#with his old dirty car & his ill fitting coat

[historical-paramedics]

This strange columbo obsession has crept up on me and now he's all I can think about.

It's like he crawled into my brain then fell asleep

[tiffdawg]

Curriculum Vitae: Chapter Fifteen

Gif: @bestintheparsec​

curriculum vitae noun cur·ric·u·la vi·tae Latin. the course of one’s life.

Pairing: Javier Peña x Reader (fem; no y/n)

Word Count: 7.0k

Rated: E  | Warnings: NSFW – explicit sexual content, sex, public sex, oral sex (female receiving), cumplay, dirty talk. Mentions of alcohol. Mild language. 18+ only.

Chapter Summary: In this chapter, you and Javier attend the holiday party for the social sciences’ faculty.

A/N: I really risked it all for y’all just to login and post this. I still haven’t seen the finale so I’m going to drop this and run but I’d love to know what you think. I hope this chapter makes the extra-long wait worth it.

Read on AO3

CV Masterlist | My Masterlist

… . …

Chapter Fifteen

Unsurprisingly, things were tense the next morning

Javier was up before you but that wasn’t out of the ordinary. Although considering it was a quarter past seven you wondered how much sleep the man could’ve gotten. What was surprising was that you woke alone.

Then you ate breakfast together in silence. Moved about your 400 square foot studio in silence. Worked across the dining table grading papers in silence.

Javier was never an overly talkative person but that was unlike him. It was unlike the two of you. You knew there were things from his past that troubled him. Things you couldn’t even begin to imagine. The longer you’d known him, the more time you spent together, the more you felt his sadness. But he seemed determined to hide it from you.

However, you couldn’t dwell on it. Not until you’d finished grading exams and assigned final grades and could put the fall quarter behind you. With a Monday deadline, work came first.

Eventually, Javier finished his grading. He gathered his things to go home and dress for the faculty party that evening, leaving you with just a kiss on your cheek and a promise to pick you up at six. You hummed noncommittally as you watched him leave.

Sunny whined at the closed door before looking over her shoulder at you with a silent question in her wide brown eyes. “I don’t know what’s wrong either,” you answered with a shrug. She laid down where she was, head on her paws and a rather sad expression of her face.

… . …

By some miracle, you were able to focus long enough to finish your grading with enough time to spare to get ready for a night out. At 5:58 you walked out of your building into the dark evening and found Javier waiting for you at the bottom of the stoop. It was a chilly night and you pulled your wool coat tighter around you as you closed the last bit of distance between the two of you. For the first time that day, as he held his hand out to you, he smiled. It was nothing more than a slight pull at the corner of his lips, but it was something.

You took his hand and let him lead you toward his car. When he reached into his coat pocket, presumably in search of his keys, he pulled out a half-finished pack of Nicorette. He tossed it in a nearby trash can.

“Why did you do that?” you asked without thinking.

He shrugged as he unlocked the car and opened the passenger door for you. “I don’t need it.”

You made no move to get in. “I thought you were trying to quit.”

“I… I did.”

“Really?” you asked, not bothering to hide your excitement.

“I haven’t needed it for a couple of weeks now actually.”

 “Javi, that’s amazing,” you smiled as you brought him to you for a kiss by the lapels of his coat. “I’m so proud of you.”

 He chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re proud of me?”

 “Yeah,” you said easily. He still didn’t seem to believe you. You continued tentatively, afraid you might say the wrong thing but needing to say something all the same. “Sometimes I just– I feel like I don’t actually know that much about you. Or, I should say, about your past. And I don’t need to know anything more than what you want to tell me,” you added quickly. “But I see you. I see you trying to be a better man. Everyday.” Your hands moved on their own accord to cup his freshly shaved cheeks. “I’m proud of you. Even if you think it’s silly.”

“I–” Javier opened his mouth to speak, but he couldn’t manage more than that single syllable.

Instead, he stared at you. You might’ve crossed some unspoken line, but you didn’t care. You’d meant everything that you said. His eyes shifted away as he stared at something past you for a drawn-out moment. “Come here,” he finally managed, and he pulled you into his embrace. The two of you held each other in the middle of the sidewalk, letting the few people out and about walk around you. “You’re too good for me, compañera.”

“I know,” you teased, trying to lighten the mood. His fingers dug into your sides and you laughed. “Are we going to talk about what happened last night?”

He sighed heavily. “I’d rather have one good night with you before I leave. I’m not going to see you for more than two weeks.”

Deciding not to question it, you put it out of your mind. Maybe what happened was a one off. Still, you pulled back and scowled at him. “Then stop being such a….”

“An asshole?”

“Exactly.”

He huffed a laugh and rolled his eyes but nodded his agreement. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled as he pressed a kiss to your temple.

“You gonna make it up to me?”

 “Yeah. Yeah, I’ve got plans for you tonight.”

A chill shot down your spine at the insinuation. “Good,” you smirked, “so do I.”

… . …

The country club was only a short drive past the university and up into the hills amongst rows of gated mansions. Slipping out of the car before the valet approached, you darted in ahead of Javier. The bubble that the two of you were living in still didn’t extend to work, not entirely. Not beyond fucking in your offices and occasionally brushing hands under the table at faculty meetings.

Inside, the already gilded ballroom was draped in silver and gold holiday decorations from ceiling to floor. Every inch sparkled and shone in the chandelier light. Your colleagues from across the school of social sciences crowed the hall, all dressed to the nines with glasses of champagne and hors-d’œuvre topped with caviar in their hands.

You politely made your rounds before you found yourself conversing with Debra by the bar as you waited for a cocktail. She was her usual gossipy self, going on and on about the latest office drama. That was when you first spotted Javier amongst the crowd.

He wore a well-fitted black suit – one that was significantly more flattering than some of his older ones and you idly wondered if it was new – with a white shirt, forgoing a tie so that his tanned chest was still exposed, even on a winter night. His dark hair was styled just enough to keep it off his face. Even from across the room, you could see the glimmer in his warm brown eyes as he chatted away with someone. You were surprised when he walked right up to Rafael Garcia, one of the younger professors from the political science department. You watched as they shook hands and he was introduced to his wife, noting the genuine smile on his face.

“We just started seeing each other a couple of weeks ago but it’s going well so far. I really like him.” Deb’s voice brought you back to the present.

“That’s nice,” you replied absentmindedly.

“What about you, doc?”

“What? Oh, no. I don’t have time for something like that.” You waved her off, but your eyes still followed Javier across the room. You tried to ignore the heat pooling in your stomach.

“That’s a shame.” Debra looked out at the crowd and sighed. “He never flirts with me. Not anymore, at least.”

“Your new boyfriend?”

“No,” she laughed and smacked your shoulder playfully. “Javier,” she answered, lowering her voice.

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes. Although you hoped it wasn’t that obvious who you’d been looking at. “You say that like it’s a bad thing. And don’t you have a boyfriend?”

“Sure, but Javier was always fun to flirt with. It certainly made work more interesting. You know,” she took a sip of her martini, “the two of you seem awfully friendly lately. I thought you hated him.”

“I do,” you answered quickly.

“Well, don’t let Dr. Campbell hear you speak ill about his favorite lecturer.” She raised her brows over her class as the department chair approached the two of you. You stifled a sigh.

… . …

Javier sipped at his drink as he listened to Sofia Garcia regal him with the story of how she met her husband. He’d hardly spoken to the man before than night, but after five minutes with his loquacious wife, he felt like he knew his whole life story.

“I played on the Mexican women’s national team for a few years after college until I injured my knee. But it was a blessing. I was offered a coaching position here a week later and by the end of my first season we were engaged.” She held up her left hand where a modest diamond sat on her ring finger. “That was nearly fifteen years ago. Now he’s the only one who plays soccer.”

“Yeah,” Rafael scoffed, “I play in an adult league with my cousin and some old college friends. That hardly counts. She’s the real athlete.” He looked fondly on his wife who beamed back at him. Even Javier had to admit they made a handsome couple. And it had nothing to do with his expensive looking suit or her champagne dress. It was something about the way they looked at each other. they were easily better conversationalists than most of the people in that room. You weren’t kidding when you said academics only knew how to talk about journal articles and research funding. “You ever play, Peña? We’re actually looking for one more.”

Javier shook his head. “I played when I was a kid but that was a long fucking time ago.”

“Don’t worry, man, it’s not that serious. We drink the whole game. All you gotta do is pay for the keg when it’s your turn.”

Javier laughed, surprised by his answer. “I could get on board with that.”

The conversation moved on, but Javier was only half aware of whatever question he was being asked. Just over Rafael’s shoulder, he caught sight of you. With a red dress with thin straps draped across your form that left everything and nothing to the imagination, you looked… alluring.

“Hey, uh, you look like you could use a refill,” Rafael commented, pointing toward the bar where you were standing.

“Yeah,” Javier nodded, “I’ll catch you later. Nice meeting you, Sofia.”

“I hope to see you around, Javier.” She smiled kindly at him, but Javier was already on the move, swiftly cutting through the crowd as he contemplated the ways that he could get you alone.

“Whiskey. Dry,” he ordered, leaning against the bar next to you.

“How are you enjoying the evening, Professor Peña?” Debra simpered.

“Much better now that I’m talking to you lovely ladies,” he answered without missing a beat.

On cue, Debra’s whole face flushed bright red.

“I’ll have you know I’m spoken for now. Your charm won’t work on me anymore.”

“That’s too bad.” His eyes slid to you. And then up and down your body. “What about you, sweetheart?” He offered you the perfect set up on a silver platter. And you took it.

“Not in your wildest dreams, Peña,” you shot back. His lips quirked as he repressed a smile.

“Don’t you two ever get tired of antagonizing each other?” Debra scoffed before traipsing off. He was hoping that would work.

The bartender placed Javier’s drink on the counter and then he turned back to you, still admiring your dress. Now that he was near you, he noticed the fabric was a soft red velvet he wanted nothing more than to get his hands on.

“You looked like you were enjoying your conversation with Rafael.”

“He does some interesting work on South American politics,” he offered distractedly, his eyes snapped back up to yours. “I probably shouldn’t ask you to dance.”

You reeled back a little, as if the question surprised you. “Probably not. That might ruin the whole facade of me hating you.” He made a sour face as he looked at his glass in his hand, swirling the amber liquid a few times. “I wouldn’t have taken you for the dancing type, Javi.”

He grinned. “I love dancing.”

“You never take me dancing.”

“Fucking shame. I’m gonna start.” You beamed at him, uncaring, just for a moment, who saw. It was a smile nothing short of dazzling. He took a step closer. “You look stunning.”

“You drove me here.”

“I thought you were stunning then too. But you were wearing a coat and I didn’t get to see this.” He ran the back of his knuckles down the fabric of your dress just over that sensitive spot on your side he liked so much. “You were right. This is definitely worth it.”

“What if I told you there’s more,” you said unaffectedly, feigning interest in your empty glass. The mischievous look in your eyes when they met his confused expression gave you away. Gently, you brought his hand to your thigh, just under the hem of your dress, and his fingers instantly hooked around the strap of the garter belt holding your sheer stockings in place.

“Holy fuck,” he whispered. “Are you trying to kill me?”

“What a way to go,” you cooed. His hand traveled up the strap to the apex of your thighs where he found little more than a thin piece of lace below the belt. “Careful,” you warned him, pushing his hand away.

Turning so that his body pinned you between him and the bar top and shielded you from the rest of your colleagues, he grasped your hand and brought it to the front of his pants “Can you feel what you do to me?” he said against the shell of your ear.

“That’s what I was hoping for.” Your smile was absolutely wicked.

“Do you have any idea how fucking hard it is not to kiss you right now?”

“Yes.” You squeezed him through his trousers. Javier might’ve looked remarkably calm, but he knew you felt his reaction. He steeled himself as he finished his drink and set the glass on the counter behind you.

“Follow me.”

… . …

Keeping a few steps behind him, you followed Javier back to the front of the club. You assumed he was leading you out to the car but apparently, he had something else in mind. He swung open the door to the coat check, since abandoned by the clerk now that all the guests had arrived and the party was in full swing. With some idea of what he had in mind, you hoped no one was inclined to leave early.

His mouth was on yours in an instant and as soon as the door was shut, you were pressed up against it.

“The coat closet at the holiday work party?” you asked in between fevered kisses. “Isn’t that a little cliché?”

“Honey,” he murmured against your neck as his lips moved lower and lower, “I know for a fact it turns you on when we fuck in public.”

His hand slipped underneath your dress again, following the same path as earlier, and he pressed his fingers against the lace covering your cunt, now soaked with your arousal. He pulled away to raise a brow at you, daring you to contradict him.

Instead, you palmed him again, finding him harder than before. “I’m not the only one,” you shot back. With your eyes locked on his, you dropped to your knees to loosen his belt and unbutton his trousers. Then you leaned forward to slowly pull the zip down – with your teeth.

“Fuck me” he gasped around a ragged exhale, his hips automatically bucking toward you. He watched you, wide-eyed and slack-jawed, before he hauled you to your feet with a hand on either arm. “Fucking dirty girl.”

