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alnilaem · 3 months ago

Text

coyote head and the body of a man — (e)

ghost/fem reader There's a killer on the loose. But your logging town is small and quaint and doesn't even appear on maps, so you know you're safe. That all changes when a gruff, big, taciturn man shows up at your workplace one day. Or; Simon is a fugitive serial killer, and you're the housekeeping girl that caught his eye.

cw for explicit content, graphic violence, possessive behaviour, size difference, cunnilingus, stalking

pinterest board | ao3 | for @spidehpig <3

You believe you were born in the centre of an exploding star.

Born on the crest of death and fated for a bleak life. Dead, before you even had a chance.

The universe sweeps before you. Infinite. Expansive. Hungry. You float at the mouth of the galaxy and it swallows you whole, but doesn’t seem to like the taste of you—too bland, too trite—so it spits you back out and sends you tailspinning.

You land with a lack of courtesy. Tossed between trees and dropped in a basin. You find yourself in nowhere, Oregon. In a town flecked by a lake inlet and a clement fjord, where the moose population outnumbers the people population. It has a maritime allure but strangely enough, isn’t commercial enough to be a tourist hub. It’s too hidden in the thicket. Too deep in a borehole.

Every day here is the same. It's an abyss that yawns before you with no end in sight, lacking undue entertainment and vividness and excitement. There’s no light pollution so far off the beaten track, so oftentimes, you’ll wish upon shooting stars for someone to come for your deliverance.

There’s a reason they say be careful what you wish for.

The day isn’t even halfway over and your bone tips already ache with hard work.

It isn’t to say your workplace is busy. In fact, it’s the exact opposite. A cut-rate motel with more vacancies than residents found far-removed from the highway, taking only cash, no card, which is good for deterring paper trails and welcoming the transient but is bad for providing records when the police come knocking.

You’ll get the occasional trucker, the sparse backpacker. In any case, folks stay here when they don’t want to be bothered. They’ll drive past the splintery welcome sign and stop at the diner for earthy, full-bodied coffee and a slice of famous rhubarb pie. They’ll recuperate in the motel and leave before sunrise, and you’ll be there to clean up what they leave behind, scrubbing the memory out of the fibreglass bathtub for whoever’s next.

It’s a place where time fleets away. Hallucinatory. Where people pay their due and you hang your head because after all, you’re nothing more than the housekeeping girl. Cottony pinafore and a black dress. Mary Jane flats. Fingers desquamating from years of bleach and vinegar stuck in your nail beds. You get handed dog-eared tips and in return, you don’t ask questions. But maybe you should have.

You’re sliding the window cleaner back into its compartment on the cleaning cart just as your boss scales the veranda. He’s grinning and sporting sweat stains across his armpits. A patchy beard. A loose tie.

Your nerves lock up tight when he grasps your shoulders. His razorous fingers and the pinchbeck of his wedding band saws under your skin. The dregs of his afternoon drinking knocks into you, and you try not to let your body betray you. Despite that, your eyes water and your nose crinkles. You white-knuckle your dress and almost pop the fabric of your pinafore.

“How’s my favourite employee?” he grins. “Is she workin’ hard?”

There’s an irreverent innuendo somewhere in his smile. You ignore it and opt for a stale smile.

“I’m working,” you eke out. “I've got to restock the bathroom, then I’m done.”

“That’s good, peach. Real good,” he watches you collect toiletry essentials, then tacks on, “there’s a man in the lobby.”

You falter. The travel-sized shampoo bottle almost slips between your forefinger and thumb.

“An outsider.”

It’s an observation, not a question. If the man in the lobby were a local, Phillip would have given you a name because in this town, everybody knows everybody. The fact that a name was bereft tells you your new guest came from elsewhere. Maybe he’s cutting through the main road on his way to Yachats for your town’s cascade mountains and bigleaf maple, or for the diner’s famous rhubarb pie. In any case, he's in need of a rest stop.

“Mh. I’m gonna check him in. Just wanted to let you know I’m givin’ him this room, so try to hurry it up, okay peach?”

You blink slowly. This motel holds twelve rooms—there’s never been a need for any more—and currently, nine of those are occupied. That leaves three. There’s no reason for your boss to put up the new guest in Room 11, especially when you’re still cleaning it.

Phillip reads the question in the bend of your eyebrow. He smiles knowingly and pats your head. “He requested a room on the higher level. Room 9’s aircon is busted and Room 6 shares a wall with the Pettie’s. They’re loud.”

You sigh. “Ah.”

“Sorry peach,” he smiles like he’s apologetic, but you don’t think that’s the case. “Just get it done, alright? And add some extra coffee packets."

You furrow your lips. Displeasure flutters over you but you wash it away with a smile, refusing to irk him. You nod and pivot, bones bending against your skin for an escape as his hand whispers against your bum in an encouraging caress.

Anger simmers in your marrow. Phillip simply chuckles, disparaging.

“That’s a sweet peach.”

His voice gets muted by the tinny, rattling radiator as you make it to the bathroom. You stock it up dutifully—perhaps taking extra long to ensure he's not waiting outside for you—and spritz air freshener around the room when you finish. It’s a flaky, expired bottle of Platinum Ice which barely masks the town’s deep-seated smell of old-growth forest, petrichor and woody debris. You hope the new guest doesn’t have a sharp nose.

You make sure to stuff the coffee station with extra packets before stepping out of the room. Off the mysteriously stained carpet, onto the veranda. You putter around with your large keyring, thumbing through the nickel-brass since you also have a key to the elementary school, post office, and city hall (aptly titled shitty hall by locals, since this town isn’t much of a city and the building’s roof is held together by nothing but rusty rivets and tassels of sprig collected in the corners). You’ve got so many keys because again, everybody knows everybody, and it isn’t rare to see the housekeeping girl at the motor lodge supplementing her income as a part-time teaching aid.

Finally, you find the master key. You lock the room and roll the cleaning cart into the utility room before locking that too. Your wrist drags across your forehead, wiping away sweat, and you tug on your dress because perspiration has pasted it onto the pert curve of your breasts, the squish of your thighs. You furtively glance down your bodice and watch how the sweat pocks your skin, knotting your nipples against your cheap bra. Lament catches you in regards to your shower after work—it’s going to be freezing since the heating system here is so fickle—and in the paroxysm of your grief, the sound of heavy breathing eludes you.

You don’t hear his footsteps. He’s an ambush predator. Stalking and shadowing in the tall grass, waiting for the moment your hackles melt to bite into your neck like an unripe stone fruit. You don’t see him, but you feel him. His breath tickling down your neck. The erogenous zone behind your ear.

A gasp parts your lips and you whip around, coming face-to-face with a paunchy chest plated by moth-eaten flannel. You heft your head up, exercising the hinge in your neck. Paling at the sight that greets you.

He has a Cabela’s cap on. It’s pulled over his eyes, but a few blonde curls peek out from under the crown of his hat. He has a damaged, blistered face. A cauliflower ear. Nicks on his cheeks that distend from his skin and have turned pallid with time, rippling like seafoam petticoats on waves as he flickers his jaw. He wears jeans and mud-clogged boots and holds a duffel bag.

His gaze unties you. You slowly find words, fitting them in an orderly queue in your mind as you avert your gaze and stare at the floor. Squirming. Preening. Sweltering.

“Welcome to Sockeye Inn, mister…”

Silence. He lets your words awkwardly trail off. Doesn’t do anything to belay the discomfort in your belly. The man simply stares at you with brown eyes.

Humiliation crawls up your spine and settles on your cheeks. It burns through your skin, withering you away, to which you fidget with your fingers and baldly nod towards the door.

“Your room is ready,” you murmur. “Enjoy your stay, sir. Uh– if you need anything just give us a shout. Phone’s on the bedside table.”

Foolishly, you wait for a response again. Nothing. He towers over you, owlishly blinking, one slower than the other because he seems to have a lazy eye. You clench your skirt and softly shoulder past him, heading for the stairs as you hear him putter with the keyhole.

You’ve halfway scaled it when a rasp distorted by what seems to be years of cigarettes stops you dead in your tracks.

“Bring me a BLT and root beer.”

You burn up at the muscle in his voice. The drag. Just as you’re about to reply, his room door slams shut and rocks across the veranda.

Your dress is stickier than it was before. Perhaps an ice cold shower isn’t so bad after all.

The end of your shift slowly arrogates.

After delivering food to Simon Riley—you glinted at the logbook while waiting for his order, reading his name—you left his room as soon as possible. You set the food down and found yourself plugging your nose. The Platinum Ice you sprayed before didn’t accost you— instead, it was pomade. Lucky Strike cigarettes. Decaying heartwood. Bleach.

You pointedly breathed through your mouth. It didn’t actually help though, since you could taste it then. The ethanol in the air drizzled over your pockmarked tongue and glided down your throat. Collected in your stomach.

You almost retched it back up at the sight of him.

Through the foggy shower wall, the colour of his hazy contour was striking. It seemed to be a tight fit for him, hemming in his lumberjack build. The shampoo bottle looked like a damn accessory in his large hands and his chased shoulder blades pressed soap against the glass pane, sudsy.

Your curiosity pulled your gaze lower. Down to the heavy mass between his thighs, thick and fat. Bulbous.

His spine suddenly went erect, straightening like a chary animal. As if by the agitated pappus of his skin, his chin lifted in your direction, and that’s when the earth collapsed under your feet and you beetled for the door.

You distract yourself in the kitchen. Emptying the dishwasher. Taking the garbage to the bear-proof receptacles. Putting the oven on steam clean. Kate, the kitchen supervisor, stares at you oddly under her hairnet but she isn’t going to reject a set of helping hands.

You scrub at a pan hoping it will erase the image burned into your mind. Hoping that the steel wool will have the same effect on your temporal lobe as it does on the pan. You don’t realize your hands are chafing and the pan is flaking, not until Kate is passionately complaining beside you, her spit dashing onto the side of your face.

“—fuckin’ freeloaders. They drain our taxes but can’t even do their damn jobs. Wait until one of their family gets butchered, you’ll see, that’s when they’ll start taking this seriously.”

She waves a newspaper in your face. The paper stack fans in front of you, blowing you with cool air. You’re just barely able to read the big, blocky headline.

Connection Made Between Ventura, Gilroy and Eugene Serial Killer — Aptly Coined the Ghost.

“Eugene!” Kate slaps the newspaper, frazzled. “Not even three hours from us!”

You scarcely listen to her, her voice ripening into white noise as you scrutinize the police sketch on the newspaper’s margin. The offender is drawn with an overripe balaclava and probing eyes. Dark brown, as if his corneal opacity has laid claim before death. His eyelids have no tension, but a furl of crow's feet gather at the corners. It’s uncanny. Eerie. And even though he’s pressed on paper, you can’t help the unease welling inside you.

A part of you waits for the other shoe to drop. For him to manifest and crawl out of the paper, dripping ink and viscous tar, ruining your Mary Jane flats and the floor you’d just mopped.

Hemlock hits the back of your throat. Lemony, sedgy. Your eyes fixate on the information detailing his crimes. Spines broken and necks snapped with inhumane strength. Pieces of flesh carved with the precision of either a surgeon or a butcher. Rigour mortis locking the victims in a scream, nail beds caked with skin which implies a struggle, but leads nowhere since the Ghost’s DNA hasn’t been found on any database.

(He’s as elusive as his name suggests. Investigators say he could be foreign, or that he has a clean record. The latter seems unlikely for the violent calibre of his crimes.)

There’s also his modus operandi—slicing off his victim’s ring finger, taking it with him. A cruel reward.

“They say he’s taking Route 101,” Kate tacks on. “That he’s a long-hauler. How the hell will they catch a long-hauler?”

You shake your head, shrugging. Your tongue is too heavy and your gums rub against the round of your cheeks when you try speaking. The sentence gets snagged on your molars, and all that comes out are sparse words, lamely falling to the floor with how out of breath you are.

“…They’ll catch him.”

“They better,” she shortly huffs. “I don’t want this town making the paper for all the wrong reasons.”

Death comes to you in a cornfield.

You’re sprinting through the crop, barefoot and scantily clad and pricked by thorns. Your clothing catches on thistle and corn husk, slowing you down, but the quick-footed trampling at your tail keeps your pace steady and stable.

Your lungs burn. Your bones rasp. Your eyes well up with how fast you’re moving, with how your retinas strain to see more in the pitch black than just reflective corn silk and the crescent moon.

The midnight sky is close to swallowing you whole, but at this point that would be an act of mercy. The whistle of his cleaver slicing through the air and the stomp of his boots are promptly catching up, heckling you, barely whispering against the flowy cotton of your dress.

By a cruel twist of fate your foot catches on a tiller and sends you flying. Your nose softens the impact, the crack of cartilage reverberating through your skull, glutinous red spurting down your chin as you try scrambling to your feet.

But true to his name, Ghost, he slips through matter and suddenly, he’s standing in front of you.

Black, sweaty tank top. Freshly sharpened meat cleaver. Stout arms. Predatory eyes. Rotting balaclava—which at this point, you’re starting to believe was grafted onto his face, fitting him like skin.

You raise your hands for mercy.

But you should know dead stars have exhausted all their luminosity—that after death, they hold no power. That space is a graveyard. That’s why the Ghost poises his cleaver behind him. That’s why the last thing you see is his cleaver handle swinging towards you, about to collide with and shatter your cheekbone into a million pieces—

—but daylight strikes you with no clear trajectory.

It’s your alarm that rings, waking you up from a nightmare, telling you to brush your teeth and scrub yourself down and pop your supplements before biking to work. You do so sluggishly, standing under the shower spray as you massage your cheekbone. Burning your toast as you scour the news for developing details on the Ghost case. Ordering a cup of coffee from the local diner and gulping it down behind the motel lest Phillip catches you.

Your nightmare—omen, prophecy, portent of death?—pursues you like the persistent stench of fish on an angler’s hands all morning. You flinch at the slightest noise while scrubbing toilets, you constantly look over your shoulder while sweeping floors.

Malaise builds in your blood vessels like creosote. It doesn’t thin into fluid, flowing in and out of your appendages and around your sex until you situate yourself in front of Room 11. Fluffing up your skirt and puffing out your chest.

You announce your presence and rap the door with your Mary Jane flat because your hands are occupied with new bed sheets. Your knuckles blanch around the linen, quivering, struggling to keep it in your grip. The sheets almost flutter to your feet when a voice penetrates the door, abrasive and husky. Rough. Grating against your spine and shaving down the vertebrae.

“Door’s open.”

You wait a few seconds before contorting yourself against the threshold. You try the handle and lo and behold, it’s unlocked, swinging open when you press your weight onto it.

You step inside and toe off your flats. Next to Simon’s boots, they look fit for a doll, and a dizzy spell ricochets through you at the size difference. At the stark reminder that he’s as big and packed as a thick tree stump.

You walk inside and heed the CRT television playing the news.

It does nothing to soften the scream that rips out of you as you round the corner.

Simon is in bed, pulling on a cigarette. His pudgy tummy and bristly chest are bared, the steel wool of his happy trail disappearing into the bed sheets furled around his hips. The flat sheet is thin enough to outline something stirring. Something thick and pressed against his inner thigh.

He stares at you, eyes of Argus. It’s so intense you’re sure he can sense the slick running down your back. The dew that settles in the gusset of your panties.

You stutter. “I can come back later.”

Simon sits up with a groan. It rattles you. His joints must be fettered with age, or hard work, but in any case your head goes cottony with the picture of him splitting wood and hauling heavy bovine flanks.

You swallow thick as he shakes his head. “It’s no problem, sugar. I’m not even here.”

The pet name makes you squirm. You sure do feel like it—sugar, that is—with the way you could melt on his tongue, wedge yourself between his teeth. Turn syrupy and sappy at the back of his throat.

He takes another drag of his cigarette. You watch raptly as his jaw feathers around it, lips proffering another plume of smoke.

He blinks. “Well?”

You eke out an apology and fiddle with your hands.

“I’ll have to, um, change your bedsheets first.”

Simon shakes his head. He taps the ashy casualties off the tip of his cigarette and you watch as it sinks onto the bed sheet, almost burning through the floral motif. “No need.”

“Well,” you cough, forcing your eyes away from him, “if I don’t, my boss…”

Simon pricks up. The hind of his spine straightens the same way a dog would sit straight and plumb after hearing rustling in a bush. His muscles tighten, thick, and his face twists into a sneer. The bed sheet around him falls and you lock up tight lest it bare his pubic bone.

“Is he a minger?”

“I’m sorry?”

He huffs. “‘s he a bully?”

“Oh, no,” you blandly laugh. “Mister Graves isn’t a bully. He just…”

“Makes you uncomfortable?”

There’s a lapse between acknowledging his question and spitting out an answer that makes you kick yourself. Simon already looks dubious. You hug the sheets closer to your chest and smile, your cheeks feathering like beeswax.

“He’s a kind man.”

“Not wha’ I asked,” he says. The bed creaks as he leans forward, the sheets slipping lower, scarcely covering his sex. “I asked if he does stuff he shouldn’t be doin’.”

Your heartbeat quickens. Briefly, you wonder if he can hear it. He probably can, albeit softly, due to his lumpy cauliflower ear.

“He’s a married man,” you mumble. “He doesn’t touch me if that’s what you mean. Not like that.”

“There’s only one way to touch someone,” Simon grunts. His chest starts churning a little, as if he’s agitated. “Does he put his hands on you?”

Your skin burns, remembering. A phantom scar runs through you, long and creeping, mapping all the places in which Phillip’s pinchbeck wedding ring has burned you. The suture of your spine, the pappy flesh of your neck, the rise of your hips where his palm has melted through your dress and smarted your skin.

Your silence makes Simon grunt.

Panic surges up your throat. You feel the need to defend Phillip, in some approximation of gratitude and fear since you’re on his payroll and you don’t want to reap the consequences should you rat on him and he find out.

“No!” you hurry. “Mister Graves isn’t like that. He’s a good man. Honest.”

Simon’s eyes push against your skin. He scrutinizes you, tests you. Waits to see if you’ll fidget too much and flake away and sink into the carpet.

He growls. “You fancy him, is tha’ it?”

Answering yes is the only way to shake him off your leg. You do so archly, so it seems as though the thought of your boss has you flushing when really it’s Simon. He’s fully upright, and now you can see the girthy base of his cock. Stirring, twitching. You suppress a moan.

“Yeah…” you murmur. You can feel your makeup turning blotchy, running down your cheeks. “It’s just a bit…embarrassing, is all.”

He lapses into it again. Staring at you. Razoring his way into your head and thumbing through your consciousness, searching for an Achilles’ heel. A crack he can break into a hole because he has the size for it—barrel-chested, stupidly thick fingers.

Simon slips out of bed and disturbs the coiled aches of the mattress. He holds a washcloth over his crotch. It’s crusty and keeps shape and covers almost nothing, confirming your inkling.

His bulbous cockhead winks at you from under the hem. It’s heavy. Leaky. Dripping precum that laves down his legs and gets caught in the wiry hair of his thigh.

Anxiety pools in your armpits and around your groin. Or maybe that’s just arousal. Brackish and sticky, rubbing your pussy lips together, hugging your clit.

Simon pulls on his cigarette once more and then folds it into the bedside table. You should scold him. You should tell him that he’ll have to pay for damages even though the wood is already degraded and mouldy. You should scuttle out of the room and call for Phillip, but that would be a crueler fate. Instead you stay fixed to the carpet as Simon steps forward. Cock swinging between his legs, tummy jiggling.

You don’t know whether he’s going to pull you in for a kiss or rip off your dress or—and you’re unsure why you think of this—take you by your skull and smash it against the television stand. He has the muscle to, surely, but somehow you know he won’t. And the thought of that makes your skin hot.

You’re at his mercy.

You gird yourself for his lips or for your dress to be torn off, but your preparations flux away as Simon steps close and crowds you against the television stand. The stench of Lucky Strike cigarettes and gamey meat impair you, as he reaches behind you and increases the television volume. You want to say something but cotton fills your mouth and the news report floods your ears. It’s fragmentary—you can only heed oddments of the news anchor’s latest updates.

