#small electric pickup truck

[sealioninternationaltrade]

Electric Pickup Trucks & Small Electric Pickup Trucks – Powerful, Eco-Friendly Driving

The Rise of Electric Pickup Trucks

In recent years, the demand for electric vehicles (EVs) has surged, and among the most exciting developments is the introduction of electric pickup trucks. These vehicles combine the strength and utility of traditional pickups with the eco-friendly benefits of electric power. As concerns about climate change and fuel costs grow, switching to an electric alternative has become a smart and sustainable choice for both individuals and businesses.

Why Choose an Electric Pickup Truck?

One of the biggest advantages of an electric pickup truck - SEA LION INTERNATIONAL TRADE CO. Ltd is its zero-emission capability. Unlike conventional gas-powered pickups, electric models produce no tailpipe emissions, significantly reducing carbon footprints. Additionally, they offer high torque, instant acceleration, and lower operating costs. With government incentives and advancements in battery technology, owning an electric pickup has never been more accessible.

Another key factor is efficiency. While traditional pickups require frequent fuel stops, an electric pickup truck can be charged at home or at a growing number of fast-charging stations. Many of these trucks also come equipped with advanced technology, such as regenerative braking and AI-powered driving assistance, making them more intelligent and user-friendly than ever before.

Exploring the Small Electric Pickup Truck Market

For those looking for a more compact yet powerful option, a small electric pickup truck is an excellent choice. These models cater to urban drivers, small business owners, and eco-conscious consumers who need versatility without compromising efficiency. With their agile handling, lower maintenance costs, and impressive payload capacities, small electric pickup trucks are redefining the way we perceive electric utility vehicles.

One standout benefit of a small electric pickup truck is its maneuverability. Unlike larger trucks, these models are easier to park, navigate through city streets, and manage in tight spaces. They also provide a cost-effective solution for businesses needing efficient fleet vehicles without the high fuel and maintenance costs of traditional gas-powered pickups.

Top Models of Electric Pickup Trucks and Small Electric Pickup Trucks

Several automakers have introduced innovative electric pickup trucks and small electric pickup trucks to the market. Here are a few notable options:

Rivian R1T – A high-performance electric truck with off-road capabilities, impressive range, and luxurious interiors.

Ford F-150 Lightning – America’s favorite pickup truck is now electric, featuring high towing capacity and cutting-edge technology.

Tesla Cybertruck – A futuristic, durable electric truck with high-speed acceleration and innovative design.

Chevrolet Silverado EV – A robust electric version of a classic pickup, designed for power and longevity.

Canoo Pickup – A compact, versatile small electric pickup truck perfect for urban environments and small businesses.

Benefits of Switching to an Electric Pickup Truck

Lower Maintenance Costs – Electric vehicles have fewer moving parts, reducing the need for costly repairs.

Zero Emissions – Help combat climate change by eliminating exhaust emissions.

Fuel Savings – No need for gasoline or diesel, leading to significant long-term savings.

Government Incentives – Many regions offer tax credits and rebates for electric vehicle purchases.

Advanced Technology – Modern electric pickups come with smart features, such as over-the-air updates and autonomous driving capabilities.

The Future of Electric Pickup Trucks

The future of electric pickup trucks looks incredibly promising. With advancements in battery range, faster charging technology, and increased infrastructure support, electric pickups are set to dominate the automotive industry. Automakers are investing heavily in research and development to make electric trucks more affordable, efficient, and widely available.

As businesses and individuals shift toward sustainability, the adoption of small electric pickup trucks is also expected to rise. These vehicles provide an eco-friendly and practical solution for those who need a reliable truck without the bulk and expense of larger models.

Frequently Asked Questions (FAQs)

Q1: How long does it take to charge an electric pickup truck? A: Charging time depends on the charger type. Level 1 home chargers can take several hours, while fast-charging stations can charge up to 80% in 30-45 minutes.

Q2: Are electric pickup trucks good for towing? A: Yes, many electric pickup trucks have high torque and powerful motors, making them excellent for towing heavy loads.

Q3: How far can a small electric pickup truck go on a single charge? A: Most small electric pickup trucks offer a range between 150-300 miles per charge, depending on the model and battery size.

Q4: Are there government incentives for purchasing an electric pickup truck? A: Yes, many governments offer tax credits, rebates, and incentives to encourage electric vehicle adoption.

Q5: Is maintenance for an electric pickup truck expensive? A: No, electric vehicles have fewer moving parts than gas-powered trucks, resulting in lower maintenance costs over time.

Final Thoughts

Switching to an electric pickup truck or a small electric pickup truck is a smart choice for those looking for power, sustainability, and cost efficiency. With continuous advancements in electric vehicle technology, these trucks offer a compelling alternative to traditional gas-powered models. Whether for personal use or business, investing in an electric pickup is a step towards a greener and more efficient future.

Blog Resources:- https://sealioninternationaltradecoltd.blogspot.com/2025/02/electric-pickup-trucks-small-electric.html

[uhohdad]

I know how specific this might sound so don't please don't hesitate to let this ask brew for a bit!: I'm wondering how loser!König would fair with a southern transmasc reader? Someone who's clearly backwoods country,but also cuntry, ya know? Ain't much to do other than swim in the rivers if your lucky,or check out nature if your not wanting to see the small towns scattered between said nature. Love love love your writings ofc,keep up the amazing work!

This is incredibly specific. I love it. Okay here we go I hope this tickles your fancy. Prob could be enjoyed by everyone.

・・・・☆・・・・☆ ・・・・☆ ・・・・

☆ Loser!König was intrigued with you right from the start. He’s never met anyone like you before.

☆ He feels so comfortable with you. It was like he could tell you anything, and you’d just nod along. Not even so much as quirking an eyebrow at the odd things he says as you wade your ankles into the creek, hunting for crawdads to make friends with, just for the fun of it.

☆ He felt like he was swept off his feet, it’s amazing how such a simple lifestyle can feel so… magical, so thrilling. A whirlwind adventure that’s makes him feel alive, but simultaneously gives him a cozy, relaxing warmth foreign to him.

☆ (He’s not really sure if it’s the lifestyle, or if it’s just you.)

☆ You were so down to earth, so genuine, and you’d accepted König for who he was. His infatuation with you started here, and snowballed rapidly, and before he knew it he was in too deep.

☆ Funny, too. He doesn’t remember the last time he’s laughed this hard, this much. It’s always a good time with you.

☆ The stargazing is his favorite part. Konig’s fingers threaded together and resting on his waist. Lying in the bed of your shoddy old pickup truck, the stars clear and beautiful in the middle of no where.

☆ It’s still hard to keep his focus on the stars when you’re right next to him, your arms folded to use your hands as a pillow, shoe absentmindedly swirling as you soak in the night sky. He can’t help the way his eyes are lingering. How his head keeps tilting to admire you, taking you in as you lay.

☆ It’s the beer, he thinks. He’s had too much. Flushing his cheeks and giving him that warm feeling in his chest.

☆ No, maybe it’s the atmosphere. It’s so romantic out here, just you and him and the night sky.

☆ No, it’s definitely you.

☆ He wants to leave his old life behind, he wants to stay out here with you forever. He wants to chase this feeling, he wants to chase you.

☆ The air between you is electric. He can’t stop thinking about how he wants to touch you. How badly he wants to hold your hand, how he has the overwhelming urge to kiss you. As he stares at you, he can’t help but wonder if you feel it too.

☆ He’s thinking about you sliding on top of him, straddling him. Grinding down on him, teasing him, his hands on your hips as you revel in his needy whines and moans. He wants you to take him - right here, right now

☆ The thought alone is enough to bring his cock to attention.

☆ “See something you like, handsome?”

☆ A cheeky grin spreads thick as you side-eye him, watching him snap his head back to the night sky, as if that was going to save him, as if you haven’t been feeling the burn of his stare this entire time.

☆ You got him, successfully flustered him, he’s sure he’s ruined it.

☆ “Well, don’t play shy now.”

☆ He doesn’t even know what to say, tongue-tied and trying to put out the heat just under his skin, but he’s only fanning the flame.

☆ He’ll carefully meet your gaze, his mouth dry and his lips twisted in worry.

☆ “S’okay.”

☆ He gives a shaky nod, hoping it’s dark enough out here that you can’t see the glow on his cheeks.

☆ A hand slips from behind your head, elbow propped up on the ribbed tailbed, wrist limp as you offer your hand.

☆ Konig swallows, eyes wide and flitting between your hand and your eyes, twinkling as they reflect the stars.

☆ “Don’t make it weird, dude. Just hold my stupid hand.”

・・・・☆・・・・☆ ・・・・☆ ・・・・

ੈ✩

[gyllenhaalstories]

FIREWORKS — JOHN KINLEY 🎆

summary: does john ever feel like a plastic bag drifting through the wind, wanting to start again? yeah, probably. but this fic isn't about john's existential crisis. it's about keeping his mind occupied during the fireworks of the 4th of july.

warnings: smut (teasing, masturbation, fingering, edging, orgasm control, penetration, outdoors sex). 18+ NO MINORS.

word count: 2680

gifs credits: @/pedropcl (cropped) / divider credits: @/firefly-graphics

notes: i finally wrote for john (big thanks go to @sizzlingcloudmentality for helping me out with your amazing suggestions)! it's not the idea i've attempted to write like 4 times, but it's an idea. that's gotta count for something 🫡 thank you for reading & REMEMBER TO REBLOG!

"The truck is loaded and ready to go." John's smile faded when he saw the new bags waiting for him by the front door.

"Just in case." You justified without being prompted to.

"We're leaving for the weekend, honey." He bent over to unzip one of the kaki Duffel bags, he pulled out several mismatched fuzzy socks. "We don't need all that. Wait... Is that a candle?"

You nodded proudly when he held up the glass jar. "We agreed to have a relaxing weekend getaway. Candles are relaxing. Look! That's your favourite scent too!"

He grinned at the attention and closed the bag after securing the candle deep into the clothes you packed just in case. He stood up with the bag on his shoulder. He held on the strap with one hand and grabbed yours with the other, dragging you out of the house before you came up with the idea to bring the appliances too.

John shut the tailgate and walked around the pickup truck to open your door, making sure you got in just fine. After a peck on your cheek, he closed the door and made his way to the driver's seat.

"Do you think there's gonna be a lot of traffic?" You buckled your seat belt at the same time as John did. "People go crazy around this time of year." John shot you a look that meant to say when did they not?

"We're not taking the highway." He engaged on the street and made a few turns you did not recognize as your usual route.

