steady hand in yours, and followed his lead.  You moved on autopilot until you were both seated, Crowley on your right side.  You must have made an imposing sight.  Crowley all in black and red, you in glowing white, and both masked faces staring down at the assembly.  

The witches stood at the foot of the dais, looking up at the King and Queen of Hell, and remained silent.  

You swallowed quietly and rested your hands on the throne’s armrests.  Queen.  You are a fucking Queen.  Get yourself under control.  Head up, shoulders back.  It’s showtime.  Think Queen, damnit.  You tried not to dig your fingernails into the carved, dark wood.

“We have some illustrious guests,” Crowley addressed the assembled creatures, “The Exalted Coven has sent a delegation to Hell, in hopes of forming an alliance.  Isn't that right, ladies?”  

The white haired woman inclined her head a fraction.

“Then you are welcome.  Let’s talk business, shall we?”  From some hidden pocket, Crowley produced an ornate scroll.  The parchment scratched and fluttered in the silent air as it unfurled, stretching from his lazy hand to the old woman’s feet.  She would have to stoop to pick it up and read it.

“Just a boilerplate agreement, of course,” Crowley continued, “You are granted the protection of Hell, blah blah, and we gain your fealty, with tithes due every seven years, etc etc.”

Your hunter brain went into overdrive.  Protection of Hell?  Tithes?  What would this mean for you and the boys and your work?  What parts of that contract was Crowley glossing over to make a quick sale?  You were so busy speculating that you almost missed when the old witch spoke.

“Your Queen seems very quiet, Crowley.  She doesn’t speak?”  Her voice was strong and resonant, not at all the voice of a little old lady.  You also clocked the use of Crowley’s name, not “your majesty” or whatever.  

Everyone turned to you.  Fuck.  Shit, fuck, damnit, pissing hell.  They expect you to talk, now?  For a heartbeat, you thought terror would overwhelm you.  But suddenly, you felt a warm hand on the back of your neck.  Crowley’s demonic power applying reassuring pressure to the spot in your spine that he had repaired so many months ago.  That feeling of Otherness washed over you, and the world took on the fuzzy edges of a dream.  

“She speaks,” you said, mildly amazed that you sounded so calm, “She just doesn’t speak merely to fill silence.”  Where did that come from?  Astounding yourself even more, you continued, “The King has made an offer.  Do you accept?”

She regarded you for one long, agonizing moment that was probably only a heartbeat.  Her eyes dropped to the rowan wood disk on your chest.  You couldn’t be sure, with masks obscuring all faces, but it looked like the old woman cocked an appreciative eyebrow at you.  In the corner of your eye, you saw Crowley’s mouth twitch as if trying not to smile.  

The witch then nudged the air with her chin, which was apparently some kind of signal, because the two women at her sides stepped forward quickly.  The youngest picked up the trailing end of the contract and held it steady, the other ran her hand slowly down the parchment, muttering under her breath.  The Luisgeàrd grew slightly warm against your chest, as it always did in the presence of witches’ magic.  When she reached the end of the contract, the red masked witch murmured a few words in her leader’s ear.  Wrinkled lips pursed at Crowley in a decidedly “we are not amused” sort of way, the old woman flicked her fingers towards the contract.  A few words and phrases blazed red, changed, or disappeared altogether.

So this is how the supernatural elite negotiate?  You thought.  It was a far cry from beers and pizza and yelling in the Bunker’s war room.

Crowley shrugged and grinned like a precocious child caught with his hand in the cookie jar.  

“Can’t blame a bloke for trying, now can you?  The changes are acceptable.  We have an agreement.”

The witch smiled, stepped forward, and dragged a finger along the bottom of the contract, leaving a thin line of crimson behind.  Signed in blood.  

Crowley’s grin widened, and the contract vanished with a flick of his wrist.  

“Now, then,” he announced, “You ladies are welcome to share our hospitality, but I understand if you have more pressing matters to attend to, tonight.”

“The Maiden will stay,” said the witch, and the young blonde stepped forward, “The Mother and I will go to our own festivities.”  Crowley gave a half bow of acquiescence from his throne.  

And with that, they swept out, the music rose, and the party resumed.  The blonde witch- The Maiden, apparently- was swept up into a dance by a demon in a wolf mask.  At least, you hoped that was a mask.  

As you contemplated that, Crowley pressed his mouth to your ear and whispered, “You were bloody magnificent, Y/N.”

You turned to face him. “Really?  I thought I was gonna pass out when she put me on the spot like that.  I just said the first thing that came to mind that sounded… I don’t know… Queenly.”

“You were perfect!  Fuck, that was perfect!”  And there, in full view of the movers and shakers of the monster world, he grabbed your arm, swung you into his lap, and caught you up in a devouring kiss.  

As if the guests had been waiting for this signal, the tone of the room changed.  A throbbing beat threaded through the music, the lights dimmed a bit, and the air seemed to take on a crackle of energy.  When Crowley moved from your lips to your throat, nipping and sucking and kissing, you stole a glance around the room.

In an alcove, two vampires were busily feasting on a faerie.  One on her neck and the other… Oh.  Definitely not on her neck.  The faerie looked like she was having the time of her life.

On the dance floor, waltzes had given way to spinning, grinding couples and thrupples, costumes shoved aside so hands and mouths could access the flesh underneath.  

“Crowley...” You gripped his shoulder to get his attention on your words and not your uncovered skin. “What the fuck is going on?”

He looked out over the ballroom and it’s writhing occupants with a proprietary smile.

“I told you, Love.  We like to blow off some steam at this party.”

“But… I mean… This is looking like an orgy!”

Crowley smoothed a hand over your hair and gave you another genuine smile.  Damn, you could get used to that smile.  It made you all wobbly in all the right places.

“Bugger me, you’re adorable,” he said, “You left before the good stuff, last year.  Or, should I say, we jumped the gun on the good stuff, last year…” The grin turned predatory, and his eyes flared in the candlelight.  “What do you say, Pet?  Want to give them a display of what they missed, last time?”  He guided your hand to the considerable bulge in his lap.

In another involuntary response, your fingers wrapped around the suit-covered shaft, pulling a groan from Crowley that he didn’t bother to stifle.  You glanced over your shoulder again, at the assembled hosts of Hell.  

At the end of the buffet table, the Maiden was laid back among the champagne glasses, the wolf-faced demon hovering over her.  She reached down to undo his pants.  

Tearing your eyes away, you focused on the King, once more.  He was palming your breast- the silk sliding delightfully against your nipple.  He licked his lips once again.  His eyes were unwavering bonfires of red light, fixed on your face.  You hadn’t stopped stroking him, you realized.  You kept stroking, almost absentmindedly, hypnotized by the look Crowley was giving you.   An equal mix of quiet disbelief and ravenous hunger.

Over the roar of blood in your ears, you began to hear unmistakable sounds from the crowd behind you.  It was like being immersed in porn.  Fuck, it was hot.  You stared into those red eyes and tried to think coherently.  Crowley’s hand that wasn’t on your chest began to inch under the hem of your dress.  Slow and deliberate and easy to stop if you wanted to.  

Just then, a crash of glass behind you drew your attention away.  The champagne glasses had been jostled off the table by the force of the wolfman’s thrusts.  The Maiden wallowed back, emitting small gasps and squeals.  You stared.  

The heat between your legs was throbbing.  Your face was flushed.  This was unlike anything you’d ever seen.  The dreamlike feeling hung over you as you slowly worked Crowley’s dick in your hand and gazed into the crowd.  You noticed not only the writhing masses of flesh and cries of pleasure, but several grinning faces turned in your direction.  Hell was watching.  

“People are staring at us.”

“Of fucking course they are.” Crowley bucked into your hand and growled appreciatively when you tightened your grip.  You turned back to face him.

“I… I don’t know how I feel about that, Crowley.”

He released his hold on your breast and took a moment to straighten his tie.  The gesture was so refined, the turn of his neck so fluid, that it became obscene against the backdrop of intimate noise that filled the air.  You squirmed against the wet heat at your core, trying to figure out if you were actually about to fuck the King of Hell- on his throne- in full view of hundreds of witnesses.

He leaned forward to kiss you, moving from your mouth to your jaw and up to your ear.

“This night is ours, Love,” he murmured, “And as much as I would love to make you scream for me right here, I think you like to watch more than be watched.  Besides, I’m in the mood to have you all to myself...”

You felt the tug in your gut once more, and again found yourself in the alcove high above the ballroom.  From here, you had a bird’s eye view of the orgy- and that’s exactly what it was, at this point.  Piles of limbs tangled on the dance floor, humped backs and arched breasts undulating in the candlelight, bare flesh and flashing teeth and holy shit- the sounds.  It was enough to make your head spin, even without the supernatural teleport.

Crowley pressed against your back, hands braced against the railing on either side of your body, trapping you.  You melted back against him and watched the display on the dance floor.  The band hadn’t stopped playing, but there was now a driving, drumming beat hanging over the melody, and people fucked in time with the music.  You felt drunk.  Drunk and dizzy and more turned on than you’d been in a long time.

“Crowley?” you said, twisting around to ring your arms around his neck and look squarely in his burning eyes.

“Mmm?”

“I need you to fuck me.  Right now.”

“My Queen!” he exclaimed through grinning teeth, and yanked you back into the shadows.

In a tangle of kisses and hot grasping hands, you managed to rip away each other’s clothes.  