The Ghost is still at large. Corpses keep popping up around California and Oregon, each with their ring fingers sliced off. The tipline has been leading investigators nowhere, shepherding them to the end of the earth and over the edge, floating, where they’ll move through molasses and will never be able to catch him.

White male. 6’4”. 196 centimetres. Brown eyes. Heavyset. Likely military background. Likely a surgeon, or a butcher. A dangerous, ruthless individual.

If spotted, do not approach.

Simon’s breath fans against your neck, rousing the bristles of your warm cheeks. He turns off the television and steps back. An ether opens up in the pit of your stomach as your gaze falls on his bulging pelvis, on the purplish veins and webbing muscle, sitting like a tuft under his navel, disappearing behind the washcloth where his cock stirs.

Simon tuts. “World’s goin’ to shite.”

You nod.

“You shouldn’t be out here anyway,” he tacks on. “Should be at home takin’ care of your man’s house. Keepin’ safe.”

You flash your naked ring finger embarrassingly fast. “I-It’s just me…and my cat.”

His eyes darken. His head tilts down at you. He purrs.

“Better get started on mine then,” he breathes. “Put yourself to good use.”

You shyly get to cleaning his room.

You try to ignore his hand disappearing behind the washcloth, pumping his cock. You can’t ignore the silk ruining your panties. Scarcely, you manage to ignore the caution creeping up your back. Your lower instinct that screams at you as you feel his stare tracking you across the room, burning. Smouldering. Warning.

Daylight scissors into you.

It melts the sleep in the corners of your eyes. It clears the haze in your head. It interrupts the sultry dream you were having. Your flesh is still pocked and your clit is still peaked, as you rehash the contents of it.

You can still feel Simon’s weight on top of you, sweat compressioning you, the sheets gathering under your slick back. Your underwear had dangled from one of your ankles, flapping and swaying as Simon pounded into you. Your head bobbed over the lip of the mattress. Your tits bounced, nipples caught between his gnashers. Your slick ran down your cunt and over your asshole, pooling onto the floral bed sheets. You just quit your job. You didn’t care about the sheets. Or the Pettie’s down the veranda. Phillip was on the other side of the door too, and he could hear everything. Your moans. Simon’s balls dragging over your furled hole. His groans—

—And the sudden tearing of cartilage and skin stretching, rubbery, as Simon shifted into something else above you. Something larger. Deadlier. His drool dripped onto your chest, and his cock was suddenly too big for your pussy, popping back out until only his tip managed to squeeze inside your puffy hole. He snarled down at you, but it got covered by a creeping balaclava. You still reached your orgasm, quivering around his cockhead. Watching him go spotty and graphite-like in your vision, as if he were a composite sketch.

You get out of bed and wash the absurd dream away under the shower. The nozzle hits your clit weakly, and you never reach your high. You show up to work pigeon-toed and sweaty. Pent-up. You scrub harder at bathtubs and almost snap at Phillip when he swats your bum. Almost. Simon is watching from the dining hall, and he makes you skittish.

The day rolls by sluggishly. There’s a Do Not Disturb sign dangling from Simon’s door, so you don’t get the chance to see him in his room. You huff and puff at the Pettie’s and give Kate attitude. It’s the peak of afternoon when you’re sent home, shoulders stiff because Phillip squeezed them and tacked on, ”I can always help out if you’re stressed, peach,” before shepherding you out the door.

You bike into town. Indulge in the diner’s famous rhubarb pie because the motel’s cherry pie is nowhere near as good, though you’ll never tell Kate that. You polish off your treat then ride to the beach (which is more of a graveyard for birds and braided, washed ashore sea meadow), and prop your bike against the wooden bollards.

The beach is familiar with you. It sees you when you're overwhelmed by the monotonous colour of your life. You never worry about meddling kids or loud teenagers or anything, because the stench of fish usually keeps them away anyway. It's your own Shangri-La. Your little Eden. Albeit overcast and greyscale, with an ocean spray that gets into your hair and dries out your mouth.

You slip out of your Mary Jane flats and wade through the sand dunes, breathing in salt and sulfur and tasting it on your lips. You maneuver around seawrack and driftwood and eventually find yourself seated behind a tussock of seaoats, watching as the waves lazily beat against the shore.

It's easy for you to lie down and get comfortable among the scent of iodine and the feel of pillowy granules. It's also easy to let your eyes flutter shut, lulled into limbo by the ebbing tide and murmuring waves.

You stir awake with flaccid lungs.

Presentiment hangs in the air, thick, like a blanket of smog. It interrupts your breathing pattern and makes you light-headed. Vertiginous. Makes you see things that aren't there…

…Such as the off-white scleras and twists of dilated blood vessels that stare at you from the foreshore.

They approach you eerily. Two pieces of driftwood floating over the waves, jolting slightly as it hits the sand, splintery and mossy and heavy.

The man feathers toward you from the blue glow of the beach. You squint through the darkness, because maybe it's the sheriff, but you know he walks with a drunken gait and he…strides like a bear on its hind legs.

The way he lurches for you says otherwise. Perhaps he's rather a panther or a coyote, or some crude backyard breed of all three.

A large palm splits itself over your mouth. An arm lays beside you and secretes a musk of sweat and iron. A knee digs into the plush of your cunt, agitating your clit, as a warm breath fans over your pulse point.

"Waited for me, didn't you?" he rasps against your neck.

In your stupor, you brace your hands against his shoulders. A sticky substance coats his skin, too viscous to be sweat.

Nausea knots in your throat. Tremors wash over your body. You dig your nails into his flesh, and when your hands don't fall through it like you hoped, you gravely realize he's made of muscle and skin instead of your drunken, sleep-inspired imagination.

You experience a cruel loss of equilibruim. If you weren't already lying down, you'd collapse to the ground. You go limp in the sand, thawing into his hands which you unwillingly notice are caked with that sticky substance too.

"There's dangerous folk 'round here," he grunts. "What if someone else followed you? A big, bad man?"

A chord of recognition stirs in your brain at his voice. That brash accent.

"Simon…?"

He chuckles. "It's me, sugar."

You squeeze your thighs together but it's abortive. He pries them apart anyway, and cups your pussy through your panties.

He rubs you through the gauze, knuckling your soft lips. Through the darkness you barely see the misshapen silhouette of his mouth. That snarl, curling off him as if he suffers from some chronic wasting disease, slowly atrophying and turning into some vestigal cadaver.

He kisses down your sternum. Grips your hand and forces it over his crotch. Your fingers brush over the solid mass. It's hard due to both stiffened denim and his thickening cock.

"All for you," he mumbles. "Take it out, sugar."

You fumble with the metal teeth of his zipper. You pull him out with both hands and your mouth goes dry. Tongue sticking to the roof of your mouth. Deadly nightshade hitting the back of your throat. Despite you, your thighs squish together, and a rumbling chuckle slips through the seam of his lips.

He's huge. Fat and heavy, so much so you need both fingers to wrap around him.

"Give it a kiss, yeah?" he coos. "Like a sweet girl."

You spread your lips against his cockhead. You pull away and a string of precum chases you, but Simon is pushing your head back down and bucking his bristly pubic bone into to your nose.

"There it is," he grumbles. "Such a big girl, aren't you?"

You look up at him with wide, wet eyes.

The stiffs of hair on his pubic bone tickle your nose. You smell sweat and iron, but you can't tilt your head away, because the stout muscle of his arms keep you in place.

Fighting is futile. His cockhead hits the back of your throat like oleander and he holds your jaw in place, dimpling your cheeks with his rough fingers, letting his balls slap against your chin.

Just as you're getting used to his size, he pulls out, breaking the strands of saliva and precum between you.

"Take off y'panties, sugar."

You pull them off and squirm at the way the gusset clings to your pussy lips a little while longer. Simon takes it against his nose and sniffs it, running his fingers through your pussy, spreading your slick.

You don't get a warning before he's curling one of his fingers into you. Massaging your walls. Scissoring you open. Thumbing your clit.

He adds another and twists them deeper—meaner—into you. He swallows your whimpers but spits them back into your mouth when he empties his saliva down your throat. He keeps stroking the inside of your pussy, your sticky walls, and rubbing your clit.

He squeezes your cheeks together and gives you a big kiss. He coos condescendingly into your lips, and licks away your fresh track of tears. "It's supposed to hurt, baby. Don't be mad, alright? It'll feel good soon."

He gets deeper and deeper. Knuckle-deep, when he curls his fingers inside you. You lock up tight and thrust your hips through the bulk of your orgasm, trembling and quivering around him.

Your lips quiver around a plea when he pulls his fingers out. It's a lapse of judgement on your part—you know it—but you can't help it anymore.

"Please what?" He grins. It's ugly. Like a truss of stitching falling off his face, mangled and chewed up.

"Can you g-go…" you squirm when he rolls his tumb over your clit, agonizingly slow. "Can you go–"

"C'mon baby," he whispers against your lips, "spit it out. Big girls use their words."

"Canyougodownonme?" you gasp and grip onto him, bucking your cunt into his palm.

He chuckles against your mouth. He kisses down your chest. He crinkles his nose against the husk of your pussy. He deeply inhales and vibrates at your scent. He darts his tongue out and flattens it against your dewy folds, licking a stripe up your slit.

You writhe but he holds you in place with those big, thickened hands of his. They're wet but at this point you can't tell if it's your arousal or that mysterious substance on him. You can't even think about it, not with your thoughts melting away, escaping you like the humming waves.

Simon's a bit too aggressive in how he eats you out. It doesn't come from a juvenile attempt influenced by sex-on-screen with undue emphasis, but rather his tongue spelling devotion into the fat of your cunt.

Your fingers flex into his blonde head of hair. It's closely cropped, but you still manage to pull him closer, grinding yourself down on the bumpy bridge his nose. You pull on his hair and he growls and sends a quake up your spine. He wraps his lips around your clit and swirls his tongue further into you, softly suckling your juices out.

The waves fold over each other, beating against the shore. They crest and crash and just as they race up the sand dune, teasing your flexing toes, your second orgasm crashes into you too. You twist and twirl Simon's hair in your grip and almost miss the feel of something cold being slipped onto your finger.

You're shaking, trembling, as you raise your hand. You're hazy and the moonlight is shrouded by clouds. It makes the mystery object look smeared across your vision, blotchy and spotty.

You hold it a little closer to your face, examining the twinkle as Simon massages your thighs to ease the quiver.

You turn your hand over and whisper your thumb over its curve.

You bristle when you realize what it is. It hangs off you a little loosely, burning your knuckle.

A pinchbeck wedding ring.

Stained with red, and still warm from the body it was pulled from.

Bile gathers in your throat and burns your mouth. Tears gather in your eyes. A small gasp parts your lips, billowing out of you like the mushroom-head of a flare just as realization fully commits itself to you.

You shiver. Both through realization, and your orgasm. "…What did you do to him?"

"Took care of him," Simon grunts, caressing your hair. "I'm supposed to handle the monsters under your bed, ain't I?"

You spare him a glance. You heed the white of his teeth and a smudge of—you know it's blood—across his cheek. His eyes, hidden in the shadowy canopy. His nose, bent out of shape and speckled with blood.

"You're not going to hurt me."

He brushes your hair back. "No."

You pant into him when he captures you for a kiss. "…Why?"

"I'm supposed to take care of ya," he grunts. "That's what couples do, no?"

He pushes something in your grasp—a folding knife. Your thumb slips over the two initials engraved into the handle—your initials.

"How do y'feel about Kate?" he asks.

Your coworker flashes into your mind. "I like her"

Simon—the Ghost—grunts. "And what about that bloke at the diner? What's his name?"

"I– Franklin?"

"Hn. Does he bother you?"

You thumb through your memory. Perhaps what you say is an embellishment, giddy of what Simon's going for.

"He did steal my bike once…" you mumble.

Simon pricks up. His chest puffs out and squishes against your arm. "He married?"

"Yeah, um," you swallow, "for about ten years."

"You want his pretty ring? Or his wife's?" Simon asks, then kisses you. "Anythin' you want."

Your lips stretch into a smile.

Simon cups your cheek, blood rubbing off on you. For the first time ever, you feel exhilarated at the thought of the future. At the thought of being taken care of. Doted on.

Suddenly the town doesn't feel so cold anymore. It doesn't feel like an invisible barricade is hemming you in. Simon is your ticket out of here, and a ticket to your new life.

You can abandon your pinafore and Mary Jane flats and maybe he'll spoil you with frilly socks and a cute sundress. Maybe he'll fuck you in his truck or in gas station bathrooms as the corpse of a man who wronged you rots in the truckbed. Maybe you'll get caught but at least you'll be together and at least your name will finally be known.

Not as the housekeeper girl, but Mrs Riley.

#simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #ghost/reader #simon riley smut #ghost smut #cod x reader #cod mw2 #simon riley #simon ghost riley #cod smut #orion writing

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thicctails · 6 months ago

Note

I need more info on the get better children au, especially about when Bill shows up.

*rubs hands together* I finally got some extra time to draw up some new art for this AU, so let's give it some substance >:3 Long post below the read more with extra art :D

Before Euclydia was destroyed, Euclid and Scalene Cipher were some of its most powerful members. Bill saying that everyone loved him as a baby was true for a time; children aren't born very often, and the Ciphers are considered to almost be royalty. It wasn't until Bill's mutation became apparent that people began to shun him. If he had been born to any other family, he likely would have been abandoned.

Though neither Euclid nor Scalene could really comprehend the concept of something being "up", let alone what "stars" could possibly be, both of them used their status to try and find any scrap of forbidden information, hoping that they could find an answer, could find some confirmation that their son wasn't crazy, and didn't need to be blinded by his "medicine."

It was this research that eventually saved their lives. Having the knowledge that it was possible for things to, hypothetically, exist in a three dimensional plane allowed them to pool their powers and create 3D forms for themselves when Euclydia began to burn, pulling themselves off the 2D plane like a sticker being peeled off a page. It wasn't a smooth transition in the slightest, and the flames managed to damage parts of their bodies before they managed to fully free themselves. The rest of their power went into escaping their collapsing reality, and when all was said and done, they were left near catatonic and floating in the space between time and space for many, many years.

They don't really start to recover until a certain frilly guy upstairs nudges them into a new, stable dimension. This one is almost entirely 3D, and inhabited by creatures that look completely alien to the Euclydians. Creatures called humans.

They meet Dipper and Mabel not long after, and the two triangles attach themselves to the babies, doing their best to care for them in their weakened states when their young, unprepared parents fail to be adequate caretakers. Being 2D is far easier for them, so they stick to the walls like shadows and find ways to speak to the twins, slipping into videos and pictures, music and books, their forms changing slightly to match whatever media they slipped into. They teach Dipper and Mabel their colours, shapes, ABC's, ect, comfort them when they get sad or scared, and once they're old enough, how to do basic things like getting themselves food and water when they get left alone too long.

Neither Pines parent really notices their children making grabby hands and babbling at open air at first, though they do become a bit concerned when years pass and they still stare at walls and empty corners like there's something there.

Eventually, as we all know, the Pines twins get shipped off to a sleepy town in Oregon, and Euclid and Scalene are, of course, coming along to watch over their little stars. However, they become deeply uncomfortable when they start to see visages of their son carved into every room of the twin's temporary home.

It doesn't take long for the show's antics to start, but Grunkle Stan gets involved in the twins adventures far earlier because during The Inconveniecing, Euclid uses his ability to manipulate televisions to play one of those old PSA's on loop until he gets spooked enough to actually check on the twins, only to find them missing.

Eventually, through the help of Scalene using a radio to drag up an old advert for the Dusk 2 Dawn, he figures out where they are and arrives just in time to see the tail end of their ghostly encounter. Unable to deny his knowledge of Gravity Falls' weirdness, he and the twins have their Season 1 finale talk that night, and Dipper shows Stan Journal 3, which leads to all three of them searching for Journal 2 (Stan doesn't reveal the portal yet)

Bill gets summoned by Gideon like in Canon, but things veer wildly off course when, upon entering Stan's mind, Mabel asks him if he knows Euclid or Scalene. He freezes up upon hearing the names of his parents, and he immediately calls off the deal with Gideon, ripping himself out of Stan's Dreamscape. Before he can process what happened, he comes face to face with someone he's only seen in daymares for the past trillion years

Bill dips the fuck out once he realizes he's not hallucinating, disappearing to Axolotl knows where to do fun, productive things such as: scream, cry, break shit, sob on the floor, drink until the teeth in his eye ache, stare at the space between stars for days on end, and interrogate every single one of his henchmaniacs to see if they spiked his drink.

Mans has absolutely zero clue on how to navigate this situation, eventually settling on stalking the Pines because he genuinely cannot think of any possible way to approach his (apparently alive????) parents. How do you go about atoning for the extinction of your entire species?

Bill Cipher has never been one to do things for others for any other reason than to get something back, but he figures the best place to start is by protecting these fleshy human young that his parents seem so attached to.

Wait, would that make them siblings? Axolotl, he sure hopes not.

#the book of bill #the book of bill spoilers #gravity falls #bill cipher #gravity falls au #dipper pines #mabel pines #grunkle stan #stanley pines #euclid cipher #scalene cipher #get better children au

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 6 months ago

Text

Where Will All The Martyrs Go [Chapter 11: The Innocent Can Never Last]

A/N: Below are your guesses…let’s see how you did!!! 🥰😘 Only 2 chapters left 🥳

Series summary: In the midst of the zombie apocalypse, both you and Aemond (and your respective travel companions) find yourselves headed for the West Coast. It’s the 2024 version of the Oregon Trail, but with less dysentery and more undead antagonists. Watch out for snakes! 😉🐍

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, med school Aemond, character deaths, nature, drinking, smoking, drugs, Adventures With Aegon™️, pregnancy and childbirth, the U.S. Navy, road trip vibes.

Series title is a lyric from: “Letterbomb” by Green Day.

Chapter title is a lyric from: “Wake Me Up When September Ends” by Green Day.

Word count: 5.3k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🥰

“You could have gone to California with them,” Rio says as he flips open the fuel cap of a black Nissan Frontier, parked in the driveway of a two-story brick house on National Avenue, not far from where Route 95 branches north of Winnemucca like an artery from a heart.

You squint up at the cumulus clouds to avoid meeting his eyes. You keep thinking you’re going to cry and have to suffocate it, drown it, slit its throat. “I didn’t want to.”

“Sure you didn’t.” Sweat runs in rivulets down his face as he slides in the semitransparent siphoning hose, the one with the little pump on it that Jace had when you found him in Iowa. Aemond gave this to Cregan; he kept the hose without the pump for himself. A small, curious sacrifice. You are fanning Rio with a magazine, Bow International. You had grabbed it thinking of Daeron, then remembered he wasn’t here to give it to. “Jesus Christ, it’s so fucking hot…”

“Djibouti was hotter.”

“Djibouti had a beach. And an air conditioning unit in every window.”

Cregan is waiting by the Tahoe and leafing through a guidebook he found at the Maverik gas station. Ice is lying on the ground and panting beside him, her shaggy grey coat filthy with dust and sand. “The town was named for Chief Winnemucca, who was born in the 1820s in what would later become the Oregon Territory. It either means ‘the giver of spiritual gifts’ or ‘one moccasin,’ depending on the interpretation.”

Rio says: “Damn Cregan, you can read?”

Cregan frowns down at the guidebook with feigned regret. “I really wish Trump had built that wall.”

Rio guffaws. “Cregan, man, I told you. I was born here!”

He continues: “Winnemucca was a stop on the transcontinental railroad.”

“Great. Let’s get that up and running again.” Rio groans as he squeezes the pump on the siphoning hose with increasing frustration. “Absolutely nothing. Not a drop.”

“We probably have enough to get to Denio Junction,” you say gingerly, knowing he’s suffering. It has to be over 100 degrees.

“Yeah, and what if there’s no gas there? How the hell are we going to get to Adel, Oregon?”

“We could walk if we have to.”

“85 miles? In heat like this?”

“In basic training we had to run—”

“We had water in basic training, Chips!” he snaps; and Rio never snaps. “And real food, and corpsmen for if we passed out, and also there were no fucking zombies running around eating people, remember that part?!”

You stare down at the dirt. You can’t cry; you can’t waste the liquid.