You trusted him. He knew his away around endless deserts and bushy hills, this would be no different especially since John had helped you to plan this weekend getaway. You found a secluded Bed and Breakfast, hours away from the house. It seemed cozy, you were lucky to reserve a room during the busy weekend.

The village was so small, there was not a single activity planned for the Fourth of July. You could have told him you were both going camping without electricity or running water and he would have accepted the invitation. He would have accepted anything just to escape.

Your mind wandered while John kept driving into the sunset. You wondered what food they would serve for breakfast, what the backyard would look like. You hoped they had a garden. You wondered if this would become a yearly tradition, where the managers would recognize you and fold your towels into pretty swans before your arrival. You hoped it did. You wondered what John was thinking about, you turned your head to admire him.

He felt your gaze on him, he grinned. "Everything alright? Did we forget something?" He marked a pause, he turned on a different road. "Let me guess, you wanted to bring the lawn mower?"

"We don't even have a lawn mower."

"Shit, we forgot to buy one?" He chuckled. "The trip is ruined."

Your heart skipped a beat at the sound of his laughter. A rare treat. A smile lingered on his lips, growing wider when he set his hand on your thigh. Your hand covered his and your eyes did not leave his handsome face for dozens of miles.

He could feel you were getting bored. He was too, quite frankly. At a certain point, the scenery blended into one blurry painting of trees and run-down houses. He knew the destination was well worth the hours of driving, but he would not despise a change of view. In the meantime, John distracted himself with caresses and squeezes on your thigh. One moment his hand was down to your knee, but then it would move back up and his fingers would attempt to disappear between your thighs.

You shifted on your seat, trying not to let those touches get to you too quickly. You still had a long way to go, but if John kept teasing you it would be impossible to resist. His hand hovered until you settled down so he could place it back on your thigh with a firm grip. You spotted a lonesome traffic light in the distance.

"Is everything alright?" John asked again, glancing in your direction with a faint frown.

"It will be soon." You said with a smirk that did not go unnoticed.

John looked ahead, squeezing your thigh harshly. His hand pushed further up, but you closed you legs around him too tight to let him move. He scrunched his nose at the sudden, but small, frustration.

Your prayers for the green light to turn red were heard and you unbuckled your seat belt as soon as the truck went immobile. "Unlock the door." You demanded.

John did not budge, pretending he did not hear you.

"Unlock the door, please."

The lock clicked. You slid down the passenger seat, your skirt riding up while you did so. John watched you while you slammed one door, opened another. He turned his head while you clumsily climbed on the back seat of the truck.

"Nothing wrong with being the passenger princess," You answered the question he did not dare to ask. "I just wanted a little more space."

His face was still lit up by a bright red hue when you found a comfortable position. John put two and two together, indulging in your shenanigan without any hesitation. He focused on the road again, darting his eyes on the rear view mirror. "A little more to the left," you scooted. "Perfect."

The light turned green and the engine roared while John kept driving. You pulled on the the seat belt so it was loosely attached around you, giving you plenty of room to move. You spread your legs open, finding a position that was both comfortable for you and easy to admire for John.

"You're playing with fire." John scoffed.

"No, I'm trying to distract you from the fireworks." You corrected him and earned a grin in response. "The least you can do is say thank you."

"I'll thank you when I'll be satisfied with my distraction." You leaned forward, a playful slap landed on his shoulder. "Hey!" He adjusted the mirror so it hit the right angle, then he winked at you.

You sat against the large back seat. You ran your hands over your thighs, in the places John had touched. "How much time do we have left?"

John flicked his wrist, trusting his military watch more than the clock of the truck. "About an hour." He estimated based off the number of miles indicated on the last road sign.

Your fingertips drew abstract patterns on the inside of your thighs, approaching close to your core. You hummed, thinking about a plan to make the fun last. Your breath hitched when you reached the wet fabric of your panties.

John's breath hitched too when he caught a glimpse of you, staring at him while you pushed your panties to the side. He missed what happened next as the road became sinuous for a moment.

You brought your middle finger to your lips and licked it, eyes still glued on your man. The pad of your wet finger pressed on your clit. You moaned out his name while you began to rub in circular motions.

He caught you while your head fell against the back of the seat. His own jaw dropped slowly while he watched the expression on your face as you picked up the pace. The pickup veered into the other lane for a quick second, John straightened it up.

You stopped abruptly. "Be careful." You warned him.

"You're being dangerous." He warned you, too. He gave you time to settle down, to get further lost into your pleasure after your heart had skipped a beat in fear.

He stared ahead, now you were the one watching him. You watched as John blinked slowly. As his knuckles turned white from the tight grip on the steering wheel. As his Adam's apple bopped while he swallowed thickly. As a loose strand of hair escaped the sunglasses perched up on his head.

His voice drew you out of your fixation. You made him repeat himself.

"You're not cumming 'til i say so." Somehow, that did not make you stop. You rubbed more, more, more, and you pulled away right on the edge of your orgasm. "Good luck with that, babe. 'Cause we both know you won't last."

You exhaled, coming down from your first edge. "We both know you won't last either."

John's silence proved you right. Though he showed more patience and restraint than you expected. He coaxed you through some of your edges, reminding you to pull away at the right time and telling you that "you look so fuckin' pretty for me, that's it, fuck yourself good".

The more praise you earned, the harder it became to hold back. His words toyed with your mind, making it so incredibly difficult to not give in. To listen to his order and not cum until he commanded you to. This particular edge gave you a rough time, your fingers barely stroked your clit that you were about to burst into an explosive orgasm. You tensed on your seat, eyes shut and with a breath stuck.

John glanced at the mirror and saw you. He saw you were about to tip over the edge. It was written all over your face that you could no longer resist your own release. "Don't you fucking dare." He clenched his jaw and pulled over in a swift turn of the steering wheel. You shifted in your seat, causing you to stop at the perfect time. "You're not cumming. Not without me." He put on the brakes and lost no time to get out of the vehicle.

"Took you long enough." You spoke when the door opened before you. John reached into the car to remove the seat belt. He gave you a stern look that made you smile from ear to ear. He was just so fun to mess around with, until he was not... But you did not feel like pushing his limits too much tonight. You could save that for another time.

John helped you to scoot closer to the edge of the seat, he stopped you from closing your thighs together. Finally, he could touch what he had been craving. His fingers worked you close to another edge. And another. And another. Until you were writhing for him on the seat, until he was sure you had left a damp spot on it. He wanted to test your limits, just a bit, just for fun.

"No, no, no." You gripped on his forearm, trying to pull him away.

He grunted in satisfaction, you followed his command and he did not even need to remind you. "That's my good girl." He captured your lips with his, his beard tickled your skin. Like a magnet, he attracted you out of the pickup until your feet met the ground.

His tongue explored your mouth while his hands gripped on your hips. The second you pulled away to catch your breath, he made you spin on your feet. The buckle of his belt rattled while he rushed to pull down his pants and underwear just below his ass.

You bunched up your skirt for him, propped your leg up on the step. You earned a low, rumbling grunt as a reward when he pushed his cock in your wet pussy. In return, you moaned out his name again and caused him to bottom out inside of you.

"Got yourself ready for me, huh? Is this what you wanted all along?" The bruising grip of his rough hands on your hips made you wince. "You wanted to get fucked by the side of the road like a whore." He pulled out, then rammed himself all the way back in. "That's so cute."

His left hand abandoned your hip to travel up your sides then your shoulder. Until he found the back of your head, he pressed you down against the seat. With his other hand, he guided you to meet his thrusts. At any moment, someone could drive by. Not that you had seen many cars thus far, but it was a possibility. It added a whole new dimension that both John and you found pleasure in.

The show you gave him from the back seat, paired with palming himself over his pants, had gotten him riled up to the point he knew he would not last long. He wasted no time and enjoyed the feeling of your clenching walls to the fullest.

"Just like that! Keep... Fuck! Keep going." You snaked a hand underneath your body until your fingertips reached your clit, barely brushing over it to take you closer to your release.

Suddenly, John’s thrusts stopped. He turned his head to the side and watched as the sky was illuminated in the distance by red, white and blue fireworks. He took a second to admire them then he continued to fuck you, picking up the pace. So that you would moan louder. And louder. And louder. Until you were all he could hear.

The skin of your ass slapped against his thighs, adding to the obscene sounds. Your noises covered up the explosions of the fireworks.

"Thank you." John broke the silence, slowing down. He dragged his hips back and forth, making you feel every inch of him.

"What for?" You mumbled. You revelled in the way John’s cock stretched your tight pussy. Your slick walls clenched on him even more.

He punctuated his thrusts with grunts. He leaned forward, pressing down on your back and trapping you against the car seat. He whispered, his breath hot against your ear. "For being a good distraction."

"Good enough to let me cum?" Your voice cracked.

"Damn right." John smiled on your cheek while he pressed a kiss on it. "Cum for me, let me feel you."

The sky turned pitch-black again as if nothing happened. As if the fireworks travelled all the way to your core while you came for John. Stars spun around your head, you still saw them when you closed your eyes.

John saw them too when he spilled his cum inside of you, coating your walls white. He stilled, replacing the sound of your skin slapping by his addictive grunts of pleasure. Slowly, he stood up straight, careful not to his his head against the door frame. He was even more careful when you did the same, his hand protecting the back of your head.

"Well..." You chuckled, coming down from your high. "The whole point was to avoid the fireworks. Should we just cancel and drive back home?" You would be disappointed not to visit the Bed and Breakfast, but you would understand if John preferred to stay home.

The unpleasant thought of unpacking the multitude of bags you lovingly forced him to bring along crossed his mind. His lips curled into an upside-down smile. "Let's just keep driving." He glanced down at your wrinkled skirt. His hands disappeared under them to rip your panties from you as you gasped at the gesture. With a proud grin, he walked around the pickup and sat behind the wheel again.

You regained your place as the passenger princess. Your eyes were glued on John as he engaged back on the road. He pressed a button, the window on his left slid open. He stuck his hand out and, with a shit eating smirk on his face, he let them go. Your panties drifted through the wind.

He chuckled when you abruptly turned to look at the side mirror. You distinguished a drop of red on the blackness of the asphalt that blended with the sky. You scoffed in disbelief while your panties disappeared into the landscape.

John's hand regained its place on your thigh, more so between your thighs. He groaned at the soft, slick skin under his fingertips. He dragged his hand up until it reached the familiar heat of your core. "Yeah, let's just keep going."