Soon you were flat on your back, nothing between you and the deep red carpet below you, the Luisgeàrd resting on your bare chest, the King of Hell between your legs.  

When he reached up to dislodge your mask, you gripped his wrist to stop him.

“No,” you gasped, “masks stay on.”  

He chuckled.  “We’ll make it a Halloween tradition, then.”

As the music and screams and groans drifted up from below, Crowley reached between you, grasped his cock, and slowly began dragging himself through your folds.  Teasing your clit with the blunt head, dropping back down to press against your clenching core, then back up again.  Over and over, with agonizing gentleness, never stopping his methodical torture, never looking away from your face.

“Crowleeeeeyy…” you whimpered, trying to buck up and catch him.

The burning, invisible hands clamped onto your hips, holding you still and helpless against the floor.  

“Tsk tsk tsk, Y/N,” he whispered, “Look at you.  Soaking wet and desperate to be fucked.  Mewling and panting like you’re in heat.  My little toy.  You think you’re ready for me?”  He nudged at your opening, again, applying just enough pressure to slide in a fraction of an inch.

“Aaa! Fuck, yes, Crowley please... please…” Your vision wouldn’t focus.  You couldn’t lift your hips to meet him, so you arched you back and rolled your head from side to side in desperation.  He didn’t move at all.  

“Can you hear them, down there?  All those screams and wet slaps?”  You nodded emphatically. “That is nothing to the noises I want you to make for me.”  Then he slid backwards, away from your throbbing center.  It undid you.

A scream of frustrated agony ripped out of you- bouncing off the marble walls of the hall and momentarily drowning out the din below your alcove. But before that scream died away, Crowley slammed into you full force, and a new scream took its place.  The distinctive stretching burn that always accompanied the arrival of that cock inside you was shocking after so long an absence.  You roared with pleasure at the sensation.

“That’s my girl! That’s my Queen!” Crowley exclaimed into the cacophony, grinding his hips against you, buried to the hilt.

When you ran out of air, the King took advantage of the relative quiet and backed out of you a bit, then shoved back in with a groan.  You were only dimly aware of your own noises, at this point- too focused on the hymn of obscenity that the masked, looming devil with glowing eyes was pouring into you as he slowly dragged out, then snapped back into your quaking pussy, again and again.

“Fuuck, you’re so wet, Love!  That’s my Queen!  So wet and hot and tight- oh, yes!  I’ve waited months for this… Dreamed of getting back into this cunt!”

“It’s yours,” you gasped, reaching up to grab the horns on his mask, all reservations gone, just lost in the feeling of fucking the King of Hell, again, “It’s all yours!  Oh my god, you feel so good!”

With a roar of his own, Crowley yanked himself out of and away from you, leaving you empty and sprawled on the floor.  Before you could do more than squawk in protest, he jerked you up and spun you towards the railing.

“I told you before. God’s not here,” he snarled.

You landed against the barrier, chest and shoulders hanging over the rail.  The festivities hadn’t died down.  In fact, it looked like they were gaining steam.  A swirling, pulsing mosaic of skin and colorful costumes spread out across the ballroom.  Anything that could be done for carnal pleasure was being done, somewhere in the room.  Still in the throws of your own passion, you took in the display, gasping for breath.

Crowley was behind you again.  His fingers stroking in and out of the dripping, aching spot between your legs.  He pressed you forward, leaning out over the ballroom.  The Luisgeàrd swung back and forth, as if to draw your attention to the spectacle below.

It was the kind of thing that would have made you blush and look away, any other time.  Hanging half over the railing, looking down at a kaleidoscope of sex, breasts dangling in the air- so exposed.  But not tonight.  Tonight, you weren’t you.  Tonight, you were the White Hart.  The Queen of Hell.  And God wasn’t here.

Crowley fisted one hand in your hair and gave a sharp tug, the other hand guiding his cock back where it belonged.  Wet as you were, he slid home smoothly, to a chorus of groaning from both of you.

Slowly, methodically, almost reverently, he fucked you against the railing as you watched the show.

“Look at that, Pet.  Look at all the fun they’re having down there.  But they all wish they were here with you, you know.  They all wish they were right here, deep in this gorgeous cunt… Aren’t I lucky?  Fuck, I love this pussy!  You glorious thing…”

The stream of his words, the slow, exquisite drag and thrust of him against your swollen inner walls, the delicious sting of being suspended from his fist by your hair; it was all too good.  The moans fell out of you in one long note, and you felt the tightening in your belly that meant release wasn’t far off.  Still, it stayed maddeningly just out of reach.

“Crowleeeeyyy… Crowley, pleeease… I need to come… please!”

Once more, the King maneuvered you effortlessly.  In a swirl of motion too quick to follow, he had you facing him, perched on the railing. Somehow, he was still buried inside you.  Ruling another dimension clearly came with some physics-bending perks.

“Look at me, darling.”

You stated into those cigarette red eyes, set in the demonic mask, glowing in the dark alcove. The intensity in those eyes made you even more light-headed. Almost to the point of fear.  But if you’d learned anything in the past year, it was that when Crowley was fucking you, you could trust him.  

Gripping your waist to hold you steady, he aimed a powerful thrust right to your center.  You swooned back a bit, eyes fluttering closed with pleasure, grabbing Crowley’s arms and wrapping your legs around him for stability.

“Ooooh, yes!” You cried.  So close… you were so close…

“No, Pet.  You keep your eyes on me, now.” You brought your focus back to him. “That’s right,” He crooned and ground against you, “You watch me fuck you.  Watch me fuck you until you come.”

And you did.  You kept your eyes locked with Crowley’s as he pounded into you over and over.  All his words were gone, now.  His bottom lip clutched between his teeth as he concentrated on you.  The demonic power manifested again; this time a merciless vibrating heat against your clit.  

You forgot where you were.  Forgot who you were.  The entire world narrowed to the sensations shooting out from between your legs and the burning points of light hanging in the gloom before you.  Somewhere, far outside your senses, someone was repeating, “Fuck!  Yes!  Fuck!  Yes!” over and over.  Was it you?  Finally, that internal cord snapped and you came, screaming, shaking apart from the inside out, still staring in Crowley’s eyes.

He didn’t slow down.  Just kept fucking you through it until you were spent and limp.  Then he gathered you to him, buried his masked face in your neck, and with a few more shuddering thrusts, spilled himself deep inside you.

You stayed like that for a long while; locked together, lazily running fingers over each other’s skin, dropping gentle kisses on ears and necks and shoulders.  Not speaking.  Not needing to.  The King and Queen of Hell.

You both managed to get safely to the floor before Crowley slid free.  You were exhausted.  You just puddled in his arms and drifted in and out, kissing deeply and trying to catch your breath.  Swimming in that dreamlike Otherness.

After what may have been days, for all you knew, you felt that lurch in your guts, and realized that Crowley had zapped you back home. He lowered you into your bed, smoothed back your hair, and with another kiss, rose to leave.

“You.. you owe me…” you slurred through sleepy lips, “conver...sation.  You said.”

“Next time, Love.  I’m a demon of my word, don’t you worry.  You sleep, now.  My Queen.”