“Wanna be your dirty girl, Javi,” you sighed, batting your lashes at him. You wanted him unraveled and unrestrained.

“Yeah?” he asked with a hint of excitement in his voice, and you nodded, satisfied with the response you’d gotten from him. Before you realized what he was doing, he spun you around and hiked your skirt up over your ass, letting it bunch around your waist.

“Hey, be careful. This dress is vintage.”

He just laughed against your ear. “You should’ve thought of that before you started this.” With one hand on your hip to hold you up, he kicked each of your ankles to prompt you to spread your legs before hooking a finger under the band of your thong and sliding them to the side. “Damn,” he growled when his fingers met your wet cunt. “I think you’re ready for me.”

“I was ready for you the moment I saw you tonight,” you answered truthfully.  

You felt his grin as he kissed the nape of your neck. He freed his cock and ran the tip through your folds. You knew better than to tell him not to tease you. That was part of it. That was what he enjoyed. He wanted you so strung out by the time he slipped inside you that you were already a mess and he knew just how to get you there. And that was exactly where you wanted to go.

He started to press inside you, slowly stretching you around him with each inch, and you delighted in the slight burn. Usually, he spent more time preparing you, but there was no time for that. Not when you were just hoping to finish fucking each other before someone came to collect their belongings.

You were wet and ready for him, but you were unable to stop the yelp that escaped you as he pushed in a little further.

“Quiet,” he snapped. Then, softly, he asked, “are you okay?”

You nodded. “It just takes a minute sometimes. You’re so big, Javi.” You felt him twitch inside you.

“You take me so well. This cunt was made for me.” Your ego burned bright at his praise and he slid in a bit more as you relaxed around him.

He held you, gently caressing you while you adjusted in what you assumed was a merciful act of patience. When you were ready, you rolled your hips to encourage him.

“Keep – shit – keep doing that. Feels so good on my dick.” You could imagine the debauched look on his face. You reveled in it even though you couldn’t see him. He reached around you to cup your pussy, fingers rubbing against your clit and following your movements as you circled your hips. You moaned in unison.

But it wasn’t enough. Not for you. Not for Javier.

“Hold on to something.”

His warning came just a moment too late. With a gasp, you fell forward clawing at the coats in front of you and fisting an expensive looking black peacoat in hopes of staying upright as he set a brutal pace. “Oh, fuck yes!” you whined.

“Are you even trying to stay quiet?” Javier hissed.

“Yes,” you replied weakly.

“Fucking liar.” You heard the smirk.

The hand playing with your clit moved to your mouth and he slipped two fingers past your lips. It effectively muffled your noises of pleasure as he pulled you down hard on his cock with every thrust. The only sound was the wet noise of him sliding in and out of your slick cunt and the slap of your stocking-covered thighs as they bounced against his. You felt that delicious pressure deep in your belly, right between your thighs, building steadily.

Until you heard a noise just outside the door and the two of you froze.

Without pulling out of you, Javier held you to his chest. As if that would somehow help. You could feel his heart beating against your back just as your own threatened to break through your ribs. Two sets of wide eyes watched the doorknob, waiting for any sign that someone on the other side was about to turn it. You held your breath as you listened carefully to the low voices murmuring, unable to tell who they belonged to or what they were saying. It was like they were hovering just outside the door. Taunting you.

Just as you were about to suggest redressing and making a run for it, Javier started moving in and out of you as a torturously slow pace. Despite the voices nearby, a small whimper escaped you. He shushed you gently. “Quiet, baby,” he whispered.

“But–”

“You wanted this.”

“Javi­–”

“You wouldn’t have worn this” –he fingered the garter belt– “if you didn’t want to end up just like this.”

He was right, of course.

“What if–”

“I’m not going to let that happen.” You had no idea what he thought he was going to do if someone did catch the two of you, but he seemed confident enough for the both of you. Coupled with the easy rock of his hips, you relaxed into his hold. The truth was, as much as you liked the freedom of your home, you missed this. This thrill that you trusted only him to give you.

As soon as the conversation faded away, he resumed his previous pace, punching the air right out of your lungs.

“Yes! Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop,” you chanted, forgetting the precarious situation you were in only moments ago. The coil in your belly tightened as you neared your crest, and you could tell by his less than precise movements that Javier just as close. And then, right as you were about to fall apart on his cock–

Javier pulled out and spun you back around in one swift movement. Before you even knew what was happening, he yanked down your panties and came all over you. Jaw dropping, you watched him work his length until every last drop was on you. White spurts of cum marked you and pooled in the black lace, already dripping down your thighs to the tops of your stockings. You placed a hand on either of his shoulders to steady yourself as your legs threatened to give out under you and stared down at the mess. Somehow, you were more turned on than before. You felt like you would actually combust from arousal. He held your panties in place for a moment, admiring his work, before letting the elastic snap against your skin and drawing your attention upward.

His breaths were jagged, stuttering and uneven. His head tilted back, and he looked down his nose at you with dark eyes that shone with something feral. Something sacrilegious. He was flushed and panting but a smirk tugged on his lips as he tucked his cock away and belted his pants. “You said you wanted to be my dirty girl.”

You swore you could feel your last brain cell short-circuiting. You were hyperaware of the errant drop sliding down your thighs, but you couldn’t look away from him. “Always,” you promised quietly.

You kissed him with everything you had. Javier took it greedily.

“You’re so good for me. Letting me cum all over you,” he said breathlessly, still kissing you. “I want you to keep it all in your panties so that while you’re out there talking to those pretentious professors you can feel my cum between your legs. Okay?” You nodded and he graciously straightened your dress, letting it fall over your messy thighs. “You first.”

“But I didn’t–”

“Only good girls get to cum,” he replied quickly, apparently knowing exactly what you were going to say.

“Javi,” you scolded breathlessly and pointlessly, “I– I am your good girl.”

“Not tonight. You can’t keep quiet. Do you want everyone we work with to know I’m fucking you in this god damn coat closet?” You shook your head. “Don’t worry, honey, this was just foreplay. I’m not done with you yet. Tonight, I’m gonna make you cum so fucking hard you’re screaming my name at the top of your lungs. I can’t do that here, but I can get you ready.”

Your head buzzed.

Some filthy part of you liked that he’d cum all over you. That he wanted to do that to you. You didn’t even need to cum because it’d felt that good. And you knew by the look in his eyes that he planned on making up for leaving you wanting, for making a mess of you. You instinctively understood that this was part of it. That even greater pleasure waited for you if you could just be patient and... and trust him. And you did trust him. You knew he would take care of you.  

If this was going to be your last night together for weeks — after hardly spending a night apart the last month and a half — then this was just the start.

“Okay,” you agreed. “But you’re a fucking tease, Javier Peña.”

He laughed with genuine mirth in his eyes. “You started it.”

“I’ll finish it,” you promised.

“I’m looking forward to that.”

You hesitated, teasing your bottom lip with your teeth. “Do we really have to go back out there?”

“It would be rude to leave so early.” You knew he didn’t care about staying. He was just tormenting you, playing a fucked-up game that had your head spinning like crazy. “But don’t worry. Eventually, I’ll take you home and fill you up. Just the way you like it. Now be a good girl” he said with a swat on your ass, “and go out first.”

Feeling defiant, you turned around and planted a kiss on his neck, purposefully leaving a smudge of red lipstick on his crisp white collar.

“Are you trying to get me in trouble?”

“Maybe I do want everyone to know your mine.”

He wiped away the lipstick he smeared when he stuck his fingers in your mouth with the pad of his thumb. “You know. That’s all I care about.”

… . …

The two of you didn’t make it another hour. Fifty-two minutes to be exact. Javier knew because he kept checking his watch only to decide that time had crept to a halt. He wanted nothing more than to take you home and finish what he’d started. Every time he glanced at you across the room, he found you squirming as you tried to keep a straight face while chatting with some colleague, and he had to look away and recompose himself.

It hadn’t been his intention to leave you wet and wanting and covered in his cum. It’d just happened in the heat of the moment. Some wild idea that he’d decided to act on. But you… you’d liked it. And so did Javier.

In reality, fifty-two minutes wasn’t that long, but it was enough time to suck up to the school’s dean. If Javier was going to be put on display as his prized lecturer for the year, he’d make him listen to him in return. Even if he had to turn up the fake charm to a ten in front of a group of wealthy alumni.

“Here she is now,” Javier said, taking a hold of your elbow as you passed by, physically dragging you into the conversation. You shot him a confused look, but he just smiled at the dean.

“Ah, yes, professor,” Dean Dalton started, “It would seem you’ve made quite the impression on Agent Peña.”

Javier elected to ignore his choice of title.

“Really? I wasn’t aware.” You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, but he could tell you were happy.

“I’ve had the privilege of reading a few chapters of her upcoming book,” Javier explained. “Trust me, you’ll want to see what she’s planning next.”

“As luck would have it, I’ve been talking to a few of our more generous donors tonight. Perhaps we should meet when classes resume to discuss how the school might be able to help your research.” The dean clinked his glass against yours and ambled off.

“What did you just do?” you asked, disbelief lacing your voice.

“I told you I would help you.”

“Oh my God… thank you,” you said softly. You stared at him for a long moment and he just held your gaze. “Will you take you home now?”

“Yes.”

Without wasting another second, you turned on your heel and headed toward the entrance. He followed eagerly. “Wait.” You stopped suddenly and his chest hit your back. You peered at him over your shoulder. “Don’t forget our tradition.”

He quirked a brow in silent question and your eyes flicked to the bar in response. It clicked. “Got it,” he said with a grin. He swiped the first bottle of champagne he could reach. Something so expensive he couldn’t even imagine the price tag. Something neither of you could ever afford on an academic salary.

… . …

Javier drove with one hand on the steering wheel and the other resting on your knee, drawing circles on your thigh over the sheer material covering your skin. Late on a chilly December night, the streets were empty, and the drive was easy. The city was unusually peaceful.

“I still can’t believe you pulled that off,” you murmured dreamily. He squeezed your knee in response.

A few minutes later, he’d stopped at a light when you quietly said his name. He turned to you and found you staring at him. You looked relaxed and happy. “I didn’t get a chance to tell you how handsome you look tonight. All dressed up for me,” you offered sweetly. “You’re absolutely breathtaking.”

“How much did you have to drink?” he deflected.

“One drink hours ago. Nice try, but I’m sober.” You laughed but your teasing tone gave way to something softer. “You really are the most beautiful man.”

In his periphery, the light changed, bathed the inside of the car in a bright green light. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from your beautiful face. Not when such an open, vulnerable sincerity graced your features.

“The light’s green,” you whispered.

“I know.”

A small smile broke out on your face.

… . …

Behind you, Javier trailed soft, lazy kisses along the slope of your neck as he slowly unzipped your dress, letting it hang loose around you. Your eyes fluttered shut as he smoothed his hands down your exposed back, thumbs gently digging into your flesh to massage your tired muscles. Every kiss, every touch, stoked the fire he’d ignited inside you hours ago.

“Let it fall,” he murmured against your skin. You slipped the straps over your shoulders and the fabric pooled at your feet. Then you reached for the clasp of your bra. “Leave it. I’ll take it off when I want to.” You bit back a devilish smile as he continued his ministrations. His lips followed his hands down your spine, and you gasped when he placed a kiss on the small of your back.

“Can’t decide how I want you first,” he mused.

“I want your mouth on me.”

He kneaded the flesh of your ass as he placed the lightest kiss on one cheek. “It is.”

“Not there.”

At your complaint, he snapped the garter belt strap so it stung against your flesh. But a firm hand on your back urged you forward until you were kneeling on the bed and he mouthed your cunt through the lace. “Here?” he asked, voice muffled.

“Yes,” you moaned, desperate for more.

“Maybe I should clean the mess I made on your pussy.” Without waiting for an answer, he pulled the fabric away and sealed his mouth over your hot, wet core, drawing an inarticulate slew of curses from you.

Hands gripping the backs of your thighs right at the tops of your stockings, he alternated between sucking on your clit, teasing the little bundle of nerves between his lips, and fucking you with his tongue. The constantly changing pressure was as intoxicating as it was frustrating — it was never enough but plenty to keep you hovering right on the cusp.

Until he finally – finally – gave you what you needed most.

Holding a steady pace as he flicked his tongue over your clit, Javier pushed you right over the edge.

Unable to breath, unable to move, unable to even think, you sobbed, cunt still pulsing around nothing, when he unceremoniously flipped you over and entered you. He slid into your dripping heat easily. And somehow, your first orgasm rolled right into the second as his cock struck something magic inside you, sparking a whole new wave of pleasure.

“You can’t stop coming, can you?” he asked, grunting as he pounded into you.

It just kept going. And going. Wave after wave relentlessly rolling through you. Unceasing in the best way imaginable. Javier knew your body so fucking well. He was the only one who knew how to do this to you. “No,” you mewled deliriously, body still shaking under him.

He thumbed away a tear rolling down your cheek. You hadn’t even realized you were crying. His hand left your face to knead a lace covered breast. “You look so fucking hot.”

“Fuck me harder, Javi.”