[afrowrites]

Your (Super)Man

A Clark x Black! Reader Smallville imagine

Rating: Teen and Up

Word count: 995

Clark Kent, you older brothers best friend and your secret crush takes you to go see linkin park

Notes: I wrote this for a lovely new mutual @justalovelyblackgf Thank you so much for my first ask, here's to many more :))).

“Hey (Y/N),” Your favorite tall and handsome older brother’s best friend asks you, “I was wondering something.” 

You look at him quizzically “What?”

“I don’t know what it is but, it just surprises me that one of the prettiest girls I know has never dated,” he joked. Your cheeks heat up, you remember before that during a game of truth or dare you tell your class you never dated. There wasn’t really a chance to, you lived in the middle of nowhere smallville. Your choices were slim to none and when you’re black your dating pool is that much smaller.

“Well I mean it’s like no big deal, I plan on dating when I’m twenty-five,” you answered honestly, 

“That’s a real shame because I have two great front row tickets to go see linkin park.” 

You immediately start gushing “OH MY GOD, Clark how did you get these,” “I had a little help.” He winks. 

Clark is an all america salt of the earth good boy, but for whatever reason he was still a complete mystery to you. Maybe it was the allure of him being Pete’s best friend. But his kindness was certainly known to you.  When you had sprained your ankle in p.e he carried you to the nurses office. When you wanted to join a club he welcomed you into the journalism club. He has the most beautiful eyes and gorgeous lips that you just wanna- wait you're getting a bit ahead of yourself. 

“I’ll pick you up around six, That ok?” he cocks his head to the side when he asks you, looking sweet as ever.

“It’s a date.” you smile sweetly,

~You're getting ready (sorry I didn’t have a good transition for this)

You popped in your Destiny’s Child cd and started your I’m going on a date with the hottest guy I know outfit and makeup. But it’s linkin park so you wear a super cute navy blue baby tee with gray sleeves and some low rise flares, some midi gold hoops and a small gold necklace to go with it. 

“Y/N He’s outside.” Pete yells at you.

“Oh my gosh!”,You mumble under your breath. Then you yell “TELL HIM I’M NOT FINISHED”. 

“That’s a shame because you look perfect to me.  What else could you do?” he leans against the doorframe, shyly eyeing you.

“Oh God, h-hey clark,” You were spooked by him. “C’mon tiger, let’s go.” he nods his head towards the door.

“And uh, Bring Destiny we need something to do while I drive.” He winks.

You roll your eyes as you slip on your shoes.

He opens the passenger side of his dads red pickup truck, you’re a little short getting in so he takes your hand and gently lifts you up onto the seat. The warmth of his hand is electric in your palm. 

“Thanks,” you smile. He smiles back “No problem.” Like a man who’s just seen the stars.

The drive is fun as you two sing to Independent women, “You know everyone’s favorite is Beyonce but I’m a Kelly fan myself.” 

“Of course you are.” You chuckle softly.

You both get to the venue, hordes of half drunk teenagers line up to see the main event.

The opening acts start as you start jumping around enjoying the music, and suddenly you feel a set of hands around your waist. No they weren’t clarks hands like you would have liked. You smelled cheap beer on your neck. 

“Hey!” You immediately turned to see some acne-faced guy with frosted tips start grinding on you, “Cmon, babe I know girls like you like this stuff.” 

“Hey man, you need to back off!” Clark is steaming mad, “Look man your girl is fine you need to learn how to share.” 

Before Clark can even get a punch in, the guy is immediately on the ground. “For your information, his girl won’t be shared with anyone.” you spat, “So go take a long walk off a short pier.”

The crowd around you ooh’s an ahh’s, Until the main event finally came. Chester speaks to the crowd “Hey we just wanted to let y’all know that creeps are not allowed to any of our concerts, that being said will the pretty lady with the braids c’mon stage.”

“Oh My God, Clark he wants me!!!” You scream in his ear. “Well go up there pretty lady.” 

So there you were on stage dancing with Linkin Park, and Clark can only see your shining face, and cocoa butter skin. He sees your smile that’s brighter than any stage light in this whole place. 

Later you both go back to his car, and you both talk about the whole ordeal the whole time. However, it starts to rain hard.

“You know if your parents are ok with it, Ms and Pa would love to have you over?”, “Well you know I don’t like getting my hair wet so sure.”

You called your parents and reluctantly your father agreed, but in black dad fashion he made you promise to sleep on the couch and stay six feet away from Clark. 

He even called his parents who were fine with it, and after Martha warmed you up a nice cup of tea. You settled on the couch and thanked his parents goodnight. And as they went to bed before you could even close your eyes you hear.

“Hey,” it’s his whisper that startled you, “Wanna see my room?”

You obliged of course “So what is so great about clarks roo-” He cuts you off with a sweet kiss, “I’m sorry I really wanted to do that all night.” He sheepishly smiles.

But you don’t care, instead you go in for your turn deep and passionate, and then suddenly you wake up in a blue t-shirt with warm arms wrapped around you. And you didn’t know it yet, but you had just fallen in love with the man of steel.

[villainofmyownstory]

Day Zero

chapter 1: The First One

masterlist taglist

-> Next

pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x plus size fem!reader

summary: Ghost and his dog Riley regularly patrol the city. A man has his own routine, every day, for almost 2 years, has to look the same. The man knows that he cannot change his behavior because deep down he still feels that someone will answer his radio signal. He doesn't lose hope. However, exactly 730 days after "Day Zero", no one shows up at the transmitter mast. Just when you finally get there. You've been trying to get here for weeks, seeing a tower in the distance. You needed electricity, and the tower had a source of light every night. And so each of you, individually, still thinks that you are the only one alive.

Chapter 1: The First One

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Day 729

Ghost & Riley

5:43 a.m., the black Gamin watch on the man's right hand started ringing. In exactly 25 minutes, the sun will rise and Ghost will be able to leave the safety of his home and begin his daily routine.

This morning is definitely warmer than the previous ones. Getting out of bed, the man decides that in the evening he will cover some of the solar panels, so that excess energy for heating will no longer be needed. He preferred to keep some panels unused in case others failed. He couldn't find any more panels in the city, so unfortunately he had to settle for the few he found in recent months.

Riley ran to the man's leg, growling quietly, he had been extremely excited since the morning.

“What's up Riley?” Ghost stroked the dog behind the ear and spoke softly to him.

This dog had been the only living thing he could talk to for almost two years. It was actually a monologue, but Ghost knew that his beloved dog understood him and even though they didn't speak the same language, they understood each other perfectly.

The man also knew that he had to try to remain civilized, speaking, listening and behaving as he had before Day Zero. After years in the army, he remembered what soldiers released after years of captivity looked like. Who were locked in isolation for long months in small, dark cells. They were quickly losing their minds.

And he had to remain human. Despite everything.

Every day, after getting up and taking a quick bathroom break, Ghost would do some exercises to wake up. And be in good shape all the time. Unfortunately, his supplies of black tea were slowly running out and surprisingly there were few tea lovers in this damn city. He never drank coffee, so physical activity had to be enough for him to overcome sleepiness.

Once he put on his old military clothes and took his gun from the safe, he headed to the kitchen, taking a few military biscuits that he used to eat during his morning routine.

"Riley come on, it's time for patrol" the dog wagged his tail and ran to his master, waiting for Ghost to put a tactical harnesses and leash on him.

On his way out, Ghost checked the surveillance cameras he had installed around the house. The area looked like any other day. Intact. For a split second he felt disappointed, he was under the illusion that he was not the only one alive in this world.

Getting into the black Ford Ranger pickup truck, he checked the gas level in the canisters in the back and the air in the tires. Everything was in order. When Riley jumped on the back trunk and Ghost checked if the dog was safe, he got into the car and slowly drove away, looking around the surrounding area. Today he was going to the eastern part of the city, there were a few houses on the outskirts that he didn't check. As the days were getting longer, he could afford to travel further and plunder new abandoned houses.

When he reached one of his checkpoints, Riley on the trunk started barking and wanted to jump down to the ground. The man, concerned about the dog's behavior, quickly stopped at one of the dead ends. The dog barked and wagged his tail, staring as if in a trance, his attention focused towards the west.

“Riley calm down, Riley!”

Ghost quickly jumped onto the trunk and grabbed the dog by the collar, trying to calm animal down and direct its attention to himself. The dog barked louder and louder and suddenly growled in a way he had never heard before. Ghost froze, he had never seen such aggression from his dog before.

“Riley, sit down. Riley!”

man's voice trembled with growing fear, despite this he tried to pronounce the commands in a loud and decisive tone. Ghost was afraid that the dog might have gotten sick, maybe he had been bitten by some sick animal during one of the patrols in a new area and the wound was so small that Ghost he missed it. Even though he checked Riley every day after every patrol. He couldn't lose his only family member. Only friend.

Suddenly the dog calms down. He sat on his hind legs and, panting slightly, looked at his owner with peace in his eyes

“Bloody hell Riley, what the fuck was that?”

Ghost shook his head disapprovingly, looking up at the dog, patting it on the belly and stroking it for a while. After making sure that the dog had calmed down, the man returned to the car and drove again, glancing at the dog in the rear-view mirror from time to time. Fortunately, the rest of the journey passed peacefully, without any strange incidents.

Ghost drove in silence with the car windows open, looking around the suburbs. The eastern part of the city was mainly inhabited by elites, wealthier people from the upper classes.

Was.

Ghost, remembering his old life, felt that he didn't miss it. Money, power, fame. He never aspired to it and didn't need it, but in connection with his work he often had contact with rich people and it was difficult for him to come to terms with them. He could never get along with them. So now, after so many days since Day Zero, looking at the empty large villas, he smiled to himself. People had so much in the past, they were concerned with getting rich, making more and more money. And what did they need it for? Now they were all dead. And large houses and expensive cars stood empty, deteriorating under the influence of the seasons.

When the former soldier reached the house he had last checked, he parked close to a large tree so that the car was hidden in the shade. He opened the trunk lid for Riley to jump down and search the front and back of the house first. Nothing really bad ever happened, no evil awaited them during the day.

But Ghost wanted his four-legged friend to feel important and appreciated. If only his life would be no different from the one before Day Zero. Even though the man was not sure whether the dog had previously served in the army, from the first day they met the man checked and was happy to find that Riley was well trained. Its previous owner must have taken care of it. Ghost was very grateful to this person.

Whoever that person was.

When the dog returned happily wagging his tail and meekly stood next to the man's right leg, it was a signal that the area was checked and safe. Ghost took a bag of raw meat from his tactical vest pocket and gave a piece of it to the dog as a reward

“Good boy” as he said this he patted the dog affectionately on the head and added

“Watch the door Riley, I'll be right back.”