As Crowley pressed one last, gentle kiss against your brow, you finally fell into unconsciousness.

~~~

Tags: @mamaredd123, @motleymoose, @emilyymichelle, @singingphoenix, @cassiopeia-barrow, @roxy-davenport, @fuschiarulerinthebluebox, @generalgoldfishldrm, @sunnysaysbookreviews, @kittennovak

[buckyscrystalqueen]

Half Blood, Whole Heart: Part 2

Pairings: Jax x Reader, sister Winchester!reader- SOA/SPN Crossover

Warnings: Swearing, fluff

Word Count: 4,334

A/N: So I decided to repost my novel- the story that someone stole from my old blog and put up on Wattpad. PLEASE don’t be an asshole and steal my stories. It CRUSHED me when it happened and almost ran me off Tumblr. 

Half Blood, Whole Heart Masterlist     Aesthetic by @ravenangel33

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

“Clay! I want you to meet someone.” Jax shouted across the Teller-Morrow garage. Your eyes danced around the space quickly as a tall, older man wearing a kutte similar to Jax’s came over. You couldn’t help but notice his large forehead that lead to white blonde hair, or the fact that his eyes looked a little to small and sunken in compared to the rest of his broad face. “This is (Y/N). I picked her up walking through Nevada. She’s a mechanic.” Clay’s eyebrows shot up, giving you a chance to see his blue eyes as he took off his sunglasses to look at you.

“You’re a mechanic?” He asked and you nervously twisted your fingers together behind your back.

“Yes, sir. My father and brother taught me and I worked in a shop in west Texas last year.” Clay looked you up and down once before looking back at Jax.

“Yea, she’s with me.” Jax said he said quickly and you glanced over at him as Clay nodded.

“Come with me.” The older man said as he gestured you across the garage with his finger. He stopped in front of an older Ford sedan and pointed at it. “Customer came in this morning saying it was making a clicking noise and it’s having problems turning over. What’s wrong with it?” You looked up at him, down at the car and then back up to him as you gestured to the vehicle.

“May I?” Clay nodded and he and Jax took a step back to watch. You quickly pulled your hair into a messy pony tail as you popped the hood. You moved quickly, checking the three things you assumed could be the problem under the hood and under the car before standing back up and giving the very intimidating man before you a small smile.

“Starter is slightly rusted so that’s why they are having an issue with that and by the looks of it, they haven’t changed their oil since the stone age because it’s nearly gone. Replace the seal on the oil as well, obviously because it’s dry, cracking and leaking, check engine for any possible damage… cylinders, pistons, crankshaft, rods, etcetera. ” Clay looked at you for a second before putting his sunglasses back on and looking at Jax.

“Take her to Gemma and get her in the system. She starts tomorrow.” You smiled as Clay turned around and walked away.

“Come on darlin’.” Jax said as he grabbed your hand, laced his fingers with yours and walked across the shop toward an office along the far wall. Despite the hand written ‘Do Not Enter’ warning on the door, he walked right in and smiled at the older woman behind the desk.

“Jackson, where have you been?” She asked as he leaned down and gave her a kiss on the lips. You smiled at her as she looked you over; her hazel eyes pausing on your hand in Jax’s.

“Mom, this is (Y/N). I picked her up on the side of the road on my way back from seeing dad and took her to Stanford to see her brother for a couple days. She’s a mechanic and Clay wants her in the system to start work tomorrow.” Gemma looked you over once more almost distastefully before looking back at her son.

“She with you?” She asked as she stood up from her desk. Jax smiled and squeezed your hand slightly as he glanced back at you.

“Yea, she’s with me. She’s no croweater; she’s different.” Gemma looked back at her boy before smiling and stepping in front of you.

“Well, (Y/N). Welcome to the family.” She put her hands on your shoulders gently and gave you a kiss on the lips and you fought to keep the look of surprise off your face when she leaned back. “Go get yourself set up in Jax’s room and come back here after lunch so we can get you all set up. It’ll be nice to have a female mechanic to show all these boys girls can do the hard stuff too.” She said with a wink.

“Thank you, ma’am.” You said as she kissed Jax’s cheek and she waved you off.

“No need for that ma’am shit. Just call me Gemma or mom.” You nodded as Jax almost dragged you from the office with a smirk on his face. Your brow furrowed slightly as he grabbed your bag off his bike.

“Why do they keep asking if I’m with you?” You inquired as the two of you headed across the parking lot toward a large building.

“It’s complicated. I live in the dorms here and you can’t stay in them unless you are a member or if you are my old lady. So they…”

“Wait… old lady?” You asked as you stopped walking. Jax stopped and chuckled as he turned back around to look at you. “You mean like girlfriend, ball and chain type shit?” He nodded.

“Yea. Like ball and chain type shit.” He mocked and you cocked your head with a cocky smile.

“You haven’t even taken me on a date and I have gotten more action from your mother than I have you and suddenly I am your girlfriend?” With a cocky smile, he cupped your cheeks and gave you a gentle chaste kiss.

“Like I said, you’re different. I don’t know what it is about you. Maybe it was the way you knocked that guy out at the bar. Maybe the fact that you are a tomboy girly girl. I don’t know but I plan on keeping you around town to find out and the only way I can do that is by making you mine.” You cocked your eyebrow and giggled.

“Do I get a brand and everything?” You teased and he laughed as he took your hand once more and the two of you headed into the building which turned out to be a bar.

“We aren’t barbarians- we don’t brand, darlin’ but if shit works out, you’ll eventually get a crow. I’ll put it right across your forehead. It can say ‘Jax’s smart ass’ instead of ‘forever’. I’m sure your brothers will love it.” You giggled as he lead you through the bar toward a hallway at the back off the room. You were surprised to see an even longer hallway that was lined with doors. Jax stopped at the last door on the right and unlocked it. “Welcome to your new home.” You looked around the room in surprise as Jax dropped your bag by his bed.

“Did I miss a tornado warning or something?” You asked as you stepped in and closed and locked the door. “God, it’s like sharing a motel room with Dean all over again!” Jax laughed as he stripped down to his boxers and flopped down on the bed.

“Yea, yea. Laugh it up.” He said as you stripped down to your tank top and panties and laid down next to him.

“Thank you.” You said as Jax lit two cigarettes and handed you one. He looked over at you as you grabbed an ashtray off the table by his bed.

“For…?” You giggled as you set the ashtray down on his bare chest and laid down next to him.

“Taking me in, getting me a job… getting me to my brother. All of it. Everything you have done the past couple days. You didn’t need to.” He shrugged and wrapped his arm around your shoulder casually.

“So what, I was just supposed to let you walk through the desert alone? Or maybe just abandon you in Stanford or here in Charming? No way, darlin’. I’m not that kinda guy.” You laid your head down on his chest and smiled.

“Hey, I beat the shit out of that guy in the bar, I can handle my own.” Jax laughed as he blew smoke rings toward the flag above his bed.

“Yea I know you can but now you got me to help.” You hummed contently as the two of you fell into a comfortable silence; the only sounds filling the messy bedroom was your exhales and the occasional flick of your thumb to knock the ashes into the small glass bowl.

“I need you to understand something.” Jax said as he put out his cigarette and you hummed as you followed suit. He put the ashtray on the table next to him as you rolled onto your stomach to look at him. His blue eyes searched yours as he ran his fingers through your hair. “There is some shit I do with the club that I can’t tell you about. Club business. I just….” you shook your head and interrupted him.

“You don’t have to explain. I get it. But you have to know I am in the same sort of boat. The family business I got away from…? I can promise you it will come back around one day and I will need to help out every once in a blue moon and I can’t explain to you what that entails right now for your own protection.” The two of you looked at each other and Jax’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“You’re not a cop or a fed are you?” He asked and you laughed and shook your head.

“No. Not at all. I actually think I may be wanted for some stupid shit in Arkansas though. I’m not sure if Sam was able to hack in and wipe that out of the computer system though.”

“Well aren’t you just a little bad girl.” he teased as he wrapped his arms around you and turned on his side to face you. You smiled and threw your leg over his.

“Oh, you have no idea.”

——

You and Jax became nearly inseparable from that day on. If he wasn’t off doing club business, he was working in the garage with you or the two of you were tangled in sheets and limbs in bed. The two of you went down every other Thursday night to have dinner with Sam and Jess and they even joined you for Gemma’s family dinners a couple times. After a couple months of living in the clubhouse and a lot of convincing, he helped you build your own bike and taught you how to ride and on rare off weekends, Clay would ban anyone from the cabin so the two of you could spend the weekend alone.

It took Gemma a little while to get used to you being around before she completely accepted you as Jax’s girlfriend. Once she realized he had fallen in love with you though, she became the mother you never had. Anytime Clay and Jax were on the road for a few days, she would insist you stay over at her house so you weren’t left alone. Everyone in the SAMCRO family welcomed you with open arms and loved how good you were for the future president.

~~~~~~~~~ LATE SEPTEMBER 2006 ~~~~~~~~

You were lying in bed with Jax almost a year to the day after you had first arrived, reading a book when someone knocked on the door.

“Hey Jax, you wanna get out here.” Juice called out and your boyfriend groaned.

“Swear we can never just have a minute alone on a Friday night.” he growled as he tossed the binder he was reading on the floor next to his table.

“We are going to the cabin next weekend, baby. Not too much longer.” He huffed as he grabbed his kutte and threw it and a pair of jeans on.

“It’s still so far away.” You giggled as he kneeled on the bed and gave you a chaste kiss.

“Well, get Clay to give us Thursday and Friday off and we can leave sooner.” He laughed as he stood up and opened the door.

“Yea, sure I’ll get right on that.” You smiled as he stepped out into the hall and you went back to your book. He was only gone a couple minutes before you suddenly heard Dean scream your name. Your stomach dropped as you catapulted from the bed and you sprinted out of your room toward the club.

“Jax stop!” You screamed as you rounded the corner. He had Dean pinned on the ground by the door and was screaming at him with his fist raised above his head. You could see blood on your brothers face and panic ripped through you. “Jackson let him go! Chibs, get him off him!” Chibs and Juice, two patched members of the MC took one look at you before they sprang into action and pulled Jax off Dean as you ran to your brother’s side.

“He was askin’ ‘bout you!” Jax shouted and you looked over at your boyfriend angrily.

“He can ask all he wants! He’s my brother!” You watched all the fight instantly leave his frame as he ripped his arms away from his brothers. You looked back at Dean who was visibly and understandably pissed.

“What the fuck?” He growled as you helped him up from the ground. You could see his eye was split just above his eyebrow and you scowled.

“Is the first aid kit still in the trunk?” You asked Dean. He nodded and you grabbed his arm and started to drag him toward the door.

“Baby, I…” Jax said and you turned around and looked at him.

“Just go get me a wet washcloth please. A bag of ice or something out of the freezer as well.” You snapped with as much forced calm as you could. He nodded and headed toward the kitchen as you lead Dean outside. The second you cleared the door, you rounded on your older brother. “The hell’s the matter with you? I told you last year… which was the last time you even bothered to acknowledge my existence, that you can’t just show up here!”

“Me? Your fucking boyfriend just beat the shit out of me for no reason!” You glared at him as he unlocked the trunk of the Impala.

“Did you bother to tell any one of them you were my brother or did you just walk in like I know you did and demand to talk to the girlfriend of the VP of a motorcycle club?” Dean glared back at you as he handed you the large first aid box from the trunk.

“Shut up. It shouldn’t be that hard to talk to my own sister.” You shook your head as you opened the box on the trunk as Jax brought out the washcloth and a couple bags of ice.