“Wait, no, no, no, I’m sorry.” Rio lifts your chin so you aren’t able to hide from him. “I’m…you know…I should already be there. I could be in Odessa in six hours, I could be with Sophie and the baby before sundown, and instead we’re stuck here in the desert and I’m thinking…what if what should take hours ends up taking weeks? What if when I get there, I’m too late?”

You nod, you understand. Out on the road, Cregan keeps his face buried in his guidebook, trying to be polite and pretend he can’t hear you.

“And, I’m also thinking…” Rio says, soft and low. “That I don’t want to be the reason why you miss out on a chance at happiness when the world could literally be ending.”

You gaze up at him, dejected, pathetic. “I can’t handle any virgin jokes right now.”

“I know. I wasn’t going to make one.”

“I didn’t want to go with them to California,” you lie. And then a truth: “And I would never leave you. I promised.”

Rio smiles. “You promised not to let me die alone, and I don’t plan on dying. You’ve gotten me most of the way already.” He glances towards the Tahoe. “I think Axe Boy would have rather stayed with them too. When he was asleep last night I heard him mumbling something about Helaena.”

Cregan? Helaena? Interesting. “Aemond doesn’t want me.”

“Oh, come on. You know he and his one eye are sobbing into a can of SpaghettiOs right now.”

“Be nice,” you murmur morosely.

“Why? He can’t hear me,” Rio says. “Look, Aemond’s fucked up. And of course he is. He went from learning how to save lives and deliver babies to watching his friends die horrible, preventable, completely meaningless deaths. That’s gotta suck. It sucked for me, and I barely even knew them, and no one expected me to be able to do anything about it. Aemond’s the one people trusted to protect them, and he couldn’t. So why would he be able to protect you?”

I never wanted Aemond to protect me. I just wanted him to take me away from here, even for a minute, even for seconds, one hushed stolen moment at a time. “I wish I had said something different back in Battle Mountain.” I wish I had told him I love him. But I didn’t, and now it’s too late.

“You deserve to have the whole wholesome normal family thing, the husband and the kids and the warm fuzzy holiday traditions. I know you’ve always wanted that.”

“If I choose the wrong person, I’m going to end up alone and miserable. And I’ll turn into a monster like my mother.”

“Hey,” Rio says, like he’s ready to fight you. And then he uses your real name, something he’s done maybe five times since you met him, just like you almost never call him Bryan. “You will never be like your mother. Okay? It’s not possible. You don’t have it in you. You’re not a parasite, you’re not mean.”

You want to believe him. “Okay.”

Then Rio chuckles. “Actually, you’re going to end up like my mom. Living in the middle of the woods, making your own soap out of goat milk, growing weed and knitting sweaters.”

You smile wistfully. “I have no idea how to knit. I want to build things.” Then you remember something from when you were fishing on Lake McConaughy in Nebraska. “Aegon said I look like someone who knits. Whatever that means.”

“It means you’re from Kentucky.” Then Rio asks, tentative: “So…what do you think about Aegon?”

This seems random. “He’s cool. I like him, obviously. He’s, um…I don’t know how to describe it. He’s so sad but so warm. It’s impossible to feel nervous around him, which is nice.”

Rio nods, giving you a teasing smirk. “Alright then.”

“Why?”

“Well I was just thinking that if he grows up a little more, he might be good for you.”

“Rio, he’s thirty.”

He bursts out laughing. “So give it another decade and he’ll finally be baby daddy material.”

“I’m sure he’ll be preoccupied with his drug dealing and brothel empire by then.”

“You aren’t even the tiniest bit intrigued?”

“I’ve never really thought about him that way.” And there’s another dimension to it that wouldn’t occur to Rio: Aegon is an addict. You know what it’s like to have to depend on somebody like that. You would never allow yourself to fall in love with him, not the way he is now.

Rio sighs and pivots. “You want me to give you a baby?”

Now you’re giggling. Of course, he’s not serious, just like he wasn’t serious when you were trapped on that transmission tower together back in Pennsylvania. “Stop.”

“I’m super tall and charming, and I was a great electrician back when electricity existed, and I have luscious curly hair that you can readily observe since the U.S. Navy isn’t around to make me shave it off anymore.”

“Sorry, I don’t reproduce with Enrique Iglesias fans.”

“You are so racist, and yet I’d still be willing to help you out with a sperm donation. I’d blindfold myself and struggle through it somehow.” He’s grinning, but his dark eyes are kind. “As long as I’m alive, you will always have a family. And Sophie gets that. Her parents were fuckups too. That’s why she’s so close with mine even though they’re insane.”

“They’re exactly the right kind of insane for the way the world is now.”

“Remember when my dad went through his ‘wifi gives you cancer’ phase and would only communicate with me via Republican-president-themed postcards?”

“The Ronald Reagan one was neat. So many eagles.”

“Truly an excessive amount of eagles.” Rio goes for the porch. “I guess we’ll scrounge whatever we can inside and check the rest of the cars on the street before we head north.”

“I ain’t seen any others without the fuel cap already open,” Cregan says from the Tahoe, dispirited but trying not to show it.

“If we end up having to walk, we’re going to need water or Hawaiian Punch or something. A lot of it. Maybe we can find some of that Pedialyte stuff Aemond got for Jace when he was sick.” Rio pounds one closed fist against the front door. “Hey! Anybody home? We’re looking for supplies. Not trying to cause any problems. If somebody’s in there, just give a shout and we’d be happy to keep moving.”

You’ve followed Rio up onto the porch. “If there’s no water inside, canned fruit will work. You can drink the syrup for hydration, and all the sugar gives you calories.”

Back by the Tahoe, Cregan is leaning down to pet Ice. She’s still panting hard, foamy saliva dripping from her muzzle. “Y’all, we gotta get moving,” Cregan says. “Princess needs to be back in the truck with the AC, and I don’t want to waste gas by letting it idle.”

“Yeah, yeah, we’re working on it.” Rio kicks the door once, hard enough that you hear the wood split near the hinges, dry and cracking. He backs up to prepare to give the door another blow, which is all it will take. Then there is a muffled voice from inside the house.

“Get the hell off my property!”

Immediately, you are stunned by the boom of an explosion, shards of wood flying like shrapnel, the steel barrel of a shotgun jutting from the fresh hole in the center of the door. Rio is scrambling off the porch and dragging you with him. With your free hand, you grab your M9 from its holster and begin shooting before the man inside can fire again, before he can kill Rio or Cregan or you. Your bullets pierce through the blackness of the gaping wound in the front door. You hear shrieks of agony; you see flecks of blood painting the wood. Now there are people shooting from the second-story windows, and you feel the wind of bullets clip by as Rio pulls you towards the Tahoe. The engine starts; Cregan is already in the driver’s seat. You return fire until your M9 makes only small, hollow clicks when you pull the trigger. And by then Rio is shoving you into the truck.

“Go, go, go!” Rio yells at Cregan the second he crawls in behind you and slams the door shut. Cregan swerves away from the curb and barrels down the street, tires squealing, gunshots still ringing out from the house. Ice is barking franticly.

“Rio, I’m out,” you say, terrified.

“What?”

“Bullets. I’m out of bullets.”

“We gotta go,” Rio concedes. There are scratches on his cheeks from splinters of wood, sweat turning from clear to blood-tinged pink as it drips down onto his shirt. “We gotta get out of Winnemucca. If we have to walk, we’ll walk. At least there’s no one north of here to worry about for a hundred miles. Not living and not dead either.”

From the backseat, you glance over at Cregan. “Oh my God, Cregan, you’re hurt.”

“I know.” His right forearm is covered in blood. It’s a graze wound, but deep; when he turns the steering wheel, you can glimpse the white of bone as his shredded muscles open like a mouth.

“You need stitches!”

“Oh yeah?” Cregan replies as the Tahoe bumps over corpses in the street, bodies mummified by the wind and the sun. “And which of you two would be better at that, you think?”

“We’ll get supplies to patch you up,” Rio says, peering out the window, searching for someplace to stop. “And enough food and water to last us through the desert. Right there, hop on Route 95, and we’ll find a store at the edge of town before we’re in No Man’s Land.” Cregan jerks the wheel; the Tahoe veers onto Route 95 heading north. Boarded-up houses and graffitied overpasses and gnarled bristlecone pine trees and lifeless traffic lights and looted storefronts pass by in a blur.

You turn to Rio. “What if those people try to follow us?”

“It’ll only take five minutes.”

“Rio…”

“We don’t have enough to drink. If we get stranded in the desert, we’ll die. I’m not dying out there. I didn’t cross 3,000 miles to drop dead just a few hundred away from Sophie.”

He’s right. There’s no other option. North of Winnemucca is a wasteland, a boneyard. “Okay,” you surrender, helping him look for stores. “But we have to be quick.”

“I can be real quick, baby. You’d know that if you took me up on my very selfless sperm donation offer.”

Cregan raises his eyebrows; you can see his reflection in the rearview mirror. “Y’all have a mighty strange relationship.”

Rio is pointing. “Right there, Riverside Grocery & Liquor. Let’s give that a try. Cregan? You see it? By the Taco Bell.”

“Of course you’d be attracted to Taco Bells,” Cregan says as the Tahoe zigzags across the parking lot, but his voice is woozy. Blood pours from the gash in his arm. What if the bullet severed a major artery? What if he’s bleeding to death?

You ask: “Cregan, do you feel okay?”

“I’m alright. Don’t you worry about me, Miss Chips. You got enough worries already.”

“You don’t look alright.”

His eyes meet yours in the rearview mirror; they are fearful. “I think I need to get pressure on it.”

“We’ll take care of you, buddy,” Rio says. And as soon as Cregan shifts the Tahoe into park, Rio is out the door and striding into the small grocery store, his Remington 12 gauge in his hands. It’s unloaded, but still good for blunt force trauma. The glass of one of the front doors has been shattered. Rio steps inside, his boots crunching on broken glass. You are right behind him; Cregan lifts Ice with his uninjured arm so she can get inside without cutting her paws.

Harsh desert sunlight streams in bright enough that you can see reasonably well, dusk or dawn instead of midday. The air tastes like dirt and decay. The shelves of alcohol have been picked clean, but cans and bottles and cardboard boxes have been left strewn haphazardly around the rest of the store. There are several circular racks of souvenir t-shirts: horses, mountains, pine trees, I was a buckaroo on the Cowboy Corridor, #DesertLife, Straight Outta Winnemucca. You yank a white shirt with a rattlesnake on it off its hanger and tie it tightly around Cregan’s bleeding forearm, closing the ragged ends of his wound.

Ice is whining and nudging at Cregan. “There’s one in here,” he warns.

“Yeah, I got it,” Rio says. She staggers out of the stockroom hissing and growling, the flesh on her face almost completely gone, her exposed skull stained with clotted blood, her teeth chattering. Long strands of blonde hair hang in patches from the back of her head. She is wearing a red vest with a nametag on it. Once upon a time, her parents called her Jasmine. Rio strikes the zombie with his Remington so hard it is decapitated, and the corpse crumples to the filthy tile floor as its head rolls over towards the cash register. Then he slings the shotgun over one of his shoulders and begins shopping.

Cregan is tall enough to see the tops of shelves where items have been missed; he pulls down bottles of Snapple, Gatorade, Yoohoo, Jarritos soda and stuffs them into his backpack. You are on your hands and knees sorting through the debris on the floor, everything coated with a layer of dust and sand. You find cans of mandarin oranges, boxes of graham crackers, tuna pouches, and packets of Tylenol. Cregan will need them. He needs more than that, but you can’t give it to him. You’ve never been to medical school. You grab more souvenir shirts to use as bandages later.

Maybe there are doctors in Odessa.

Rio says excitedly from the other side of the store: “Chips, they got Cheddar Whales!”

Maybe there’s a life worth living in Odessa.

“Just hurry up so we can go.”

“Yeah, yeah…” He’s filling his arms with boxes and bottles, making a lot of noise. Ice is pacing and whimpering, panting like she can hardly breathe, drooling gluey strings of saliva. The grocery store is an oven. Cregan pops open a can of Arizona iced tea and pours it into her mouth to be gulped greedily down. Still, Ice’s yellow wolfish eyes dart around the room, vigilant, rattled.

“I think there’s another zombie,” you say, watching her. You reach for your M9 before remembering it’s unloaded.

Cregan replies: “Sure she ain’t just overheated?”

Somewhere close, less than a mile away: gunshots out on the streets of Winnemucca.

“Ready, kids?” Rio says, his arms overflowing, half a Slim Jim hanging out of his mouth like a cigarette.

“Yes sir,” Cregan agrees. The t-shirt you knotted around his forearm is splotched with crimson, but the bleeding appears to have slowed. Fragments of glass shatter as he crosses through the doorway and out into the parking lot, carrying Ice as she struggles and barks.

Rio pauses as he passes one of the other t-shirt racks, circles of metal that gleam like halos. He’s rearranging his supplies so he has a free hand to grab a shirt he likes. There are more distant gunshots outside, and the squealing of tires. In the parking lot, Cregan is starting the Tahoe.

You say distractedly, noticing an empty Twizzlers wrapper on the floor and thinking of Jace: “Rio, let’s go.”

“Hold up, this one has an elephant on it—”

The hand juts out from below the rack and seizes his ankle, claws up his legs, rips and tears at him, grey flayed flesh and screeches from rotting vocal chords, something that used to be a man or a woman and is now only a monster, half a body, nothing from the waist down but shred of black necrotic muscle, skin, intestines, too close for Rio to push away, already clinging to him like graffiti on concrete, like a pair of stainless steel dog tags hanging from his neck. Without thinking, without hesitating, you are across the store and trying to get it off him, screaming as your fingers rake through disintegrating gore, so deep you can feel the zombie’s ribs like rungs of a ladder, trying to get a grip on it, trying to kill it. Now Cregan is back with his axe and he’s hacking at the skull as best he can without hitting Rio, and Ice is barking, and Cregan is yelling for you to get away before you’re bitten, but you don’t listen, you don’t care; all your life you were homesick until you found homes with Rio thousands of miles from where you were born, and if he’s gone then so is the only place you’ve ever belonged. There is a surge of blood, hot and metallic, rot and iron in the air, and you don’t know whose it is.

He can’t be gone. If he’s gone, who am I?

An arm hooks around your waist and drags you backwards, so roughly you lose your breath for a moment and cannot fight them; over your right shoulder, you see a hand holding a Glock. Aemond pulls the trigger and the zombie falls to the floor, a mangle of decomposition and exposed bones, because wherever the others ended up they found bullets and gasoline…and then they came back for you.

Aegon is stumbling over the rubble that litters the floor to get to Rio. You can hear Daeron and Rhaena’s voices out in the parking lot, and the blasts of Rhaena’s Ruger, the revolver she once didn’t know how to use. Cregan is trying to help Rio up, but he can’t stand. He is slumped against bare shelves and holding a hand to his throat, where he’s hemorrhaging from a gaping, ragged wound, torn arteries and lacerated veins. He’s been bitten, but his transformation won’t take long. He’s bleeding out. His dark eyes are on you, and beneath the glassy sheen of catastrophic blood loss is disbelief and fury and grief. He will never see Sophie again; he will never meet his child.

Your voice is a whisper, a phantom. “Bryan…”

“It only takes once, right?” he says, weak and guttural, already fading, blood on his lips. Then his eyes drift to Aemond. “Get her out of here.”

“No!” you shriek as Aemond pulls you towards the door, his arms locked around your waist, his lips to your ear as he begs you to come with him, that you have to leave, that it’s not safe here, that Rio doesn’t want you to see what has to happen next. Aegon is sobbing as he touches Rio’s face. Cregan bows his head; but he’s already looking at the Marlin .22 that hangs by its leather strap from Aegon’s shoulder. “No, I promised, I promised! I promised I wouldn’t let him die alone!”

“He’s not alone,” Aemond tells you, and he doesn’t let go when you struggle, when you scream. Burning sunlight floods over you, and you are in the parking lot. Rhaena and Daeron are shooting down zombies as they lurch towards the grocery store, drawn by the commotion, the symphony of the dead and dying. Luke is using a siphoning hose to fill the Tahoe’s tank with the remaining fuel in the Ford Expedition. Helaena is moving their supplies into the Tahoe, weeping softly to herself, her long ghost-pale hair flowing in the desert wind.

The racks, you think, you remember. You can see Helaena shining the flashlight into your eyes like you’re back on a living room floor in Iowa. I forgot to remind Rio to check under the racks. And now he’s gone.

You’re screaming that it’s your fault as Aemond forces you into the Tahoe, and you don’t care what anyone says to you: Luke trying to tell you that’s not true, Rhaena swearing that you’re safe now. There is a gunshot from inside the grocery store. Your heart and lungs have turned to iron like the anchor of a ship, cold and still and heavy, unmovable, unbearable. You cannot breathe through your sobs; you cannot see, cannot speak. You curl up on a seat and wish you were dead. All your life you have been compelled by a blind belief that there are better places even if you cannot imagine them, that sometimes when it feels like the world is ending the only way out is through. For the very first time, you want to give up. You want to let all the poisons of this earth seep into your bloodstream until they stop your pulse and everything goes quiet, quiet, quiet.

Aemond is pouring bottles of water over you so he can wash away the blood and sand and gore. He is searching your skin for bitemarks. People are climbing into the Tahoe and a key turns in the ignition. The wheels are spinning; shadows fall over your face through the windows as you sail beneath overpasses. You hear voices but not words. You feel Aemond’s hands on you and do not flinch away.

Someone is putting pills in your mouth and telling you to swallow. “What is it?” you ask.

“Tramadol,” Aegon says. “It will take you somewhere else.”

And it does, this poison he doesn’t know you are starving for; it erases the future and the past until you don’t exist, you never have, and this is a relief.

~~~~~~~~~~

Glimpses through fogged vision, disjointed flashes like dreams: Aemond cleaning and suturing Cregan’s arm, Helaena’s fingers threading through Ice’s shaggy grey fur, smoke from smoldering Marlboro Golds billowing from Aegon’s lips and out through an open window, coyotes watching the Tahoe pass from the shoulder of the highway, mountains and barbed wire, clouds and useless power lines, land that turns from flat and vast and vacant to steep hills thick with pine trees, so many they block out the sun.

You are dimly aware that the Tahoe is stopping frequently, long lulls to hunt for gasoline in small towns, one gallon here, three gallons there, discussions over which routes to take as Aegon scrutinizes his map. Aemond is always with you, coaxing you to take sips of Gatorade and nibbles of Ritz crackers, feeding you spoonfuls of chicken noodle soup straight from the can, and each night when you fall into numb unconsciousness in a dead stranger’s bed he sleeps on the floor in case you need him, and eventually you do. You jolt awake from a nightmare, not death but cursed immortality, a bite he missed somehow that turned you into a monster, into a murderer, your raw skin and muscles sloughing off your bones.

“You’re fine, you’re fine, look at your hands,” Aemond says, taking your wrists and holding them gently. “No bites. You’re going to be okay, I promise. Hey, hey…” He cradles your face, he pleads for you to believe him. “I swear to God, you’re going to be okay.”

“It should have been me,” you whisper in the red glow of the candlelight. “I don’t have a family that would miss me if I was gone.”

“Yes you do,” Aemond says fiercely; and it takes your drugged, horrorstruck mind a moment to realize who he means.

The next day the Tahoe runs out of gas, and you know this because Aemond wakes you with a palm resting lightly on your forehead and an apology sighed through your hair. “What’s wrong?” you murmur.

“We have to get out and walk for a while. Can you do that?”

You force yourself to sit up, blinking at him. “Where are we?”

“Kingvale, California. In the Sierra Nevada Mountains.”

“We’re going to the beach house,” you realize.

“Yeah,” Aemond says, smiling a little. “Yeah, we are. We’re going home.”

On Donner Pass Road, following in the centuries-old footsteps of doomed westward migrants, someone always walks with you as you shuffle along in a daze. Aemond tells you about California, Rhaena reads aloud from Mockingjay, Ice licks your knuckles, Aegon talks endlessly about golf and yachting even when you can’t respond. His burned leg is still bandaged, but healing, and he’s found a Converse sneaker a few sizes too big to wear on his left foot; Aemond treats and wraps his wounds each morning and night, and Rhaena observes and takes notes so she can learn how to do it.

One afternoon just north of Beale Air Force Base, Daeron sneaks a Marlboro Gold out of Aegon’s backpack when no one is watching and lights it as he lingers in the back of the group. Aegon smells the smoke immediately and whirls, runs to him, snatches the cigarette from between Daeron’s lips and stomps it into the pavement.

“You’re not going to be like me!” Aegon shouts at him in the middle of the road. “Goddammit, you’re going to be safe, and you’re going to be happy, and you’re going to know that people care about you because I’ll break your fucking arm if I ever see you smoking again. You don’t get to poison yourself. You’re going to live to be a hundred years old. Got it?”

“Got it,” Daeron echoes, startled, petrified; and then Aegon hugs him, hanging on for a very long time.