Ghost easily entered the white house, which was small compared to other houses in the area. Knowing that the owners would not come back to it anyway, he simply broke the glass in the door and turned the lock from the inside.

It took him less than 10 minutes to search the house, and as he thought, unfortunately for him, he found nothing important. It was one of those houses where wealthy owners come for a few days a year when they had to do something in the city. Ghost found some bandages, batteries, two cans of beans and a package of pasta. He packed everything into a backpack and took a large pillow from the couch.

Something for Riley.

Leaving the villa, he looked around the area, the sun was shining more and more strongly and Ghost basked in the sun for a few seconds, closing his eyes for a moment. Waiting for Riley to run up to him. However, none of this happened.

"Riley, come on..."

Ghost said calmly, patting his thigh to encourage the dog to come to him.

Silence. No movement.

“Oh, come on boy, I've got something for you..” the soldier opened his eyes and stepped off the porch, looking around the front lawn.

For the first time in over 700 days, Ghost felt panic rising.

Riley was nowhere to be found.

💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀

Day 730

You

The next day of walking was so tiring that you took each step slowly with a grimace on your face. Your feet are so injured that your white Converse shoes are not only dirty with dust and brown soil, but also have red stains on them.

You don't have the strength to walk anymore. You wipe the sweat from your forehead, straightening the old t-shirt that serves as a makeshift head cover. The days are getting hotter and the journey during the day is torture.

“Maybe I'll finally lose weight”

you mutter under your breath, standing in the shadow for a moment. The large billboard that stands in the western part of the city is slightly damaged. The advertisement for the movie, which premiered over two years ago, is slightly faded and torn.

You fan your face with your hand, hoping it will bring you some relief.

Even though almost two years have passed since Day Zero, you have not lost the excess weight, and walking in full sun was a real horror for you. Dropping your backpack at your feet, you take out a half-full bottle of water and take a few sips. Even the water in the bottle is warm.

You sigh and look around. Nevertheless, despite all the horror that took place so many days ago, the outskirts of this city do not look damaged or well-kept. Even in your previous life - as you call it - you had never been to this area. Maybe it would be worth looking around a bit, maybe you will find a working car. Or at least a bicycle.

The tingling and stinging in your feet constantly reminded you how hurt and bloody your feet were. But you had to get to the transmission tower. You had seen it for so many days and you knew there was electricity there. Even on a rainy night, the lights from the tower were visible from many miles away. You were hoping that you would be able to charge the electronics you collected two years ago and maybe you would finally hear a human voice. Some signal of life.

You couldn't be the only survivor on this earth.

After a moment of rest, you moved further west, the sun was shining stronger and higher. It must have been close to twelve o'clock. You wanted to reach the tower before sunset, hoping that apart from metal bars and many cables, there would be a technical building where you could spend the night and charge your equipment.

Life before Day Zero was kind and happy for you. However, after that day it was a fight for survival. You were suddenly alone, without family or friends. You were on your own for the first time in your life. And you weren't the survival type. You lived comfortably all your life and could count on family members. Walking towards the mast, you had time for further thoughts. After all, what else are you left with? You haven't seen a human in 2 years.

Alive, to be more precise.

You were having conversations in your head, speaking quietly to yourself every few days as if you were afraid that your vocal cords would grow together or that you would simply forget what it's like to be human. The silence of the desolate world scared you at first, sleepless nights and fear during the day accompanied you in the first year. It was only when you found a bigger city and nice, undamaged houses and moved into one of them, collecting found food and useful items, that you finally started to calm down and sleep through the nights.

However, when the batteries in the device ran out, the water in the tap stopped flowing, and the winter at home became so cold that you might as well have slept outside, because the temperature difference was practically negligible, you decided to head west.

One night, when a snowstorm and strong wind opened one window in the attic and you went to close it at least temporarily and secure it to prevent snow from entering the house, you noticed a flashing light on the horizon in the distance.

At first you thought it was just a hallucination. Maybe you didn't eat enough or ate some spoiled food and your eyesight is playing tricks on you. But as you stood there and looked out the open window. To the west, a small light kept flickering in the distance. And the next day and the next. And finally the next week too.

When more than a month had passed and the weather had finally normalized, you decided to pack the most necessary items and go in that direction.

It had to be some kind of sign.

Some miracle.

During those nights when you were waiting for the weather to allow you to travel on foot, you imagined many scenarios. You felt excited and happy. Hope. Maybe you weren't the only living person in this world, maybe there were other people that close. This thought kept you alive.

Thanks to this thought, after so many days of traveling with injured legs, you were finally close to your destination. You had to get there and see with your own eyes that you weren't crazy after all and that the red and white tower was a signpost that someone maintained to let you know that he was also here, that he was alive.

When you finally reached the fence, you didn't even notice that your emotions and tiredness had won and tears were rolling down your cheeks.

You were so very happy. So close to the goal.

The gate to the tower was padlocked.

“Fuck!”

you screamed, struggling against the metal fence. You stood there sobbing, not knowing how to get to the other side. It was impossible to climb the fence. Firstly, it was too high, secondly, there was barbed wire at the top and thirdly, you physically couldn't do it. You were too fat to pull your body up over the fence.

When you finally calmed down and wiped your tears, you walked away from the fence and noticed that next to one of the fence posts there was a piece of paper attached with a red material.

You froze.

You quickly pulled a piece of paper from behind the ribbon and unwrapped the paper with trembling hands:

“If anyone is reading this, it means I'm not alone here. You survived just like me.

My name is Ghost.

I have shelter, food and other necessary items to survive. If you are looking for help, wait here. I come to the towers every day, every day of the year. Right at noon and I've been waiting for an hour..."

You quickly looked at your watch and froze… 12:23…. No, it's impossible, you've been here for a long time, you must have seen someone, you wanted to cry again. It can't be true that the only living thing, ironically calling itself Ghost, didn't show up today. Just when you came here. Maybe you missed each other? Maybe you were here for a few minutes after all. There was hope. You were supposed to spend the night here anyway, so if by some miracle you two missed each other, there was a chance to meet the owner of this letter tomorrow.

You looked at the piece of paper again:

“...and I've been waiting for an hour.

However, if you have no good intentions and are counting on your own survival, I have to worry you. In my previous life I killed more people than you can count, now, apart from things to survive, I have a weapon with me and I know how to use it quickly.

Wait here, and until I appear, don't be afraid, because you will hear and see my dog…Riley.”

With your heart beating strongly, you finished reading the letter.

Your mind didn't even have time to fully read the content of the letter when a large German shepherd ran out from the west wing of the fence, barking loudly.

This couldn't be true.

When you turned towards the dog, you froze.

“Oh my God…Riley…boy”

It was your dog. Who disappeared on Day Zero.

And now, after 730 days, he was running towards you.

Your beloved dog has been found.

[seat-safety-switch]

There's been a lot of talk about small towns in the news lately. If you believe the cultural hive mind, small towns have a unique and distinct way of life that just can't be found in big cities. Friends, I am here to tell you that the only thing you can find more of in small towns is parking, followed shortly by inexplicable multi-generational feuds. The latter idea bores me, so we're gonna talk about all the places you can cram a car when you live in the boonies.

Where I live, in a part of town that used to be called a suburb, back when the cops could drive through it without locking their doors and changing their hats, there's only a few places to park. Driveway. Street. Alley. Back yard, if you're frisky. Out in the Great Unknown, you can park right on your front yard if you so please. You can build a simulated junkyard on your back forty. Maybe shove your cars in something called an "out-building," which despite the name is not where you poop (it is, however, where mice poop.) This bounty of parking space means that you can acquire many, many cars and spend the majority of your life not having to move them for the street sweeper every alternating Tuesday.

So what does this mean? It means that rurals are hoarding all the cars. Without space pressure forcing you to get rid of, say, your 17th Dodge Omni, then it stands to reason that they will just stay there, slowly rotting into the ground. For this reason, I recommend that new car hunters visit the sticks in order to ask farmers to sell them their never-gonna-get-around-to-it hoopties.

Of course, there are some problems. If you roll around out there in a new electric car, or even a moderately clean pickup truck, you'll probably get shot at. They can smell the city slicker on you, and they know that cities are a hotbed of crimes, such as illegally parking, or turning right on a stop sign without coming to a complete stop first. You might be coming there to steal their precious shitboxes!

There is a solution, though. I've gotten ahold of one really shitty 1953 GMC pickup truck. There's no floors, there's not much of a bed, its tires are made out of rubber sourced from floor mats people forgot at the car wash, and the three-speed manual transmission is about as synchronized as the last time I tried to do karaoke. What it does have is honesty, though. You can drive right onto a farmer's property, park it amongst their shitty old pickup trucks, and wait until nightfall without anyone being the wiser. Have your pick! They won't even notice they're gone.

Just bring back the pickup truck. I need it back so I can sell it for way too much money to an authentic, hard-working rural politician who spends all his time in the city.

[thoughtsonhurtandcomfort]

For the 100 drabble whump list - Mockery, Pet, and/or Terror for Myla?

100 Drabble Challenge: Whump Edition

Author's Notes: could be considered a version of a recapture arc after Myla's series, OR can stand alone

Content Warnings: mermaid whump, lady whump, captivity, up for sale, put on display, difficulty breathing, painful restraints, electric shot, threats, cruel whumper, slight dehumanization, referenced past whump

----

The flea market is loud and bustling on this bright spring day, people eager to be out and about after the winter. Rows of stalls stretch as far as the eye can see, vendors out for their first show of the year to sell everything from antiques to fresh food, clothes and furniture to plants and tools, and even exotic pets.

Merfolk aren't the rarest creature the market has ever seen, but the stall selling nothing but one freshly caught mermaid still draws a small crowd of onlookers. Freshly is something of an exaggeration, but the man selling her isn't about to admit to keeping the mermaid in a cramped tank of frigid water for the past several months. The long, cold, miserable days subdued the mermaid's fierce spirit until she no longer lashed out when he came to feed her. By the time Myla was wrapped in a wet sail, tossed into the back of a pickup and driven to the market, she felt hollow and hopeless.

The people stare and whisper while her captor straps her to a broken mast with bungee cord, pulling it tight until it clearly hurts her, then tightening it just a bit more. Myla lets out a cry and the humans' chatter increases excitedly at the otherworldly sound.

The man props the mast against the back of his truck so the mermaid is at an angle, on full display for potential buyers. Her pulse drums fast with fear, the gills at her sides and neck fluttering and flaring and sore as they strain to draw in water that isn't there. She takes thin, hoarse 'breaths' through her lips and nose, her underdeveloped lungs trying and failing to compensate for what her gills won't provide her.