“It wouldn’t have been an issue if you had told them who you were, De.” You said as you started gently wiping the blood off his face. You shook your head at the two men. “Dean meet Jax, Jax meet my other brother, Dean.”

“Why didn’t you show him like a picture of me or something?” Dean asked with a hiss as Jax sat down on the curb. You glanced down at him and you could see he felt bad for what he had done but his eyes began to dart around the area in front of the club house.

“Because I don’t have pictures of you and dad. The only pictures I have of family are ones Sam and I have taken this past year. Jax what are you looking at?” You asked as you looked down at him once again. He looked up at you and then looked wordlessly at your bare legs and you suddenly remembered you were only wearing one of his old SAMCRO shirts. You rolled your eyes and turned back to your brother. “Valid point. Let’s move this party inside to our room. Don’t need Unser’s boys seeing this.”

“Or anyone else.” Jax mumbled as he stood up and grabbed the first aid kit. The three of you walked back through the club wordlessly and you couldn’t help but notice every member purposely looking away from Jax’s girl. You smirked to yourself as the three of you headed down the hall and into your room.

“So why are you here, Dean?” You asked as you gently pushed him toward the bathroom. He sat down on the toilet and looked up at you.

“Dad’s been gone a while and I can’t get a hold of him.” You rolled your eyes as you took the first aid kit from Jax, laid it on the ground and crouched down next to it.

“So what. He’s probably off in one of Bobby’s cabins with a liquor store to keep him company.” You found what you would need for stitches and as you went to thread the fishing line through the curved needle, Dean’s hand stopped you.

“Dad’s hunting and I can’t get a hold of him.” Your eyes shot up to meet your brother’s and the two of you sat in silence for a moment.

“How long?” You whispered as you sat down on the cold bathroom tile. Dean sighed and leaned forward to rest his arms on his knees.

“Three weeks.”

“Was he going after…?” Dean shook his head and glanced up at Jax who was standing in the doorway. You looked up at him and then past him at the open bedroom door. “Baby, can you go close the bedroom door and bring me the whiskey from the desk.” Jax nodded and you looked back at your brother who was pulling something out of his pocket.

“I got this voicemail from him yesterday.” Dean said as he hit the play button on the side of the tape recorder. Your dad’s voice crackled through the small speaker. You listened to the hardly understandable message as Jax tapped you on the shoulder with the glass whiskey bottle. When it was finished you squinted at your brother questioningly.

“Is that EVP?” Dean nodded as he fast forwarded the tape.

“Slowed it down and ran it through a gold wave and got this.” He hit play and the speaker crackled for a moment before a creepy woman’s voice sent shivers up your spine.

‘I can never… go… home.’

“What the hell was that?” Jax asked and you shook your head at him as you took the tape player from Dean.

“That was under dad’s message?” You asked as you rewound the tape back to the original voicemail. Dean nodded as he took the whiskey bottle from your lap.

“Yep. So now I need you to patch up your boyfriend’s handy work so we can get on the road.” You looked up at Dean as your dad’s message finished playing again and shook your head.

“Oh no. I am not going hunting again. I got out. I have a job and Clay will…”

“Button, I need you. This thing is after men.”

“De! I can’t go! I have a job and I am needed…”

“(Y/N), dad is missing! Three weeks! I know how you feel about the guy but come on!” You groaned and looked back and forth between Jax and Dean trying to figure out what to do.

“Goddamnit.” You groaned as you dropped your face in your hand.

“Darlin’, I can cover with Clay and I can help you do that truck that got dropped off yesterday on Monday, you just gotta make sure you’re back by then.” Jax said as he crouched down next to you. “Remember what I said about family.” You looked over at him and sighed.

“Yea… I know. Fuck man, I got out of this shit for a reason.” You grumbled as you grabbed the fishing line from the first aid kit again. “One case, Dean. We get dad home and I am out.” Dean nodded behind the whiskey bottle and hissed the fumes away.

“One case. Promise.” You looked up at him and cocked an eyebrow.

“You don’t bring me home after one case and I’m calling Jax to come get me. I mean it.” Dean crossed his heart as he handed you the whiskey bottle and you kneeled in front of him. “Fuck, Sam is gunna kill me.”

“Oh, we are going to get Sam next. We need him too.” You looked at Dean with the bitch face to end all and he shrugged. “Dad’s missing. It’s an all hands on deck situation.” You scowled as you began to stitch up your brother’s eye.

“Yea, Sam’s not gunna come. He has something Monday he can’t miss or be tired for.”

“Well we are just gunna have to make this fast then, aren’t we?” You glared at him as you tied off the two stitches.

“I hate you.” You mumbled as you started to clean up and Dean simply smiled.

“I know you do. Now pack a bag and meet me in the car. We gotta go.”

“Where are we even going?” You asked as you handed him the first aid kit. He gave you a half mouth smile.

“Jericho.”

“Fitting.” Dean quickly kissed your forehead, nodded at Jax and headed out of your room. With a sigh, you turned around to look at your boyfriend. “So you remember how I told you that the family business would come back for me?” Jax chuckled as you walked into the room.

“So what, you guys are like ghost hunters or something?” He asked as you grabbed your old duffle from the side of the desk.

“You could say that. It’s complicated, baby.” He nodded as he sat on the bed and watched you start packing. After a moment, he huffed.

“So this is what it’s like to be on your side of me packing.” You laughed as you tossed clothes toward the bed.

“Fun, isn’t it? I’ll only be gone a couple days. With all three of us working this we should have it cracked in no time.” You grabbed a couple of Jax’s t-shirts from his drawer and added them to your bag and headed toward the bathroom to grab your toothbrush.

“I’ll tell Clay you had a family emergency with Sam. He’ll understand.” You smiled at him as you walked out of the bathroom and you came to a stop right in front of him.

“You’re too good to me, my love.” He smiled at you as you ran your hands through his hair.

“Sorry I beat up your brother.” You smiled and shrugged.

“Meh, it knocked him down a peg. His ego is the size of Russia anyways.” You teased as he grabbed the back of your thighs and pulled you toward him to straddle his lap.

“Well I am still sorry, babe.” You nodded as you gave him a chaste kiss. With a sigh, you rested your forehead against his. He looked up at you with a smile as he ran his calloused hands over the backs of your thighs. “So I was going to suggest this next weekend at the cabin but I don’t want to wait. I love you so damn much. I know you are already mine but I want to make it beyond official. When you get back, I want you to get my crow.” A smile spread across your face as you leaned back to look at him.

“Really?” You whispered as you searched his eyes and he nodded.

“Really.” You nodded vigorously and crashed your lips to his as you wrapped your arms around his neck. After a few moments, he pulled away reluctantly and sighed. “Alright. You gotta get dressed and go save your dad.” With a huff, you leaned back and growled.

“Can’t I just stay in bed with you?” You teased as you forced yourself off his lap. He shook his head as you grabbed your jeans off the desk chair.

“I wish. Just remember we can stay in bed together next weekend.” You smiled up at him as you pulled your boots on.

“Sounds like heaven. Oh! You better tell mom before you tell anyone else that I’m getting your crow. You know she will be pissed if she doesn’t know first.” Jax laughed as you wiggled a bra on under his shirt and he nodded and got up to grab a shirt and his boots.

“I’ll head over to her house now. Talk to Clay about you not coming to work tomorrow, too. I’ll call Happy for Monday night?” You nodded as you grabbed your old hunting jacket from the closet and smiled.

“I never in a million years thought I would actually be excited for someone to call me their old lady.” He laughed as he stood in front of you and gently cupped your jaw in his hands.

“Never in a million years thought I would love someone enough to want to call them my old lady.” He leaned down and gave you a chaste kiss before brushing his thumb across your cheek. “Be safe, come home to me.” He said, repeating the same words you said to him every time he had to leave for a few days. You nodded and gave him one final kiss before the two of you pulled away to leave.

“I need money.” You said as you grabbed your bag and he snagged his wallet off the desk.

“Three hundred good?” He asked as he thumbed through some bills and you shrugged.

“Yea. I’ll be splitting a room with the boys so that should be way more that enough.” He nodded and handed you the cash and an extra burner phone and you grabbed your handgun from the box in the closet you kept it in. You knew it was still fully loaded, so you slipped it into the back of your jeans and pulled Jax’s shirt over it.

“I’ll call you when we get there.” You said as you kissed him on the cheek and he nodded and grabbed his keys.

“Love you.” You paused in the door and looked back at him with a smile.

“Love you, too baby.”

Part 3

[oselatra]

In response to the Oct. 16 Arkansas Blog post "UA Little Rock picks firm to study football"

I guess UALR has money to waste. This study will probably conclude with the same results the 30 Crossing [study] did, i.e. this is a "have to" idea.

From the web

In response to the Oct. 16 Arkansas Blog post "UA Little Rock picks firm to study football":

I guess UALR has money to waste. This study will probably conclude with the same results the 30 Crossing [study] did, i.e. this is a "have to" idea. Then UALR can follow the ASU model of funding it, charge the students, use tax dollars, and borrow from the budgets of other departments.

arkdemocrat

Great idea. Then let big daddy UA give them Bielema to finish out his contract as their coach. He'll probably last about a month in that job given the "talent" that surely exists at UALR. That should be enough to save UA the cost of firing him or buying out the contract.

Razorblade

If UALR is fortunate enough to gain a marching band, I pray that they'll have saucy majorettes instead of those whiney flag squads.

louie

No no no no.