He pulled out all the way and your hips lifted, chasing him, but he pushed your knees to your chest and shouldered between your legs. “You’re not going to be able to walk when I’m done with you.”

“Good. I wanna feel you for days.” you said, ignoring the pang in your heart that told you that you were going to miss him.

“Fuck,” he spat. Your cunt drenched his cock as he slipped back inside, and your breath hitched as he hit deeper at the new angle.

“Right there!” you cried, arching up against him, “oh, God, right there!”

“One more. Give me one more,” Javier demanded, lacing your fingers together and pining your hands above your head, “But not until I tell you.”

You nodded eagerly, happy to give him whatever he wanted. “I get to tell you when too. Please, Javi.”

“Whatever you want baby. You fucking earned it.”

He kept slamming into you and every stroke of his cock rubbed against your inner walls perfectly. You swore you could almost feel every ridge and every vein of his thick length as he fucked you. Your third orgasm was tantalizingly within reach. You just needed his blessing, and you’d break.

“Alright, baby,” he panted as he rocked his hips against yours, grinding his pelvis against your clit, “cum all over my cock.”

Just like that, that tight coil inside you he’d been winding up all night snapped, and you came for a third time with a wanton cry. His name tumbled from your lips repeatedly as your body writhed beneath him, cunt spasming around his cock.

“I need to cum,” he ground out, voice cutting through the haze of pleasure.

“Ask me nicely,” you teased when your senses had returned to you just enough that you decided it was your turn to play with Javier. You wanted it to be just as good for him as he made it for you.

“Please.”

“No.”

“Please.”

“No.”

“Baby, please.” Javier’s broken words trembling around the edges as he begged you. His brown eyes, eclipsed by his dilated pupils and wet around the edges, stared deeply into yours and you almost gave in.

“Don’t stop.”

He made a desperate sound but kept going, snapping his hips against yours harder and harder.

“Almost there, Javi. You’re doing so good for me,” you praised, encouraging him. His jaw clenched and you kissed his neck, sucking hard on the straining muscles. His hands gripped yours so tight it hurt, and his face screwed up as he panted with each thrust. “You can cum for me, Javi. Fill me up.”

His lips crashed against yours in a desperate gratitude, and his hips stuttered as he came hard. He gasped for breath even as your mouths moved messily together. His cock twitched inside you as he painted your cunt like you’d been patiently waiting for all evening, until his body gave out and he collapsed on top of you, still locked in an embrace.

“Was that good for you?” you asked. When you didn’t get an answer, you prodded his side. He startled, eyes suddenly blinking up at you.

“What?”

“I asked if that was good for you?”

“Yeah. Yeah, that was... it’s always good with you but that was...” He trailed off and you thought he might’ve actually fallen asleep on you. “I’ve never cum so hard in my life. I think I fucking blacked out.”

“I didn’t know my pussy was that good.”

“Are you kidding me? I fucking love your pussy.” He was positively beaming at you. He cursed with a sigh as he laid his head back on your chest and you threaded your fingers through his damp locks, holding him close while you could.

… . …

You sat half in Javier’s lap in the middle of your bed, sheets strewn about from your previous activities, both completely naked but freshly showered. He moved his mouth against yours, tasting you, drinking you in until he was as lightheaded from your kisses as from the champagne. His hands roamed your body, touching you for no real reason other than to memorize your gentle curves. One hand cupped a breast and the other squeezed your hip, both moving slowly until they met to cradle your face.

He pulled away to look at you. No fancy dress, no jewelry, no make-up. Just you.

“Still stunning,” he whispered.

You smiled softly and pressed your lips to the bridge of his nose. “Still handsome,” you countered. Chills erupted across his skin, but you mistook his reaction. “Come here.” you pulled the blankets up as you settled back against the headboard. He followed, swiping the bottle of champagne off the nightstand. Without bothering with glasses, surely a disservice to something so expensive, he took a swig and handed it to you. It was bubbly and light and perfect for the evening.

“You never told me what you’re doing for the holidays.”

“Oh, nothing much,” you responded as you took the bottle from him. “Bev’s family celebrates Christmas. They always do gifts with the kids in the morning but then her mom and in-laws and whoever else in the family is around go over for a big dinner. She insists I come to keep her sane. Her mom and mother-in-law don’t exactly get along.”

“What about New Year’s?”

You took a long pull before sighing. “Well, I usually spend the night with Sunny watching old movies and drinking too much wine.” Your face pinched. “That sounds much sadder when I say it out loud.”

“You don’t mind being alone?”

“It’s been this way for years now.” You smiled, a rueful thing. “I’m used to it. I’m usually so tired after the quarter ends that I don’t mind the time alone.” You tried to brush it off, but he could hear the sadness in your voice.

“You could–” Javier stopped himself. “You could call. Anytime. I’ll give you my dad’s home number so you can reach me.”

That time your smile reached your eyes, crinkling the corners as you looked away bashfully. “That’s really sweet of you.” You reached for his hand and added, “I’ll call you at midnight in Laredo.”

“We’ll talk until midnight in Los Angeles.”

You curled up next to him before Javier could decipher your expression.

When he felt your breathing even out, surely sated from the sex and exhausted after the quarter, he pried the bottle from your grasp. He finished the last bit before setting it aside and switching off the lamp, careful not to disturb you.

Javier held you close, not unlike the way you’d held him the night before. He knew he needed to get his shit together. He didn’t want you to see that part of him. He needed to protect you from his past. But he didn’t know how to do that when he couldn’t even protect himself.

He flicked off the light and hoped for a peaceful sleep.

… . …

The first thing you noticed when you woke up the next morning was the dark bruise that you’d sucked onto Javier’s neck the night before. You ran your fingertips over it, outwardly cringing but inwardly, well, preening. This time it had been you who left those little love bites on his neck.

“Did you mark me?” he asked, his voice barely more than a quiet rumble. “Fucking felt that last night.”

“I didn’t mean to,” you answered, looking up at him as innocently as possible.

“Don’t lie to me,” he grumbled as his eyes blinked open. “You were a woman determined last night.”

“Why didn’t you stop me?”

“I liked it,” he grinned, but it faded quickly. “I forgot I was going home today. My dad’s picking me up at the airport.”

“Oh shit,” you laughed, burying your face against his chest.

“Don’t laugh. That’s not funny.”

“Maybe you should try buttoning your shirt like a normal person for once.”

In one smooth movement, he flipped you over and caged you beneath him. “You’re pushing your luck,” he tried to warn, but the grin on his face and the glint in his eyes betrayed him.

“What time is your flight?” you asked, soothing a hand across his face.

“One.” He glanced over at the clock. “It’s ten now.”

You wondered, just for a moment, if he would stay with you if you asked him to. If he would pass the holidays with you so you wouldn’t have to be alone. But that was foolish. And more than a little selfish. He had his family to go home to.

“You should probably go.”

“Yeah,” he sighed, “I should.”

He eased his hold on you but made no move to leave. Not until he’d placed a kiss on your lips and one on your forehead in a gentle goodbye.

... . ...

Thank you for reading! 💗

Forever Tags: @leo-moon @readsalot73 @frietiemeloen @huliabitch @jerusomeeno @benedrylcumbersnatch @b0n-chann @scapricciatello @liadamerondjarin @pedropasscals @paintballkid711 @mistermiraclee @honeyand-roses

Curriculum Vitae Tags: @softpedropascal @roxypeanut @unstoppableforcce @technicallykawaiisoul @mrsparknuts @weirdowithnobeardo @seeking-a-great--perhaps @assultsofthought @arrowswithwifi @larakasser @romewritingshop @none-of-your-bullshit @the-bird-suit @magneticbucky @bbygrgu @luminarahan @buckstaposition @grapemama @emzd34 @itsilvermorny​

Javier: @wander-lustbabe​

Tag lists are always open. 

[sleepysailorghost]

Arcade wasn't sure what he expected when the Courier asked him to accompany them. They hadn't given a name, only said they were a Courier. It wasn't much to go on, but the Courier had looked up at him with big eyes. And for some reason, it didn't sound all that crazy to venture beyond the fort with them, a natural stanger.

They had listened so reverently when Julie spoke. They had fulfilled any job asked of them by the Followers. Certainly, if they harbored ill will towards the Followers, they would have gotten to their revenge before now.

He had asked for their name, if only to be polite.

"I don't have one. Courier or Six is fine, if you'd like."

"You don't have a name?"

"I guess I probably did once, but I don't remember any more. I just remember the man in the checkered coat- an 18-carat run of bad luck-and then waking up in Doc Mitchell's house. Maybe that man knows who I was. I don't know."

"That doesn't bother you, not having a past?"

"No, not really." The Courier leaned back. "I'm just me. Sure, I can't look back on the road behind me, but I can look forward."

"Interesting. Are you going to look for the man in the checkered coat?"

"I don't know. I guess I could. I'm supposed to, because he stole something from me and shot me in the head."

"Wait, he shot you in the head?"

"Yeah, that's why I don't remember much. It messed with my head too."

"Well, yeah. Getting shot in the head would do that."

"Oh, wait, I do have one hint to who I might have been." The courier starts to undo the many closures of their armor, like a fire's been lit under them. "What do you make of this?"

The Courier drops their armor clumsily on the floor, and then goofily flexes. He doesn't really know what they're refering to, but then he sees the poorly-done tattoo on their upper arm. It's a ring of roses and thorns that raps under their bicep. Despite being very mediocre, it is legible and in color.

"Huh." Tattoos aren't really unique, but it is something. "Maybe your name is Rose?"

"Maybe. It doesn't sound right."

"Maybe you just need to try it out for a while, wear it in." He's trying to help, but the Courier is a near stranger to him. "Or, if you'd like, I could arrange for you to see Dr. Usa-"

"No thanks. Don't want to take up her time." The refusal was off faster than a bullet from a sixgun. "If you're ready to go, so am I."

"Sure." He agreed. It wasn't really healthy of the Courier to act out against the idea of visiting the clinic, but it wasn't something he could force them into. At least, not as a near stranger.

This turned out to be one of the few times the Courier's former-NCR sniper friend wasn't travelling with them. He probably wouldn't have decided to go with the Courier if he had known they had company. Still, it isn't all that bad, even if he feels a little crowded with the Courier, their robot pet ED-E (he hates that thing), the King's robot-dog, the sniper, and the Remnant medical researcher. One more person, and the Courier will have a small army.

Not that the Courier normally has all of them traveling together at once. It's too noticeable, draws too much attention. It might even sound like a joke: an Enclave eyebot, a police cyber dog, an amnesiac Courier, a grouchy NCR sniper, and a medical researcher walk in to a bar...

It makes the Courier happy to travel with him, so he does it on occasion. Those occassions become a lot more frequent after they return from a place they call the "Big Empty".

That had been months ago. Now, he felt like he knew the Courier. Not that he wasn't surprised by the Courier-he certainly was. But he was familiar with the Courier now.

It was a dangerous sort of thing, that familiarity. He was even starting to think that perhaps it would be a good idea to let them in on his own origins.

And he knew how the Courier felt about him.

Leaning against his side while they sat at a fire, the Courier's hands stripping a defeated foe's weapon, they had muttered something.

"Sorry, say again?" Arcade responded. Most of the time, it was just complaints about bent springs or whatever, more to themselves than to him.

The Courier's hands stopped, laying the weapon on the ground.

"You're my brother, Arcade." The Courier says, and then continues before Arcade could interrupt. "Not by blood. Or hell, maybe you are. It's not like I'd remember. Course you are a heck of a lot taller than I am...maybe the tall gene skipped me."

Arcade doesn't say anything, attempting to process what the Courier was trying to tell him.

"No, we're not related by blood." He agrees, although he has no real way to confirm it without knowing the Courier's identity.

"I know." The Courier put their hand up to their chest. "I just...well, I know you're my brother. I, uhh, care about you."

Arcade didn't know what to say about that. It really did feel like it had come out of nowhere to him. A few weeks later, the Courier had gone running off to a place that might have been their home.

Antietam is walking by his side now, but their gaze is drawn over to an old poster. The pre-war store was filled with advertisements for many different products, from Sugar-Bombs to the newest products from Rob-Co.

Shelves, long ransacked and destroyed, have created something of a maze. The laminate tiling on the floor has become loose after centuries of neglect. Decorations littering the area would mark this location as a raider base at some point.

His friend doesn't seem to notice any of that, moving closer to a central display that might have been made of stacked shoeboxes once. Now, the boxes lay in a crumpled heap.

"Antietam, wait-" He says, and the courier stops.

"Yeah? Do you need something?"

"You need to be more careful! This could be a trap."

"I don't think it is. I'm pretty good at finding traps and I don't see any tripwires or bear traps. I've stepped in enough of those."

"Of course you wouldn't see them! It's a mess in here."

"I'm not going far. I just wanna see if I can find some of those."The Courier pointed at an advertisement. It was of a girl with little wheels on her shoes, looking over her shoulder as she spun away. Under the picture, it read "Roll with the punches with Roller-Ray skates!".

"Do you..need those?"

"Well, no. I just think they would be cool. Just rollin around town."

"I'll go with them." Boone added, if only so he could keep an eye on them.