~~~~~~~~~~

It is midnight in Meridian, a miniscule town founded in the 1850s on the banks of the Sacramento River, a relic from a time when travel meant ferries and railroads and wagon trains. Here, well outside the state capital, there are no sounds except the breeze through the trees—blue oaks, sycamores, willows, white alders—and the hoots of owls. The house is old, built in the 1950s or 60s, creaking steps and a screened-in front porch where Cregan and Daeron are playing Uno while keeping watch. The moon is new and invisible. The stars are bright.

Aemond appears in the doorway of your room. You are on the edge of the bed and staring at the wallpaper, flickering candlelight and scenes of galloping horses. Aemond is not letting you have any more Tramadol. He’s also not letting anyone load your Beretta, although you saw a box of 9mm bullets in Helaena’s burlap messenger bag. Maybe he’s worried you’ll try to shoot yourself. Maybe he’s not too far off.

He closes the door, crosses the room, and sits down on the bed beside you. In the firelit quiet, Aemond says: “I’m so sorry. I don’t know how to help you.”

“I can’t stay here. Take me somewhere else.”

At first, he doesn’t understand what you mean. Then you reach for him—for a life raft, for something to tether you to the earth—and the lines of your palm press against his scar, flesh he stitched back together himself, proof he can heal people, a reminder of how temporary any of you could be. Aemond lays his hand over yours and closes his eye, holding you there against his face, feeling your warmth and your forgiveness, your need to be close to him in a way that is suddenly so uncomplicated. There is no fear left in you. Perhaps there’s nothing left at all.

Aemond kisses you, and there are blooms of golden light through your darkness like what you call lightning bugs and he says are fireflies. You are entangled on the bed together, and all the sounds still ricocheting in your memory—screams, gunshots, bloodlust, hunger, anarchy—fade until they cease to exist. He is touching you, and you can feel lost pieces of yourself returning to you like rain soaking through parched earth, faith and resolve and desire. And now, and now…

Now Aemond is taking you far, far, far away, to bottomless blue water you can drown in, to where Diego Garcia lies marooned in the middle of the Indian Ocean, to the sun-glinting waves off the coasts of Chinhae, Corpus Christi, Key West, the Horn of Africa. He is between your thighs, and you want him through the pain, a razor-sharp fullness that seems so immaterial and so fleeting; and you lie to him over and over again because if he knows he’s hurting you he’ll stop, and in this world one cannot assume there will be second chances. Aemond stills once he’s inside you, giving you time to adjust but also overwhelmed by the intensity of it, his hands in your hair and trembling all over, kissing your face as the pain bleeds away and leaves a shade of craving you’ve never felt before, something deep and indistinct, something intangible like a spell or a myth. You move first, rolling your hips with a slow, cautious rhythm, and only then does Aemond follow you. It’s in his voice, in the reverence of his hands, in his iris like a clear secretless sky; you have taken him far away too.

“I love you,” Aemond says afterwards as his head rests on your belly, your fingers tangled in his damp hair and your skull hushed like calm seas. “And I can’t pretend I don’t anymore.”

“Good. I wouldn’t want you to.”

And in the morning, there is something different about the world: a hopefulness that makes you want to wake up, a radiance like moonlight on the wave crests of the Indian Ocean.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond x you #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen x you #aemond x y/n #aemond x reader

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selineram3421 · 6 months ago

Text

🎩

You're Off-key

Prologue

Reader X Gravity Falls

Warnings ⚠

⚠ The Book of Bill SPOILERS HERE! Do NOT read if you don't want any spoils of the book. Other than that, enjoy. -mentions of madness, blood, cryptids, italics= thoughts, ya know..the usual. Oh! And for our old pal Stan, some swear words. ⚠

You missed this.

Being one of the weird kids who loved the supernatural, interested in solving puzzles, uncovering secrets. Of course you ended up watching Gravity Falls.

Never really growing out of it, you'd still watch videos about ghosts or getting a heavy duty flashlight and a pair of brass knuckles for whatever made a noise in your apartment.

Ghost or not, they'd learn not to mess with you!

At some point you got The Book of Bill.

It was so cool! Little funny and silly at times. There was also the triangle's descent into madness. Man those pictures were good.

Also an axolotl?

You don't know but it looked cute.

As you kept reading, the more you wanted to experience everything you didn't get to when you were younger.

So you decided on a road trip!

A road trip to all the places that inspired the creator of the show and the final stop would be Bill's statue!

Best friend in the passenger seat! Sun glasses in the glove boxes! And snacks to last you a while before the next gas station stop!

You even brought a camera!

"Ready for the time of your life?", you asked excitedly.

"In this heat?", your best friend fanned their face with the paper map. "It'll be meh but yeah, I'm ready for the car AC."

You both were in the car, ready to begin the adventure to Oregon, but you were just double checking before it actually began.

"Ok, ok. I'll start the car.", you said and put the key in the ignition, turning it and starting the car.

Immediately putting the AC on high, both of you were ready and you slowly backed out the driveway.

"Let's get that fucking pie!", you said and put on the sun glasses.

It was really bright today.

First you went to the famous diner with the pie. It was a give in, honestly but the pie was really good. Next to the Oregon Vortex. Now that was a really weird shack! Everything was leveled but you were standing slanted a bit. Then you both went to every roadside attraction that you could and got some key chains for souvenirs. It's been really clear weather since you started the road trip, which was a bit of a surprise. It was supposed to sprinkle at some point.

Finally, the last thing on the list arrived.

Playing the song "We'll Meet Again" by Vera Lynn as you drove to the parking area and both of you were singing along to it before you had to turn off the car.

You brought The Book of Bill for fun.

Deciding to joke around, you bought some spaghetti to go and went to park the car before venturing into the woods where Bill's Statue was.

"Are you seriously gonna try it?", your best friend laughed.

"Why not?", you smiled while putting a water bottle in your pack. "It's ok to be silly. Mabel says so. Trust the silliness!"

"Yeah, ok.", they agreed with a smile. "If we get mauled by a bear, I'm sacrificing you first."

.....

"Fair."

Camera, spaghetti, book of Bill, and water! (Also a flashlight.) You were ready for a photo shoot with the oh so famous Dream Demon!

Looking back to see the sun, you guessed that you had about two hours to find Bill's statue before it got too dark. Your best friend had a map they downloaded off the internet that would lead you straight to it. Of course, with you having some attention issues, you'd get sidetracked by anything you found interesting, hence needing the two hours.

⯅

You were right!

The two hours were needed because you were still trying to solve one of the codes in the book, while also getting distracted by some cool looking bugs around the area.

"Did you try the Caesar cipher?", your friend asked.

"Yeah, but this is new. It's something else.", you sighed. "I should have tried the website before leaving.", you grumbled sadly.

"Hey, it's totally fine!", they said and patted your back a few times. "You'll get to do that when we go back home.", then they pointed towards the right with their thumb. "By the way, Bill statue is next to us, over by those bushes."

"WHAT!?", you screeched and ran over, whispering a few ouches as the branches of the bush scratched your legs.

That's when you saw it.

In all of its odd glory was the Bill statue with its hand out, waiting for a hand shake.

"Eeeeee!", you cheered as you got closer, hearing your friend laugh behind you as you did so. "I gotta give him spaghetti!"

Opening up your bag, you took out the take-out box that held the noodley deliciousness and took a quick forkfull for yourself before putting it in front of the stone triangle.

"I really thought you were joking.", says your friend as they watch you take out the book and camera from your backpack.

"Nope!", you smile, snapping a quick picture of the statue with spaghetti. "Ok, now for the silliest part."

You take out Parmesan cheese and a cheese grater.

"Oh this is fucking hilarious.", your best friend says and takes pictures of you with their phone.

The sun hits the horizon and the sky is slowly darkening, you start grating the cheese and when you think it's enough, you stop.

"Hey, take a pic with me shaking his hand.", you say and get closer to the statue, reaching out to touch it.

"Sure thing jellybean.", they say and lift their phone up. "It's my turn after you."

"Ok!", you say and put a thumbs up as you put your other hand on the statue's.

As you look to where your best friend is, all you can see is darkness.

You call their name in confusion. "Are you there?", you ask. "Turn on the flashlight, its really dark out here."

But you get no response.

And then you hear something odd.

Kinda sounds like someone with a weird sound filter over their laughing.

"Ok, ha ha.", you roll your eyes. "Quit playing the Bill audio and take the picture already."

When you try to get a better hold on the statue, you realize you weren't holding anything at all.

"What?", you say and look at your hand. "Wait.. Why can I see my hand perfectly fine when everything else is-"

"Well, well, well!", says a familiar voice from behind you.

What?

Turning around you see a floating, glowing Dorito chip with a fancy bow tie and a top hat.

Holy shit.

"Here we are at last! I've been waiting an eternity to meet you."

How is this happening? Was one of the snacks you ate expired? Did you eat the wrong brownies!?

"Thanks for reading my best seller kid!", Bill says and twirls his cane into existence in his hand. "And for the handshake.", he blinks. Winks?

"Wait, hold on! I-!", you start.

"See you in Gravity Falls!", the triangle snaps his fingers and suddenly there's a hole beneath your feet that reveals a cartoon animated forest.

"Wha-"

"Don't break your neck on the way down!", the one eyed demon waves.

And you begin to fall.

ZKDW D QLFH VXQQB GDV

~Seline, the person.

Part 1

Taglist@

@+?

YO-🎹 | GF List🏞️

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why-animals-do-the-thing · 9 months ago

Text

California zoo accessibility data dump

I just recently got back from a short (and fully covid-cautious) zoo road trip in Oregon and California, and wanted to share my notes re: accessibility at the facilities I visited. I'll get this all integrated into the spreadsheet, too.

Wildlife Safari - Winston, Oregon

This is a large drive-thru safari park with a free walk-about area attached that contains some small exhibits. Guests stay inside their cars the entire drive-thru, although there's at least one place to stop and sit in a gazebo to rest and use the bathroom (porta-potty only). You can pull over to watch animals for longer, and go through multiple times if you missed anything. It's a long drive-thru and there isn't really a good way to truncate the experience if you've got some kind of emergency. The roads are not flat, but they're well maintained and not bumpy.

The walkabout area is very small and contains bathrooms, food options, and other guest services. The paths are mostly concrete and well tended, although you do have to cross the steam train tracks to get to lion/some of the lemur viewing. I believe the Australia walkabout area was also unpaved. There's lots of parking in a big, flat, paved lot.

Sacramento Zoo - Sacramento, CA

This is a very cute, small inner-city facility - a good option if you don't want to try to walk a huge zoo in one day. There's lots of shade from all the plants and a good amount of benches throughout, including picnic tables with shade canopies. The paths are almost entirely flat and paved, with the exception of a boardwalk ramp up to the giraffe feeding and okapi viewing platforms. The cafe has gluten-free and vegetarian listings (maybe vegan?) on their menu. No straws are provided for animal safety, but if you need one, they can give you a reusable curly-straw from the slushies (kinda long and awkward for a normal cup) as an accommodation. They've got both water fountains and water bottle filling stations. Being build in a larger city park and recreation complex, there isn't a dedicated parking lot just for the zoo: the closest is across the street, shared with another attraction, and is kinda small. I've never had issues finding parking when I've gone, but sometimes it does involve a bunch of walking to get to the zoo entrance - if you have mobility or stamina limitations, probably best to get dropped off at the entrance and wait (there are benches).

San Francisco Zoo - San Francisco, CA

The SF Zoo is huge. There's lots of green / garden / swamp space that doesn't have habitats in it, but it means exhibits can be pretty far away, so plan your route accordingly. (Going out to the grizzly bears is the longest loop). Depending on the time of day, there's not always a ton of shade for guests either. There's a decent amount of benches, and quite a few are in decent proximity to animal viewing. After a somewhat long but not steep hill right at the entrance, the paths are all paved and fairly flat. There's a hill going down into/up from the Australia area / kids playground, but it's the only one I really noticed. There's a long elevated boardwalk through the lemur habitats that connects to the top of the new Madagascar construction - if you can't do stairs, as of Spring 2024, that's the only way to get up there to look down on the mandrills or see the top of the fossa habitat. (It's still under construction, so there might be an elevator in the building in the future). Back by the grizzlies, there's an old indoor rainforest building - while there's buttons to automatically open the door going in, I didn't find any on the first inside door going out. It makes sense they don't want both doors to open at once since it's a bird airlock, but not having independent ones on each door meant the day I used an ECV I got stuck in there until a nice staff member noticed.

All three times I've ever been to SF most of the little food kiosks haven't been open, and the vending machines for drinks have been hit and miss - so bring your own, or stock up at the cafe if you need to have supplies with you - but there are water fountains and water bottle filling stations around the zoo. There are interpretive audio boxes through the zoo in English and Spanish, used with a key you get at the entrance(?), but I heard a lot of complaints in passing about some of them not working. There's lots of parking at the zoo in a flat paved lot, and there's a specific dropoff area on one side for rideshares/mobility needs.

Oakland Zoo - Oakland, CA

To be clear up front - Oakland was the hardest facility to visit on this whole trip, with regards to mobility. We went twice, and I used an ECV (electric scooter) one and walked the other. Neither option was easy and both were exhausting. Oakland is a super hilly facility - you basically have to drive up a major hill to get to the zoo. The bottom half of the lower zoo can only be reached by going down pretty steep paths. The hills are also not graded to be "flat", so if you're in a wheelchair or ECV, you're going to have to lean to compensate for the tilt and balance the chair... while controlling it going down a steep hill. It's exhausting and kinda scary. (I don't even let other people carry my camera because $$, but I had to ask for help so I could focus on driving the ECV on those hills). There's also a lot of areas of the pathways that are not in the best repair, or patterned with pressed-in images, and multiple places actually have brass bugs embedded in the pavement so that they stick out above the surface. Lots of tripping hazards and/or things to rattle your teeth out rolling over. A couple places in the upper zoo (the California wilds area) the paths switch from paved to sand and back again, for drainage, maybe? On the upside, there's a lot of benches everywhere, including directly across from prime viewing areas.

Getting up to the upper zoo requires using a gondola - there's no walking option. You can actually take wheelchairs and ECVs on these, but you have to be ready to advocate for yourself. Normally, they don't stop the carriages completely, and expect people to walk on while they're still moving slowly. You can ask them to slow them down for you (I did, because knee issues plus torque is bad), or stop it completely if you need the time/help. When I took an ECV on, they had me disembark and get in one carriage, and they loaded it into the subsequent ones. This is fine because I can walk and stand on concrete for a while without it, but I'm not sure how that practice would work for people who need their mobility aids the whole time. They were very nice about managing the stopping and the loading and didn't make it feel like an imposition, too. If they stop the carriages completely at any point, there will be a loud buzzer/alarm when the ride starts back up. If you're close, it's pretty loud and startling. As they leave the track at the bottom the gondolas tip and dip a little, which can be scary if you're not expecting it - I think it's just the transition of the car from the loading bay onto the track itself. The rest of the ride is very smooth. The track is pretty high up and gives a great view of the bay and the surrounding cities, but face uphill if you don't do well with heights. Once at the upper zoo, the path from bald eagles through jaguar is mostly a boardwalk, but it's not too bumpy.

Oakland's parking is hard if you're not there early in the day, IMO. The overflow parking gets pretty far from the entrance, and starts to go up the hill towards the upper zoo. If the lot looks busy, drop anyone with mobility/stamina issues off at the entrance before parking. Unlike many other zoos I've visited, Oakland's ECVS have added sunshades, which is really nice (and which I should have used).

Monterey Zoo - Salinas, CA

This is a fairly small facility with most habitats on one level, but some big cats and bears are up a pretty big hill. The walkways are paved and flat, and there's an ADA-graded boardwalk ramp that takes you to the top of the hill. The pipes used for the handrails on both the stairs and the ramp get very hot in the sun, however. There's a boardwalk up to the rhino overlook. They indicate that their bathrooms are accessible, but the ones in the main building didn't have bars for transferring - I didn't check the ones up on the hill. At one point in the day speakers along the path started playing really loud pop music (drowned out the birds) and it was very overwhelming. There's lots of handicapped parking spots across from the front entrance, but if you don't have a tag, the rest of the spots are up a bit of a hill and a small walk from the entrance. They do have a note, though, that they can help if you need accessible parking and don't see any, so you could probably call/have someone to go in and ask for an accommodation.

Sequoia Park Zoo - Eureka, CA

This is another nice small facility, very doable for a half-day trip. The paths are paved and flat, and there's benches available. There's a lot of shade, although it can depend on the time of day, and places to fill a water-bottle. The sky-walk through the redwoods is accessible, but might be a little difficult depending on mobility limitations - its' a very sturdy boardwalk through the canopy of the tall trees. (I had more thoughts on this from my last visit, I'll dig out those notes). If you can do even part of it, it's worth it, and there's places to turn around. Because it's in a residential area of the town there's not a huge dedicated parking lot, but lots of street parking and a decent lot directly across the street. I've never had difficulty finding parking, and you can drop people off at the entrance easily.

#accessibility project #zoo accessibility #my notes #zoo accessibility project #disability rights #disability access #ada compliance

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thatsmzbitchtoyou · 10 months ago

Text

Marriage of Convenience Chapter 5 FINAL

Summary: Y/N’s father is gone, and he leaves it all to her. But in 1880s Oregon, she can’t own land without a husband. Under the threat of it all being taken away by a land hungry Sheriff, what’s a girl to do with no prospects? Maybe one of the cowboys on the farm can help…

Warnings: smut, slight physical violence

Previous chapter

All during dinner, with scorched steak, overly creamy mashed potatoes and bruised pears, Bucky and Y/N were insatiable. Bucky kept a hand on her thigh at all times under the table, every once in a while his hand traveling up closer to in between her legs. Y/N would stand up and act like there wasn’t enough room to get out quickly, and would brush her breasts against his shoulder as she would get up and sit back down. When everything was cleared, cleaned, and everyone went back to their individual bunks in the back houses, Y/N went upstairs, buzzing with excitement and a little scared with anticipation.

When she reached the bedroom she took a deep breath and opened the door. At the end of the bed stood Bucky, shirtless, his underwear low on his hips, his hair wet from a quick wash.

“Hey sweetheart,” he greeted her as she stepped in and closed the door behind her.

“Hey, darlin’,” she said. He smirked at the pet name.

“Come here,” he instructed as he faced her. Y/N walked over to him, her hands clenching at her sides. “Just relax, Y/N,” he chuckled at the tense look on her face. His hands ran up her arms and massaged her shoulders. “If you’re still not sure we don’t have to.”

“No, no I want to,” Y/N said quickly. “I’m not sure…what to do now.”

“How about we start from where we left off earlier?” Bucky suggested, his fingers moving towards the buttons on her dress.

“Okay,” she whispered as she nodded. She watched him unbutton her dress all the way down until she could slip out of it. When she was in her undergarments she helped him unbutton and unstrap everything until she was naked in front of him. Bucky admired her, his eyes raking over every curve and dimple. His scrutiny made her shy and she started trying to cover herself.

“No, sweetheart,” he pushed her hands away from her chest. “You’re beautiful.”

He led her over to the bed and had her sit down on the edge. “I’m going to take these off, alright?” he asked, hooking his fingers under the top rim of his underwear. Y/N nodded. He stepped back a little and slipped them down his legs until he stood bare in front of her. Y/N stared at him wide eyed. Y/N had seen a few penises on accident before as some men were leaving a creek after a swim, and thought it an odd appendage. But those men didn’t compare to Bucky in size or length.