For a few moments, Myla's view of the small crowd is blocked when her captor stands in front of her with a bottle and sprays her with warm water, from her fingertips stretched high above her head, down her entire body to the tip of her tail, which lies sprawled on the ground. One of the man's booted feet presses down on it like a warning.

"You better hope someone buys you," the mutters, to himself as much as to her while he gives her gills a few extra sprays, a small but welcome relief. "After the fucking fees I had to pay when my neighbor ratted me out for having you...if you don't bring in enough to pay them off, I'll make you pay in every other way I know how."

Dread grips Myla at the suggestion alone. If she thought last time was bad, she can't begin to imagine the depths of cruelty the man is capable of when so angry and bitter towards her. She tightens her jaw and resolves to be calm and docile, well behaved.

But being ogled by these disgusting humans reignites something in the proud former warrior, and it grows and grows as the people move closer. A sign declaring DO NOT TOUCH and the stern glare of her captor are clearly the only things keeping their curious hands from feeling over her skin and scales, prodding at her gills, grabbing her fins.

A few don't watch where they're going and step on her broad tailfin. Myla bites down on her lip to stifle any cries, until a heeled shoe digs in a little too sharply and the stab of pain makes her shriek and thrash in her restraints. The humans gasp and draw away; some leave.

Furious, her captor pulls something from his pocket and presses it to her back, out of sight of the remaining humans. A shock shoots down Myla's tail and up her spine, quick and mild but enough to get the point across. She gasps, tense with spasming muscles until they gradually relax and she goes limp in the restraints, breathing shallowly. The man sprays her with more water.

After some time, more people pass by and gather and, having missed the earlier outburst, lean in close to examine the mermaid. Now she is too weak and afraid to react with more than little whines and pleading eyes. Please. Someone.

"That asking price has to be a joke, right?" one man says above the crowd. The seller shoots a glare his way, waiting for him to elaborate. "I mean, come on...she's got scars, missing and miscolored scales, clear signs of malnutrition."

"You want a perfect specimen, go to the museum," her captor interrupts. "Look, she's pretty, nice coloration, no missing limbs or fins, what more do you want?"

The conversation picks up from there, interested buyers trying to bargain, the seller bargaining back, occasionally remembering to spray more water onto the languishing mermaid. Too much light, heat, dry air, too much noise and pain and fear, it's more than she can take. Myla passes out not knowing whose she will be when she wakes.

[americanphysco]

WalMart Supercenter

A Rumpus Original Poem by Erika Meitner

God Bless America says the bumper sticker on the racer-red

Rascal scooter that accidentally cuts me off in the Walmart parking lot

after a guy in a tricked out jeep with rims like chrome pinwheels tries

to pick me up by honking, all before I make it past the automatic doors

waiting to accept my unwashed hair, my flip-flops, my lounge pants.

The old man on the scooter waves, sports a straw boater banded in blue & white,

and may or may not be the official greeter, but everyone here sure is friendly—

even the faces of plastic bags, which wink yellow and crinkle with kindness,

sound like applause when they brush the legs of shoppers carrying them

to their cars. In Port Charlotte, a woman’s body was found in a Jetta

in a Walmart Parking lot. In a Walmart parking lot in Springfield,

a macaque monkey named Charlie attacked an eight year-old girl.

I am a Walmart shopper, a tract-house dweller—the developments

you can see clearly from every highway in America that’s not jammed up

on farmland or pinned in by mountains. I park my car at a slant in the lot,

hugged tight by my neighbors’ pickups. I drive my enormous cart

through the aisles and fill it with Pampers, tube socks, juice boxes, fruit.

In the parking lot of the McAllen Walmart, a woman tried to sell six

Bengal Tiger cubs to a group of Mexican day laborers. A man carjacked

a woman in the parking lot of the West Mifflin Walmart, then ran

under a bridge and disappeared. Which is to say that the world

we expect to see looks hewn from wood, is maybe two lanes wide,

has readily identifiable produce, and the one we’ve got has jackknifed itself

on the side of the interstate and keeps skidding. The one we’ve got has clouds

traveling so fast across the sky it’s like they’re tied to an electric current.

But electricity is the same for everybody. It comes in the top of your head

and goes out your shoes, which will walk through these automatic doors.

In the Corbin Walmart parking lot a woman with a small amount of cash

was arrested for getting in and out of trucks. A man stepped out of his car

in the Columbus Walmart parking lot, and shot himself. I get in the checkout line

behind a lighted number on a pole. The man in front of me jangles coins

in his pocket, rocks back and forth on his heels. The girl in front of him

carefully peels four moist dimes from her palm to pay for a small container

of honey-mustard dipping sauce. In the parking lot of the LaFayette Walmart,

grandparents left their disabled 2 year-old grandson sitting in a shopping cart

and drove away. Employees in the parking lot at the La Grange Walmart

found a box containing seven abandoned kittens. I am not a Christian or

prone to idioms, but when the cashier says she is grateful for small mercies,

I nod in assent. Kyrie eleison, Christe eleison. The Latin root of mercy

means price paid, wages, merchandise, though now we use it as

compassion shown to a person in a position of powerlessness,

and sometimes forgiveness towards a person with no right

to claim it. God is merciful and gracious, but not just.

In the Walmart parking lot in Stockton, a man considered armed

and dangerous attacked his wife, beating her unconscious.

A couple tried to sell their 6-month-old for twenty-five bucks

to buy meth in the Salinas Walmart parking lot. We who are in danger,

remember: mercy has a human heart. Mercy with her tender mitigations,

slow to anger and great in lovingkindness, with her blue employee’s smock

emblazoned with How may I help you? Someone in this place have mercy on us.

[hymouse]

Obey Me! Set to Silent Mode

Summary: You have no way to charge your DDD in your very human home. Pairing: None, if you squint it could be read as GN!MC x Mammon Word count: 851 Warnings: angsty goodness, mentioned drinking, mentioned death, spoilers for chapter 16 and i guess chapter 20 A/N: A very short little dabble. I know canon says everyone keeps messaging and calling after MC returns home for the first time, but I like the idea that MC was really cut off from Devildom and has to work their way through it.

Mammon was promising some terribly stupid business idea for your return when your DDD died. Now it sits on your bedside table, right next to your actual phone. You know, the normal one that used normal, human electricity to connect you to all the people you know and some of the ones you loved. Earthly little pings probed you upon your return- rebirth- some concerned, some angry, but all keen on untangling the story of how you faked your death. Oh, it was like I’ve died and was reborn again, you’d joke over brunch. Your mimosa would sparkle against your lips, the tart sweetness of the orange juice covering the hint of bitterness; bottomless, bottoms up.

Sometimes, in the small hours of the morning, you imagine a devilish glow casting strange shadows across your bedroom wall. They’d dance in the pre-dawn light tempting you with wastefulness, but flee with your dreams as your mind finds your body.

Once you accidentally grabbed it instead of your functional, operational, and relevant human device. You caused something of a minor traffic jam standing in the middle of a busy intersection staring at it. Ruri-chan stares out with a sort of delusional optimism from the confines of her clear acrylic prison while the cross-walk sign blink threateningly. Behind her a Devildom lotto ticket and a coupon for Madam Scream’s Macaroons compete — unsuccessfully— for your attention.

The driver of the gray pickup truck lays on his horn and you skitter to the sidewalk. After a moment you realize you’ve gone the wrong way.

You were late to the psychic’s, but the old woman didn’t seem to mind. The bangles on her wrist jangled as she sits you at her little table in the back room where the sights and sounds of the outside world are caught between layers of velvet and dried eucalyptus. You supposed, in retrospect, that that should’ve been your first warning. No witch worth their cauldron would be caught dead with eucalyptus. She peers at your palm, then your tea leaves, them her cards with gentle scrutiny before surmising you had experienced a great loss. It was enough to knock some tears out of you, but the real crying would happen later, at home, relieved of some $30, burdened by the ever-growing guilt of having left Mammon on read.

Texting 666 on your regular, dinky, human phone did not work. You resisted the urge to throw it against a wall.

Slowly you found psychic visits woven their way into the fabric of your life until every soothsayer and fortune teller became something more than strangers but less than friends. Through the psychics you found the mystics; through the mystics you found witches; through the witches you found despair. A witch’s jealousy to be an ugly thing. They danced around you, play-tracing sigils into your skin and flicking harmless spats of magic into your face. Pact-marked and pigeoned-holed they called you, as useless as you had been before the exchange program. Back home you stared into the mirror, tracing the witch’s sigils on your skin then onto paper. They made for poor art and poorer signs of power laying as dormant as the pact marks scattered across your body.

One day, drowning in a nap-gone-too-long, you imagine Mammon calling for you outside your window; it would be the last time you cried.

Life was less a ride than it was a chariot, dragging you across a bloodied arena for the entertainment of some higher power. Your first order of business was to move your Harrison Porter charm to your keys; looking at it made you feel a little like Alice in Wonderland. Rent was due, so a job was found; then a better one. You counted the bills, paid your debts. You set aside spared bills and change in a little yellow treasure box on your dresser that sat beside a growing collection of nail polish and skincare that never failed to make you feel —dare you say it— pretty. You swam and cursed your way through summer, fostered a sizable clan of cats in the fall, then decided to become a recluse in the winter, watching winter’s stars drape across the sky from the comfort of your home.

The promise of a new life in a new city lured you out from your cave. You went to RAD with so very little, so you decide to part with all but a suitcase of the essentials, then opted for a backpack. The edges of the little yellow treasure chest pressed into your lower back as you hiked your way across the city to a hilly park with a view. Winter still clung to this part of the world; the sparkling of snow was nearly indistinguishable from the steel and glass of skyscrapers; a sky so clear that the horizon retreated into a white nothingness. You soaked in the view, then turned.

At the edge of the outlook a familiar shock of white hair caught your eye. He waves. You could feel the edge of the acrylic Harrison Porter charm, smooth after months of worry.

[sealioninternationaltrade]

Affordable and Efficient: Small Electric Pickup Trucks Explained

In recent years, the automotive industry has seen a surge in interest and development towards electric vehicles (EVs), including the compact yet powerful segment of small electric pickup trucks. These vehicles combine the practicality of a pickup truck with the efficiency and eco-friendliness of electric propulsion, making them increasingly popular among urban dwellers and eco-conscious consumers alike.