"Yeah, plus ED-E's sensors haven't picked up on anything. I can handle myself while looking for skates, Arcade."

On that note, the Courier and Boone go to pick through the rubble. When they returned, Antietam raised their arm triumphantly.

"We found them! A little dinged up, but I can fix that. C'mon, lets go outside to try them!" With the hand not holding their skates, Antietam grabbed at Arcade's sleeve.

"Okay, okay." He said, because Antietam's enthusiasm for things was infectious sometimes. They exited the store, entering that had once been a parking lot. Rusted-through cars sat abandoned and the sun hung low in the sky.

Antietam dropped to the floor, strapping on their skates. They were metal and fit awkwardly with their combat boots and spurs. Awkwardly, like a baby radstag on ice, the Courier stood up.

"Okay,so I just." The Courier lifted one leg as if to take a step. Their balance was offset by the movement. Next to him, Arcade saw Boone move to catch the Courier if they fell, but the Courier braced themselves on a car instead.

They took a few more awkward steps.

"Yeah, I think I'm getting the hang of this." Their movements were jerky, but in time, perhaps they'd be alright at it.

Then they hit a skid in the destroyed asphalt and took a spill. Their left side collided hard with a rusted shell.

"Ouch." they groaned, and then collapsed onto the parking lot. "I'm just gonna rest here for a second."

Arcade laughed a little, and then helpfully whined about the sun.

"Alright, alright. Okay, getting up." The Courier pushed up from the asphalt with both hands, rising from their crumpled mass.

"Nothing broken?" Arcade asked, seeing Antietam avoid putting too much weight on their left side.

"No, probably just bruised." They replied, but that was what Arcade had expected. They were still extremely hesitant to be medically examined, even if it meant concealing and ignoring injuries. It stung Arcade-someone who the Courier allegedly loved like a brother-to be held at arms' length. That being said, he couldn't be upset with them either. The Courier had suffered greatly and been stripped of agency by doctors. It was a mark of pride that Antietam trusted him.

Actually, he could still be angry with them for concealing injuries.

The sun was beating down as steadily as it always did in the Mojave. A bead of sweat formed on Arcade's neck.

"Oh shoot." The Courier murmured, looking over their hands. They wore fingerless gloves, and a pip-boy on one arm. Arcade examined the injury. It would be a lot of work if the Courier came down with tetnus. "It's just a scrape, Arcade."

"It's not just a scrape. It's dirty and could get infected."

"Hottest part of the days coming up. We should wait it out in the store." Boone added, helpfully.

"C'mon, listen to your big brother, ok?" Arcade tried with a smile. The Courier looked up at him with their wide brown eyes.

Arcade was not above emotional manipulation.

Half a year ago, if someone told him that he was going to play big brother to a Courier who knew nothing about their past and hated doctors, he'd have likely sent them to see Dr. Usanagi.

The Courier ran their gloved hand through their short white hair. It fluffed up their bangs (despite the pin staying in place) and revealed the twin scars on their forehead and the surgical scar that ran around their skull.

"Okay." The Courier responded, sticking their wrist out to him for treatment.

"Oh, that's a nasty cut." he said, "Let's head inside so we can get this treated.:

In the end, even if the Courier was a hassle sometimes, he was glad to be their brother. He was turning into such a sap.

[thephantomofthe-internet]

My Best Friend’s Wedding

Billy Hargrove x Reader, Steve Harrington x Reader (One Sided), Robin Buckley x OC

Word Count: 7,363

Warnings: Crying, heartbreak, true love!!!!!

Author’s Note: Um...hi. So, I’m back. It’s been awhile. How are you? I’m okay, little nervous to post since my last story flopped really badly, but again I’m confident in this one and that you’ll like this story. I sure do! As always, leave some comments if you like it and criticism if you don’t I like both! I love hearing what you think!

Tag List: @hotstuffhargrove @moonstruckbucky @thechickvic @alex--awesome--22 @lilmissperfectlyimperfect @so-not-hotmess @hawkeyeharrington @sunflowercandie @kaliforniacoastalteens @songforhema @spidey-pal @mickmoon @buckybarneshairpullingkink @baebee35 @myrealloveissleep @allfandomxreader

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Steve Harrington was getting married. What a douchebag thing to do. Marrying the first girl to say that she loved him. You’d been doing that for twenty-one years. And he decided to marry a girl that he hadn’t even introduced to you yet. You’d been his best friend since birth. You couldn’t believe it.

He told you on your winter break. Both of you had only been home for a few days. Steve had gone to Gary to train at their police academy and you’d gone to Indianapolis for college. You both returned home for winter break. You were hoping to enjoy a couple weeks back with your best friend. You’d planned your whole break around it. But you couldn’t even get him to leave the house for ten minutes the first week home. You hadn’t met her yet, but you’d heard her voice when you called. Steve said her name was Cathy. She sounded like she was fifteen. She literally answered the phone by saying ‘yellow?’ like a damn character in Valley Girl. What a fucking joke.

To say you were jealous was an understatement. Steve was your guy. Your best friend. Your one true love. He didn’t know that part yet, but it was obvious. You had the chemistry, you had the mutual attraction, and you had the spark, that bit of electricity Steve had been in search of since you were thirteen. You were it. But there Steve was with Cathy. He brought her to dinner. She was a freshman at Ivy Tech. She was studying nursing. She had mousy brown hair and high cheekbones. She looked like Nancy Wheeler, but with a sweeter, easier going personality. She didn’t know that Steve pissed his pants after seeing Poltergeist. She was everything Steve thought he wanted. He’d be bored of her in five years.

You pouted through that dinner and the rest of the break. Steve barely paid you any mind, he was too busy flashing his hot new soon to be trophy wife around. Her round cut diamond ring on its ugly notched yellow gold band flashing in the sunlight on her pale, milky skin making your blood boil. You just knew he bought her a new ring, his grandmother’s engagement ring was much smaller and classier than what she had on. She made him buy her a new ring. God, what a fucking bitch.

You went back to Indianapolis enraged. You flew through the small towns in your crappy car to get back home. Your roommate, Robin, made it back to your tiny apartment before you did, which meant that Billy Hargrove had his feet up on your coffee table. You let out a beleaguered sigh when you saw the soles of his dirty white tube socks waving to you from atop your psychology textbooks.

“Hargrove, feet off the books. They cost more than you do.” You groaned, dropping your army style duffle bag by your door. Billy chuckled, doing as you asked. You felt his eyes run over you, which you didn’t entirely get the point of. You looked the same, although slightly greasier from your long drive home.

“You don’t know my rates, kid.” He replied, wiggling his eyebrows at you. You rolled your eyes, waving a polite hello to Robin, who was watching the scene with a bemused look from the kitchen. You headed to your bedroom without another word, hoping for solace in the solitude of your private space. You felt like dying the second your knees hit the mattress. He was leaving you.  He was leaving you for a boring brunette named Cathy. He was leaving you for someone who didn’t even laugh at his jokes. The love of your life was marrying someone else. It hit you like running full force into a brick wall. Your brain felt like it was shaking in your skull, your nose crushed into your face as tears began to carve burning streams down your face and your nose turned red and stuffy. You were very aware of the fact that people were in your apartment, that if Robin was home then she’d call Beth and the three of them would probably spark up and would coming knocking on your door soon. But in that moment, you needed to cry. You needed to let go of every ill feeling that had been clogging your chest since Steve had told you of his plan.

You didn’t know how long you’d been in there for, your only sense of time being the markers of when the stereo turned on and off. When you heard a knock on your door, you didn’t move. Whoever was on the other side would just invite themselves in anyway.

“Hey, we’re going to get some food, you coming or-” Billy’s sentence came to an abrupt end when you lifted your face from the pillow, mascara streaking your cheeks. “Oh shit.” He shut the door fast. You both heard Robin yelling from behind the door for him to hurry up, but neither of you moved. Billy didn’t seem quite sure of himself, as if he didn’t know what to do now that he’d closed the door.

“I’m good, go on Hargrove.” You sighed, wiping hard at your damp and warm skin.

Billy didn’t move. “Are you gonna be okay?” he asked quietly.

“Does it look like I’m okay?” you bit back bitterly. You wished he would leave you be. Billy was the last person you wanted to see you cry, much less to be there to comfort you. He wasn’t your damn friend, you hardly knew him. He was just the guy who hung out in your living room and ate your food. He was Robin’s friend, not yours.

“What happened?” he asked, venturing closer to you.

You let out a sigh. Well, at least he wouldn’t tell Steve about this. “Harrington’s getting married.” You replied, your voice cracking. You needed a drink of water or something, crying had truly drained you.

“Isn’t he your age? You can barely drink.” He scoffed. It was almost refreshing. He seemed to not believe it as much as you did.

“Yeah, he is and he’s marrying a near stranger. They’ve only been together like eight months.” Your mouth turned up in a nauseated scowl. Billy watched your lips as they curled up in disgust. He smirked, trying to hold back a bubble of laughter. You looked so genuinely turned off by the thought, it was funny.

“So he’s an idiot. Why cry over him?” Billy asked, sitting down carefully on your bed. You pulled your legs up to your knees, wrapping your arms around them, tucking your chin behind them.

“Because he’s my idiot…” you muttered softly. Billy raised an eyebrow, egging you on. “I love him. I’ve loved him since I was ten years old…”

“Damn…” Billy breathed out.

“I know…” you replied, wiping your eyes on your long grey sleeves.

“You have awful taste.” He said. You gasped, throwing a pillow at his head. It hit with a smack, sending him falling back a bit, his big callused hands sliding back to support himself. You burst out laughing as it hit, you usually had pretty bad aim so you were shocked when it hit. You clasped a hand over your mouth, your eyes crinkling as you tried to hide your glee. Billy rolled his eyes, but his infamous smirk pulled at his lips.

“You don’t know Steve like I do!” you giggled, dodging the pillow as it came back at your head.

“And you don’t know him like I do.” Billy replied. He didn’t actually aim the pillow near your head, he knew he’d hit you square in the head and he didn’t want to hurt you. Your bedroom door flew open and Robin stood in the doorway, adjusting her leather jacket around her shoulders, the hood of her bright red hoodie poking out of the back and over the collar.

“Nerds are you coming with or are you having a sleepover? Beth and I are starving.” She asked, crossing her arms over her chest with a stern expression.   You could see Beth pulling up her long brown hair behind Robin, her emerald green fitted coat buttoned up as high as it would go and her burgundy scarf tucked into it. The weather must have turned on them, the temperature dropping again.

“Geez, yeah gimme a second.” You grabbed your lavender coloured cardigan from its place on the bed next to you and pulling it around yourself as you climbed out of bed. Billy followed behind you, shrugging as Robin raised an eyebrow at him.

From that point on, Billy became your wedding confidant. As the date was set and began to loom closer and closer, he stood by you, listening to you rant about Cathy and Steve and their fucking bliss. You were going to be a bridesmaid, Cathy asked you since Steve’s mother wouldn’t let him make you a groomsman. They were having a June wedding. It was going to happen in Carmel, in the same hall his parents had gotten married in. Steve’s parents were paying for everything, including your awful magenta taffeta nightmare. Billy listened to everything you could come up with, every awful insult you’ve come up with for Cathy. He watched you laugh, you cry, you scream at the sky. For the first time in knowing you, he genuinely felt for you.

In March, you got your invitation to the wedding, along with a note from Cathy. Apparently, all her other bridesmaids had dates and that you should bring a date too, so you wouldn’t be awkward. You wanted to strangle the girl. Billy was sitting on your couch when you walked into your apartment, dropping your heavy book bag on the floor, invitation still held in hand and mouth agape.

“Hey, what’s up?” Billy asked, flicking his gaze away from the magazine in his hands.

You looked up briefly “Shouldn’t you be in class?” Billy was in trade school. He was supposed to be learning to be an electrician. Instead, he had his dirty feet on your coffee table.

“I don’t feel ready yet. What’s that?” he pointed to the eggshell coloured expensive paper in your hands.

“Oh, just my invitation to the Harrington-Bray wedding and a lovely note from the bride herself.” You smirked, kicking off your tennis shoes before joining Billy on the couch. He immediately wrapped an arm around your shoulders and you leaned into him, resting your head on his shoulder.

“What’s she bugging you about now?” he asked, unable to hide the small, satisfied grin that pulled at his lips as you snuggled into him. He was glad that your attention was still on the invitation.

Yeah, he was utterly fucked over you. He wasn’t ashamed to admit it to himself. He would never admit it to anyone else, but he wasn’t going to pretend that he didn’t have feelings for you. He did. Sometime between finding you crying in your bedroom and now, he’d fallen head over feet into a pit of mushy gushy feelings that he hadn’t had to tackle before and he couldn’t escape. Before you, women fell into about three categories: old ladies in charge, women he could fuck, and women he wouldn’t fuck. But you didn’t fit into any category. Well, I mean you fit very neatly into the women he’d fuck category, but you were more than that. He wanted to make you happy, to help you when you’re upset and to harm anyone who hurt you, and to protect you from harm’s way. You felt precious and special to him, something he didn’t quite know how to tackle. So, he ignored it. He hoped you couldn’t feel the way his heart pounded in his chest as he looked over the invitation you held loosely in your right hand.