She didn’t know why but her mouth started watering and she wanted to touch it. “May I?” she asked, her hand slowly reaching forward.

“Yeah,” Bucky said, stepping back towards her until he was standing between her legs. She touched it with her finger first, running it up his length and down again, just getting used to the feel of it. She then wrapped her fingers around him, holding his cock gently in her hand, noting how small her hand looked compared to it. His cock started to harden then, jumping a little.

“Is that what happens when it’s ready?” Y/N asked innocently, looking up at him.

“Yes,” Bucky breathed. “It’s, uh, getting excited.”

Y/N giggled at that. Bucky covered her hand on his cock with his hand and started to make her move her hand, showing her what to do. “That’s what helps it get harder…ah,” he gasped as she gripped it a little harder. “Not too hard, sweetheart.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Is that all?”

“Well, it’s also nice when, uh, when it’s sucked on,” Bucky let go of her hand and let her keep tugging on him, her hand getting used to the movement.

“Suck on it? How do you even put your whole mouth on it?” she asked incredulously. Bucky’s smirk widened.

“You sure know how to make a guy feel special, sweetheart,” Bucky praised her. “You don’t have to, it’s just something that feels nice.”

Y/N took it as a challenge and leaned forward. She kissed the tip of it, making him gasp again. She opened her mouth and licked it from the tip to the base of it and back.

“Shit, sweetheart, that’s good,” Bucky’s eyes shut tight as he tried not to thrust.

Y/N opened her mouth wider until she could wrap her lips around the tip, then gave him a suck. Bucky’s knees almost buckled as he steadied himself with his hands on her shoulders. She gained confidence as she started moving back and forth with him in her mouth, sucking and licking his cock slowly, getting used to how it felt on her tongue.

“Fuck, that feels amazing,” Bucky moaned, his fingers now skimming along her jaw as she widened her mouth as much as she could, taking as much of him in her mouth until he hit the back of her throat. She gagged lightly, one hand now coming to grip his thigh, the other still moving along the part of his cock she couldn’t get in her mouth. “You’re a natural sweetheart, goddamn.”

Bucky involuntarily thrust into her mouth, making her jaw close. “Oooh, no teeth. I’m sorry, that was my fault,” he said as he gripped her jaw. “It just feels so good. You’re so good at this.” Y/N hummed at his praise, the vibrations on his cock making him shiver. “God, if you keep doing that I won’t last,” he muttered and then pulled himself slowly out of her mouth. Y/N’s eyes were a little teary from gagging, but she smiled up at him when he looked down at her.

“Fuck,” he whispered as he dipped down to kiss her. He helped her move up the bed until they were both on it comfortably. He settled between her legs as he started kissing and sucking on her breasts like he did earlier. While one of his hands was playing with one breast his other hand slipped down to her lower lips, searching for that special spot again. She was already wet, making Bucky groan as his fingers slipped until his middle finger found her clit, rubbing it in quick circles and then dipping that finger deep inside her. Y/N’s hips bucked against his hand as she broke the kiss.

“Oh god,” she sighed, her hands running down to his chest. She scratched her nails down until her fingers found his nipples and gave them small flicks like he’d done to hers.

“AH, shit, sweetheart,” Bucky’s hips trembled. “You ready to try?”

“Yes,” Y/N pleaded, the ache in her core to be filled by something getting worse by the minute.

“I’ll go slow,” Bucky promised as he positioned himself between her legs. He held his cock, giving himself a few pumps with his hand, before he lined himself up. He pushed forward just enough until the tip was pushing inside. Y/N tensed at the intrusion, which was much bigger than his fingers. “It’s okay, relax,” Bucky said as he stopped, letting her get used to the first bit. “Just breathe.” He kissed her again, distracting her from the pressure. He pushed about an inch further in, making Y/N grip his shoulders. “You okay?” he asked, watching her face as he pulled away from the kiss.

“Yeah,” Y/N sighed.

Bucky reached his hand back down between them and started rubbing her clit again. The distraction was enough for her to feel more pleasure rather than pain, and she squirmed as the tension deep within her started to build. As he flicked her clit he pushed further, getting closer to being fully seated. Right as she was beginning to reach her first orgasm he pushed all the way in, making her arch her back as her pussy fluttered around him.

“Ah! Shit! Fuck!” she cried as her fingers dug into his back as she came. Bucky willed himself not to cum, as good as it felt with her squeezing him.

“Doing so good, sweetheart, taking me so well,” Bucky praised her as she calmed down. “I’m going to start moving, okay?”

“Please,” Y/N moaned, the fullness making her lightheaded.

Bucky smiled and slowly pulled back, then watched her face as he thrust back in. Y/N’s mouth fell open in a silent moan, her hands slipping to grip his upper arms as her legs hooked themselves behind his back. The angle helped him slide a little deeper, making her whimper when he hit a certain spot.

Bucky kissed her again as he went a little faster, always checking to make sure Y/N wasn’t in pain. “You feel so good, sweetheart,” he kissed all over her face. “How do you feel?”

“So fuuulllllll…” Y/N whined. “Don’t stop.”

He felt her flutter around him again, making him drop his head to her shoulder. “Fuck, you about to cum again, Y/N? You like it when I’m so deep inside you like this?” He punctuated his words with a harder thrust.

“OH GOD, keep doing that,” Y/N cried, looking down to watch him pull in and out of her. She unhooked her legs so she could plant her feet down on the bed.

“Goddammit, yes ma’am,” Bucky smirked as he angled himself up a bit and then started pounding into her. The sound of their mingled breaths and moans and the skin slapping on skin filled the room. Bucky kissed, licked or sucked every inch of skin he could reach as he increased the pace. Y/N’s moans became higher and higher pitched as Bucky kept hitting that one spot deep inside.

“Buck…it’s happening again,” she gasped, her hands flying up to grip the pillows above her head. “I’m…gonna…”

“Go ahead, Y/N, I’m right there, right…there! Shit…I love you,” Bucky growled into her ear as he hooked one of her legs over his hip.

“Love…you…” she said, and then she screamed his name as she came again. This one was even bigger than before. Bucky felt like he was locked inside of her as she came, squeezing so hard like she was literally milking it out of him as he came with her. Her body shook and her legs stiffened as he filled her up, a string of expletives and praises falling from his lips as he kissed her again and again.

When Y/N felt like she came back to herself she opened her eyes and found Bucky already staring at her. He gave her a small smile and nuzzled her nose with his nose. “How did that feel, sweetheart?” he asked, a little mirth underlying the tone of his voice.

Y/N giggled. “Hm…I don’t know.” Bucky’s eyes narrowed at her. “I might have to try it again, see how I feel.”

Bucky scrunched his nose at her joke and thrust inside of her again. Her eyes fluttered shut at the feeling of him leaking out of her as he brushed against the deep spot inside her again. “That’s what I thought, you tease,” Bucky chuckled.

“It was amazing, Bucky. I get it now,” Y/N sighed.

Bucky huffed a laugh, kissing her cheeks and nose and then her mouth. “I love you, sweetheart.”

“I love you, darlin’,” she whispered.

***

10 months later

“I got here as soon as I could,” Dr. Banner panted as he ran up towards the house.

“Hurry!” Steve pushed him through the door, directing him to the bedroom upstairs.

The men were all gathered in the main house, sitting or pacing around the front sitting room, waiting anxiously. Today was the day. Another loud scream shook the house, making Luis cry harder as Diego and Joaquin comforted him and continued praying.

Another hour went by when the screams died down. They all stood stock still, straining to hear anything. Then… “wwaahhh!” A baby cry. They all burst into tears, some of them whooping and singing a celebratory song, dancing around the furniture.

Y/N was exhausted, but it was finally over. At the foot of the bed stood Bucky, holding their newborn baby. Steve was at the head of the bed next to Y/N, brushing away the sweat on her face and congratulating her. Dr. Banner was still between her legs, cleaning up the afterbirth and making sure everything was safe and in order.

“What is it?” Y/N sighed, her tired eyes drooping as her body started to relax.

Bucky looked at her with wet eyes. He wasn’t one to cry normally, so it was a strange sight for her to see. He walked over to the opposite side of Steve and sat next to her on the bed. He leaned down and set the baby on Y/N’s chest.

“It’s a girl,” Bucky cried, adjusting the blanket around her as he smiled adoringly at his two girls.

“A girl,” Y/N breathed, gazing at the tiny being. She was pink and looked squished, and yet Y/N fell in love with her instantaneously.

“She’s beautiful,” Steve stared in wonderment at the baby. “Congratulations, you two.”

“Thank you,” Bucky smiled at his friend, squeezing Steve’s arm across the bed.

“What will we name her?” Bucky asked Y/N as he laid next to her while Dr. Banner started cleaning up his medicine bag.

“What do you think of Luisa?” Y/N asked, giving him a hopeful smile.

“That’s perfect,” Bucky agreed.

“Luisa…Juniper. Luisa Juniper Barnes?”

Bucky’s lips quivered as he watched his baby squirm in his wife’s arms. “Yes. My Luisa.”

A few hours later once everything and everyone was cleaned up Y/N came down the stairs with their baby in her arms and Bucky and Steve right behind her. All the men were still there, and upon seeing who came down all immediately stood up and watched her with wide smiles. “Mis amores (my loves), this is my daughter, Luisa Juniper Barnes.”

They all gasped at hearing her first name and looked at Luis, who had to sit down from being overcome with emotions. They each approached her and gave her hugs, kisses, and greeted the baby, congratulating her and Bucky. A little later she let Steve hold her, which reduced him to a cooing and crying mess. Y/N looked around at all the people in her life. Luis, Diego, Joaquin, Santiago, Emiliano, Jorge, Pedro, Oscar, Steve, Bucky, and now her little Luisa. She thanked whatever great spirit was out in the world that helped in joining her and Bucky together to create this beautiful life she lived.

**picture is from Pinterest, A.I. generated, so no known "artist" or "creator"**

@wintrsoldrluvr @vicmc624 @itvy5601 @mrs-bucky-barnes-73

I'm so glad so many of you liked this one! I'm just on a roll writing all the AUs and ideas that I've wanted to see written about Bucky. If any of you have requests or ideas, for Bucky or maybe some other characters, please let me know. The next one is a priest!Bucky fic and I'm excited for y'all to read it. Love you!!! <3

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes x reader #marvel #smut #cowboy!bucky barnes x reader #cowboy!bucky barnes #wild west #chapter 5 #final chapter

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justherbert10 · 6 months ago

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Chance Meetings

This is my first story! enjoy!

word count: ~3400

The air in the bustling press room of the SoFi Stadium is charged with electricity as the LA Chargers celebrate their latest victory. Justin, the star quarterback, stands tall, his blue eyes scanning the sea of faces, looking for a moment of reprieve from the storm of flashing cameras and eager reporters. His gaze locks onto a figure that seems to glow amidst the chaos—a young woman with y/e/c and y/h/c hair, her smile as radiant as the setting sun. Y/n, a rising star in the world of entertainment and a surprise guest due to her friendship with Formula 1 legend Lewis Hamilton, feels the same magnetic pull. As they are introduced, their hands meet in a firm but gentle handshake, a silent promise of friendship, and perhaps more, in a world that often feels scripted.

"Justin, you make dodging defensive lines look like a cakewalk compared to dodging these paparazzi!" She playfully nudges his arm, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Ah, you've got to learn the art of the juke, Y/n," he says with a wink. "But I'd say you're pretty adept at navigating through crowds with that charm of yours." He nods towards the group of star-struck fans that had gathered around her earlier. The corner of Y/n's mouth twitches upwards in a knowing smile as she leans closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "You think I'm good? You should see me when I'm dodging the plot twists in my next movie script."

Justin chuckles, the sound resonating deep in his chest. "Now that's a game I wouldn't mind watching you play," he says, his eyes twinkling with amusement. He glances around the room, noticing the way people's eyes keep darting in their direction. The whispers and glances from the other attendees don't go unnoticed. "You know, it's crazy how quickly the spotlight finds us," he muses, a hint of wistfulness in his voice. "I miss the days when I could just grab a burger without someone asking for a selfie." He sighs, looking down at his hand wrapped around a bottle of water. "But I guess that's the price we pay for chasing our dreams, right?"

"It definitely has its perks," Y/n agrees, her smile wistful. "But sometimes I just want to be Y/n from Y/h/t again, you know?" She takes a sip of her drink, her eyes scanning the room before returning to Justin's. "So, tell me, how does a small-town boy from Oregon become the heartthrob of LA?"

"Well," Justin says, leaning back slightly, "It's a long story, but it all started with a love for the game and a father who believed in me more than anyone else." He pauses, his gaze drifting momentarily before refocusing on Y/n. "But let's not talk about me. What brings you to the world of football, Y/n?"

"Ah, the world of football," she echoes, her eyes lighting up with enthusiasm. "It's all thanks to Lewis. He's like a father figure to me, and he's been introducing me to his own brand of speed and competition." She smiles warmly at the mention of her mentor. "But honestly, I've always had a soft spot for sports. It's like watching a live-action movie with the most unpredictable plot twists."

Justin nods, understanding the allure of the unpredictable. "Sounds like you've got a taste for the thrill," he says, leaning in slightly, his voice a mix of curiosity and admiration. "You ever get the chance to throw a ball around, or are you strictly an audience kind of girl?" His words are teasing, but there's a genuine interest in his eyes. He's used to people seeing him as the poster boy for the sport, not a regular guy who enjoys a good toss.

"Oh, you'd be surprised," Y/n says, her smile widening as she recounts tales of her impromptu football sessions with Lewis. "He's been trying to teach me the basics, and I've got to say, I'm not half bad." She mimics throwing a perfect spiral, her hand twisting gracefully through the air. "But let's not tell anyone, I wouldn't want to ruin your reputation."

Justin laughs, the sound rich and genuine. "Your secret's safe with me, Y/n. Besides, I've seen enough Hollywood magic to know that anything's possible with the right coach." He leans in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "And if you ever need some tips from the real deal, you know where to find me."

The connection between them is palpable, a silent understanding that they share a common ground of chasing dreams and navigating fame. Y/n's eyes dance with excitement at the prospect of learning from a pro.

"You know, I might just take you up on that," she says, her voice filled with the excitement of a child offered a secret treat. "But for now, let's enjoy the rest of the night. Maybe we can find a quiet spot where we don't have to whisper over the din of the party?" She glances around the room, her gaze lingering on the crowded space.

"I know just the place," Justin says, his eyes lighting up with a mischievous glint. He motions for her to follow him with a subtle nod of his head. They weave through the throng of people, his hand occasionally brushing against the small of her back, guiding her gently through the sea of bodies.

They arrive at a secluded patio area, the cool evening breeze carrying the faint scent of jasmine from the nearby garden. The noise of the party fades into the background, leaving only the distant murmur of the ocean and the occasional cheer from the die-hard fans watching the post-game analysis on the outdoor screens. Justin pulls out a chair for her, his movements as smooth as the passing plays he's known for. As they sit, their legs brush against each other, sending a shiver of anticipation up Y/n's spine. "This is more my speed," he says with a genuine smile, looking around the quiet space.

Y/n's eyes widen in delight as she takes in the serene surroundings. The twinkling lights strung above cast a soft glow over the patio, creating a cozy haven amidst the cacophony of the event. "It's like stepping into a different world," she whispers, her voice filled with wonder. She runs her fingers along the cool metal of the chair, feeling the gentle vibrations of the distant cheers. As she sits, she crosses her legs, the fabric of her dress whispering against her skin. The sensation of his hand briefly on her back lingers, sending a warmth that spreads through her body. She returns his smile, her heart fluttering at the kindness behind the gesture. "Thank you for this," she says, her eyes meeting his, the blue depths of his irises reminding her of the Pacific she'd seen in photos from his hometown.

Justin pulls out a chair for Y/n with a chivalrous grace that seems almost out of place amidst the flashy glamour of the event. He can't help but feel a swell of pride at her approval, the corners of his mouth curling up into a genuine smile. As they sit, the energy between them shifts, becoming more intimate, more real. He leans back in his chair, the leather creaking softly under his weight, and takes a deep breath, savoring the scent of jasmine that fills the air. "It's the least I could do," he says, his voice low and earnest. "I know how overwhelming these things can get. Sometimes you just need a break from the madness." His gaze holds hers for a moment longer than necessary, the silence stretching out like a tightrope between them. Then, with a shrug of his broad shoulders, he cracks open a beer, the cap flying off with a satisfying hiss. "So, what's your favorite thing about LA?"

"The people," Y/n says without hesitation, her eyes lingering on the horizon where the stadium lights bleed into the night sky. "Everyone's got a story, a dream they're chasing. It's like the whole city's alive with possibility." She takes a sip of her drink, the cool liquid a welcome contrast to the warmth of the evening. "But I miss the quiet nights back home, where you can hear the crickets and the rustle of leaves." She looks at him, curiosity piqued. "What about you, Justin? What do you miss most about Oregon?"

"The rain," Justin says with a nostalgic smile, his eyes reflecting the distant twinkle of the stars. "There's something about the way it sounds on the roof, the smell of wet earth, and the quiet that follows. It's like the world's hushing itself so you can hear your own thoughts." He takes a swig of his beer, the foam clinging to his upper lip for a moment before he wipes it away with the back of his hand. "But LA has its moments. The ocean, the palm trees...it's got its own kind of magic."

The conversation flows easily between them, their shared experiences of leaving small towns for the big city creating a bond that feels both familiar and exciting. The sound of their laughter intertwines with the distant murmur of the party, creating a symphony of shared secrets and new beginnings.

The moment is shattered by the sudden appearance of Joey, his towering frame silhouetted by the light spilling from the party inside. His boisterous laughter fills the night air as he claps Justin on the shoulder, a knowing smirk playing across his face. "Well, well, well," he says, his eyes dancing with mischief. "Looks like someone's finally decided to take my advice and snag themselves a date." Justin rolls his eyes, but the warmth in his cheeks betrays his embarrassment. Y/n laughs, the sound like the tinkling of glass bells, and shakes her head. "You two really are like brothers," she says, playfully swatting at Joey's hand. "Could you at least pretend to be subtle?" Joey just chuckles, his eyes flicking between the two of them before he settles into the chair next to Justin, his grin unabashed. "So, what's the story here?" he asks, leaning back and crossing his arms over his chest. "Or is it too early for me to start planning the wedding?"

Justin's cheeks redden slightly as he tries to brush off Joey's teasing. "It's not a date," he mumbles, his voice gruff. But the smile that tugs at his lips gives him away. Y/n giggles, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves," she says, playfully nudging Joey's arm. "We're just two friends enjoying a quiet night amidst the madness." Joey winks at her, his blond hair catching the light. "Friends, huh?" He leans back in his chair, a smug look on his face. "Well, if you say so. But if you ever need a best man, I'm your guy." The air between Justin and Y/n crackles with unspoken tension as they share a look that speaks volumes about the depth of their connection.

The playful banter between Justin and Joey brings a blush to Y/n's cheeks, but she quickly recovers, her laughter as bright as the stars above. She playfully swats at Joey's arm. "You're terrible," she says, though the smile on her face tells a different story. "But I'm surprised you noticed. Usually, you're too busy breaking defensive lines to care about my social life."

Joey's grin stretches from ear to ear as he takes a seat next to Justin, his eyes gleaming with mischief. He nudges Justin with his elbow, his voice a playful rumble. "Finally," he says, waggling his eyebrows. "I've been waiting for you to find someone who can keep up with your fast pace, both on and off the field." He winks at Y/n, his blue eyes twinkling with a hint of teasing. "And let me tell you, Justin here is the king of slow plays. But I see the way you two look at each other, and it's like watching a highlight reel of a perfect game." He laughs, slapping his knee. "I'd say it's about time you scored a touchdown in the love department, buddy."

Justin's eyes dart to Y/n, his cheeks reddening further. He playfully shoves Joey's shoulder, trying to deflect the attention. "You're one to talk, Joey," he counters, his voice tight with a mix of embarrassment and amusement. "Remember that time you tried to woo the mayor's daughter with your 'world-famous' pancake recipe?" The memory brings a round of laughter to the trio, breaking the tension.