Eco-Friendly Driving with Zero Emissions

One of the primary appeals of small electric pickup trucks, such as those offered by SEA LION INTERNATIONAL TRADE CO., Ltd, is their environmental friendliness. Unlike traditional gasoline-powered trucks that emit harmful pollutants, electric pickups produce zero tailpipe emissions. This feature not only helps reduce carbon footprints but also contributes to cleaner air in urban areas where air quality is often a concern.

Compact Size, Surprising Utility

Despite their smaller footprint compared to full-sized pickups, these electric trucks boast impressive utility. With advancements in battery technology and electric motors, manufacturers have been able to maximize interior space and payload capacity without compromising on efficiency. This makes them ideal for daily urban commutes, weekend adventures, and light-duty hauling tasks.

Cost-Effective Operation and Maintenance

Electric vehicles are known for their lower operating costs compared to gasoline counterparts, and small electric pickup trucks are no exception. They typically have fewer moving parts, reducing maintenance needs and costs over the vehicle's lifetime. Additionally, the cost of electricity is generally lower than gasoline, translating into savings at the pump for owners.

Advanced Technology and Connectivity

Modern small electric pickups come equipped with state-of-the-art technology and connectivity features. From touchscreen infotainment systems to advanced driver-assistance systems (ADAS) like lane-keeping assist and adaptive cruise control, these trucks offer a blend of comfort, convenience, and safety. Some models even incorporate smart charging capabilities that allow users to monitor and control charging remotely via smartphone apps.

Charging Infrastructure and Range

One of the initial concerns for electric vehicle adopters was the availability of charging infrastructure. However, with the rapid expansion of charging networks globally, charging small electric pickup trucks has become more convenient than ever. Many models offer fast-charging capabilities, allowing drivers to recharge their vehicles quickly during stops or at designated charging stations. As battery technology continues to evolve, so does the range of these vehicles, providing sufficient mileage for both urban and suburban use.

Style and Customization Options

Beyond their functional advantages, small electric pickup trucks also offer a range of style and customization options. Manufacturers understand the importance of personalization for consumers, offering various exterior colors, interior trims, and accessory packages to suit individual tastes and preferences. This customization not only enhances the vehicle's appeal but also allows owners to make a statement while driving a sustainable and efficient vehicle.

Conclusion

In conclusion, small electric pickup trucks represent a compelling option for consumers seeking a blend of affordability, efficiency, and practicality in their next vehicle purchase. With advancements in technology, expanding charging infrastructure, and a growing selection of models from leading manufacturers, these trucks are poised to play a significant role in the future of urban mobility. Whether you're looking to reduce your environmental impact, lower your operating costs, or simply enjoy the latest in automotive innovation, small electric pickups offer a versatile solution that meets modern-day transportation needs.

Blog Resources:- https://sealioninternationaltrade.blogspot.com/2024/07/affordable-and-efficient-small-electric.html

[joelswritingmistress]

Oh Captain, My Captain: Chapter 5

You began to wonder what kind of car Joel drove, anticipating a pickup truck. Something about the image of him in a rusty, old Ford with his arm hanging out the window gave you a pleasurable shudder.

"You alright?" Joel asked. It made you blush. You hadn't realized how visible the reaction to was to an overall innocent thought.

"Yeah." You grinned.

"Come on." Joel smirked and reached for your hand. It made your body feel both electric and content at the same time.

You swallowed hard and sighed through your nose. Again, you wondered if you were already in over your head. Logically, you knew you shouldn't be having intense feelings like this right away.

Or should I? You thought. The first phase of any kind of attraction or relationship was infatuation. It left your brain chemically magnifying every little thing. Maybe it *was* normal. You weren't sure which side you favored.

When Joel towed you past a row of cars and empty parking spaces, you looked around.

"Where's your car?" You asked.

"Oh, I live right up there." He motioned with his first finger up a wooden staircase between a thin layer of trees.

An oversized cottage with brown siding and a balcony overlooking the dead end road that led to the docks hovered overhead. It sat behind a little restaurant that sold burgers and hotdogs and hung over the top a bit.

"That's where you live?" You asked.

Joel looked at you and grinned again. "Mmm-hmm." He gave a head nod, "Not a bad commute."

You smiled back and allowed him to pull you out of sight and up the staircase that exposed you to his property - a modest yard with a grassy area big enough to house a small firepit with six chairs. Beneath the overhanging balcony was a small patio with a grill.

"My parents owned the place and I bought it from them. I live on the top level and I rent out the bottom to some friends. It's an attached apartment."

"That's cool." You nodded and looked up at the beachy estate. "The view must be amazing."

"Well, let's have a look. You can see for yourself." Joel continued to smile wide. As he slipped the key into the lock at the front door you saw a little shake in his hand. It made you smile as you curiously wondered if he was nervous, too; or even just excited as excited as you were.

The interior was more or less what you expected from a cottage on the Vineyard. Hardwood floors, pale, sea green walls with horizontal panels, a high top table that sat by a light, open kitchen and looked out a set of French doors. There were little hints of imperfection in every corner that brought the place charm - nicks in the cabinets, scuff marks on the bottom of the doors, a sectional couch that looked as if it had as many memories as the house, itself. Hanging on a wall in the living room was an oversized swordfish. You couldn't tell if it was real or just a piece of plastic decor.

"I love this." You gawked at Joel's living quarters.

"It's not much, but I call it home." He exchanged a look with you and winked. Joel nodded toward the back doors that lead outside. "I swear the balcony is safe." He gave a laugh, "But I'm going to have to invest in some money to replace it soon."

You followed him out back and smiled when the sea air hit you again. Your sandals paced the uneven floorboards and you rested your hands on the chipped paint of the wooden railing.

"I could so wake up here every day." You meant it, but after letting it process in your mind how the words came out you whipped in Joel's direction. "Like, I mean-"

He laughed to cut you off. "I know what you mean."

"Like the view and the chill atmosphere here." You laughed lightly now too. "You know.."

"I know." Joel nodded and looked outward. "I'll be here forever, I think." He shrugged. "Honestly, I can't picturing living anywhere else."

"I could paint the sunsets from here." You made a rectangle with your fingers and held your arms straight out toward the horizon. "Even in winter."

"It's quieter then." Joel turned and you shared a closed-mouth smile.

Right then in that moment you felt that intense infatuation kick up a notch. You weren't trying to get ahead of yourself but you really, truly felt at ease and at home in Joel's presence. His living space was just an extension of him. You wished you could ditch your family for the rest of the week and just hang out there.

Take about ten steps back, you warned yourself.

"So.." Joel took a step in your direction. "Why don't I get you settled with a cocktail?" He waited until you gave a little nod, "And I'll just hop in the shower quick. Then we'll hit the town."

Now that you were in Joel's house you didn't even want to hit the town. You could've stayed right there talking, sipping beers, watching a movie and whatever else transpired the entire night. Still, a night on the town with Joel didn't sound too bad, either. It was a win-win.

"That sounds good," you told him.

"Great. You can either hang out here," he motioned to a little patio set, "Or I can set you up in front of the TV."

"Out here is nice," you said with a nod.

"I thought you'd say that."

In a lull in the conversation it felt like there was some magnetic force that pulled the two of you together; because once the conversation ended, your lips found his again. There was no discussion necessary. Body language said it all. You could ravage Joel, or let him ravage you. A part of you wondered, as you made out on the balcony of his empty house, what you were waiting for.

Joel abruptly pulled back, though kept his hands against you. "I'll be back in ten minutes. Help yourself to a beer or whatever you want. I can make you a drink."

"A beer is fine." You breathed the words aloud, unable to fully hide your desire. As bad as you wanted him to pull you down the hall and throw you on the bed, there was something so addicting about the wait; about the anticipation.

Joel reluctantly separated himself from you and you found yourself accepting a Kona brew from the fridge.

"I'll be right back." He smiled and popped the top of the beer before wandering down the hall.

A part of you wanted to explore his home, but not for the purpose of snooping. You were simply curious, but you would never intrude on Joel's privacy like that.

When you heard the shower go on you wandered back out onto the balcony and let your elbows kiss the railing as your arms hung over, drink in hand. Things felt right. Right there with Joel Miller. You felt a little uneasy because you barely knew the man; but on the same note you had never felt so naturally at ease and drawn to anyone in your life. Already, being with Joel and breathing his air was easy.

I need to ask him what he wants from this, you knew. The more time you spent with him, the harder it would be to be let down. And you knew this could turn into some fling that didn't last the better half of a week. Deep down, your intuition knew it was more than that - or at least it had the potential to be.

You pushed that all out of your mind for a moment and sipped the beer to relax. Things were good. Right there in that moment they were good. There was nothing wrong. You were happy. Joel seemed happy.

It was time to live in the moment and enjoy a night on the town - on Joel Miller's arm.

..

The temptation to remain in Joel's house almost caused your impulses to will you to ask if there were any good take out places in the area. You managed to refrain.

When he emerged from his room in a white button down shirt, cuffed just below the elbow and cargo, khaki colored shorts ignited another lustful fire inside of you.

"Show me somewhere.. fun." You smiled and couldn't help but wrap your arms around him.

Joel snickered against your lips and linked his fingers through yours. "I do know a lot of those kind of places."

"Take me." There was double meaning to your words, and you could tell Joel knew it from the little squint his eyes made when the locked in with yours.

"Alright, let's go."

You could feel in your bones that this was about to be one of the best nights of your life - the kind you would tell your grandkids in your older years, while leaving the intimate parts to yourself, and giving them the cheesy details about how you met their grandfather.

Joel was already causing you to see a future with him. And that scared the hell out of you.

CLICK HERE FOR CHAPTER 6

[kylestfs]

Starting something, finally !

Hey everybody - here to start a (small) series of short TFs, similar to my past airplane seat series.

(This will not be a long series, as I do not have enough time to post daily and have a lot of submissions, so I really apologise in advance if you do not get the chance to participate due to slots being taken)

Now for the subject ;

I’ve came up with an idea : a parking lot. I’ve put vehicles that you guys will choose from in order to be transformed into a new body. Each slot can and will only be used one, thus making it hard for everybody that will submit to get a story.

RULES :

Just pick the vehicle that you want, add a little text (personalise it, but not precise or any specifications on your future body. Only on your previous, actual one or other stuff) and send it to me in my Inbox!

For the people who don’t know a lot about cars & bikes, I’ve created a little sum-up.

CARS :

Ford F-150 : Big pickup-truck.

Nissan Sentra : Small, economical sedan.

Mercedes-Benz S-class : Big, luxurious prestigious sedan.

Ford Mustang : Sporty, powerful American coupe.

Chevrolet Tahoe : Big SUV…with a little twist.

BMW M3 : Sporty, sleek sedan.

Tesla model X : Big, electric full-of-tech SUV.