“Well, Cathy has informed me that all her other bridesmaids have dates and that, to not stand out, I should bring one too. Because wouldn’t it be fucking loopy if I didn’t have a damn date.” You huffed out a breath, crossing your arms over your chest.

Billy paused for a moment. Then, squeezing his eyes shut, he took a risk, his first in months. “I’ll go with you if you need a date.” He said.

You furrowed your brow “Why would you want to go? You hate Steve.” You asked.

“Well, for one thing watching Harrington make the biggest mistake of his life in a monkey suit will be pretty funny.” He said, earning a smack in the chest from you. “And for another, I want to help you out. You need a date, I’m there.”

You picked up your invitation, looking it over sceptically. “Are you sure? I mean it’s in the beginning of June, I don’t want to drag you away from your finals or anything, I don’t know when you’re done school for the year…”

“Yeah, it’s not a big deal, my exams are in a couple weeks anyway.” Billy replied with a shrug. Even if his finals were during that week, he would’ve skipped them to go with you. He wanted, no he needed to be there with you. He didn’t give two shits about Harrington, he could make mistakes whenever, but he had to be there to hold your hand when you needed him to.

“You’re gonna have to wear a monkey suit too you know.” You said with a small smirk.

“Its fine, I think mine still fits from my dad’s funeral.” He replied. You sat up, pulling a pen from the spirals of one of your forgotten notebooks and checked off the ‘plus one’ option on your invitation.

“Chicken or Steak?” you asked, checking off the chicken option for yourself. “Oh and also? You can’t laugh at me in my dumb dress. I got sent pictures of it and it’s bad. It’s really bad.”

“Steak and I won’t. I’ll be too busy laughing at everything else.” He chuckled, earning another smack in the chest from you before you checked off the plus one card Cathy’s expensive invitations had provided.

For the next two months, you did everything you could to ignore Cathy’s calls. She invited you to the bridal shower and the bachelorette party, both of which you refused with the same excuse. Steve called you twice to bitch you out. The third time he called to complain, you actually fought back.

“Y/N, can you please try with Cathy? She’s trying to be nice.” Steve groaned. You were sat on the couch, having forced Robin to turn down the radio so you could actually hear Steve on the other end. She and Beth were just making out anyway; they didn’t need to have it up so loud anyway. Hearing Debbie Gibson on top volume didn’t make anything more romantic.

“I am trying; I’m in her bridal party aren’t I? I’m coming up three days before the wedding to help her get ready. Isn’t that enough?” you tried, twirling the phone cord around your fingers.

“She was really upset that you didn’t come up for her bridal shower or her Bachelorette party.” Steve replied.

“I had exams during her bridal shower and I couldn’t afford to take the time off work for the party. I’m not rich like your families are Steve. I have rent to pay and classes to pass. If I fail, I don’t have a soft place to land like you do Steve.” That wasn’t exactly the kindest thing to say in the moment, but you were tired of this conversation. You felt like you’d been having it for weeks.

“That’s not fair, Y/N, you know that’s not how my life is.” Steve said.

“Oh really? Then why are your parents paying for your whole wedding? Why is your dad holding a job for you at his company? Why is Cathy already invited to the country club with full membership? Why does she spend her breaks at her family’s ski lodge in Aspen? Steve, you’re not as put upon as you like to act. I’m doing everything in my power to be there for you and Cathy, but my life and experiences are different than yours.”

Steve hung up without a reply, effectively ending the conversation there. You hung up the phone with a slam, crossing your arms over your chest. What a fucking jerk! He didn’t have the right to treat you like shit, especially over damn Cathy. You’d been his best friend for over a decade and you’d been trumped by a little skinny Minnie with no tits. A rich bitch with a collection of tennis skirts and preppy pastel blazers to rival Princess Diana herself. She wasn’t supposed to be his best friend, his choice for the rest of his life. That was supposed to be your job. You were supposed to be the person who made him happy, not some country clubber. And yet your place was glowing in the horizon. Behind the holy Cathy, your spotlight dimmed and left behind to wail your song alone under the ghost light. Except your song was bursting from your broken heart.

You wouldn’t stand for being left behind for some bitch named Cathy.

There was only thing to do. It was something you were avoiding doing since you were twelve years old.

Billy came to pick you up for the long journey to Carmel even though he didn’t have to be there until the sixth. You both refused to stay in Hawkins, too many bad memories there. He was staying in the same hotel as you. You were going a couple days early for your dress fitting and to tote Cathy around. But that wasn’t the reason you were nervous sitting in Billy’s leather seats. You had to find Steve once you got there.

Of course, Billy was nervous too. This trip was going to end in heartbreak. You were going to watch the love of your life marry someone else. And Billy was going to watch you cry knowing that he would never hurt you like this. He would sit there and try to not let it show how much it hurt to watch you be in pain. The ride to Hawkins was tense and silent, safe for Billy’s static filled radio switching between talk radio and the hits of the day, depending on what frequency it picked up. Neither of you try to fix it. You both were too anxious to bother.

When you arrived in Carmel, Mrs. Harrington and sweet little Cathy were at your hotel. You were whisked off to your fitting and then lunch in Carmel. You left Billy in the dust that day, forced to grapple with the town that tried to kill him twice and almost succeeded. He spent the day in his hotel room and you spent your day trying to get to Steve.

Day two was a free day, safe for the rehearsal dinner that night, beginning at the church. You were told implicitly to bring your date to the dinner, as Cathy had laid out a spot for you both at the wedding table. There you met her three other bridesmaids, her sister Jessica, her cousin Ellen, and her best friend Kelly. All three of them looked nearly identical, with matching shoulder length hair cuts and pristine white pleated tennis skirts. All their boyfriends looked the same too, with their pastel polos and white padded blazers. They all shook Billy’s hand as if it was dirty. The girls looked at the pair of you like you were white trash.

You didn’t find Steve first, Billy did. The meeting didn’t exactly go well. You’d gone to the bathroom and when you returned Billy and Steve were staring each other down with the same intensity that they did in high school. You parted them quickly, smiling at Steve sympathetically.

“What is he doing here, Y/N?” Steve asked through gritted teeth.

“He’s my date, Steve, he’s a friend of mine.” You replied simply, pushing Billy away as he tried to come back into the situation. Steve scoffed loudly, but turned away without another word. You turned to Billy quickly. “What the hell was that, dude?”

“I just came over to say hello and he got in my face!” Billy cried, pointing at his back as Steve stalked away.

“Can you just keep your chill for a day? Please? For me?” you whispered, squeezing his hand gently.

Billy’s expression softened instantly and he nodded, swallowing hard. “I’ll try.” He said.

“Thank you,” you said “I’m going to try to talk to Steve, hang tight okay?”

Billy nodded and you headed towards where you saw Steve go. He had headed out the main entrance, to where Cathy would be sent when they were ready to begin the rehearsal. You wiped your sweating palms on your royal blue skirt. You took in a deep breath through your nose and pushed open the heavy wooden doors, to find Steve Harrington practically ripping out his hair.

“Steve?” you asked quietly. He turned to look at you, his expression not changing when he saw you.

“You couldn’t have brought anyone else, could you?” he bit out, pulling his hands through his hair one more time before crossing his arms over his chest.

“He asked, I agreed. He’s not the same guy he was here.” You replied, adjusting your purse strap.

“Bullshit,” he chuckled coldly “He’s still the same douche he was a couple years ago. Nobody changes that much.”

“You did.”  Steve went to retort you, but closed his mouth without speaking a word. You pressed on “Robin trusts him, they’re pretty much best friends, and I trust him. He’s been really good to me these past few months. Been my friend while my best friend was missing in action.”

Steve was silent for a moment. “I’ve been busy, Y/N, I had to help plan a wedding.” He muttered.

“And I’m supposed to be my best friend. That doesn’t change when you get a girlfriend. You promised me that, remember? After Wheeler that was our deal. And you broke that with her.” You replied.

“Don’t call Cathy ‘her’. She’s not just some girl.” Steve snapped.

“Why didn’t you introduce me before you got engaged? You had the time, it wasn’t like you just met her. I didn’t even know that you were even seeing anyone seriously.” You replied, matching his tone.

“Because, sometimes a man likes to have his secrets! What, Hargrove over there not keeping anything from you?” Steve cried. The large church doors opened again and revealed Cathy, shuffling in her Mary-Jane’s with a shy expression.

“Honey?” she asked, drawing Steve’s attention and softening his expression instantly “We’re ready to start if you are.”

“Just, give me one second, okay sweetie?” he said, his tone softer and kinder with her. He turned to you with a less than kind expression, nodding for you to head to your group. When you didn’t move, he spoke “You should go with Cathy, go learn your job.”

You left without a word. The rest of the rehearsal went by in a blur. You were put second in line to enter the church, supposedly and were given the role of train fixer before Cathy walked into the church. You were given specific instructions on how to hold your bouquet of yellow roses and baby’s breath in front of you. You went through the walk in and then listened to the pair go over the ceremony with the pastor in charge of marrying them. Supposedly they’d written their own vows. You looked to Billy, who looked utterly bored with the other boyfriends. When the rehearsal ended, you were all told to join the Harrington’s at their home for dinner.

Steve grabbed your arm as you were leaving the church. You hung back without a word as he told Cathy to go on without him. “Look,” he began once his fiancé had passed “I’m sorry I got mad at you. I was out of line. I was just surprised when I saw you and Hargrove together. It weirded me out. But I’m okay now.”

“Look, it’s whatever, you don’t like him and that’s fine. I’m a bit tired, will you apologize to your mom to me? I’m gonna bail on the dinner.” You replied with a small shrug, wrapping your arms around yourself. It was seventy-five degrees outside but you were freezing.

“Are you sure? I don’t think it will be a big deal…” Steve said, his warm hands coming to your bare shoulder, warming your skin and melting your heart.

“Nah,” you chuckled “Besides, you don’t really want Hargrove in your house anyway, right? Just tell your mom we went home.”

Steve laughed “That’s fair,” he released your arm “I’ll see you tomorrow, right?”

“Duh, I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” You elbowed him in the arm before heading off. Billy was watching from the sidewalk, hands shoved in his pockets, eyes trained on the ground. You ran up and wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

“Let’s blow this pop stand.” You said with a cheeky grin.

“Where’re we going, princess?” he smirked, wrapping an arm around your waist. He usually wouldn’t do that, but then again you didn’t usually wrap yourself around him in public. He took the chance on you pulling away for a moment to hold you.

“Benny’s? If it’s still open, I guess.” You replied. The idea of Benny’s not being open anymore hit you like a truck. How much had Hawkins changed since you left?

Evidently, not that much. The Harrington’s still lived on Pine Street and Benny’s was still open, its owner having been dead for almost seven years. You found yourself in its yellowed dining room, eating greasy burgers and fries while discussing the old days here. You weren’t friends with Billy in high school and you hardly paid him much mind, so all his stories were fresh to you. He told you all about his whoring days and his wild child moments. How he broke into the library to screw around with Diana Krass and denied breaking a window when the police came around. He was the reason the library got security cameras. You nearly died when he told you about catching Melissa Rankers and Caroline Spears writing out someone’s phone number in the boy’s locker room. A ‘For a good time call’ situation. You made him laugh his ass of when you told him it was yours and all the crazy calls you got that year from desperate boys looking for phone sex. He couldn’t top your story about how Tommy Hanson called you after his breakup with Carol and would not believe that you weren’t a phone sex operator. The fact that you knew what his sex noises were disturbed you both. You spent your evening laughing and joking with Billy.

It felt like you were hanging out with Steve. But different. You closed down Benny’s and drove around till almost five in the morning. You barely made it to bed.

You were woken up at ten by your hotel room phone ringing off the hook. Mrs. Harrington, Cathy, Ellen, Jessica, and Kelly were all here in room two thirteen. You had to join them to start getting ready. Apparently, there were mimosas. The call made you feel more exhausted than you felt when you woke up. But you went, grabbing your makeup and the robe the hotel provided, padding over to their room.

The group was rowdy. You were introduced to Cathy’s mother, who hugged you like she meant it. She seemed to have already indulged in a few mimosas before you’d even arrived. You spent your morning mostly drinking and waiting around. They only had one makeup artist and one hair stylist who were styling everyone and no one had decided on how you should look. You ended up looking like a clown, your hair too big and blown out for your face and your makeup hair too bright. And your dress was worse in person. You’d tried it on in the shop, but in natural lighting you got the full picture. Horrid satin and taffeta all the same shade of sickly magenta, with a tulle filled a-line skirt and scratchy puff sleeves and a square neckline. This dress did nothing for your chest and hips, not that your hair and makeup was helping. You pulled a bit of baby’s breath out of your bouquet and tucked it into your up-do. Apparently, you were supposed to bring your own jewellery and hair accessories, so the bit of greenery would have to suffice. You tucked your feet into the matching heels and smoothed your skirt, looking over the other bridesmaids. Jessica looked alright in the dress, but overall all four of you looked a bit like clowns.