"Oh no," Y/n gasps dramatically, her eyes widening. "What happened?" She leans in, eager for the juicy details, her curiosity piqued by the sudden shift in the conversation.

Justin's eyes widen in mock horror as Joey crashes into the conversation, his cheeks flushing a deeper shade of red. He playfully swats at his friend's massive arm, trying to shoo him away like a pesky fly. "It's not a date," he protests, his voice a little too loud. His heart races in his chest as he feels the weight of Joey's words, the truth behind the teasing. But he can't deny the thrill that runs through him at the thought of it being true. He glances at Y/n, her laughter lighting up her face, and feels a warmth spread through him that has nothing to do with the beer. "You're just jealous because you can't handle a night without making headlines," he says, his voice tinged with affectionate sarcasm. Joey just laughs, not bothered in the slightest by the jab.

Y/n's laughter is like a summer breeze, light and airy, filling the quiet corner of the patio with a gentle warmth. She watches the playful banter between the two friends with an amused smile, her Y/e/c eyes sparkling. She's used to being the center of attention, but there's something refreshing about being part of this unscripted moment. When Joey finally takes a seat, his presence is like a warm embrace, reminding her of the camaraderie that comes with shared experiences. "So, you're the one who's been trying to play matchmaker," she says, tilting her head to the side as she assesses him with a playful glint in her eye. "What's your secret? Spill it, I want in on the action." She leans in conspiratorially, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass, her eyes darting between Joey and Justin, enjoying the blend of embarrassment and camaraderie between them.

Joey's laugh booms across the patio, the sound resonating with the easy comfort of an old friend who knows all the best stories. He leans back in his chair, his arms folded behind his head, a smug smile playing on his lips. "Secret?" He says, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "It's simple, really. I just know what a catch my boy here is." He nudges Justin with his elbow, the motion causing the chair to rock slightly. "And when I saw you two," he says, gesturing between them, "I knew it was game over."

The air thickens with the weight of Joey's words, and Justin's heart skips a beat. He clears his throat, trying to regain his composure, his eyes flickering to Y/n. Her smile is gentle, a knowing look in her eyes that suggests she sees right through their playful banter.

"Well, it's been quite the evening," Y/n says, glancing at her phone with a sigh. "But I've got an early call time tomorrow, and I can't let Hollywood's toughest director catch me yawning on set." She stands up, smoothing out her dress with a grace that belies the sudden sadness in her eyes. "Thank you for the escape, guys. It's been... refreshing." She looks at Justin, the unspoken understanding between them as palpable as the night air. "I'll see you around, Justin," she says, her voice a soft caress. "And Joey," she adds, her smile widening, "you keep him out of trouble, okay?"

"Oh, you bet I will," Joey says, his grin never faltering. He stands up as well, towering over both of them. "But you know me, I'm the king of stirring the pot." He winks at Y/n before slapping Justin on the back. "Take care, sweetheart," he says, his tone teasing but affectionate. "And don't let this guy sweet talk you into any crazy bets. He's got a silver tongue when he wants to."

Justin stands up with her, his hand instinctively reaching out to help her chair. "It's been a pleasure, Y/n," he says, his voice sincere, his eyes holding hers for a beat longer than necessary. "I hope our paths cross again soon." The gravity of his words hangs in the air, hinting at the connection that's grown between them in such a short time.

As Y/n says her goodbyes, Justin can't help but feel a pang of regret at their impromptu meeting coming to an end. He watches her slip away into the night, her laughter fading into the buzz of the party. His heart feels lighter than it has in a long time, and he knows that this isn't the last he'll see of her. With a nod to Joey, he gathers his things and heads home, his mind racing with thoughts of her smile, her wit, and the way her eyes lit up when she talked about her love for racing. The quiet of the night seems to amplify his longing as he navigates the city streets, the neon lights reflecting off his windshield like a kaleidoscope of their shared moments.

The party goes on without them, a cacophony of voices and music that now seems a bit hollow. As Y/n's silhouette retreats into the night, Justin can't shake the feeling that he's lost something precious. He says his goodnights to Joey with a forced smile and heads home, his thoughts swirling like a tornado around the charming girl. Her laughter echoes in his mind, her words of kindness and understanding resonating in his soul. The drive back to his beachfront apartment is a blur, the city lights a mere backdrop to the replay of their conversation. He parks his car in the garage, the engine's purr the only sound to break the silence. The cool ocean breeze whispers through the open windows, carrying the faint scent of jasmine from the patio. He can't stop thinking about her, his heart racing with excitement and a hint of fear that he might never find someone who truly gets him like she seems to.

The memory of Y/n's dress clinging to her curves plays on a loop in Justin's mind as he walks into his apartment, the quiet hum of the fridge the only company to his racing thoughts. He tries to shake off the image, but it lingers like the scent of her perfume on his shirt. He heads to the bathroom, the thought of her contagious energy making his pulse quicken.

As the steam fills the bathroom, Justin's thoughts drift back to the press of Y/n's body against his, the way her dress clung to her curves like a second skin. The memory sends a jolt of desire through him, and he can't help but let his hand wander, his fingertips grazing his abs as he imagines the softness of her touch. His hand moves lower, his thoughts spinning a web of passionate encounters, each more vivid than the last. The water pummels his back, a rhythmic beat that matches the tempo of his thoughts. He pictures her laugh, her eyes sparkling with mischief, and feels a sudden surge of arousal. He lets out a low groan, his hand moving faster as he gives in to the fantasy, the warm water a silent witness to his longing. The climax hits him like a wave, crashing over him and leaving him breathless, his heart pounding against his ribs. He leans heavily against the wall, the water now cold against his skin, as he comes back to reality with a gasp. It's not just physical desire; it's the connection they share that fuels his need for her. He turns off the shower, the silence ringing in his ears, feeling both satisfied and empty, knowing that the real thing would be nothing short of earth-shattering.

#justin herbert #justin herbert x reader #la chargers #football #nfl imagine #justin herbert imagine

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rebeccathenaturalist · 9 months ago

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Help Stop a Clearcut - Deadline May 17, 2024! Reblogs appreciated!

Hey, folks, got a time-sensitive request for y'all--even if you aren't a PNW resident, can you please put in a word to save the legacy/mature forest on Mothball Hill just outside Astoria, OR? Comments to NOT clearcut the forest on Mothball Hill can be sent to [email protected] and need to be received by 5pm Pacific Standard Time on May 17. Reblogs ALSO help!

As per this article:

"North Coast Communities for Watershed Protection requests your consideration and immediate action to help safeguard drinking water and residents’ health in rural neighborhoods east of Astoria. Written comments are needed by Friday, May 17, regarding ongoing and upcoming Oregon Department of Forestry timber harvests in Clatsop County. Anybody may submit a comment to ODF; you do not need to be a resident of Clatsop County. Please see below for more details.

Currently, the NCCWP Astoria Chapter is working to notify residents whose property is in close proximity to proposed 2025 ODF timber harvests in Clatsop County. On May 5, we surveyed Unit 2 of the Mothball Hill Harvest and met some of the concerned residents whose property is immediately adjacent to the timber sale. We are working with them closely.

Leading up to the May 17 deadline for comments about the ODF Annual Operations Plan (AOP), we are hoping to visit as many of these sites as possible — knocking on people’s doors directly adjacent to these potential timber harvests. Many people who live in these houses may not be aware that the forestland near their homes is scheduled to be clearcut and sprayed with a “cocktail” of pesticides. Our goal is to notify these homeowners and provide them with appropriate resources and support so that they can get involved and comment on the AOP before the opportunity ends. These clearcuts and pesticide applications may directly affect people’s health, livelihoods, recreational activities, and property values. Ultimately, they will adversely affect the quality and quantity of coastal drinking water by exacerbating the climate crisis, perpetuating drought, and increasing the risk of wildfires, landslides, and the runoff of sediment and pesticides into waterways.

Here’s a letter sent to community members, ODF, BoF, and Clatsop Co. officials from Darren Orange, a resident neighboring the Mothball Hill Harvest:

A request for your consideration and action,

The Oregon Department Of Forestry released their 2024 Annual Operations Plan and has selected a previously unmanaged, non-intentionally planted, natural “Legacy Forest” for CLEARCUT AND AERIAL SPRAY. The location is in Clatsop Forest Astoria District on “Mothball Hill” east of Astoria in the John Day estuary. This proposed clearcut will impact a previously unmanaged biodiverse forest with trees, and mycorrhizal networks well over 100 years old. The geographical location is extremely steep and the boundaries for cutting would push into the Columbia River at its northernmost point. Slide potential is high, threatening the railroad, and homes both on private drive Phil Rd., Highway 30, and Deer Valley Rd.

Located between Astoria, (2 miles to the west) and the Twilight Eagle Sanctuary (2 miles to the east) this rich habitat and watershed is home for bald eagles, beaver, blue heron, cougar, bobcat, coyotes, and waterways for native salmon. The year-round streams run directly into the John Day and Columbia Rivers. The location will be seen on Highway 30, and visible from both rivers as a monstrous scab.

The home and hobby garden I share with my wife borders 300′ of Clatsop Forest. Neon survey markers now weigh heavily, glaring at us 20′ from our kitchen window. Trees marked for cut purposely planted by homeowners over 50 years ago as property lines now marked for harvest. We watch: protected migratory birds, marine birds, bald eagles, blue heron, osprey, and others. We’ve listened to the call of bobcats and coyotes from their resting and breeding dens. We’ve seen beavers in the estuary. Salmon and crayfish are commercially harvested here. The rich native flora and mycelium network show the health of the forest and offer many plant medicines. This is just a window of the species we see everyday.

The impact and damage on this ecosystem is vast. The unintended consequences of aerial spray, blowdown due to compromised forest integrity, slides, and aesthetic harm to private property value, boating/kayaking and tourism, commercial and recreational fishing are all part of the cost vs minimal $1.1 million dollar profit.

PUBLIC COMMENTS ARE ENCOURAGED, AND CLOSE VERY SOON ON MAY 17TH!

I’m asking the greater community to please write and pass along your concerns to the Oregon Department of Forestry about this clearcut timber sale in one of the oldest stands in the area. This stand has not been managed or replanted so it represents a key forest in its health and history. I ask that ODF look into alternative locations such as managed/planted forests with less impactful methods that follow the soon to be Federal Habitat Conservation Act that would preserve older stands. I ask that ODF follow their own Key Performance Measures of complex layered forest structure. I ask ODF NOT TO MOVE FORWARD WITH THIS TIMBER SALE.

Sincerely,

Darren Orange

local resident of 25 years

business owner

property owner

Email – [email protected]

interactive map

#clearcuts #forests #old growth forest #legacy forest #environment #conservation #ecology #nature #trees #PNW #pacific Northwest #Oregon #US centric

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babybluewiki · 5 months ago

Text

lesbian malevolence in oregon

1: drifting through my conscious with my lazy boss

masterlist

cw: descriptions of blood and death and like a few mentions of weed

6:46 AM, October 15th, 1996.

An eerie atmosphere clouded around a small bathroom. In walls painted with ugly floral designs, different colors brushed all around the room in an overstimulating environment. A haze covered the small window looking out to the street of the neighborhood of which the house itself was from. A potent smell emitted from the body of a victim with blood rolled out onto his shirt, his legs, his pants around his ankles and the floor in front of him; the pattern of which started from his throat. With the exception of his eyes rolled back until his irises were barely visible and his hands completely empty, it would be safe for Lee to assume it was a suicide.

And just like every premeditated murder, there’s always a but. And this was a very big but.

The blood pattern in front of the victim was clean; no sign of interruption at all. No clue that someone slit this man’s throat for him, except for the fact that no weapon was seen around him; that is, because no one took the time to look long enough around the bathroom at six in the morning with the sun just barely coming up. Lee’s eyes eventually adjusted to the dimness of the bathroom, searching for any sign of aggression or violence against the victim; no bruises, bludgeoning; no other cuts besides the one just over his esophagus. The slit was rough, small indents in his skin were seen, showing signs that the culprit used a rough or dull weapon. She took another look around the room for anything that could be used as a weapon. Nothing was what she found, but she wasn’t looking long enough.

“Forensics estimate that the time of death was at one-fourteen this morning,” a deeper, masculine voice called out from behind Lee. She didn’t bother turning her head to see Agent Reuben behind her, standing in a maroon button down darkened by the lack of light and black slacks, looking the victim over with a leisurely glance. His eyes landed on Lee crouching down in front of him. Reuben narrowed his eyes slightly.

“And if you haven’t noticed, the blood pattern is perfectly clean, no signs that anyone was ever in here. No dirt remains for any footprints to be found, meaning the killer was presumably making their way around the house with their socks on, which leaves us with the question of whether they ever wore shoes in the first place or not. No fingerprints on his skin or any of his clothes, either.”

Reuben inhaled deeply, bringing a hand to scratch his forehead, brushing his dark ginger bangs out of the way. He took a quick glance around the room and noticed a flower sitting on the sink. He took a step over to it, brushing his suit jacket back before reaching out to grab the flower with his gloved fingers. He took an evidence bag from the corner of the sink and dropped it in there, examining the flower from the outside.

“So we’re dealing with them again.”

“Sir?”

Lee turned her head to look up at Reuben, still crouching down in front of the victim. She watched as his curly ginger hair swished in the air when his head turned to face her, catching her lifted eyebrow and her slightly squinted eyes from trying to see in the dim light of the room.

“I’ll tell you back at the Bureau,” he inhales sharply, his fingers pressing the top of the bag to seal it shut. Reuben looked back at Lee and cocked his head to signal her to follow him out of the bathroom, stepping over the remaining blood splatter on the floor and out into the hallway.

The carpet underneath Lee’s feet was an ugly green color, like murky swamp water or dirty dish water. It looked like the rest of the house had been untouched; no footprints on the carpet to trace. One of the paintings on the wall next to her looked slightly tilted; her eyes narrowed at it as she stared blankly for a moment, stopping in the middle of the hallway.

“Harker,” Reuben called and cocked his head again from where he was standing halfway down the stairs. Lee quickly turned her head back to him, watching him turn away from her to saunter back down the steps to the first floor which was even cleaner than the second.

The drive back to the Bureau was silent. Neither Lee nor Reuben said a word, probably from the result of their drowsiness. Her work as an FBI agent was already long enough, working on stressful cases and in all types of gritty environments to leave an imprint of dirty scenes on her brain to never forget them. They kept Lee awake at night, and she’d make the insomnia worse by opening old files and looking through them again in hopes of wearing herself out, only for her to look up at her clock and realize it was nearly time for her to get ready for her shift. She would sigh and stuff the file away in a cabinet in her room with the image of the words printed on the paper lingering in her mind.

Agent Reuben’s office was like taking a step into the 1950’s; a long, mahogany brown desk at the front of the room presumably made with real wood, a stack of files at the corner of it with a big black leather chair behind it. The blinds on one half of the office were pulled down; the other half had the blinds pulled down partially to let the natural sunlight pool onto the wooden floor and the rug over it. On the wall behind him which separated the windows with the blinds had a big framed photo of himself, grinning from ear to ear with his pearly whites and his dark ginger hair. Three file cabinets on the wall congruent to the wall behind his desk collected dust with the bottom drawer on one of them slightly pulled out. Three more file cabinets on the wall opposite of them looked newer, probably safe for Lee to assume he’d gotten them within the last few months.

Reuben sat comfortably in his leather office chair, his ankle crossed over his knee and his elbows on the arms of his chair. He leaned back slightly, a sign of his leisurely and lazy demeanor from his lack of sleep. He blinked once, twice and thrice, trying to adjust to the bright sunlight shining onto his left of the floor and beaming brighter than usual.

“You solved that Longlegs case a few years back, didn’t you?” Lee thought it was a horrible way to start his discussion about the case ahead of her. The image of Kobble bashing his face against the table, his teeth and his nose falling from his face flashing in the back of her head. She nodded anyway, pursing her lips tightly.

Reuben nodded back, seeming pleased with her gesture as a dose of his own self confidence rushed into his veins, his face lighting up slightly. He raised his hands and pushed the pads of his fingertips together, tapping them gently as he pondered how he’d talk to her next.

“And you’re familiar with figuring out patterns, yes?”

“More or less,” Lee answered with a throaty voice. She quietly cleared the back of her throat, avoiding eye contact with Reuben as she looked around his office. Her eyes landed on the clock on the wall to her right.

7:33 AM.

Reuben reached into a drawer of his desk, pulling it open and swiftly dropping a small bag on the surface. It was the evidence bag he’d collected earlier with the flower; a Dahlia, to be exact. Lee looked at the pink petals flattened from the weight of his pocket and from dehydration and eventually withering away. She paid close attention to it, looking for any sort of clue that could maybe be used in this case.

“That’s a present the killer left for us this morning.”

“A Dahlia, sir,” Lee averted her gaze from the flower and to Reuben, catching him inspecting the look on her face.

“You know your flowers, Harker,” he commented as he rested his hands in his lap, leaning further back in his office chair. “You remember how I mentioned a them earlier to insinuate we’ve dealt with someone familiar before?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well,” Reuben clicked his tongue as he let out an exasperated sigh, his face falling and looking more dim. He looked around the room, his eyes landing on the left wall and on one of his file cabinets. His face scrunched up slightly, his eyebrows furrowing and the bridge of his nose bunching up. “While you were out working on whatever it was you might’ve been working on in the past few months, I’ve been stuck with this…botanist, I’ve concluded.”

“What makes you say botanist?” Lee lifted her eyebrow, tilting her head lower as she sat up in her chair. She shifted closer to the edge of her seat, watching and inspecting Reuben’s face as he thought of what to say next.

“Background information first,” Reuben rolled his office chair closer, leaning his elbows on his desk. Lee moved her head back and away from his face so as to not get too close for comfort, and leaned backwards until her back touched the back of the chair.

“Murders have been reported frequently ever since May of this year. All of them had different structures, different patterns, different styles. One of them would look inexperienced with over fifty messy stab wounds to the victim's chest, and the following report would be a dismembered body strung together using long blades of grass. Actual reports, by the way.”

Lee felt a weight drop on her shoulders as they slumped slightly. All the gritty details Reuben gave her made his office seem more uncomfortable, the air in the room heating up and stiffening with tension. Reuben could feel it too, with his own shoulders tensed, his muscles pushing through the sleeves of his red button down and flexing to remind himself to move in some sort of way.

“It would be safe to assume all of them are done by different people, if it weren’t for the average time lapse between reports, which is between a week and two weeks, and the fact that all of them have some sort of plant left behind. A leaf, a flower, sometimes just a flower petal. No set pattern for the victim; we’ve tried to connect dots and try and pinpoint who they target, but it’s all random. We’ve had people of all sorts of demographic backgrounds; store clerks, doctors, shelf keepers, librarians, retail managers, teachers.”

Reuben took a pause to take a breath; all of the images of the different reports he listed flashing across his brain like a light being switched on and off. The blood, the gore, the positions the bodies were left in, the kind of gifts being left behind from the culprit. He felt his stomach churn as he brought his hand up to scratch his neck with his finger.

“No set pattern between any of them. Man, woman, old, young, criminal record, no record at all, bachelor’s degree, people with their GED. It’s like they’re toying with us.”

“About the plants, sir,” Lee cut him off, tilting her head as her face shifted. Reuben could see the gears turning in her brain for a split second, and then he couldn’t find any reason to focus on the flowers other than the fact the culprit had a widespread knowledge on botany.

“About the plants?”

“Do you notice any sort of pattern in the plants left behind?” Lee looked back down at the Dahlia on the surface of Reuben’s desk. He narrowed his eyes slightly in confusion.

“I don’t…” he trails off as he watches Lee’s gaze fixate on the flower. He tries to piece together what she could be thinking, trying to see what she could see from just a single flower on his desk. For now she couldn’t see anything with just one piece of evidence in front of her.

“Do you still have the plants? Or at least have their names written down?”

“That, I do have,” Reuben lifted his eyebrows as he got up all too quickly from his seat. The swiftness with which his legs stood up from the leather gave Lee the impression that he was looking for a chance to show off that he was taking on so many murder reports at once. It didn’t impress her.