Toyota Camry : Midsize, average sedan.

Dodge charger : Powerful Sedan. (With a twist)

Porsche 911 : Sporty, luxurious coupe.

Toyota Prius : Hybrid economical small sedan.

MOTORCYCLES :

Kawasaki Ninja : Powerful sports bike

BMW GS : Big, touring motorcycle (long trips)

Yamaha R1 : Excessively quick sporty motorcycle.

Yamaha MT-07 : Average, sporty motorcycle.

EXTRA :

Trek bicycle : Expensive long distance professional bicycle.

[octuscle]

Take Me Home, Country Roads

Konstantin had been looking forward to his year as an exchange student for over a year. At first, his parents had expressed massive concerns about whether he was mature enough to spend a year abroad on his own. Konstantin had just turned 17, but he still looked much younger. Puberty was not yet showing any significant effects. And if he was already being teased in his familiar environment at home for being too small for his age and looking too childish, what would it be like in the U.S.? Only after the agency had assured that Konstantin would be placed in a first-class family with an excellent environment did his parents agree. A year had passed since then, and Konstantin still looked like a slightly overweight lad of maybe 14. Even though he had just passed his 18th birthday. But the son of his host family in Boston seemed to have similar interests to him and also looked physically more like a late developer. The two had developed a promising pen pal relationship, so nothing seemed to stand in the way of a successful exchange year. And then everything that could go wrong did.

At the airport in Boston, Konstantin was met by a representative of the agency. There had been a bereavement in his host family and the parents were currently unable to take care of another guest son. Fortunately, another exchange student had dropped out due to illness. Therefore, they were now forced to send Konstantin to Louisiana to the family to which the absent guest son should have gone. Southern states instead of New England, Konstantin thought. There it might be difficult to learn a reasonably accent-free English. But he was still happy, especially since he was assured that he would be assigned to a family in Boston as soon as possible if a place became available.

Just a few hours later, Konstantin was on a plane to New Orleans. There came the next stroke of fate: his suitcase had been lost somewhere between Frankfurt, Boston and New Orleans. The agency employee who greeted him seemed friendly and helpful, but unfortunately Konstantin barely understood a word. They really spoke a nasty accent here! Somehow the communication worked out and Konstantin followed the woman through the almost unbearably sultry air across a parking lot to a monstrous, but quite battered pickup truck. This was the car that his host family had given him. He was to drive it to the address set in the navigation system, and they would be waiting there for him.

Konstantin got hot and cold. He had had his driver's license for two weeks. And so far he had been driving the electric car his parents had given him for his birthday. It would fit in the loading area of the car he was standing in front of. Very well, it would work. It had to work. He was going to face the challenges, after all. He sat down in the car. Manual gear, he had no experience with that... And the tank was almost empty. And it started to rain heavily. It couldn't get much better. Then he realized that the air conditioning wasn't working.

According to the navigation system, he still had 200 miles to go. No idea how far he would get this monster on an eighth of a tank of gas. Hopefully, a gas station would come soon. At least here Konstantin seemed to be lucky. After a few miles, what looked like a gas station appeared on the side of the road. Everything was pretty run down, but there was a light on. So Konstantin stopped at a gas pump that he could only hope had the right fuel and got out of the car. At that moment, a truck roared through a muddy puddle beside him. He was wet to the bone. And completely covered in mud. The pouring rain didn't make it any better. None of it mattered now. Konstantin dropped to his knees and began to cry. His parents had been right. Everything was overwhelming him. He wanted to go home. He didn't feel like it anymore. Suddenly he noticed the boots in front of him. And a voice that asked him if he needed help. Konstantin swallowed and nodded. The man in front of him helped him up and gestured for him to follow.

This language here was hell. He understood a lot of things only if he asked twice. But after a few minutes he had a coffee and hot soup in front of him. And a woman put a bundle of clothes in front of him. If he had understood correctly, from her son. The people were really friendly. And dry clothes were tempting. Even if they didn't seem to be really clean. He took everything and changed in the filthy toilet. And after one look in the mirror, he felt super stupid: The T-shirt with the wide-cut sleeve holes was way too big. The boxers were washed out and yellowish in color, which disgusted him a bit. The jeans were fine, only the huge belt buckle was silly. Oh well, in combination with the obviously frequently worn socks and the at least well fitting boots it fit. Fuck, he thought. What kind of impression should my host family get?

The waitress indicated him to turn around. And she smiled at him and handed him a cap. That was really the icing on the cake then, to just look silly.

"Bless your heart, ma'am! Wudden have survived withou' ye." Constantine slapped his mouth. What had he said? He tried again, as he had learned in school. But it came out a broad "Whaddoo I owe you, ma'am?" Constantine paid for the coffee, soup and gas and left what he understood to be a generous tip for the clothes. The rain had stopped. His car was filled with gas. And somehow he felt considerably more relaxed. Now he could also look for a station on the radio for the rest of the trip. It was still going to take a few hours. He quickly came across a country music station. While he was here, he should make the most of it. Kyle scratched his chin. Hadn't he just shaved before leaving? How long had that been? In any case, he had a decent beard shadow. And he could feel himself starting to sweat in the heat. He raised his right arm to check the smell under his armpits. The bushy cavern smelled like a real man should smell. His cock leaked precum as it always did when he got that smell in his nose. On himself. Or on one of his fuck buddies. The road was lonely, no one would notice if he jerked off on the ride.

[dragons-and-magic]

🚂 In need of some cool engines for TTTE OCs? Look no further! 🚃

Here's a list of all sorts of unusual and little known engines to make into your next OCs!

1082 class electric locomotive: Not much is known about this engine, so information is fragmented. This Austrain steam engine was powered by electricity heating up the water in its boiler through electric coils. The hydroelectric system was apparently 50 years ahead of it time and was built in response to the rising prices of imported German Coal during WW2. This engine and ones like it Sweden, were scrapped after the war ended. I'll never understand why. Such a self sufficient engine could have been the key to many break throughs.

2. DRG Class 05: This German streamlined engine was made in response of record breaking streamlined diesel engines made earlier. In 1936, this engine set the world speed record for reaching 124.5 mph, while hauling 217 short tons. However this record was later beaten by Mallard, (Yes, that Mallard. The LNER Gresley one.) on a technicality. Mallard was on a slightly downhill line, and with a heavier train. Interpret that as you will. If you want Gresley family drama, I have a feeling this engine would make a great OC to start it.

3. B&O #305 Camel: This unique engine was trademarked by the Baltimore and Ohio railroad in the 1900s. It's unusual build allowed to pull trains up steep mountains. This build also came with a terrible flaw. Since the cab was placed directly above the boiler, it became very hot and anyone in it would not only be uncomfortable, but in terrible danger if if the engine ever derailed. And there was very little protection for the crew. In short, it was like an overbred dog. Created purely for one purpose, and not with health or safety in mind. More information can be found at the B&O website.

4. The Rail Pickup Truck??? (GMC Switch Engine): Well, if you need a Fankid that's a cross between a steam engine and a pickup, I've got you covered! Haha! Not much information on these, except that they were used during WW2 and were modified for rail use.

5. Ateliers Moës-Freres Diesel: This little guy is absolutely adorable! He'd definitely make an cute OC! This engine one of many diesels built by the popular Belgian company Ateliers Moës-Freres. They're were know for making exceptional small diesel engines. Even ones that looked like steam engines! Unfortunately, I couldn't any information on what exactly this engine's name is. But if anyone does know, please contact me so I may add it!

6. M-497 (Nicknamed Black Beetle by the press): This futuristic engine was once the fastest engine in North America! It was an experiment, developed by the New York Central Railway. Two J47-19 Jet Engines were attached to a streamlined Budd Rail Diesel Car. The experiment was successful, with the engine reaching a speed of 183.68 mph. Despite the successful run and the valuable data gathered, the project was considered to quote "not considered viable commercially". Black Beetle continued to run after the jet engines were removed, until retirement in 1977 and being scrapped in 1984.

And that's it for now! If you guys like these OC ideas, make sure to let me know, so I can make another one! Also, it's important to note, that I am not an expert on engines. If you see any misinformation here, please let me know, so I can correct it.

Thanks for reading!

[mumifyy]

Guitar Hands.

Summary: Ghost is a big fan of your band, more like just you yourself. Soon enough you and Ghost become close friends that care for eachother, maybe more. One day, Ghost finds you and your aching tired hands from how much you practice your guitar.

Notices: F!Guitarist!reader, soft!Ghost, tooth rotting fluff, not proofread, age gap (reader is 25, Ghost is 30.)

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

You huffed at the sound of the sink running backstage, your delicate fingertips raw, red, and bothered from your constant guitar practice. Your band mates, especially the drummer up your ass about getting better at your skills even though he doesn’t mind his own. Tony always Aggravated you continuously about your “slip ups” even though he was too arrogant to notice it was his drumming pace during rehearsals. You soft touched the tap water from the faucet to check if it was blazing hot, just in case. Fortunately, it was cold so you dipped your hands into the stream of water to relive the tension in your fingertip pads.

After you had returned back to your chair where your famous red electric guitar lean on the wall, you sit down on the wooden chair and pick up your prized possession, the strings of the red instrument began to play as your skull pick strummed against the strings from your movement’s. Your brain focused on your melody as the chatter between your band mates from in the hallway behind the back stage grew more quiet, before dissolving into the air, making it obvious they had left for the day. You ignored it, continuing to practice to prove Tony wrong and embarrass him in-front of everyone like he did you. Minutes turned into hours of your practice, the joints of your pointer finger and thumb getting more cranky and sore from the same finger placement on your guitar pick, your other fingers getting more red and irritated from how hard you held down the strings of your guitar. You were in a daydream, a trance.

But all of that was broken when you felt a strong large hand wrap around your wrist. “Love, you need to sleep, you look exhausted.” The all too familiar deep british voice rang in your ears as you looked up to see your friend, or rather your boyfriend considering the way you both acted with each other, looking down at you through his signature skull balaclava. Ghost couldn’t help but smile softly under his mask as he looked at you. Your innocent gaze gave him butterflies. “Let’s get you home lovie.” *Ghost whispered, gently taking the guitar out of your hands, placing it on the black leather guitar case before looking back at you. “Si.. I need to pra-“ Ghost cut you off, shushing you gently before he took your hand, gently pulling you up and guiding you out of the backstage area as he carried your guitar case along with.