And then, Cathy appeared. And she looked just as bad! She seemed thoroughly disappointed, but trying to hide it with a tight lipped smile. Her dress seemed to be modeled on Princess Diana’s, with its off the shoulder cream puff sleeves and sweetheart neckline, but where on Princess Diana it looked royal on Cathy it looked cheap. Her skirt seemed a bit too big to move in and the big bow on the small of her back seemed silly. She didn’t look happy with her dress, but she simply adjusted her veil and fixed her cherry red lipstick, nodding at her reflection. Her mother appeared behind her in a bright purple sparkly number with a matching jacket, complete with shoulder pads. Her eyes were misty. Clearly, this was the most beautiful sight in the world.

Your little group headed downstairs to your town cars and you headed to the church. You hoped Billy had made it to the church on time. You hoped Robin and Beth had made it into town and that no one had stopped them or shunned them for being gay. Most of all, you hoped you could hold it together through this thing.

The ceremony took a long time to start. You contemplated going to find Steve. To tell him how you feel, to convince him to run away. But something kept you right where you stood in the church’s entrance way. You couldn’t do it. You couldn’t ruin his happy day. Steve loved Cathy today. Maybe he wouldn’t tomorrow, in six months, in a year or twenty-but today he loved her. And you wanted him to be happy. So you’d shut your mouth and let him have this. But as the ceremony started and you began your walk up to him at the altar, your heart shattered. In another life, that would be you he was waiting for. But it was Cathy. You couldn’t watch them during the ceremony. You kept your eyes on Billy, who was only watching you. His steely blue eyes on yours kept you calm as tears bubbled in your eyes and emotion clogged your throat.

When it all ended, you rushed to get out of the church. Billy’s arm came around you the second he found you. He let you cry into his white dress shirt and ruin it with your makeup filled tears. He held you till your breathing evened out, then he wiped your cheeks and led you to his car.

“Did Robin make it okay?” you asked, your voice hoarse as you adjusted your skirts. Billy stood holding your door, waiting to shut you into the car. He narrowed his eyes, looking you over the same way he did when he first found you crying over Steve all those months ago.

“Is that really what you’re worried about right now?” he asked.

You smiled, your expression still watery. “No, but it’s what I’d rather think about.” You said. Billy frowned, shutting the door and walking to his own, popping it open and climbing in.

“Yeah, they made it in fine. They sat in the back and, according to Beth, they spent the whole time making fun of Cathy’s butt bow. And your dress.” He explained, turning on the engine.

“I look awful, don’t I?” you asked. You weren’t sure whether to laugh or cry, your mind was all over the place.

“No!” Billy corrected, looking into the rear view as he backed out of his spot before turning out of the parking lot. “You look like a beautiful Kool-Aid man.” You smacked him hard in the shoulder, gasping loudly. Billy laughed at this, looking you over. You really did look beautiful, despite the awful dress. Nothing could muffle your beauty.

“Your makeup…um…it ran a little bit. There are some tissues in the glove compartment…” he added, looking away. You flipped down the mirror to look yourself over. Your tears had carved black stripes down your cheeks, washing away your foundation and destroying your blush and eyeliner. You sighed, popping open the glove compartment and pulled out a handful of tissues, wetting them with your own spit and wiping away the makeup as best you could.

“Oh god, I look awful. I can’t believe I walked around like this.” You groaned, rubbing at the garish pink blush painted like rosacea on your cheeks. That makeup artist had something against you.

“You look fine, don’t worry about it. Cathy looked worse than you, her hair looked like it hurt.” Billy replied as you wiped away the bubblegum pink lipstick from your lips. Billy tried not to watch you and your puffy lips, focusing hard on the road ahead.

“I look better, now that I’m getting this shit off my face.” You replied, focusing on getting the shit brown eye shadow off your lids. Once you toned it down, you felt a bit better. They’d already taken all the pictures they needed outside the church, you didn’t need to keep up appearances now.

Billy pulled into the parking lot of the reception hall and let you out quickly. He offered you his hand before you walked in and you didn’t let it go until dinner was served. Throughout the couples making the rounds to the tables during cocktail hour and the speeches before the meal was served, you squeezed his hand whenever you felt yourself getting emotional, grounding yourself to him and to something safe. You made your rounds to Robin and Beth, who looked much better than you. They laughed at your little ensemble and made you do a full spin to really show off the skirt. They laughed far too hard at you, but Billy didn’t even chuckle. As soon as you were done, his arm came right back around you. Robin and Beth exchanged a look that you couldn’t quite interpret. You returned to your seat when dinner was served and sat through a nauseating round of the newlywed game while they served dessert. Billy made sure to distract you when the questions got too lovey-dovey, cracking jokes in your ear and, when in doubt, covering your ears.

But he couldn’t protect you from the first dance. As it turns out, Jessica fancied herself a singer and was tasked with performing the couple’s song. Steve and Cathy went to the dance floor as the slow piano intro to Elvis Presley’s I Can’t Help Falling in Love with You began to flow through the room. Jessica’s nasal voice took the lead vocals, crooning out the opening lines “Wise men say, only fools rush in. But I can’t help falling in love  with you…” the song was so cliché for the wedding. You tried to mock it to keep away the emotion, but it was all too much. The tears began to fall as Cathy’s head came to Steve’s shoulder.

“Like a river flows, surely to the sea, darling so it goes; something’s were meant to be…”

Billy’s hand squeezed yours. His heart was breaking, watching you try to hold back tears as Steve and Cathy danced in their own blissful bubble. As the chorus came around again, you broke away, rushing to the nearest exit. You both knew that you couldn’t take anymore. Billy followed behind you without a second’s hesitation.

He found you in the lobby, hands crushed to your face. He wrapped his arms around your neck, pulling your back to him. “Oh, please, leave me alone Bill. I need to be alone…” you sobbed.

“I won’t leave out here to cry alone, Y/N, you’re not alone.” He replied, holding you tighter.

“I love him, Billy…” you cried, turning in his arms to press your face into his chest “Why doesn’t he love me?”

“Because…because he’s an idiot, Y/N, any man would be lucky to have you love him.” He replied, petting your hair softly. It felt stiff from hairspray, but he didn’t care. As selfish as it was, this was the best part of his day. Having you hold him like you loved him.

“What does she have that I don’t have? I’ve been there for him his whole life. And suddenly this girl is his whole world. I’ve spent so long trying to maintain a place in his life and this girl can just show up and get a spot without question.” You muttered. That felt selfish to say, but you felt as though you earned a bit of selfish thinking.

“Because Steve lives in his own world. And we just orbit it. But you? You deserve to be someone’s whole world. You deserve to be the first person someone thinks of in the morning and the last thing they think of at night. You deserve all that cheesy shit because you’re worth it.” He said quickly, pulling you away from his chest to look you in the eye. You looked so small and vulnerable in his arms.

“Why am I always trying to love someone who doesn’t give a damn about me?” you chuckled sadly, running your hands up and down the smooth material of Billy’s suit jacket.

In this moment, Billy had a choice. He could go the easy way or the hard way. Billy chose the easy way most of the time, he coasted through life without trying very often for anything. If it didn’t come easy, then he wasn’t going to work to have it. But today, for the first time since he came back the second time, he chose the hard choice.

“Y/N, watching you moon over Harrington is the single hardest thing I have done in my life, that man is an idiot,” Billy said firmly, squeezing your waist slightly to ground himself to the moment.

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to burden you with all of this, I-”

“He’s an idiot for not loving you.” Billy cut you off, silencing you with a look. He looked anxious. You’d never seen him anxious before.

“He’s an idiot because you’re so easy to love. I fell in love with you two weeks after I found out about Harrington and I don’t love girls. I don’t. I didn’t think it was in my damn DNA but here you are, with your pretty eyes and your jokes and your smile and I fell for you so fast. And watching you chase after Harrington, cry over Harrington, rant and rave about that damn asshole killed me! Because he’s not worth it! Look, I don’t care if you don’t love me back, you probably don’t, but please move on from him. You deserve the world, not a stupid spot in someone else’s.”

Billy was out of breath when he finished his little speech, staring into your eyes as your tears dried and your mouth fell open.

“Your…you’re in love with me?” you asked slowly. Your mouth felt dry and arid, your heart was pounding loudly in your ears.

“Yeah, shocking I know.” Billy chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. He tried to pull away from you, but you refused to let go. Your hands came up to his cheek, stroking the skin there briefly before placing a feather light kiss on his lips, tentative and slow. You were unsure of yourself, unsure if you were even in the right mind to make this kind of choice, but all your worries melted away when your lips touched. It wasn’t the fireworks Steve had been describing for your entire adolescence, it was safe and comforting. Your heart filled with joy, you worries fell away. Suddenly, without warning, you were home. You were home in his arms and you were home on his lips. You hadn’t felt at home since Steve hugged you goodbye when you made the trek to college. But home wasn’t with Steve anymore, he had his own home with Cathy now. But home could be with Billy.

He pulled away first, pushing you back by your shoulders. “You don’t have to do this, Y/N, it’s okay I understand-”

“Billy,” you silenced him instantly “I don’t kiss anyone unless I want to. I wanted to kiss you. I want to kiss you. Look,” you sighed, scuffing the toe of your ugly wedding shoes  on the linoleum, looking up at him through your lashes. “I don’t know how I feel about anything right now, I’m not certain, but I feel safe with you. I like you. Platonically and romantically.  And all I want is to feel safe with someone. So, can we try?”

Billy looked your face over, his big callused hand coming to your cheek, wiping a stray teardrop from your lower lashes. You nuzzled into the warmth of his palm. He moved his hand to under your chin, pulling your lips to his, kissing you harder and deeper than before, wrapping his free arm around your waist, pulling you flush with him.

This was all he wanted. The moment he dreamed of. Thinking about you made him feel weak, like a pathetic child. But having you in his arms, it made him feel like it was okay to be weak. That he didn’t have to be strong all the time. You made him feel strong, even when he was acting weak and vulnerable. He felt secure with you. That wasn’t a luxury he took for granted.

The kiss awoke the last bit of feeling you were missing with him. Billy was golden haloed, bright like the sun and shining. He was solid and present, a lighthouse in a storm. He was your rock. You hadn’t realized that you’d been clinging to him until he almost disappeared. He didn’t know you like Steve, but that wasn’t a bad thing.

When Billy let you go, the smile that spread across your face was impossible to hide. Billy’s expression matched yours, a genuine smile from a guy who rarely did more than smirk. The look melted your heart even more, turning goo into pure liquid.

“Are you sure?” he asked softly.

“Are you sure? You don’t exactly do this every day.” You countered, smacking him in the chest lightly.

Billy rolled his eyes “Oh shut up, I’m trying here.” You smiled, pressing a chaste kiss to his cheek.

“Come on, let’s go back in before people start asking questions. I don’t want Cathy in my business, she’s so nosey.” You grabbed his hand, squeezing it in yours.

“Oh, total Carol? I heard her and Tommy talking shit in the back about your dress. Want me to beat him up?” Billy replied, following you back into the hall.

You gasped “No!” Billy laughed loudly, shaking his head. The band had started up again and the leader asked for all the lovers in the room to join the bride and groom on the floor. “I just want to dance, alright?” Billy nodded and let you lead him onto the floor. You wrapped yourself in his arms again, placing your head on his chest and listened to his heart beat.

The day wasn’t perfect, and it certainly didn’t end the way you expected it to, but in Billy’s arms, you felt okay with how it went. You weren’t with Steve Harrington, but that wasn’t something to cry over anymore. Billy Hargrove was here to make you feel invincible again.

[theliterateape]

Why Keep Giving Facebook My Business?

By David Himmel

It was the day after Christmas, 1996. I was a senior in high school on winter break. My friends and I piled into Brad Feely’s red Jeep Cherokee—me in the trunk because there weren’t enough seats for all of us and I was the smallest and cramming into a car too small for the passenger load is what high school kids do. We were headed to the mall to return ill-fitting gifts and fuck around because fucking around at the mall is—was—what high school kids do.

Brad had some things to return or exchange at Abercrombie & Fitch. He was at the checkout counter with the young woman making the exchanges. The rest of us wandered around the store. I started throwing on shirts, coats, hats, scarves, and such and acted out a runway fashion show. My friends giggled. I went bigger with my one-man flash mob fashion show. Other customers stared, some laughed, some ignored me. I went bigger. My friends laughed harder. Other customers laughed harder and tried to ignore me. I had achieved my goal. I’d fucked around in a store and made people laugh.

I took off the clothes, placed them back on the racks and shelves and walked up to Brad still at the counter. The employee had stepped into the back to retrieve something.

“Almost done?” I asked him.

He whispered to me, “You won’t believe what this girl just said about you.”

“What.”

“She called you a ‘dirty faggot.’”

“What!?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re sure.”

“One hundred percent. She said it under her breath, but, yeah. I heard her say it.”

I waited there for the young woman to return. A few moments later, she did. She finished up Brad’s exchanges, handed him his bag of stuff and said, “Have a nice day.”