Reuben sauntered across his office to the file cabinets, standing in front of the outermost cabinet and pulled open the top drawer. His fingers quickly sifted through the manilla folders to collect the number of files about the current case he had, his big hand gripping them and pulling them out all at once and leaving a huge chunk of space in the drawer. He walked back to his desk, setting the pile of files on the surface and sat back down in his chair, presenting it to Lee.

“That’s all from the same person,” Reuben explained, looking the pile up and down. “A total of twenty-one weeks and one day, fourteen murder cases, two leaves left behind, twelve flowers.”

He looked back at Lee, watching her stare at the pile. He watched as she took a deep inhale, her eyes flitting between the stacks of papers separated by folders and multicolored tabs with photos stuck between them. She looked back at Reuben with a look in her eyes that was silently asking if she could look through them.

“They’re yours to dig through. Look at whatever you need,” Reuben stood up from his chair again, popping his thumb as he walked over to the door. He grabbed his jacket from the coat rack and slipped it over his shoulders. “I still have a few of the flowers left in evidence bags. You can look through those as well.”

Reuben opened the door and stood in the doorway, turning back to look at Lee, catching her taking the file from the top and looking through it. He exhaled quietly as he watched her flip through papers—autopsy reports, scene descriptions.

“What else do they have in common, sir?” Lee called out as she looked at an autopsy report in front of her, her eyes scanned the paper a number of times. Reuben would assume she was looking at it on a molecular level from how closely she held the paper to her face.

“Well…other than the plants, the times of death all seem to be during any given minute of the one o’clock hour in the morning. There’s no given order.”

Lee let out an exhale of her own as her shoulders slumped again. She closed the file and looked through another one, examining the autopsy report for that one. Like Reuben said, the time of death was recorded at 1:27 AM. As she suspected, it was labeled as a premeditated murder, just like all the other files beneath it.

While Reuben left to do whatever it was he said he was doing (she wasn’t paying attention to him), Lee took the remaining plants in evidence bags that weren’t withering away and spread them across his desk in order of the date they were found. The rest of the plants which had already died and were rendered unidentifiable she found the names of in the files and wrote them down on sticky notes she stole from Reuben’s drawer. She stood there in front of the desk and examined the plants ahead of her. No pattern was present; no specific type of plant pattern was present. One of the plants was a hemp leaf tightly sealed in the plastic which left her perplexed as her fingers subconsciously picked the evidence bag up by the corner. She held it close to her face, her eyes narrowing slightly.

On a more neutral note, the sky had cleared up outside. The sun was out and shining almost blindingly, making it irritating for Reuben to look straight on the road. His car window was rolled down, letting the cool October breeze blow through his 1977 Impala, blowing in his hair and cooling his skin. A pleased smile graced his face; the weather pleased him so much that he even rested an arm on his windowsill, his elbow hanging out with one hand on the steering wheel.

Reuben’s gaze landed on an old diner just a little bit up ahead on the corner of LaPoars street, with glass doors and foggy windows of the humid air. The parking lot was empty, as he would’ve expected for arriving at 7:45 in the morning. The diner was open during almost the whole day, save for closing at 10 and opening at 6 the next day and happy hour on Saturdays and staying open until midnight.

His car pulled into the parking lot, parking right in front of the twin glass doors and showcasing the interior. Reuben swiftly stepped out of his car and walked over to the door in seemingly just three steps, taking such long strides with his long legs in a hurry to feed himself. The cold air of the diner hit his face like a gust of a snowstorm. For a moment Reuben couldn’t think why he felt like he was freezing half to death in there until he felt the humidity of the outside air on his shoulders.

No one was behind the counter just yet, extending across the front of the room with blue stools all along it. The floor ahead of Reuben was checkered black and white; booths and tables all lined up in arrays across the room in a horizontal line. The booths lined up against the walls with two bigger booths at the corners. A good use of space, Reuben always thought to himself each time he went there, which was quite frequently. It was easier to just stop by and grab something from the diner on his way home after a long shift rather than to wearily make himself something with energy he didn’t have.

Someone peeked their head out from behind the counter, their eyes looking around the room before landing on Reuben standing in the middle of it. Their face relaxed once they saw a familiar figure ahead of them. Reuben couldn’t imagine why for a moment that the person behind the counter would be surprised. He hadn’t processed the bell ringing when he pushed the door open.

“Hey there, Agent Reuben,” a feminine voice called out, which belonged to the head of black hair peeking out from the counter. Reuben heard a quiet rustling of paper where the voice was at and then it stopped then they stood up and straightened their posture. Reuben fixed his gaze on the woman behind the counter, fixing her blue apron over her white shirt, flattening it out and fixing the wrinkles. Her eyes were noticeably squinted; she would look high if it weren’t for the fact she was probably tired.

“Riley,” Reuben answered as he sauntered towards the counter. She leaned her forearms on the edge of the counter with Reuben mirroring her, their faces close to each other as they maintained eye contact for a few moments. He inspected her face, specifically her eyes and the slight red tint to them. He smirked before gently tapping his hand against the surface of the counter.

“Breakfast as usual for me. Oh, and a Belgian Waffle, too.”

“You feelin’ especially hungry this morning, Agent Reuben?” Riley mused as she pulled out a notepad from underneath the cash register, a pen in her fingers as well. The ballpoint scribbled across the paper, her lips pursing together.

“Nah, it’s for someone else.”

“Ah, so you finally found yourself a girlfriend, huh?”

“You wish,” Reuben chuckled as he let one of his arms fall from the counter. He leaned onto his other arm, putting his weight onto his right forearm. He watched Riley walk back into the kitchen to give the cook the order she’d written down. She pushed the doors open and walked back out, a cheeky look on her face.

“Yeah, right. What’s her name, Agent?”

“I’m serious,” Reuben shook his head. “It’s for a partner for a case I’m on.”

“Okay,” Riley rolled her eyes as she leaned forward on the surface of the counter, her elbow resting on the cold porcelain surface. “What’s their name, then?”

“Why are you so nosey this morning?” Reuben looked away as he parted his lips and looked back out the diner and at his car. An idea popped up in his head, a smirk stretching across his soft pink lips. He turned back to face Riley, who lifted a brow at the look on his face.

“That look never means any good.”

“You always assume the worst of me,” Reuben rolls his eyes. “You like women, right? She’s right up your alley.”

“I don’t even know her!” She exclaimed, widening her eyes as she shifted her body side to side. She sighed, taking a whiff of the smell of the food wafting in the air. Reuben smelled it too, making him relax his shoulders and pop his thumb softly.

“Do you even know her?” Riley inquired with sass in her voice, her eyes looking back up at Reuben with a judgmental look. He let out a hearty chuckle as the doors opened again, out walking the cook with matching black hair and a uniform similar to Riley’s with two white paper bags in his hands and setting them down on the counter. Reuben hadn’t noticed the time pass. He took the time to stand next to Riley and poke fun at Reuben.

“You ordering for two, Agent? Who’s the special girl?”

“Why does it always mean I’m with someone?” Reuben scoffed as he grabbed the bags with his big hand, wrinkling the paper as he gripped it.

“He says it's for an agent he’s working with,” the tone in Riley’s voice told Reuben that she didn’t believe him, making him roll his eyes again as he began walking out. The chatter between the two people behind him left his hearing range as soon as the door shut behind him, the cool October air caressing his face again. The sky was even more clearer than when he walked in; the clouds moved out of the way as the sun shone down onto the land of Oregon. Reuben missed the figure standing off to the side of the building, leaning against the wall and letting the wind blow through their hair.

A crumpled blunt fell from their fingers as they let out a final exhale of the cheap weed entering their system. Their breath came out shaky from the chill of the air, their lips quivering and their breath hitching in their throat. They peeked their head around the corner of the diner, waiting until Reuben’s car was on the road to walk over to the doors, running a hand through their hair and hugging quietly as they opened them.

“Look who decided to show up!” Riley’s cheeky voice was the first thing you heard. Her and the cook, Tristan, stood behind the counter and shook their heads in feign disappointment. You rolled your eyes as a smile twisted at your lips, inevitable as you tried to look away and avoid their pointed gazes. You scoffed as you shuffled through the diner, moving to the right of the counter and grabbing an apron off the hook on the wall, wrapping the string around your waist and tying it around your back.

“You smell like weed, Y/n.”

“Look at you! Your eyes are literally tinted!” You raised your hand to Riley’s face, your fingers pointed at her eyes as she shut them and poked out her tongue.

“You missed Agent Reuben, by the way,” Riley comments as she opens her eyes again, watching you lean against the counter, standing next to the other cash register. You looked at her, an uninterested expression on your features; your lips pursed and your eyes hooded in addition to the bags underneath them. Neither Riley nor Tristan questioned why you always looked so tired.

“The anguish I feel,” you huff as you scratch the back of your head with your fingers. “Anything special from him?”

“Not really,” Riley shrugs nonchalantly. “He’s got a new partner for a case he’s working on.”

“That’s probably the Bureau’s way of trying to fix his loneliness,” you snort, a grin widening on your lips as your face lit up, listening to the sounds of Riley and Tristan’s chuckles.

“It probably is. I never see that man with anyone else,” Tristan stroked his chin with his fingers as he attempted to recollect any time he ever saw Reuben walk into that diner with anyone at his side. He found no such memory, the result evident on his face as it elicited a look of halfhearted defeat.

Riley announced with a roll of her eyes, “He tried setting me up with that agent he said he’s working with.”

You turned to face Riley, your face scrunched at the mention of Reuben’s antics. “Such a Reuben thing to do. He’s always making fun of you for being lesbian, isn’t he?”

“Definitely,” she sighed sharply. “You got any more weed on you?” Riley turned her head to look at you. You met her gaze halfway as your eyes fixed on hers, looking at the slight red tint around them and smirking slightly. You shook your head in feign disappointment just like she did earlier, earning a curse from Riley.

“Nah. Smoked all that shit away.”

“Bullshit! No way you just happened to smoke all that weed right before I asked for some!”

“Even if I did have any on me, I wouldn’t just have half a mind to give it to you, idiot.”

“Fine,” Riley crossed her arms and clicked her tongue, giving you a side eye. “Next time you get some I’ll pay you for a blunt.”

“Lies,” you playfully nudged her arm with your elbow. “You never pay me when I give you one. So no.”

“Fuck you,” Riley shook her head again before pushing herself off the counter. “I gotta piss, guard the counter for me, losers.”

“Yeah, because some intruder is gonna get us as soon as you go to the bathroom.”

“You never know, with all these murders going around lately.”

Your face darkened slightly as you turned away from the back of the room and facing the front, popping your neck and stretching your arms. Your hands link together by your fingers behind your back as you stretch out, then they let go as quickly as they threaded together. Your arms fall to your side, a sigh escaping your chest as you lean against the counter in boredom after Tristan hops onto the surface and sits atop it.

_________________________

Back at the Bureau—specifically in Reuben’s office where the room emanated all sorts of smells from the dead or dying plants, files and folders were strewn across the floor of the office. Lee had sticky notes folded and placed in an order that would make her look like a crazy person. Certain letters of each plant name were circled, and the hemp leaf was kept to her side as she sat on her knees and looked down at the mess before her.

Hemp leaf, Dahlia, Hibiscus, Fennel, Coreopsis, Arborvitae, Lotus, Acanthus, Pansy, Oregano, Amaryllis, Rhododendron, Salvia.

The door opened suddenly, making Lee turn her head to find Reuben walking in with the two paper bags in his hand, his fingers wrinkling the paper. Lee looked at the bags for a moment before turning back to the mess she made on the floor, nibbling on her bottom lip with her teeth and wreaking havoc on her flesh.

Reuben clicked his tongue quietly. “You seemed to have gotten comfortable already.”

Lee cleared her throat and looked between him and the mess on the floor. She stared at the sticky notes she folded, the circled letters on the names written down in an order only she could understand. She shifted closer to the sticky notes, her eyes speeding across the horizontal line she made with them.

She concluded out loud, “They’re messy with their murders on purpose.” She took the hemp leaf from her side and held it up to her eyes. “The different plants they’ve left behind; some of them aren’t native to Oregon. The Dahlia you found, for example.”

“Do you think they’re aware of that?” Reuben set the paper bags down on the corner of his desk, his body facing the edge while his head turned to watch Lee as she stared at the hemp leaf. Lee narrowed her eyes slightly.

She came to another conclusion. “Yes.” She looked at the other sticky notes and the plants that aren’t totally unidentifiable kept in evidence bags. “I would assume they’re attempting a code using the names of these plants.”

“Have you found any such code yet?” Asked Reuben, his hand reaching through one of the paper bags to pull out a to-go box in his abnormally large hand, setting it down on his desk.

Lee cringed. “No.”

“Then maybe it isn’t a code.”

“They wouldn’t leave behind these plants for no reason, sir.”

“Maybe it’s like you said,” Reuben opened the box he just took out. He took a second to look down at it and found his usual breakfast he ate on a near daily basis; a toad in a hole. “They’re being messy with their killings on purpose, leaving behind these plants to throw us off.”

Lee huffed as she stared down at the evidence in front of her. The idea that this botanical killer was simply being clumsy with their murders on purpose began to make sense. The first letters of each plant left behind add up to no intelligible word or sentence. The hemp leaf being left behind was the icing on the cake; drugs like marijuana were illegal in Oregon, as far as Lee knew. She was already growing irritated.

“We just haven’t looked long enough,” Lee let out a heavily-drawn sigh from deep within her chest. Feeling her lungs expand and taking a deep breath for the first time since what felt like a thousand years brought her irritation down to some degree. She still couldn’t bring herself to abruptly stop looking over these damned plants. Part of what Reuben said made sense; the killer could just be playing with them and leaving behind these plants for no given reason. There’s no room to assume anything, and the same could be said about her theory, too. The types of flowers left behind were too conspicuous to be seen as throwing her off.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Reuben interrupted Lee’s train of thought, her head whipped around to face him.

“You said the murders have a time lapse average of one to two weeks, right?”

Reuben dismissively rolled his eyes and reached inside one of the paper bags to pull out the plastic utensils that Tristan left inside both of them. He took the box with the toad in a hole and sauntered over to his office chair, sitting down and placing the box in front of him.

He leaned his arms on the edge of his desk. “I did say that, yes.”

“Two leaves, twelve flowers,” Lee muttered under her breath as she kept looking at the mess in front of her over and over again. When her eyes followed the horizontal path for the upteenth time, Lee felt a cord strike in her brain. Nothing looked like it made sense because she was looking at it the wrong way. She felt dumb once it dawned on her.

Lee scrambled to take the few evidence bags and the sticky notes and line them up in a vertical line. Reuben watched her move from behind, having already taken a bite of his food and chewing quietly as she worked. His eyebrows lifted upwards as Lee finally stood up after a moment, her head turned face him with a somewhat proud look on her face.

Reuben’s face shifted as he swallowed his mouthful, scratching his cheek with his free hand. “Well?”

“It was a code after all.” Lee concluded; she felt a surge of pride in her chest from proving her theory was true. She could tell from watching Reuben’s face once again shift, an exasperated expression on his features.

“You gonna make me get up and look at it myself?”

Lee thought to herself that it would be preferable if Reuben did get up, seeing that he’s a grown adult who surges through much more difficult things than getting up from his leisurely spot and looking at the evidence she worked to lay out perfectly so that anyone could understand it. But she simply glanced back at the sticky notes and the sealed plants on the floor, her chest slowly rising and falling with a drawn out exhale.

“Diner, LaPoars.” Lee answered, turning back to look at Reuben. “That’s what it says.”

“How the hell..?” Reuben furrowed his eyebrows as he watched Lee shuffle on her feet. “What makes you say that?”

“The names of the plants didn’t make sense when they were laid out horizontally. But when you line it up like a y-axis, the message becomes much clearer. It wasn’t in the orders of the first letter, sir. It was in the order in which the answer came out. The further down you go the line, each letter moves one space to the right.”

“Now I feel kinda stupid,” Reuben chuckled as he shook his head slightly, the grin on his face widening the longer he stared at the evidence Lee laid out. “You did in less than an hour what I couldn’t do for five months.”

Lee couldn’t tell if this was Reuben’s attempt to get her to feel bad for him or if he genuinely couldn’t figure it out. The small sigh he let out didn’t slip past her ears. Regardless, she couldn’t show any sign of fake pity because truth be told, she felt none. She let out a sign of reassurance, probably the bare minimum reassurance that she could give to him. “The code wasn’t finished yet, so it’s wrong to be too hard on yourself.”

“Yeah, but like…it was right in front of me the whole time and you figured it out in less than an hour.”

Lee wanted to say something snarky in return to Reuben’s advances at getting her to suck up to him, like stop making your level of stupid my problem. She would’ve, lest she wanted it to be at the expense of her job and getting on his permanent bad side. All she could do—or what she felt like doing—was give him a reassuring smile that had no meaning behind it.

“Well…now that you’ve got the code figured all out, would you be okay to continue the case on your own—“

“God, no,” Reuben shook his head slightly as if to keep himself from nodding off against the back of his chair. “You’re way too good to just let go. In fact,” Reuben looked back at Lee, making prolonged eye contact with her and grinning. “You should go check it out. The diner, I mean.”

“Sir,” Lee started, taking a sharp breath. She brought her hand up to her cheek, gently scratching it with her finger. “Do I have to?”

“Uh…yeah,” the sass in Reuben’s voice earned an exaggerated sigh from Lee, a weight of dread hanging over her shoulders. Typically she preferred working at her respective desk, secluded and away from everyone else. “Just go, Harker. You’re the one who cracked the code, you go check it out.”

“It’s your case, sir.”

“Harker.” Reuben glared at Lee, lifting his hand to twirl his finger in the air back and forth between the two of them. “Our case, now. You go.”

Lee sighed, her chest slowly rising and falling. “Yes, sir.” She pursed her lips right afterward into a line. She didn’t care for the satisfied look that spread itself across Reuben’s face like neurogenesis in someone’s brain. The sheer laziness he displayed for the day had her blank-facing.

Nonetheless, her hand reached for the only other paper bag on his desk then turned away from Reuben and towards the door. Lee opened the door to the hallway, stepping out and finally taking a deep breath, free from the overwhelming scent of spice floating around his office and suffocating her nose.

#longlegs 2024 #longlegs #lee harker #lee harker x reader #cw blood #cw death

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novemberhush · 16 days ago

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Tag game for people I’d like to get to know better/catch up with.

Thanks for tagging me, @littleblackraincloudofcourse !❤️

Five ships I love - Ooh, let me see…

1) Leo Hölzer x Adam Schürk from Tatort Saarbrücken (because it’s nearly that time of year again! 🎉🎉🎉)

2) Benton Fraser x Ray Vecchio from Due South

3) Sherlock Holmes x John Watson (be it in the original ACD stories, the Granada television version, the BBC version, etc.)

4) Mike Ross x Harvey Specter from Suits

5) Thomas Barrow x Andy Parker from Downton Abbey (you give them the same surnames as Bonnie and Clyde, arguably the most famous criminal couple in history, and then you don’t put them together?? WTF, Julian Fellowes??)

First ship ever - Showing my age here, but I think it’s between David Addison x Maddie Hayes from Moonlighting, Anne Shirley x Gilbert Blythe from the series of Anne of Green Gables television adaptations that were out in the 1980s, and James Dempsey x Harriet ‘Harry’ Makepeace from Dempsey and Makepeace. The shows were all out around roughly the same time so I don’t remember which was first, but there’s not much between any of them, I’d say.

Last song you heard - Sandpaper by Zach Bryan (feat. Bruce Springsteen)

Favourite childhood book - I don’t have any one particular favourite that stands heads and shoulders above the rest, but Red Sky in the Morning by Elizabeth Laird and Children on the Oregon Trail by A. Rutgers Van Der Loeff are two that I remember having an effect on me. I was also a big fan of all the Enid Blyton mystery books, such as the Famous Five and the Secret Seven and the Five Find-Outers and Dog, as well as other children’s mysteries like Alfred Hitchcock and The Three Investigators, The Hardy Boys and, of course, Nancy Drew. I also had a Rupert the Bear annual and a Winnie the Pooh book I enjoyed a great deal, as well a big book of fairytales, complete with illustrations, that I loved.