Who thinks this is remotely a good idea? With the growing evidence of health concerns combined with the vast majority of schools losing money on football, what the what?

Their AD answered the question — don't waste money, especially if it's a veiled excuse to try and save the crappy War Memorial Stadium. That ship has sailed and so should any serious thought that money should be spent to discover something already answered.

yapperjohn

Look for a "study" that says, "It's Time For Some Big-Time Collegiate Football in War Memorial Stadium!" Schools don't puke up big bux for studies that say, "Naw, You Small-Time Colleges With No On-Campus Student Body Would Be Pissing Money Down a Rat Hole If You Ponied Up $5M a Year for a Top Rated Coach Like Bret Bielema to Put You in the Alabama-Buckeyes Big Time." Claude Bahls

Well, it's a good thing they aren't wasting any of that money on expanding academic programs or scholarships for underrepresented populations.

tsallernarng

A feasibility study does not actually give a recommendation. It puts numbers on start-up and annual costs. Those numbers are based on things like what stadium will be used, what conferences the school can play in, and what the average revenue and expenses of programs in those conferences are like.

LRreporter

In response to the Oct. 16 Arkansas Blog post "Fort Smith legislator paid almost $700,000 on port concept. A waste, says one evaluation.":

Conservative welfare at its finest.

What is it about Fort Smith elected officials? Jake Files and now this guy. I think the finances of all our legislators need to be examined.

Poison Apple

Does [Mat] Pitsch have ANY professional qualifications in the freight transportation area? The Arkansas Department of Transportation has multimodal planning responsibilities and actually has qualified consultants on retainer for river port studies. This should have come through them IF there was a need to study, which there was not.

Arbiter of All Things AOAT

[He said] he has had to pay taxes on his income and bear the cost of his "family's benefits package."

Oh, wow! Just imagine if everyone had to do that! And on an average of, what, about $80,000 a year — not including his income, etc., from his legislative boondoggling, er, work, of course.

Doigotta

Fort Smith and Sebastian County seem to be most eager to allow members of the legislature to rip them off for projects that never get built. I guess that is the conservative ethic at work.

Plainjim

In response to the Arkansas Times' Oct. 12 profile of attorney Mike Laux, who has sued the Little Rock Police Department five times over police-involved shootings. Yes, there are criminals that should be arrested for breaking the law, but glossing over unjustified excessive force and fatal shootings is making the city of Little Rock more violent. Mr. Laux explained what he sees happening in Little Rock and I agree with his comments. You can pray about the violence until you are blue in the face, but nothing will change until the state government, city officials and the police department show the public that they take police shootings seriously, want the truth and will pursue justice, so everyone else involved will take it seriously. If they don't, the violence will get worse and it will be their fault.

ShineonLibby

In response to the Times' Oct. 12 story "DHS rule change threatens disabled care: ARChoices algorithm inspires state and federal lawsuits."

Now how did DHS "lose the data" for the algorithm that determined the level of care? This is not believable. Either someone is lying or incompetent. Legal Services needs to depose Tami Harlan, the deputy director of medical services under oath. Let us see what Tami Harlan says.

Orval Falsebus

Choosing levels of care by the use of the abacus is the same as length of the rope vs. body weight to insure a successful hanging. Medical care is not Moneyball. This is the situation of getting what you want but not wanting what you get.

Going for the record again

Why can't DHS or any state agency answer questions? This attitude of we don't have to account to anyone for why or what we do is increasing and it is approved of by the governor. It sounds like they are covering up something they don't want the public to know. I consider lying a sin, even if it isn't on Charlton Moses Heston's Ten Commandments chart. What happened to the Arkansas government's morals, integrity, and common decency toward other human beings? You would almost think they want people who are elderly, disabled, sick and poor to die so they won't be a liability to the state budget. If that were true, they should not be governing or in charge of people's lives. They practice fetus worship but kill off people they think aren't important to their voter base. They are really pro-death. There is nothing pro-life about them. Are they getting their orders from Donald? Or has he allowed them to finally show their true natures?

ShineonLibby

From Facebook

In response to the Oct. 16 Arkansas Blog post "Judge objects to trainer's reference to Black Lives Matter," about Pulaski County Judge Wendell Griffen's complaint that during a recent training for courtroom personnel an instructor called BLM a hate group "like the KKK": But which of these groups have a history of murder, intimidation and government sanctioned terror?

Reginald Ford

One group wants to wipe out all others who are not white, Anglo-Saxon Protestants, though it is sometimes vague on just HOW they plan to accomplish that ... as they hold their AR-15s. The other group is protesting the injustice that allows police to kill blacks at a very high rate, with the judiciary further allowing it. Their implementation to accomplish that is peaceful protest, and to continue to bring the blatant injustice to light through video and publicity of cases. HOW is BLM a hate group, again?

Betty J. Rousey

Well, black lies (sic) matter is a violent deceitful hate group, little different than the old-time KKK.

Steve Estrada

Black Lives Matter was begun by grieving mothers of sons slaughtered by police. So this guy equates moms w/the KKK???

Denise Parkinson

I am so pleased that Judge Griffen spoke out.

Margaret Ann Gibson Niven

In response to the Oct. 15 Arkansas Blog post "Talking Turkey, Yellville Turkey Trot Style:

This is godawful and cruel - what kind of a person would participate in this?

Fran Owens

Few People up here take pride in their barbarism. Look who they vote for. As for AG&F's sponsorship, I believe they have a turkey calling contest at the Kelley Slab site. Don't expect Chamber sponsors to effect much change. Remember the Klan exists quite openly just over the county line in Boone. Institutionalized animal cruelty is par for such a community.

J.R. Pinky

Arkansas, you're proving your ignorance by keeping this tradition going another year. This is barbaric. Stop! These turkeys don't always land safely when being thrown from an airplane at 100 mph and the people who think this is funny and entertaining are ridiculous.

Jessica Garrison

Animal cruelty should be EVERYONE'S business. Ditto child abuse, elderly abuse. Arkansas has become the laughing stock of the country, thanks to Yellville. This gene pool needs to be drained, and fast. Such an embarrassment to the State.

Elizabeth Wood

Maybe you should visit a chicken/turkey processing plant and watch the hang them upside down it a dark room and cut their throats so they will bleed out. Then steam their feather off before the suck their guts out with a vacuum. Then dropping them from a plane won't seem so bad.

Sonny Bell

In response to the Oct. 16 Arkansas Blog post "UA Little Rock picks firm to study football"

[insurancepolicypro]

Should-Reads Of The Week From Brianna Labuskes

Glad Friday! I come bearing unhealthy information for anybody having fun with the slight lower in D.C. visitors: Congress is again in full drive subsequent week. Though now we have not had even a slight lower in well being information, I’m positive lawmakers will kick it up even additional with gun management, shock medical payments and, perennially, excessive drug prices on the anticipated docket.

For now, right here’s what’s been happening throughout their ultimate week of recess.

President Donald Trump has been coy about what precisely he’s put in his gun violence proposal, however one factor that appears possible: Each events will probably be sad. (That, a minimum of, appears a positive guess in these divided occasions.) What you’ll be able to in all probability count on to see: an expedited demise penalty course of, adjustments to how troubled teenagers’ sealed data are shielded, and laws — like “crimson flag” legal guidelines — centered on psychological well being.

Politico: Trump Prepares to Pitch Gun Proposals Few Actually Need

Senate Majority Chief Mitch McConnell is sitting fairly on the sidelines in the mean time, ready to see what the president comes up with.

The Related Press: McConnell Says He’s Ready on Trump to Chart Path on Weapons

Companies, although, are taking issues into their very own palms. Walgreens and CVS adopted in Walmart’s footsteps this week in asking prospects to not carry firearms brazenly of their shops. Walmart — which regularly tries to remain above the political fray — went additional in asserting that it will cease promoting ammunition for military-style assault rifles.

The New York Occasions: Walmart to Restrict Ammunition Gross sales and Discourage ‘Open Carry’ of Weapons in Shops

Reuters: Walgreens, CVS, Wegmans Ask Buyers to Not Overtly Carry Firearms

And in a little bit of poor optics luck for Texas, a sequence of legal guidelines loosening gun laws occurred to take impact only a day after the state’s newest mass taking pictures.

Politico: Hours After Taking pictures Rampage, Texas Gun Legal guidelines Loosened

Additionally, if you wish to terrify the bejesus out of your self, dig into this piece about on-line boards with a poisonous tradition of hate which have turn out to be breeding grounds for mass shooters and the place the inherent anonymity of the web protects them from legislation enforcement.

The Wall Road Journal: ‘So What’s His Kill Rely?’: The Poisonous On-line World The place Mass Shooters Thrive

In New York, well being officers are eyeing vitamin E oil as a attainable offender within the mysterious vaping-related lung sickness sweeping the nation. The feds, nonetheless, aren’t placing their eggs in that specific basket and stated that folks ought to maintain an “open thoughts” concerning the roots of the outbreak. “Folks want to appreciate that it is vitally possible that there are a number of causes,” stated CDC Director Robert Redfield. However with a second demise confirmed, officers are scrambling for solutions.

Politico: Vitamin E Named as Main Wrongdoer in Vaping Sickness, However Feds Urge Warning

An HHS inside watchdog report detailed the extent of psychological injury suffered by kids affected by the “zero tolerance” separation coverage. For youngsters so younger, it was arduous for them to explain their emotional trauma. They had been usually lowered to complaints about their chest hurting, like “each heartbeat hurts” or “I can’t really feel my coronary heart.”