“You need to take care of yourself better love.” *Ghost grumbled out, his rough hand guiding you at the small of your back, just below your waist down the stairs and outside where his black colored pickup truck sit, rumbling full of life with warmth inside, away from the cold snow. Ghost opened the backseat of his truck, laying your Guitar in the floorboard gently, carful not to break it before closing it and walking over to you, guiding you to the passenger side. Ghost opened the door, motioning for you to get in. You looked at him with hazy tired eyes, giving him a hug with a hum of satisfaction before getting in.

Ghost smiled under his mask as he made sure your legs were properly in his truck before closing the door shut and going to the other side to get into the drivers seat.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Hopefully this ain’t as bad as I think it is, enjoy though.

[ivoryminitower]

Echoes of Home: 51 - Steve ("Sam")

Echoes of Home: FFXIV AU OC – WoLs on Earth

Coming from over a year in a world where sleep is sort of recreational to the world I know where circadian kicks in makes it a bit rough to shift sleep schedule on the fly.  It took a while to get to sleep in the afternoon.  Never been the sheep-counting type.  I tried cataloguing things in my head...pets, mounts, NPCs...finally dropped off in the midst of my Triple Triad cards.

Tsu'na worked the register that night, sans hat and coat.  People looked at her, sure, but not wolf-pack staring like the other time.  Maybe it was the Hartmans, maybe Sam, maybe me...or maybe she's just that personable.  She never needed to smile fulltime like she was that night, and she was doing it well.  My magnificent miqo'te was magnificent.

I hated to abandon her to the wolves, but she seemed to be doing okay, so around 11:00 I headed out to see Sam.  Even if he didn't see me.

He had the back door of the Pit open when I got there, which made it easier to get in.  Ninja Stealth gets a little iffy when it comes to doors, and we haven't had enough occasion to practice here to see if it works like Douglas Adams' SEP field.  Gatherer Sneak seems to, but we don't usually have doors in the woods.

His truck was parked near the door.  It seemed he was restocking.  I got a glimpse of an invoice on the bar detailing purchases for one S. Daniels, The Pit (so not just a nickname), Wyatt OK.  My first intel gathered.  I was so proud.

I watched him move kegs from his pickup into his back room, watched him make a last circuit of the bar before killing the lights, and finally watched from the back of the truck as he locked up the bar, got in the front of the truck and drove us off.

Sam Daniels does not appear to have a brother named Jack, or a son named Jack, or a dog named Jack.  I don't know if that was a missed opportunity or responsible parenting.  He does have a wife, or at least a cohabiting female, who was asleep in the bed when we arrived.  He also has a goldfish (who may or may not be named Jack), which was convenient for me, because after he went to bed I could read by the aquarium light.

He didn't go to bed right away.  He got himself some water from a filter pitcher (interesting choice for a bartender) and settled down on the couch to watch CNN (interesting choice for small town USA).  He may not be a scholar, but he's not an idiot.

The old, yellowed PC in the spare bedroom looked like something bought because Everybody Has One rather than something used for fun.  The parts of the room that weren't the desk and chair were heaps of boxes and piles of stuff.  I didn't have a lot of light to see by, but it looked less like hoarder chaos and more like abandoned projects...folded fabric, folio books and the like.  As if this was the room where dreams went to die.

Sam finished his water and his news intake and went to bed, leaving the fish and me to socialize.  I waited for a while until his breathing was audible and rhythmic before moving things to the fish tank to read.

Not that there was much to read.  No convenient stack of mail by the door.  An electric bill on one end of the kitchen counter, addressed to Samuel Daniels.  No junk mail I could find sent to Resident or Occupant, though there was a flyer from Community Baptist Church for "Our Neighbors".

No bank statement.  No purse.  Nothing lying around that would tell me the name of the woman.  Maybe in the bedroom, but I admit to a squeam about going in there with them, especially if the light was poor.  Which was annoying, because I felt an itch to know coming on.  I made a mental note to add night-vision goggles to my wishlist.

There was a small stack of magazines on the floor at one end of the couch...People, Cosmo, Vanity Fair.  None of them had mailing labels (stupid itch), which meant they were bought from somewhere.  I didn't remember seeing magazines at May's, but I hadn't been looking.

No books.  The Hartmans didn't have many, and the library was small, but I wasn't used to not seeing any.  Maybe again in the bedroom.

I looked around as much as the aquarium permitted.  It wasn't sparse, or spartan, or utilitarian; it was just really...tidy.  The furniture was old and the place felt lived-in, but there wasn't a lot of life filling the space.  Which just made me itch more about the wife...sure, maybe all of Sam's life was at the bar, but what about hers?

Spying and burglary weren't really a thing in FF14, so I didn't have a lockpicking skill.  Elder Scrolls Online had a lot of it...I was breaking into places all the time in that game.  Might be nice if I could drop into an ESO world for training.  In the meantime, if I left I couldn't get back in until someone opened a door, which might be at least six hours later.

But there was absolutely nothing to do until someone got up.  I couldn't sleep there...I might get tripped over.  Or heard...Tsu'na's never said I snore; Sam should probably not be the person to tell me.

So I slipped out, leaving the door locked behind me.  Sam's porch light was on, showing me a mostly empty yard, but there were some trees at the edge of the light range.  I went out to the trees, then went out further until I couldn't see the porch light any more, then just a bit further. I got out the camping kit, set up the tent, and crawled in.

The sleep I got earlier helped, but the unexpected exercise degraded me.  The snooping plus the camp setup, plus waiting for Sam to turn in, had eaten a couple hours.  I didn't know how long Sam would sleep, but I needed to be up before him, so I linkpearled Tsu'na about the new schedule, set an alarm for five hours and conked out.

And woke, not to the alarm, but to metal banging.  "Hey!  You in the tent!  Get out here!"

I unzipped the tent and peered out.  There was Sam, a shotgun in his right hand and a tire iron in his left.  He blinked and stared at me.  "Steve?"

I blinked and stared back at him. "Sam?"

"The fuck're you doin' here?"

"...Trying to sleep?"

"Next to my house!?"

I looked blearily around.  Yes, I could in fact just barely see his wood-paneled house out there beyond the trees.  Which meant he could see my orange nylon tent from his front porch.

The Ravenous Bugblatter Beast of Traal is known to be so stupid that it thinks that, if you can't see it, it can't see you.

"That's your house?  I didn't know."

"Then what are you doing here?"

A random neuron fired.  "Looking for sumac."

"...Sumac."

"Yeah, it's a bush, grows around six feet…"

"I know what sumac is!"

"Okay, well, Tsu'na said she wanted some for an herbal thing, and the forest service maps said it grew around here."

"And you went looking for it, what, at night?"

"It...got me away from her.  She was being kinda bitchy.  I think it might be her time of the month."

(I couldn't tell if she was amused when I told her about this.  "I was a prop?"  "No, my love, I was making excuses.  You were an alibi.")

Sam sighed, and let his gaze wander around the trees.  'You wanted to hang out, whyn'cha just come to the bar?"

"I didn't know this was your place!  I saw the porch light, thought it'd be a good reference point in the morning."

"This is weird.  You know that, right?"

"Kinda weird, yeah."

He looked at me.  I looked at him.

I gestured to the gun.  "Shotgun?"

"Problems with squatters."

"Gotcha.  Look, lemme pack up the tent and I'll be on my way…"

"You want breakfast?"

"Oh, I couldn't impose…"

"Pack up the damn tent and come to the house."

"Yes, sir."

The tent came with a shoulder tote, which I stuffed it into, because of course I didn't have an extradimensional pocket for it or anything.  I lugged it up to the house, knocked on the door and was greeted once again by Sam.  I stepped inside to find the woman awake, sitting on the couch, and absorbed in the TV.

"This is my wife, Dolores.  Dee, this is Steve from the bar.  He's who was in the tent."

Dolores blinked and looked up at me. "Why's he camping next to us?"

"He was out at night, got lost and parked at the first house he saw."

She kept staring at me.  I was reminded of Snuggles and Cat TV.  "You could get yerself shot doing that."

"Thanks…I'll keep that in mind."

She studied me a moment longer, looked at Sam, and turned back to the TV.  I was clearly Sam's to deal with.  And my novelty just didn't compete with Oprah.

I followed Sam to the kitchen. "Seriously, you don't have to…"

"Dee woke me, I woke you.  We're both up, so we might as well both eat.  How do you want your eggs?"

"However you make 'em is fine."

He gave me a pointed look.

"...Over-medium?"

"Hm.  So however I make 'em?"

"Is fine."

Scrambled was fine, especially with toast.  He set the plates down and sat across from me.  "Find any sumac, then?"

"Honestly, I wasn't trying that hard."

"She like this often?"

"Depends on the circumstance."

"An' the time o' the month?"

"Well, yeah.  But I think she's been a bit edgy sometimes here.  New place, new people, new ear and tail issues…"

Sam nodded.  "Spoke with some o' the regulars 'bout that.  They kinda like her, ya know…cute lil' thing like her that can throw 'em around.  The ears an' tail just give her…whatcha call…"

"Mystique?"

"Was gonna say character, but sure.  They think of her as part o' the bar, part o' them…and they can get kinda territorial.  Sure, they fight sometimes, but no one comes in an' makes a mess o' their bar, ya know?"

I smiled. "So she's got herself a home."

"Oh, hell yeah.  Ain't it like that at the diner?  Joel said he an' Hazel been talkin' to people."

"Kind of a different crowd.  We mostly get teenagers in the evening.  But yeah, it's gotten better.  I think.  The pretzels and pies sell."

"So don't worry 'bout it too much.  You be nice to them, they'll be nice to you.  Just keep the weird down."

Talk drifted to the shed, and some things about running the bar.  Through it all, Dolores (itch scratched) kept her eyes on the TV.  I guess that's where her life is now.  Though I do wonder about the piles of stuff in the other room.

Sam offered to drive me back to town, as long as I didn't mind a stop at the Safeway out the highway.  I found dried sumac there, for appearances.  Sam recommended I add a bag of chocolates ("Trust me on this.").  We loaded his stuff into the truck and drove toward the diner.

I told Tsu'na the story of my adventure.  I think she was trying not to laugh at me.  "What is sumac?"

"This stuff."

"And what will we do with it?"

"Put it on pizza, maybe?"

"And the chocolate?"

"Sam said women like chocolate during their period."

"I must thank Sam for teaching my husband about women."

"You've never had a period."

"No, but I like chocolate.  If Sam has taught you to bring me chocolate, I must thank him."

So, an all-around educational night.  We were both a bit short on sleep, so we went to bed for a couple hours.

As we cuddled under the blanked, she nuzzled close and whispered "sumac" in my ear with a giggle.

I'll probably be hearing about that for a while.