Currently reading - I’m (slowly!) reading a physical copy of All the Colours of the Dark by Chris Whitaker, which is very good so far (but also very long!), and on the kindle app I’ve finally got around to reading The Charioteer by Mary Renault, which I’m absolutely flying through.

Currently watching - Mainly Grantchester and reruns of Wire in the Blood (no, I don’t have a thing for Robson Green!) and Law and Order: SVU (although I’m pretty much always watching reruns of SVU.).

Currently consuming - I’m making my way through a packet of Fruit Salad Chewits (chewy sweets, for anyone who doesn’t know what Chewits are).

Currently craving - Some more of the absolutely delicious potato gratin I had for dinner on Friday night. It was sooooooooooo good. My mouth’s watering just thinking about it.

I tag @tkandbuck @smowkie @katries @oneawkwardcookie @dontcallpanic @sofancydancy @chaoticfandomgirly @backgroundnoisewithaview @kinkykinard and anyone else who wants to share. No pressure on anyone who doesn’t!😘

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puuuders · 5 months ago

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In Pursuit of Something Better ~ Part 8

Ghost fanfiction

Previous | Next

Omega tells Delta the truth.

Read on AO3

1.6k words

contains smut (kinda?)

CW: Suggestions of S.H.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

“Good morning, sleepyhead!” Terzo chimed in a sing-song voice, gently shaking the ghoul that laid passed out on the couch in the very back of the bus. It was 8 o’clock at night now, and Omega was greeted with a blinding bright orange light on the roof of the bus. He grimaced, squeezing his eyes as he sat up, feeling his head thrumming with a migraine. Pebble stared at Omega with his signature smart ass grin, having tried to make fun of him for falling asleep to his best friend. But Delta did not react to Pebble’s antics. His eyes were wide with curiosity and distress, the look grounding Omega and bringing Omega back to reality. Remembering what he had seen during his fainting spell.

“Up, up, up.” Terzo held Omega’s arms despite knowing Omega was the last of the ghouls to ever require physical support, especially from a man so minuscule. He insisted on aiding him anyway, having to slightly reach up to feel his biceps, his eyes level to the ghouls chest as he stood. Omega placed his clawed hands on Terzo’s lower back, gently moving him to the side without a single word, making the shorter man’s face flush. It was, once again, a stark reminder just how small he was compared to these hellish beasts.

Omega gripped Delta’s shoulder, directing him forward with a tender push, towards the door of the bus. He scanned the vehicle. No sign of Alpha. How convenient.

”What happened?” Delta stammered, scratching at his own hands as a nervous fidget, “I saw you passed out. Did you talk to him? Did you see it? What happened?”

Omega was silent. His white eyebrows were knitted, his bottom lip strained and pulled upwards, the corners of his mouth vaguely turned downwards. Delta frantically studied his expression, his heart beating one million miles per hour, waiting for some sort of explanation. Whatever Omega had seen, Delta could tell it was bothersome. That alone made his cheeks start to bead up with water.

They stepped off the van, pressure releasing as the weight of the ghouls dissipated, the body of the vehicle bouncing upwards. Terzo jumped off behind them, making a quiet count of the ghouls that surrounded the parking lot of the airport.

“One, two…” Terzo whispered to himself. Omega spotted Alpha. He was standing with Aero, his arms crossed, nails squeezing the elbows of his jacket. He was making light conversation with the air ghoul, who seemed generally uninterested in whatever it was Alpha was talking about, offering only an “mhm” as he stared at his phone. Alpha was also wearing his mask, and Omega knew it was to hide behind.

“Omega?” Delta whined, grabbing the sleeve of his coat like a child begging for candy. Omega jolted, having zeroed in on Alpha, startled by the reminder that Delta was asking him a question. He looked at Delta.

”What?”

”What happened?”

“We will talk about it later.”

“No!” Delta cried. Terzo looked back at them.

”Delta,” Omega leaned in, lowering his voice to a whisper as they were watched by their papa. “We will talk about this later. Okay? I will share a room with you when we get to Oregon.”

“This isn’t fair, I’m so tired of waiting! I’ve waited so long and you-“

Omega put his hand on the back of Delta’s head, pushing him in towards him, wrapping him in the warmest embrace he could possibly offer to any sentient being. Not too tight in case Delta did not want it, yet tight enough to put a comforting pressure on him. Delta immediately fell silent, stunned momentarily before he grabbed the back of Omega’s coat, hugging him furiously, his body twitching and quivering as he struggled to keep himself together.

”Just make it until we get there. Okay? Just until we get there.” Omega bargained softly, caressing his sopping hair. Delta nodded, wrapping his tail around Omega’s knee, desperate for comfort.

“Good,” Omega whispered, “I’m sorry.”

Terzo stopped watching them the moment Omega pulled the water ghoul in. He had turned around, pretending not to have noticed, taking slow, wide steps towards Alpha and Aero.

”How is your trip so far, darling?” Terzo asked, though he was not really interested. Alpha shrugged, expression unreadable behind his mask.

“Ah. The plane will be much more interesting, si? It is always fun. Aeroplanes.” Terzo smirked, eyes darting to Aero, who looked at him blankly at his unfunny quip. Terzo’s smile faded.

”What is up with you all today? Nobody is smiling anymore.”

The flight was only about two hours from California to Oregon, the entire trip taking around 3 and a half hours with the ride to and from each airport. There was a slight debate about who would room with who; Pebble had whined enough to get his way, convincing Delta to room with him after he and Omega participated in their mystery activities both of them refused to elaborate on. Alpha was silent, shifting uncomfortably in his seat, knowing what they would be doing. Yet he was powerless to stop them, at least during the heat of the debate in the van they rented, as it would worsen the entire situation for him to tell them to stop in front of Terzo and the other ghouls. So, the moment that the others retreated into their rooms for the night, Alpha sprinted down the hall, his tail burning a bright orange as he approached Omega.

”Don’t.” Alpha hissed, trying to pull Omega back desperately. Omega slapped his hand away.

“Get the hell away from me.” Omega shoved Alpha away, slipping into the room with Delta, slamming the door in the fire ghoul’s face.

“This is stupid!” Alpha roared on the other side, punching on it. “You’re making everything worse!”

Omega ignored him. If Alpha kept this up, the entire hotel would be woken up, so he needed to get this done fast so he could leave. Without any warning, he gently grasped Delta’s face as they sat down on the bed, catching his eyes and thrusting the discovery he had into his mind. The pounding on the door quickly turned into a muffled echo to the water ghoul, his eyes losing the ability to perceive outside light, temporarily blinding him until suddenly, he was in another world, seeing, hearing, feeling everything through the body of Alpha the day his world evaporated.

“Shut the fuck up.” Secondo roared at me, both of his hands wrapped around my throat. Despite the way I was squirming under him, the rope around my wrists cutting into my skin and rubbing it raw, and the way I was howling against the gag jammed in my mouth, I was in the most unbridled state of sexual bliss I had ever experienced. I cannot tell what had brought me to this low, maybe because Omega had sucked up into his own mind too much to pay attention to me. Maybe it was a good thing. Yes, Omega has a cock incomparable to any other, but it is not of any use if he isn’t interested enough to slam it all into me anymore.

I never thought this would happen. I didn’t ask for Secondo to find me taking care of myself. I thought I was going to be shot when he walked in on me. He stared, and I can hardly recall what happened between the time he had found me and now, where such a ghoul-despising man was pounding into me like his life depended on it. And, oh, he was insatiable. I had never been tied like this, I couldn’t get out of it if I wanted to. Would he even let me if I really didn’t want this? I didn’t know if I wanted it. But I still let him. Does that mean I wanted it? It was too late to decide anyway, because he had my words made to be unintelligible. I could only wail, in a confusing mix of pleasure and anguish. It was so degrading, so belittling to be used like this by a man who had tried to suffocate me and my friends, wanting to see me dead simply because I am hellspawn. His hellspawn. I thought that is what this ministry wanted.

It was a matter of extremely unfortunate coincidence that the other ghoul had walked in on us. It was his duty. Laundry duty, to be exact. He had been scheduled for it today, to collect the baskets that the Emeritus brothers kept in the corners of their rooms beside their bed. Laundry duty had a specific time for it to be done, so that Cardinal Terzo did not see a ghoul before his ascension. Secondo must have not been thinking straight. Well, he was not. That much was apparent.

Secondo almost kicked me in the balls as he scrambled off of the bed, eyes wide and glued to the intruder. I yelped, making eye contact with him in the doorway, who stood there in shock. Only for a moment. He grabbed the basket and slammed the door shut. He wanted nothing to do with it. He wanted to do his chores. Secondo turned back to me.

“You disgraceful animal,” he screamed at me, leaning over and smacking me across the face. “Do you understand what you have done?”

I didn’t do anything. I didn’t ask Secondo to fuck me. But I let him. Does it make it my fault? It is my fault. I whimpered quietly. Another vicious slap, making my skin sting.

”He will tell.” Secondo grabbed the knife he had set on the nightstand before we began. He cut the rope, releasing my hands from the bedframe. I ripped the gag out of my mouth and squirmed to dress myself.

“Get the hell out of here. I will deal with the ghoul. And I will deal with you later.” Secondo demanded. I said nothing. Secondo left first, and I heard him shout a spell of paralysis at my friend. I peered out of the door, and the last thing I had ever seen of that earth ghoul was him being dragged down the hallway.

#ghost #the band ghost #ghost bc #terzo #papa emeritus iii #terzomega #omega ghoul #omega3 #alpha ghoul #delta ghoul #pebble ghoul #aero ghoul #secondo #papa emeritus ii #sister imperator #papa nihil #ghost fanfiction

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gay4harm · 25 days ago

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First fic of the year!!

I do wanna apologize for not posting. I definitely lost the drive to write and that's why I haven't but I realized that I need to get back into this thing I love so here we are!

I hope you guys enjoy this one!☺️

(this is not proofread🌚)

Upon going back to the ship you took the longest shower, it wasn't until an hour in that you could get half of the gunk off.

tonight was the bonfire

the place where you were going to tell a certain someone a certain something

That was until she brought a certain someone around and lied to you for the entire half a year you guys had known each other.

But you didn't want that to ruin your mood, you loved camp out night, you could just chill with your friends.

"Yo do any of you have a hair tie?" You walk into the living room dressed in nothing but a sports bra and shorts that hugged your hips and ass perfectly, this was normal attire for you and for everyone to see. You were used to the lingering stares but if you were them you would stare as well, I mean who wouldn't with the way your thighs jiggled slightly every time you walked or with how your tits sat so pretty with and without a bra.

Your body was sculpted by the gods; literally

and you had a pretty face to match it

At first you didn't get an answer, you had thought you were being ignored, that was until you looked up and saw only two people sitting on the couch; Riri and Shuri who just so happened to be ogling you.

Shuri knew you were beautiful, she obviously saw it when she looked at you but she didn't think you could look any better than you already did. Your hair, still damp from the shower sat on your head almost covering your face, water droplets fell, cascading down the valley of your breast, some even going down your toned stomach. You hadn't noticed but Shuri and Riri did.

You rolled your eyes at them but before you could speak your best friend America Chavez or just Chavez which is what you called her rushed over with a scrunchie. "Here, is this good?"

"Yeah thanks" You take the scrunchie from her and tie your hair up in a ponytail, showing off your sharp jawline and round eyes.

This time Riri had broken out of her trance once Elijah called her name but not Shuri, she still looked, you couldn't resist the slick remark that fell from your lips. "Like what you see princess?"

Your voice was low and sultry and at the sound of it Shuri looked away in embarrassment, looking everywhere but at you.

You walk away with a smirk on your face walking to your room to get ready for the night.

This was it

Your favorite time of the month

You guys had found a nice spot in Oregon to set up everything, you guys got your smores and blankets out, the only thing surrounding you guys was good vibes and security. Not everyone had families or people to go home to, for some of you this was family, this was your guys home.

But as the night went on, it was soon time to start your favorite part of the night.

The time where everyone could share their spooky stories.

"Ok, ok I think the best person to share a story is Y/N, her's are the best" Which was Cassie Lang's or the younger girl version of Ant Man suggestion while you guys were arguing about who would go first

"Hey what about me? I thought you guys liked mine" came from a disappointed Kate. "No Kate yours are probably the worst" argued Riri with her head on Shuri's shoulder making a deep sigh and eye roll come from you.

Everyone began to urge you to start it off but you protested with a few no's before you gave in.

You took a deep breath before starting

"Have you guys ever watched beauty and the beast? Well this legend is a lot like it, this tale starts out with a man named John Wilkins."

"Now Mr. Wilkins was known as a strange man, he would spend his days out in the woods whistling the same hollowed out tune as he searched for the women in the woods; a witch who had been shunned from the rest of the town, she was said to live in a cabin near the edge of town but no matter how long he looked, Mr. Wilkins couldn't find her, he had told everyone that he would and could find her but it never happened, he would go home empty handed. That was until on his way back he stumbled upon a small cabin, it looked like it had been lived in, there were linens hanging on a clothesline and smoke erupted from the chimney. Mr. Wilkins had finally thought he'd done it, he had found the women in the woods."

"He walked in; the door opened with a loud squeak. The strong smell of mildew wafted through the air and it was cold with a limited amount of light, he couldn't tell if anyone was near so he walked around hoping to find the witch, he looked and looked but no one was there, he began to walk out but as he neared the door the sound of his footsteps weren't the only thing to be heard. He whipped around only to be face to face with the witch!"

Everyone jumped back, spooked by the cursed tale.

"The witch was standing there with her ripped up, pitch black dress. Her face was covered by her claock but he could see her wrinkled face and pale completion."

"He stood there... not knowing what to do. Until a strained and low voice broke the silence"

"who... are you?"

"she questioned him and he couldn't say anything, she asked again, louder"

"Who Are You?"

"Mr.wilkins finally answered in a shaky voice."

"I- I.... my name is John Wilkins"

"Why are you here John Wilkins?"

"I just wanted to-"

"you wanted to what!?"

"The witch was getting impatient and angry, she demanded an answer"

"I'm sorry... I just wanted to know if you were real."

"well know that you know... there is only one last thing to do."

"and- and whats that?"

"You must die, of course. I can't have you walking around telling people where I am"

"W-wait, wait! I promise I won't tell"

"He pleaded hoping the witch would sent him free but it was no use, he was going to die at the hands of the witch."

"the witch didn't say anything else...

"now that's the ending of it. No one knows what really happened to John, all we know is that he found the witch. Some people say... they can still hear him whistling in these very woods"

Silence

no one said anything

nor did they dare to even breath

the break of silence sent a chill down everyone's spine

A long toned out whistle in the distance.

silence again.

no one dared to move

then again

a whistle that seemed as if the shrill sound was coming from everywhere.

this time as the whistle rang out everyone jumped up in a rush to get back to the ship.

no words said as everyone hauled ass, everyone except you who had decided to stop dead in your tracks as you heard a real voice this time, a faint whisper.

you look back into the trees, nothing.

but something about the darkness kept you there, with the warmness of the open bonfire, and the slow chilling breeze.

all your senses heightened in the moment

touch; goostbumps traveled up your arm from the cool winds

taste; a subtle metalicy taste

smell; the earthy smell brought from the surrounding area

sight; the large dark figure standing still in the trees

hearing; the slow crackling from the fire

Yo wait...

you turn your head to the side and the shape of the figure seems to get clear and more real.

you feel your body wanting to go forward, right into the arms of what seemed to be danger and you might've if the hard tug on your arm didn't snap you out of whatever trance you were in.

"Y/N LETS GO" yells a concerned Riri.

you don't feel in control anymore as you get dragged away.

you turn your head to get another glance from that thing and just as your about to turn your head back the other way, you could have sworn that you had saw the figure give a small wave.

worst part about it?

you almost waved back.

You get in the ship and everyone stares, they see your shaken expression and their faces turn from scared to worry.

"Y/n? are you ok?" Teddy says slowly.

"yea you look a little shaken up" utters America. "why did you just stand there?"

you look at her

then everyone else

then you turn back to peak at Riri and Shuri.

then you turn your heels and walk to your room.

not a word

not a peep

everyone sits confused but they don't meddle or persist. This was what you did.

to be honest you weren't very talkative with them when it came to problem, or how you felt, or just normal stuff like if they asked what your favorite colors was and wether or not you were caught up on the daily news.

it might have been due to your shyness or the fact that you barley had any memories from your old life.

the life you had before with your dad and fake mom and two siblings.

the golden child you were

now stuck fighting monsters brought upon you for whatever reason.

you sit on the edge of your bed and the only thing your body can do is cry.

and you cry and cry until your eyes turn red and your head starts to hurt which then you decide to close your eyes and fall asleep.

the next morning was nothing short of awkward

your friends just stare as you walk out into the kitchen area.

“hey y/n” utters one of them but with your back turned to them you weren’t sure who.

you don’t reply and instead start up a new pot of coffee.

you stand there waiting

no one says anything

the silence was so unbearable

so mind graining

this was worst than your own personal problem you had going on at the moment

you finally spit something out

“We still have that mission at three. I expect you all to be ready, even our little guest.” you glance toward Shuri on the last part, making sure to give Riri the nastiest mug you could muster as your eyes divert to hers.

No one said anything but they all understood.

You walk back to your room after a hot cup of coffee is finally in your hands, you hate to say but all the coffee addicts were right.

You walk to your desk filled with pens, pencils, kill plans, you know that type of thing. Setting your mug down along with yourself before moving around to tidy up your area.

The bags under your eyes weigh you down as you try to get busy with the upcoming mission. You want to train a little, get your head back straight.

Yesterday was nothing short of weird and had you feeling like you were going crazy with the hundreds of voices going through your head and all the bullshit prophecies bestowed upon you from whatever.

To get your mind off of everything in your life you decided to get a little workout going. Train a little before the mission.

There was nothing that made you happier than killing a monster. You didn't know what it was but just feeling your weapon going through the body of an inhumane being felt like a breath of fresh air.

Maybe it gave off serious serial killer vibes but it wasn't like that. It was just the feeling of victory, the knowing that you were able to protect the good people that those monsters wanted to harm.

it made you feel better about all the shitty things you've done.

As you walk into the training compound you find yourself alone in a room with riri.

You roll your eyes as she stares at you.

“So how long are you gonna go without talking to me?” Riri asked as you drop your water bottle into a corner.

You don't respond and instead decide to look through the row of different weapons on the wall.

“Y/n.”

Nothing.

“Y/n” she repeats a little louder

Still nothing

“Y/n!”

“What!”

You reply in anger

“You don't hear me talking to you?” You could tell Riri was pissed but so were you. How dare she bring her supposed girlfriend onto the ship.

“I'm not talking to you right now” You needed to get away before you did or said something that you might regret.

“And why the hell not?”

“Cause your a liar”

“How did I lie?”

You scoff in disbelief

“Are you forgetting your little friend, that you brought? What the hell is wrong with you?”

“I told you about Shuri. You said it was fine cause we're not together. Plus I was doing it for you, us!”

“Us? What are even talking about?”

“Me and Shuri have always been in an open relationship, that was until we talked about bringing a third in. You.”

What the hell?

A third?

God you wanted to punch her.

“Why did you talk about it with me first?”

“Because I had to make sure that I and you had a connection before I brought you around Shuri. And we do, I love you Y/n and I know that you might not believe me but I do.”

You didn't know what to say

Riri loved you?

You'd be lying if you said you didn't love her

But the point was that she lied to you

“Riri I- I love you too but you lied to me. You should have just told me from the beginning before I started to love you, cause you don't understand how much it hurt me to see you with her.”

Uh oh, here come the water works.

“I'm sorry Y/n. I should have thought it out better, but my feelings for you are very real and I really wanna try this with both of you.”

You were hesitate and Riri could tell

“Please, for me?”

Damn, she always knew how to get you

“Ill think about it.”

Now Riri was in front of you, holding both your hands as she gets closer to kissing you

And you let her

You let her cause you truly did love her

And maybe you could love Shuri too

But first, you had to talk to her.

#riri wiliams x reader #riri williams #riri x reader #riri x black fem reader #riri x oc #shuriri x reader #shuri x black!reader #shuri udaku x reader #riri x you

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