The Related Press: ‘Can’t Really feel My Coronary heart:’ IG Says Separated Youngsters Traumatized

Crushing medical debt appears to be shaping the way forward for the nation, and 2020 hopeful Sen. Bernie Sanders (I-Vt.) needs to alter that. With a proposal that he solely hinted at (i.e. didn’t give any stable particulars about tips on how to pay for it), he stated he would cancel $81 billion value of medical debt for Individuals.

The Washington Publish: Sen. Bernie Sanders Teases Plan to Cancel $81 Billion in Individuals’ Medical Debt

In the meantime, regardless of the eye Sanders and the opposite progressive front-runners are giving proposals like “Medicare for All,” state lawmakers see defending the well being legislation because the ace up their sleeves in powerful elections. Virginia will probably be a serious testing floor for that technique as Democrats just lately secured an enormous win on increasing Medicaid within the state. They may, nonetheless, be susceptible to Republican messaging on excessive well being care prices as a result of the governor vetoed extensions for short-term plans.

Politico: Democrats Guess Large on Obamacare to Win Virginia Statehouse

Thus far, the implementation of Medicaid work necessities has been extra crash and burn than the sleek transition many Republicans had possible hoped for. However Indiana appears on the trail to changing into a mannequin for different states as they add extra restrictions to this system. I can clarify it no higher than Paige Winfield Cunningham at The Washington Publish, who wrote: “If Arkansas and Kentucky had been heavy-handed in imposing their work necessities, Indiana’s program is extra like a faucet on the shoulder, advocates argue.”

The Washington Publish: Indiana Seeks to Impose Slower, Kinder Work Necessities on Medicaid Recipients

In the meantime, over in Missouri, enlargement advocates are hoping to observe the success of different states by getting the difficulty in entrance of voters somewhat than lawmakers.

The Hill: Advocates Launch Petition to Place Medicaid Enlargement on 2020 Poll in Missouri

The “Assured to Make Everybody’s Blood Boil” award of the week goes to the article about how the Sacklers (the household that based Purdue Pharma) might emerge from the opioid trials with their private fortune intact.

The Washington Publish: Sacklers Might Maintain On to Most of Private Fortune in Proposed Purdue Settlement

A cluster of HIV circumstances in West Virginia might be the canary within the coal mine that public well being officers monitoring the opioid epidemic have been on the look ahead to. “That is the nightmare everyone seems to be fearful about,” stated one professional concerning the outbreak that seems to be among the many largest since one in Indiana’s Scott County 4 years in the past.

Politico: ‘The Nightmare Everybody Is Anxious About’: HIV Circumstances Tied to Opioids Spike in West Virginia County

Within the miscellaneous file for the week:

• Reeling from persistent political assaults, Deliberate Parenthood has introduced it’s going to make the most of telemedicine and a brand new app to achieve younger and rural sufferers who might have been affected by makes an attempt to chip away on the group.

The Wall Road Journal: Deliberate Parenthood to Broaden App-Primarily based Well being Companies to All 50 States

• We as a rustic are hooked on quick deliveries from Amazon, however there’s a human toll that flies beneath the radar that goes past staff’ pay. This ProPublica-New York Occasions story begins with the tragedy of a 9-month-old who died in an accident involving an Amazon supply car and doesn’t get any much less heartbreaking because it goes on.

ProPublica/The New York Occasions: How Amazon Hooked America on Quick Supply Whereas Avoiding Accountability for Crashes

• Be sure you try this implausible sequence about how America’s sick, poor and susceptible would be the ones most affected by the rising local weather disaster as a result of they reside in city warmth islands.

Howard Heart for Investigative Journalism: Code Purple: Baltimore’s Local weather Divide

• On a a lot lighter be aware, scientists might have found a gene for left-handedness, which I simply discover fascinating and should make roughly 10% of my readers pleased to know (principally as a result of it’s linked to having higher verbal expertise).

CNN: Scientists Determine the Genes Linked to Left-Handedness

• After tens of millions of , hundreds of hours of manpower, tons of public outrage and a numerous variety of headlines from yours actually, the NYC measles outbreak has been declared formally over. The outbreaks in upstate New York nonetheless threaten the US’ standing as having eradicated the illness however, for now, public well being officers are taking victories the place they’ll get them.

The Washington Publish: New York Metropolis Declares Finish to Largest Measles Outbreak in Almost 30 Years

That’s it for me! Have an excellent weekend!

from insurancepolicypro http://insurancepolicypro.com/?p=931

[kacydeneen]

Sen. McCain Leaves Complicated Political Legacy

U.S. Sen. John McCain said last year that he wanted to be remembered for his service to his country and that is how nearly every lawmaker and many of the journalists who covered him have paid tribute to him after his death.

But there is another reaction playing out over McCain's legacy as well, less mentioned in the running cable news commentary but present in comment threads on Facebook and Twitter.

Some on both sides of the political spectrum are refusing to join in the tributes to a man who styled himself as a maverick determined to go his own way and who left behind a complicated legacy over his more than 60 years of service.

McCain, 81, famously voted against the repeal of the Affordable Care Act, or Obamacare, but then eliminated the the individual mandate on which it depended when he supported the Republican tax bill. There was that time he shared a mean spirited, homophobic joke about then 18-year-old Chelsea Clinton in 2008, telling a fundraising dinner, “Do you know why Chelsea Clinton is so ugly? Because Janet Reno is her father.”

McCain worked across the aisle with Democrats such as Sen. Ted Kennedy, with whom he proposed an immigration reform bill, and with fellow veteran former Sen. John Kerry on reconciling with Hanoi. But in 2000, he refused to apologize for using a racial slur against his North Vietnamese prison guards, a stand that earned him quick censure.

“I hate the gooks,” he told reporters while campaigning for the GOP presidential nomination. “I will hate them as long as I live.”

Politicians who tried to breach the partisan divide found themselves facing accusations of betraying their beliefs. A tweet from New York’s Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, a progressive candidate for the House, in which she said McCain’s “legacy represents an unparalleled example of human decency and American service,” elicited attacks on the senator and frustration toward her. “No, no, no Alexandria. He was a war criminal, hands down. You are young, please reconsider your opinion,” wrote one follower.

And when civil rights icon Rep. John Lewis, Democrat of Georgia, tweeted that McCain was “a warrior for peace,” one reader asked of Lewis, “Weren’t you protesting during the civil rights movement? Do you think he would have supported you, as you were getting sprayed with fire hoses and beaten with batons? He would have defended the police.”

McCain himself left a letter to his country in which he appealed to his fellow Americans to love the United States the way he did, and appeared to criticize Trump without naming the president.

“We weaken our greatness when we confuse our patriotism with tribal rivalries that have sown resentment and hatred and violence i all the corners of the globe,” he wrote. “We weaken it when we hide behind walls, rather than tear them down, when we doubt the power of our ideals, rather than true them to be the great force for change they have always been.”

He wrote that although Americans sometimes vilify each other in public debates, they have so much more in common than in disagreement.

“If only we remember that and give each other the benefit of the presumption that we all love our country we will get through these challenging times,” he wrote. “We will come through them stronger than before. We always do.”

But is that still true or is the country so fractured, so angry, so polarized that Americans can no longer see anything in common with their political opponents?

On the left, detractors do not forgive McCain’s selection of former Alaska Gov. Sarah Palin as his running mate during the 2008 presidential race and his hawkish stances on Iraq and Iran. He joked about bombing Iran during a campaign appearance when he sang a snatch of the Beach Boys’ classic “Barbara Ann” substituting the words: “Bomb, bomb, bomb.”

During that race, he deferred to South Carolina over whether the Confederate battle flag should be removed from the Statehouse instead of calling for it to be taken down, a decision he later apologized for. And in a new book and documentary he expressed regret about choosing Palin over former Connecticut Sen. Joseph Lieberman, a Democrat who became an independent — though without criticizing Palin’s performance, which some people say opened the door for President Donald Trump’s populism and celebrity culture.

On the right, McCain was lambasted as a RINO, or Republican in name only, who defied Trump and his party on Obamacare, and was accused of being part of the so-called “deep state” — permanent government officials, who were working to oust Trump. 

Trump was angry that after the 2016 election, McCain had given the FBI a copy of a dossier detailing unsubstatiated salacious allegations against the president. McCain had learned of the dossier from a retired British diplomat while at a security forum in Canada, and later passed a copy to the FBI. The 35 pages of research memos written by Christopher Steele, a retired British spy, allege a conspiracy between Trump's campaign and the Russian government to help Trump win the election and include unsubstantiated reports of Trump meeting with Russian prostitutes.

“Upon examination of the contents, and unable to make a judgment about their accuracy, I delivered the information to the director of the FBI. That has been the extent of my contact with the FBI or any other government agency regarding this issue,” McCain said in a statement.

He disagreed with hard-line immigration policies emerging under Trump, who in an op-ed published in USA Today in 2015 accused McCain of pushing “amnesty” during his time as a senator.

McCain in his last book, “The Restless Wave,” countered that some politicians were racists. 

“Whatever their reasons, the cynical and the ignorant promotion of false information and unnecessary fear have the same outcome,” he wrote with his co-author, Mark Salter. “Decent, hardworking people who mean no harm are blamed for crime, unemployment, failing schools, and various other ills, and become in the eyes of many the objects of hate and fear.”