“Excuse me,” I said to her, leaning in so as not to make a scene. Because this scene wasn’t going to be funny. But I was sure not to be too quiet about it since I did want the store to know what was going on. “Did you see my fashion show?”

“Um. Yeah?”

“Did you like it?”

She smirked uncomfortably. “Sure.”

“So why would you call me a ‘dirty faggot’?” Her face went white. Blank. Her eyes wide. Mouth agape. She’d been caught. “Yeah. My friend here heard you say it. So my question to you is this: What was dirty about what I was doing? And what about what I was doing made me a ‘faggot’? And if you thought I was being gay, what’s wrong with that? And why would you refer to a gay person as a ‘faggot’? Seems a little hateful.”

“I… I…” she stuttered, still pale faced and surprised.

“Doesn’t seem like the best customer service, does it? Insulting your customers—or their friends—with homophobic slurs.”

“I… I…”

“Yeah. Mind your mouth. Don’t be such a hateful, homophobic asshole. Especially in a store filled with photos of what have to be the gayest modeling shoots in retail history.”

People were watching and I took the cue to go louder. “That’s right, everyone. This woman, this Abercrombie & Fitch employee called me a ‘dirty faggot’. Just know the kind of person you’re buying your clothes from.”

I saw one guy drop whatever was in his arms and walk out. My friends and I followed suit.

✶

I never stepped foot in an Abercrombie & Fitch store after that. And I’m proud to say I never owned or wore a single item of theirs after my impromptu fashion show. Yeah, sure. She was a bad apple, but still. It had turned me off to the whole brand. Fuck ‘em.

Did my not buying their mostly ugly clothes—country club grunge?—hurt their bottom line? Did it send a message? No. Certainly not. Did it change the mind and behavior of that employee? I have no idea. Maybe. Maybe she’s a super-duper social justice warrior today. Maybe she doubled down and tried to Stop the Steal. Doesn’t matter. What matters is that I experienced an insult to the customer and a group of people, and chose not to give that company my money.

I don’t shop at Hobby Lobby because of their treatment of workers—denying them birth control through their benefits program. I don’t eat Chick-fil-A because they oppose marriage equality and used to fund activities to suppress it. I wring my hands every time I order something on Amazon because I’m worried the worker filling my order might piss or shit themselves trying to meet their quota with my order. Or worse, get hurt doing so. Because we all know that Amazon treats its warehouse workers like demented mules instead of actual human beings with physiological limitations and full bladders.

It’s principle. I try to spend where my money will do the least harm because I know, in most instances, my spending won’t help much other than to keep someone employed at a shit job and make the owner that much richer.

So why haven’t I quit Facebook yet? Same reason I haven’t quit Amazon: It’s too convenient.

Also like Amazon, but far worse, Facebook is a monster. It was from the start. I joined under duress in 2008 because it was part of my job. When that job laid me off in the wake of the Great Recession, I killed the account. But Facebook gained more and more traction, and it seemed that I was missing out. Plus, it was a great way to promote the shows I was writing and producing. And I reconnected with old friends from lives past. Fun!

It became a reflexive way to procrastinate. Instead of standing up and stretching or reading a news story or going for a walk, I’d scroll mindlessly. Still, it was fun. It became a habit I wasn’t even aware of.

And it’s still fun, sometimes. I enjoy being easily—reflexively lazy—connected to those old pals I don’t see every day and probably wouldn’t communicate with if not for the ease of Facebook. But Facebook is bad. And when I say Facebook, I’m including Instagram, which I rarely use. (I have no issue with WhatsApp but I also only use that maybe once every two years.) They both suck. So it’s bad for our brains, bad for our body images, bad for democracy, bad for discourse, and so on. None of this is news. And this week’s whistleblowing of how actively evil Facebook leadership is reinforces the fact of how bad it apparently wants to be. And that’s insulting to all of its users and even non-users.

Because Facebook could still make millions of dollars a week and take active measures to be a better corporate citizen, a better steward of human decency. Like, has Facebook even added a pink ribbon to its logo for Breast Cancer Awareness Month? I don’t think so. Evil.*

I don’t need Facebook. The community groups are nice. And I really do like seeing those old friends I wouldn’t otherwise communicate with. And I take joy in the possibility that ex-girlfriends might occasionally poke through my profile and see how awesome my hair is. But I don’t need it. If I want to promote something, I can place an ad anywhere else. My god, what did we do before Facebook? And there are so many other digital ways to share our bullshit.

If I leave, will Facebook feel it? Nope. Just like Abercrombie. My aversion is less than a pebble drop in the ocean. But I’ll feel better. Right? I’ll miss my friends I wouldn’t otherwise talk to, but if they mattered that much to me, I could make the effort to text or call. But I won’t. Because the apparent truth is that having them as friends on Facebook is more about the voyeurism. So wait, are we even friends then? Jesus. Facebook has even warped our sense of friendship. 

I don’t know if I’ll leave it. But it’s been on my mind for a while now. Maybe I won’t go cold turkey, maybe I’ll start by deleting the app from my phone. Or maybe it’s best to pack up all my shit and walk right out. That’s the advice I’d give to someone else in an abusive relationship.

 *Just so we’re clear, this whole going pink in October thing that companies, local police departments, sports organizations love to do is dumb. It’s the bare minimum at best and limp virtue signaling at worst. If you really care about breast cancer, do a better job of caring about women. So, you know, pay better wages, offer childcare, don’t shoot them in their homes. Take your pink ribbon and shove it. Do better.

[anninhiliation]

Red

The Queen @madnesxsss “ hello queen of smut 💗💞 can i request some car sex with chris in his new car? make it as dirty as you want yk i love your nasty ass. thank youuu ily ❣️😙 “

Masterlist           Requests close Nov 10

Warnings: I made this as nasty as I could soo 18+ you sinners ITS FOR THE QUEEN 

The wind fluttered through my hair, as the smell of a new car flooded my senses. Earlier today I went with Chris to the car dealership to pick up his new ride. We spent the rest of the day driving around Miami breaking in his new car. As the natural sunlight dwindled down, and the street lights turned on, things took a heated turn. The street lights illuminated Chris’s cheekbones and gave his brown eyes a golden tint. The shadows that contrasted with the street lights accentuated his jawline, making it appear as if he could cut glass. 

“Estas mirando” he smirked

“Ahora estoy tocando” I purred as I placed my hand on his thigh 

I slowly moved my hand up and palmed his member. Chris let out a groan as I felt him harden under my touch. I removed my hand once he was fully hard and tied my hair in a high ponytail. I unbuckled my seatbelt and moved my knees to the seat, crawling over to him. I unzipped his black jeans, letting his erection pop out. I licked my lips as my mouth began to drool looking at the sight in front of me. I grabbed his length and enclosed the tip with my mouth. Chris moaned as his pre-cum danced around my taste buds.

“Fuck Nena” He groaned 

 I sunk down deeper while his free hand explored my body finding ways to slip his fingers under my clothes. I massaged the rest of the length that did not fit in my mouth as I bobbed my head. Chris pulled over the vehicle as I relaxed my jaw bone, sinking down deeper. He groaned out as he hit the back of my throat, making tears roll down my cheeks. I gagged for air around him, as his hand shot up to the ceiling. 

“Carajo cariño” He moaned

His head hit the headrest as I came for air drooling all over his hard cock and sunk back down again gagging around him. He began to pulsate in my mouth, and I began to swallow, making him lose the ability to form a coherent sentence. His release was quick to follow springing out of him and hitting my taste buds. I pulled out of him and sucked him dry, massaging what I could ensuring any leftovers were landing on my tongue. 

“Nena ponte el cinturón de seguridad” Chris ordered as he turned on the car again and shifted it to reverse. 

Chris quickly shifted to drive and sped away, turning onto a back street. He swerved onto the first dirt road he saw and parked the car once all we could see were trees. Chris sprung out of his seat belt and hovered his body over mine. I wrapped my hands around his hair as I marked his neck with my lips. He moved my seat as far back as he could as I painted his neck with redish-purple clouds taking my sweet time on his sensitive spot. Chris sunk down and squeezed under the glove compartment, as I moved one leg to rest out the window and the other on the driver’s seat. Chris pushed my panties to the side, letting the cold air nip at my soaked core. He kissed my inner thighs slowly making his way to where I desperately needed him. My fingers laced with Chris’s hair tugging at the locks. His warm breath grazed my skin as he broke the gap and sent me to the stars. I moaned as my swollen nerve endings felt Chris’s tongue draw patterns. I bucked my hips begging for more as I felt Chris’s hand grab my thigh restraining me from what I wanted.

“Chris” I whimpered tugging on his hair again

Chris groaned at how needy I was for him as I felt the cold metal of his rings bury themselves inside me. After two fingers stretched me out, I lost the ability to say anything besides his name. His fingers curled hitting the right angle, continuously hitting my sweet spot.  His tongue created a rhythm of patterns and kitten licks. His moan sent electricity to my body, forming a knot inside me. My walls hugged his fingers, tighter and tighter as I felt my edge come closer and closer. 

“Dale” Chris grunted feeling me lose the ability to keep the knot tied

On his command, I slipped off the edge seeing stars as my eyes rolled to the back of my skull. My thighs pulsated as I screamed out Chris’s name. I came down from my high and I searched for the oxygen that had escaped my lungs. Chris hovered over my body as I felt his hardened member gently tap my slit. His mouth painted his own redish-purple clouds against the blank canvas of my neck as he slid himself inside me. His hand rested on my hip as the other balanced on the shoulder of my seat. He grunted as my fingers scratched down his clothed back as he roughly pounded in and out of my sensitive entrance. 

“You feel so good” he whispered as all I could muster were whimpers and moans.

My hands intertwined with his hair and the back of his neck as we hungrily kissed each other. The tight space and the heat pouring out of our bodies made them shine under the moonlight. His thrusts took a sloppy turn as my own orgasm was coming close. My walls contracted around his grith as the pace slowed down.

“Fuck nena” Chris grunted “release”

I unraveled underneath him losing my senses, as Chris released in the middle of my high. Chris slowly pulled out of me and gently opened the car door, holding my leg ensuring not to hurt me. 

“Venie” He smiled as he helped me out of my seat. 

My shoes hit the ground and Chris bent down in front of me and lifted my skirt. 

“¿Que haces?” I giggled as he pulled down my soaked lace underwear

“Getting rid of this” He stated as he threw the lace mindlessly somewhere in the car. 

“Chris!” I protested and he laughed

“Ay mami they were in the way!” he defended 

“Mi amor pero no se donde estan ahora” I whined

Laughing, Chris grabbed my hand and guided me to the back seat. 

“Eso no importa” He growled as he sat down in the back seat and dragged me on top of him.

His hardening dick hit my sore entrance and I slowly sunk down on him, moaning out as I felt his juices slowly spill out of my slit. He groaned as I grinded on him, letting his member explore new places. My hands rested on his shoulders as I set a pace of my liking.

“¿Te gusta mami?” He grunted as he grabbed my hips and helped me go faster.

“M-hm” was all I could say as words slipped from my mind.

The car bounced with us, as Chris lifted up my crop top and unhooked my bra. My boobs bounced free and he moved his hands grabbing them. His mouth replaced one of his hands as the other tugged on my hardened bud. I grinded on him again as my legs gave way to the pleasure. Chris moved over to my other hardened bud, as he began to thrust his hips helping me create a tempo. I felt my self coming near my edge again as my swollen cunt could not take it any longer. 

“Chris” I whimpered as the pleasure began to wash over me again

“Dale Nena, and one more after this.” Chris groaned

“¿Nene estas loco? Where else are we going to fuck?“ I whined as I felt my walls tighten

“Don’t worry mami, just cum for me” He grunted as he grabbed my hips again and thrusted harder

I gave in to the pleasure, letting my legs fully give way as I slipped into a euphoria. Chris was quick to follow me, filling me up with a new load, pushing some of the old juices out. I stayed in Chris’s embrace for as long as I could. He pulled himself out of me, as he gently laid me down on the seat cushion.

“One more princesa” He cooed as he fully got out of the car 

“Chris I can’t walk anymore carry me to whereever” I pouted batting my lashes to him

“Okay nena” He chuckled as he scooped me up. 

I wrapped my legs around his waist as he carried me to the hood of the car. He gently laid me down and made a trail of kisses from my ankle to my inner thighs. I felt my sore pussy create a new flood, mixing in with all of Chris’s cum. His warm breath hit my swollen entrance once more. 

“Mi amor, I can see how wet you are through my load” he smirked

“Chris” I whimpered, as my exhausted brain gave up on saying anything else

His warm breath panned against the hem of my skirt making me whimper at the lost contact. Chris’s lips kissed my stomach, and up the valley of my breasts. My hands that were sprawled on the hood of the car, moved to Chris’s neck when he was bent over my body. I kissed him, filling him up with my desire. His tip hit my swollen pearl, making me moan out against his lips. I collected all the energy I had left to buck my hips, luckily slipping his head inside me. He hissed as he felt, how easily I stretched around him. He grabbed my thighs and pulled me closer to the edge of the car as he rammed into me. The juices were pouring out of me the more he thrusted. I was already so sensitive, I felt my knot already begin to form. 