His Vietnam record was mocked by some — Trump famously said that because McCain was captured, he was not a hero -- and though he supported wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, he fought back against interrogation methods he called torture.

When Democrats released a report on the harsh methods in 2014, and most Republicans were muted in their response, McCain was not. He said he knew from his own experience that the abuse of prisoners produced more bad intelligence than good.

“Our enemies act without conscience,” he said. “We must not.”

The rancor between McCain and the president was on full display in the year after McCain was diagnosed with brain cancer and he became known as one Republican unafraid to stand up to Trump.

McCain called Trump’s summit with Russian President Vladimir Putin “a tragic mistake” and accused Trump of failing to defend America as “a republic of free people dedicated to the cause of liberty at home and abroad.” The antipathy continued to spill out after McCain’s death when Trump initially declined to release a statement honoring the senator and raised the U.S. flag over the White House on Monday while Congressional flags remained lowered to half staff. By the end of the day the White House flag had been lowered again.

McCain’s circle meanwhile announced the president would not attend his funeral.

His willingness to take on Trump might have contributed to the fact that more Democrats than Republicans had a positive view of McCain. Before the 2008 election, 15 percent of Democrats had a positive view of McCain, compared to 91 percent of Republicans. But last year, an NBC/WSJ poll found that 52 percent of Democrats and only 35 percent of Republicans had a positive view.

That personal dislike aside, McCain voted in line with Trump’s position 83 percent of the time, according to an analysis done by FiveThirtyEight. Whether that showed independence or a lockstep loyalty to his party despite disagreements is part of the debate.

His fellow politicians offered their own contrasting views of McCain.

“John puts things in terms of black and white, right and wrong,” then-Sen. Tim Hutchinson, a Republican from Arkansas, told The Washington Post in 2000. “If you disagree with him, you’re wrong. He doesn’t see that there could be legitimate differences of opinion that deserve respect.”

But former U.S. Sen. Russ Feingold, a Democrat from Wisconsin, wrote in The New York Times: 

“The fact is, as passionate as John was about his positions, he truly valued hearing all sides and was a good listener.” 

Sen. McCain Leaves Complicated Political Legacy published first on Miami News

[johnark]

                                                     LAMENT According to Websters Collegiate dictionary the word lament is a verb and is an expression of grief or sorrow. Maybe grief is a bit too strong in this case, but I certainly felt sorrow when my Texas A&M Aggies lost the Belk Bowl football game to the Wake Forest Demon Deacons 55 - 52, today, 29 December 2017. The effect that a loss by a favorite team has on the personal psyche of the fan is truly amazing. We really feel “down” when that happens. I can use the word in an additional context by saying “it is lamentable that the officiating was not more accurate.” With 45 seconds left in the game and with Wake leading 55 - 52, Aggies with the ball at midfield, QB Nick Starkel launched a deep pass, Jhamon Ausbon  was behind the WF defense at about the WF 10 yard line. The pass was on target, but Ausbon was very clearly tackled by Essang Bassey and the pass fell harmlessly to the turf. No flag for the obvious infraction. That play determined the outcome of the game. I recall that last basketball season, I was once again lamenting an obvious non-call that sent my Arkansas Razorbacks out of the NCAA tournament. It was late in the game, crunch time, the North Carolina player both charged and traveled on the play before passing for a score. The call for either infraction would have sent the Razorbacks to the other end of the court with the opportunity to take the lead. Now here I am once again in the lamenting mode with the Aggies. The score of the game is astounding to me. Over 100 points scored and over 1,200 total yards in the 55 - 52 WF win. What has happened to defense in college football? In the 30 bowl games played to this date, 36 of the 60 teams scored over 30 points, 10 scored over 40 and 6 scored over 50. I recall what I thought was a really great game in 1957 between the Texas A&M Aggies and the Arkansas Razorbacks in Fayetteville, Arkansas. The Aggies, coached by Bear Bryant, were ranked nationally at Number One. The Razorbacks led 6 - 0 for most of the game, but the Aggies scored late to win 7 - 6. Coach Bryant was asked after the game if he thought his Aggies should retain the Number One ranking. He replied “absolutely. Didn’t you see the way we ran up the score on them?” Bear sarcastic humor, of course, but scores of that nature were common then. Incidentally John David Crow was a member of that Aggie team. That year the Aggies lost their last three games by a total of 6 points, vs Rice 6 -7, vs Texas 7 - 9, and vs Florida 0 - 3 in the Gator Bowl. So, the 1957 Aggies finished the season at 8 - 3 and ranked nationally at Number Eight. Here in Reno, Nevada we have easy access to the handicapping on most sporting events by the professional handicappers at the casinos. It is really amazing how accurate these handicappers are. But it is their livelihood and they have all the facts and figures available. It is equally amazing how often they have missed the mark with the college bowl games. On the first weekend, 16 December 2017, it was a disaster. Of the five games handicapped, they picked the winner in only one - calling four incorrectly. As of today they have gotten back on track, but have improved to picking the winner in only 65 % of the games. This is astounding. This is not missing the spread, but missing the winner. Of the remaining bowl games the handicappers have Louisville over Mississippi State by 4, Memphis over Iowa State by 3, Penn State over Washington by 3, Wisconsin over Miami by 6, Michigan over South Carolina by 7, Auburn over UCF by 8, LSU over Notre Dame by 1, Georgia over Oklahoma by 3, Alabama over Clemson by 2. In the two playoff games this is certainly contrary to the Final College Football Playoff Ranking - the rankings that established the playoff. The casino handicappers have Number 4 beating Number 1 and Number 3 beating Number 2. If the handicappers are correct, as they most often are, there would be an all SEC Championship Game. OK, our livelihood doesn’t depend on our choice and our choice doesn’t affect our net worth - so we can just relax and enjoy the games and see how the handicappers did. The first Semi-Final game will be in the Rose Bowl in Pasadena, California on 1 January 2017 between Oklahoma and Georgia.

The second Semi-Final game will be in the Sugar Bowl, the Mercedes Benz Superdome in New Orleans, on 1 January between Clemson and Alabama.

Do you remember when we had only a few bowl games such as the Rose, Sugar, Orange, Sun and Cotton? No? Well, there was a time when there was only one - the Rose Bowl. The first game was played there in 1902, but the annual Rose Bowl Game really began in 1916. The reason for the event was to promote tourism and industry in the area. The Rose continued to be the only bowl for many years. The Sugar, Orange and Sun joined the club in 1935 with the Cotton following in 1937. All the bowl games were played on New Year’s Day. The games were played in warm climates where good weather could be expected - Southern California, Arizona, Texas, Florida, Louisiana. There was no commercial air travel in those early days, so there had to be time to allow the teams, fans and families to travel to the bowl location after the end of the regular college football season. Only the best teams would be given a bowl invitation. There are now 35 bowl games which this year began play on 16 December. Also if a team wins six games it is eligible for a bowl invitation. Municipalities had realized that the bowl games gave them the opportunity to promote local tourism, local industry and local activity. With attendance, sponsors and TV revenue the bowl game could pay for itself. For profit organizations also realized that the bowl game could be an asset. The bowl business, and it did become a business, had proliferated. The inevitable occurred - the market became saturated. That is where we are now and have been for the past few years. At the lower tier level, costs have increased, attendance has decreased, TV has begun to offer less money for TV rights - the lower tier bowl business has become a losing business model. Viewing the empty seats in the lower tier games reveals the situation with these games. The non-profit bowl games simply could not afford to operate at a loss. After losing money in 2013 and 2014 the Foster Farms Bowl transferred ownership to the NFL San Francisco 49ers.  Three Pro teams now own bowl games: 49ers, Detroit Lions, New York Yankees. The Poinsettia Bowl was abandoned. The Miami Beach Bowl sold itself to ESPN. ESPN now owns 13 games which have become little more than ‘made for TV’ events. But smaller crowds and struggles at the lower tier doesn’t mean that the overall bowl industry is in trouble. It’s just that the business model has changed. This industry remains a supply and demand business. And there remains plenty of demand for these bowls from the conferences, the schools and the fans who want to see their team in a bowl game even if they only win six games. The conferences want their teams in a bowl game to generate more TV income. The teams want a post season game to have more practice and exposure for recruiting. The fans just want to see their team in action once more. So, the bowls are not going away. The post season is actually healthy. The reason is the windfall from the Playoff. The Playoff gets about $470 million per year from ESPN. The bowl games collectively paid out about $622 million to conferences and schools last season, including $441 million from the Playoff alone, according to NCAA financial records. After $105 million in expenses, the conferences and schools realized a $512 million “profit.” Last year the ACC received $20.3 million from the playoff despite not having a team in it. If they didn’t receive this they would have lost a little over $1 million on their bowl trips because the lower tier bowls didn’t pay enough to cover the $5.9 million in combined league bowl expenses. It is a system that works well for the biggest bowls and all the leagues and teams that play in the postseason. It hasn’t worked well for the smaller stand-alone organizations that need to sell tickets, sponsorships and TV rights to pay expenses including the payout to conferences that put teams in their games. This is where ESPN comes in, even to the point of bowl ownership. ESPN now owns 13 games which are essentially made-for-TV events. In this case attendance is not so significant. ESPN wants live TV programming during the holiday season to draw viewers, sell advertising, beat the competition, reinforce the network’s value with cable distribution and satellite providers, and realize a profit that pleases the owners. We simply have a new business model in the college football bowl industry. This industry is alive and well and generating a staggering amount of income. Look at the salary of the college football coaches.

There are many of us sports fans who don’t know what precipitated the explosion of revenue in college football. It was not an event on the football field. It was a decision by the US Supreme Court with Justice John Paul Stevens delivering the opinion. It is possible that the rise of cable TV and the Internet might have forced college football to move toward what it is today anyway. But the Court’s decision put the change in motion in 1984 and made college football and the media into today’s sports megalith overflowing with cash. Before that college football on TV was tightly controlled by the NCAA. In the early 80s with the NCAA firmly in control a college was limited to no more than six TV appearances over two years. It also carefully controlled “competition.” Essentially the only TV outlets were ABC, CBS and NBC. The Internet didn’t exist and ESPN was in its infancy. Consequently the only way to see your favorite team in action was to attend the game or hope that it had earned a rare appearance on TV. The fans didn’t like this situation one bit. And the Power 5 Conferences didn’t either. After years of unsuccessfully trying to convince the NCAA to change the rules, the big schools formed the College Football Association to negotiate directly with the TV networks for a better deal. They eventually achieved this with NBC. The NCAA retaliated by threatening to put the schools on probation, making them ineligible for postseason competition in any sport. The lines were thusly drawn. The CFA decided to go to court. To do so it needed some schools to put their names on an anti-trust lawsuit against the NCAA as NCAA members who would be harmed by the threatened penalties. Interestingly enough the two schools playing in this years Semi-final Rose Bowl Playoff, Georgia and Oklahoma, agreed to be plaintiffs in the case. After several years of appeals by the NCAA, the US Supreme Court settled it in June 1984. It then took a few years, but market dynamics eventually created the big money system. Now there is so much TV money flooding the system that most big programs cover all their costs and even make a profit. Also, some conferences have their own cable TV networks and all their games are televised. And they still play in sold-out stadiums. The big money is actually a trickle down system which spreads the wealth while increasing revenue and exposure. The College Football Playoff Administration LLC has been formed to control rights and revenue. The CFPA  is affiliated with only six major bowl games and receives $470 million annually from ESPN. It is owned by Notre Dame and ten conferences. All the owners receive a payout even though they may not play in any of the games. There is plenty of money to spread around. Thirty nine of the schools pay their head football coaches over $3 million a year. College football is more popular than ever. And the big schools play in sold-out stadiums even though their games are televised.

[peopleoftexas]

Letter of Mr. Walker of Mississippi, 1844

Page 3: It was a revolution in Mexico that produced the conflict for independence in Texas. the citizens of Texas had been invited there by Mexico, under the solemn guaranty of the federal constitution of 1824. This constitution, to which Texas so long and faithfully adhered, was prostrated by the usurper Santa Anna. After a severe struggle, the people of Mexico were subdued by a mercenary army; the States were annihilated, and a military dictator was placed at the head of a central despotism. In the capital of Mexico, and of the state of Coahuila and Texas, the civil authorities were suppressed by the bayonet; the disarming of every citizen was decreed, and the soldiery of the usurper proceeded to enforce this edict. The people of Texas resolved to resist, and perish upon the field of battle, rather than submit to the despotic sway of a treacherous and sanguinary military dictator. Short was the conflict, and glorious the issue. The American race was successful; the armies of the tyrant were overthrown and dispersed, and the dictator himself was captured. He was released by Texas, and restored to his country, having first acknowledged, by a solemn treaty, the independence of Texas. After the fall of Santa Anna, and the total rout and dispersion of the Mexican army, and when a resubjugation had become hopeless, I introduced into the Senate the resolution acknowledging the independence of Texas. it was adopted in March, 1837, and the name of Texas inscribed on the roll of independent nations. Subsequently, France, England, and Holland, have recognized her independence; and Texas now has all the rights of sovereignty over her territory and people, as full and perfect as any other nation of the world. ……. In 1836, this question, together with that of ratifying their constitution, was submitted by the constituted authorities to the people of Texas, who, with unparalleled unanimity, (there being but 93 dissenting votes,) decided in favor of re-annexation.

Page 6: By the treaty of 1803, by which, we have seen, Texas was acquired by us from France, we pledged our faith to France, and to the people of Texas, never to surrender that territory. The 3d article of that treaty declares: “the inhabitants of the ceded territory shall be incorporated in the Union of the United States, and admitted as soon as possible, according to the principles of the federal constitution, to the enjoyment of all the rights, advantages, and immunities of citizens of the United States; and in the meantime they shall be protected in the free enjoyment of their liberty, property, and the religion which they profess.” Such was our pledge to France and to the people of Texas, by the treaty of purchase; and if our subsequent treaty of cession to Spain was not unconstitutional and invalid, it was a gross infraction of a previous treaty, and of one of the fundamental conditions under which Texas was acquired.

Here, then, are many grave questions of constitutional power. Could the solemn guaranty to France, and to the people of Texas, be rescinded by a treaty with Spain? Can this government, by its own mere power, surrender any portion of its territory? Can it cut off a territory without the consent of its people, and surrender them and the territory to a foreign power? Can it expatriate and expel from the Union its own citizens, who occupy that territory, and change an American citizen into a citizen of Spain or Mexico? There are momentous questions, which it is not necessary now to determine, and in regard to which I advance at this time no opinion. Certain, however, it is, that, with the consent of the people of Texas, Congress can carry out the solemn pledges of the treaty of 1803, and admit one or more States from Texas into the Union.

Page 9: As a question of money, no State is much more deeply interest in the re-annexation of Texas than your own great Commonwealth of Kentucky. There, if Texas becomes part of the Union, will be a great and growing market for her beef and pork, her lard and butter, her flour and corn; and there, within a very short period, would be found a ready sale for more than a million dollars in value, of her bale-rope and hemp and cotton bagging. Nor can it be that Kentucky would desire, by the refusal of re-annexation, to mutilate and dismember the valley of which she is a part; or that Kentucky would curtail the limits of the republic, or diminish its power and strength and glory. It cannot be that Kentucky will wish to see any flag except our own upon the banks of the Sabine and Arkansas and Red river, and within a day’s sail of the mouth of the Mississippi, and the outlet of all her own commerce in the Gulf. Many of her own people are within the limits of Texas, and its battlefields are water with the blood of many of her sons. It was her own intrepid Milam, who headed the brave 300 who, armed with rifles only, captured the fortress of the Alamo, defended by heavy artillery, and 1300 of the picked troops of Mexico, under one of their best commanders. And will Kentucky refuse to re-embrace so many of her own people? nor permit them, without leaving Texas, to return to the American Union? And if war should ever again revisit our country, Kentucky knows that the steady aim of the western riflemen, and the brave hearts and stout hands, within the limits of Texas, are, in the hour of danger, among the surest defenders of the country, and especially of the valley of the West. The question of re-annexation, and of the restoration of ancient boundaries, is a much stronger case than that of the purchase of new territory. It is a stronger case also than the acquisition of Louisiana or Florida; not only upon the ground that these were both an acquisition of new territory, but that they embraced a foreign people, dissimilar to our own, in language, laws, and institutions; and transferred without their knowledge or consent, by the act of a European king. More especially, in a case like this, where the people of Texas occupy a region which was once exclusively our own; and this people, in whom we acknowledge to reside the only sovereignty over the whole and every portion of Teas, desire the re-annexation—that we cannot reestablish our former boundaries, and restore to us the whole or any part of the territory which was once our own, is a proposition, the bare statement of which is its best refutation.

Page 18: In the message of the President of Texas of the 12th of December, 1843, he speaks of the “generous and friendly disposition, and active and friendly offices of England.” He speaks, also, of “injuries and indignities inflicted” by this government upon Texas, and declares “that reparation has been demanded.” Such is the wonderful advance in Texas of the influence of England, that she has succeeded in having it announced in an executive message to the people of Texas that England is their friend, and that we are their enemies. If all this had been predicted three years since, it would have been deemed incredible; and if Texas is not reenacted, she is certain, within a few years more, to become first a commercial dependency, and then a colony, in fact, if not in name, of England. When we regard the consequence which have already followed the mere apprehension of the refusal of re-annexation, what will be the result in Texas when re-annexation is positively and forever rejected? When this is done, and Texas is repulsed with contempt or indifference, when her people are told, The flag of the Union shall never wave over you, go!—go where you may, to England, if you please,—who can doubt the result? To doubt is willful blindness; and whilst we will have lost a most important territory, and an indispensable portion of the valley of the West, England will have gained a dependency first, and then a colony; and we shall awake from our slumbers when, amid British rejoicings and the sound of British cannon, the flag of England shall wave upon the coast and throughout the limits of Texas; and a monarchy rises up on our own continent and on our own borders, upon the grave of a republic. Yes, this is not a question merely between us and Texas, but a question between the advance of British or American power; and that, too, within the very heart of the valley of the West. It is a question also between the advance of monarchy and republicanism throughout the fairest and most fertile portion of the American continent, and is one of the mighty movements in deciding the great question between monarchy and republicanism, which of the two forms of government shall preponderate throughout the world. In the North, the flag of England waves from the Atlantic to the Pacific over a region much more extensive than our own; and if it must float also for several thousand miles upon the banks of the tributaries of the great Mississippi, and along the gulf, from the Sabine to the Del Norte, we will be surrounded on all sides by England in America.