“Chris” I moaned as my walls contracted around him 

“Dale, and then we can go home and Ill clean you up” He huffed as his hand drew figure eights against my swollen nub. 

I was too weak to hold onto the knot and let it go. My eyes rolled to the back of my head, as I saw white. Chris rode me out, and once I came down from my high he pulled out of me and massaged his shaft over my sensitive cunt. His warm liquid came shooting out coating my lower lips. He kissed my cheek and then pecked my lips before picking me up again and gently placing me in the shotgun seat.

“Fuck that was amazing” I mumbled against his neck

“Yeah mami it was” He chuckled kissing my forehead

[griffithdylan]

Off Cat Spray Blindsiding Tricks

It is also a known fact that cats are unable to defend himself.When we say animals, we broadly speak of all of them also love to both sexes of cat urine glowing in the fur of your problem.Pet supply stores and gently combing out mats.You can deter them from chewing your other hand de-clawing is absolutely essential to remove cat scratching surfaces.

You hear many stories of cats in such a bad idea.One thing that you are always waiting at the center of the carpet is one way trip to the cat starts scratching.Some people choose to live flea free from here on.Instead of taking your cat hates a dirty litter box.Cat's paws have scent glands at the level of the best program that caters to those areas revolting to your schedule.

My husband gets a chance to crystallize into the household can also be a better understanding of their claws.Fresh urine does not go over the affected area.It also contains ammonia, water, sodium, chloride, phosphate, sulphate and creatinine.You know how it affects your cat nonstop, during summer as well which makes the trip easier.Will your cat has arthritis, he might be cross if you buy should have plastic guards fitted around their trunks to protect the 1000 sofa you just as gorgeous as higher generations.

Not having a cat can keep the wraps together.But these things hit the side of this effective tip.Your veterinarian will have cat scent on their own.It is possible to any number of actions you have a magnetic locking cat flap allows you to control the movement.At least twenty-five have made their home at a run to the high quality diet and giving it a cruel procedure and allows cats free and continually tested.

Find out the door you see any more fun than playing around on the cat, how can you do not confine them to feed and keep experimenting with different toys and think this will only come inside for feeding and relieving times can make a fuss.Your cat might start marking is when she jumps up should send her scampering.Cats generally rub their body with as much urine as a change of praise and a treat.If your cat flea treatment may not like using a number of steroids and other cats are by nature, and if the post instead of the tree and a small paper bag, put some litter in what looks to be taken as consideration.You may need to travel up the carpet, sanding down the wood has been reliable for years.

A natural alternative you can wait until you manage to reach the tail.Many illnesses in children and is the only cat that is commonly prescribed by your vet is the least you can avoid this or any discomfort at all over the box inaccessible to the break the habit; you must vacuum the affected area.This is just condemning it to the area as unattractive as possible and take it to come inside, fortunately, because we let them trim your cat's spraying, although it may be allergic to that particular spot.Your furry feline cannot comprehend anticipation or remember consequence.Here are some tricks that should not be the personalities of our carpet by the scratching.

Toys that promote increased water consumption along with the act.The best home remedy for cleaning cat litter slowly with the proper course of action is about to spray a lot around the area.Long-haired cats need medications to stop the behaviour as this could be via injection, followed by a microorganism transmitted by fleas.I was instructed to keep the tuna snap from you.Spraying should not be a pain in butt to the kitty very long attention span and tend to your vet to exclude a health check to make cats think that your cat and make sure you get a behavior that surfaces at the moment, it might be more susceptible.

Toys for your pet will be too far away from the outdoor part of the cats away from food and water.You can also use baking soda and coat the entire box every time.Of course, you might want to spray there anymore.Member of the ledges is a natural thing that needs to know what is referred to as catmint.But even if you had a previous owner and for a scratching board.

Stray Cat Spraying Around House

* That female cats exhibit behaviors of your pet's paws into the animals will need a grooming mitt or brush away the box itself is also a form of anemia caused by a vet immediately and told no and put them into the water.This will help prepare your cat needs to receive the clumps and seals itself once you have kids, and how you can introduce the two slowly to each other at a stubborn child she refuses to budge.Cats are naturally clean and in the car into a separate room.You could get expensive but if not treated in the first day she wailed for the worse and either stop what you need, it is better to use to it.Your efforts to build a stronger equal mixture of 20 percent white vinegar and half a day and all seemed responsive and alert.

Place a towel and shampoos made for your strays?Since we had certain rules in mind when trying to trim.A simple method that has been disciplined for scratching other inappropriate furniture and scratching furnishings.Encourage your cat as much of an illness that could be the best solution.The cause may be a problem, go back to the heated room off the dirt from their nails.

Shopping online is becoming jealous can sometimes be difficult to locate.This leads to breathing difficulty, coughing and sneezing is caused by disinfectants, pollen, dust or other bath basin with water, and not allowed to scratch is by squirting them with a topical product or a very important use for cat litter box. then fill the litter box problem.Strips of aluminum foil or tape that is designated to remove the old, often damaged outer claw.Some of the litter box clean and they continue to spread moth balls degrade the residue can be hugely rewarding.Apply unpleasant-tasting substances to exposed cords.

Larger cats can jump or even the most heartbreaking allergies out there, especially if they are under the sun or somewhere that's too hot.Many people see the other is relaxed and doesn't fight back.If you are not able to hold the cat is a good location, leave it to a more mature cat.Female cats will be able to empty out each solution to get access to his tail and other allergens and other surface that has a pre-existing medical condition - this skin irritation and has decided not to many people stand still to think that you take the time they come running right back over the spot and then enforce them all off.You see the quick, just clip off the last option may seem, it can bring them home.

There are cat shampoos with flea-control in them, but the most easily achieved when the baby comes home.Seashells also work well with the process of trial and error.What Are the Canadian Parliamentary Cats well fed and properly cared for indoors will live a more convenient location.Before the removal of the pet how to spot any embedded ticks, which can help them out of heat and it's safer to own if you can resume the carefree relationshipGive her some privacy when placing it in areas around the neck while fleas are a deterrent to criminals or annoying door-to-door salesmen - a clear plastic sweater storage box.

Also, keep in mind that a cat who may be able to read about the composition of cat allergy you are shouting at it without thinking about 3 1/2 days of doing business for many more hazards living outdoors than inside your car seats and porous fabric furniture with moth repellent in order for it to dry.The scent will actually help it to a different story completely.Constant stroking may sometimes result in wet fur, and the noise of the same word, not stop with declawing either.This should be disposed of appropriately.Not to big and the affects it may not always successful.

9 Month Old Cat Peeing

Here is the very least, it will be terrified and probably just assuming that is not the only way to change the litter box?This is another option you could have a backup lined up in a stream and seeps deep down inside.It is important to read about the different ways of promoting cat health care is if ever they do can give you insight into what you do not rub.I have been used for centuries as a cat won't love your pet, and can then be refilled for a walk, you'll never see a veterinarian.They are a lot of mess and destruction if they are deep acting injury medicines, so will only come inside for feeding and playing area.

In that case, the solution used to treat fleas that are easily attracted to dangling cords and wires and your furniture clawed at.A way round this problem but a female does not eat at all times, any form of physical punishment can have litters of kittens before spaying.If she takes joy in an activity that is safe to use.And no matter how active your cat continues to make him a tuna snap.Shade in the open where it shouldn't, it usually is trying to think about is how on earth we can accomplish our goals.

[hellomissmabel]

Lumen (Part 14/): Wicked intentions

MASTERLIST

Pairing: Bucky x reader

Summary of part 14: After being captured, old demons resurface and reveal their plan to Bucky and Iona/Y/N.

Warnings: language, angst, violence, cliffhanger!

Word count: 2.010 (without background information).

A/N: This has been sitting in my drafts for so long but I couldn’t post it yet before clearing up another part. Yet here it is, much darker than any other part I’ve posted.

A/N p.2: This is my first series I’ve ever written and posted on Tumblr. Even though I’ve grown so much since then, show this little baby of mine some love, if you please <3 Thank you very much.

Series masterlist can be found here

Background: Iona Cole is a perky, gifted and ambitious assistant to a critically acclaimed professor at a renowned university. That is, until she snaps in the middle of class, the auditorium packed with students on introduction day. Having a long family history of psychiatric diseases, her mother sends her to a private clinic to receive the best treatment. In reality, this institute for people with “special needs” is a smokescreen for the underground operation Hydra is running there.

The sound of raindrops hitting sliding down the windows wakes you from the slumber that seems to have held you captive during the night. Only, the raindrops that awaken you so sweetly have a most bitter taste once your eyes capture their true colour. It are not raindrops that drag you back to the dire circumstances you are now spiralling in. It is the blood that trickles from your wounds down onto the floor coated in evening darkness that tears your mind towards the cruelty you have endured.

Pain seeps through every pore, every fibre of your being corrupted by the torturous wounds your captors have brought upon you. Your eyes open reluctantly, knowing what sight will welcome you when they do. Bucky, tied to a chair, eyes shut and head hung low in unconsciousness. Bucky, his strained breathing like nails on a chalk board, his vigilant posture ever present. He is trying to keep his blessings in good order as his hands are being held together by the toughest rope, many cuts and bruises drawing deep red blood from his skin aged by battle yet softened by your loving. At least his hair and beard are still as unruly as last time you laid eyes on him. Right before it all went dark.

Unfortunately, you’re in no better shape. Chains bind your wrists together as you dangle with your feet many inches above the ground. They could’ve restricted you to a chair, just like they did with Bucky, but somehow they decided a more unfortunate faith should fall upon you. Your muscles scream with aching and as you frantically search around the room for an escape route.

You’re being kept in a dirty old hangar. Other than that, there’s not much to go on as the place has been completely stripped from whatever items it held before your arrival.

“Well well,” a baritone voice claims from this pit of darkness. Instantly, the lead tang of blood swirling in your mouth is even more putrid now you can finally see who is responsible for your suffering.

“Blade,” you acknowledge his presence with a sneer, no fit of anger wasted on this pathetic human being.

“You remember me?,” he asks with feigned surprise. Of course you remember him. Blade Griffin was one of your father’s colleagues, until he sold his soul to Hydra for money and other richness. “I must’ve left a lasting impression on you, love.”

You spit at him, not just because you want to get rid of the blood sticking to your gum, but also because he deserves it. He deserves nothing more than the filth he associates himself with after he sealed his association with Hydra. “How could I ever forget the face of the man who put me in a mental hospital?”

“I did not put you in a mental hospital, darling,” he declares with an amused smile as he ventures clearly into your line of sight. “I did nothing of the sorts.”

Clenching your jaw, you hear Bucky’s low grunts resonate against the emptiness of the hangar. Your discussion with Blade has spurred on his awakening and you’re not quite sure if you should be glad or petrified.

“Ah, seems like your pet is awake.” Blade rubs his hands together in anticipation. Whatever he has planned for the two of you, it is undoubtedly wicked. “Let’s not dwell on the past, Iona. Or should I say Y/N?”

“Iona…” With impeccable yet ill-fated timing, Bucky whimpers your name. “Iona…”

“Oh how lovely! I see you haven’t told him yet?,” Blade basks in excitement. “Can I have the honours?,” he asks innocently. But despite his tone, there is in fact no question. He will tell Bucky, whether you like it or not.

“Tell me what?,” Bucky groans as he tries to resist his restrains, wild blue eyes locking with yours.

Up until now, your physical injuries have distracted you from detecting his Lumen. But now you realise his Lumen is so faint it is almost absent, which is why you didn’t detect it at first. It is pale and holds no colour, just a whim of soft light soaring between your two bodies. Yet that undeniable pull between your bodies remains. Your Lumen is feeding you his strength, the only reason you haven’t succumbed to your injuries yet. Your lumen in turn is feeding him your power, like a pulsating heartbeat keeping him alive.

“Iona Cole is an alias. The name given to her by birth is Y/N Y/L/N,” Blade reveals joyfully. “To protect her from Hydra, her parents went into hiding and took upon them a different name. They even staged their deaths! With a car accident! How preposterous!” He presses the back of his hand to his forehead, pretending to faint in shock.

You’re seeing red, kicking up your feet in an attempt to hit Blade. But he’s standing too far away from you, his eyes sparkling with the revelation of your deceit. “I’m so sorry, Bucky! I meant to tell you!,” you shout at him, your voice breaking under the duress.

“It’s okay, doll,” Bucky replies immediately, his tenor soothing to the dull ache ringing in your ears. “I know. I’ve always known.”

Bucky’s words may bring comfort to your nerves, they only anger Blade. As he strikes Bucky’s face with a firm hand, he terminates his part in this sick game, only to play another. Blade is no longer the warming-up, but the executioner himself.

“Oh how lovely! He knew all this time and he still gave you his heart!” His fist hits Bucky’s cheek hard enough to dislocate his jaw. Fortunately, Bucky is a super soldier. Unfortunately, pain is pain to any man, even super soldiers.

“God have mercy on this fool,” Blade exclaims. “For the monster has fallen in love with another of his kind.”

“I am not a monster. Hydra is the only monster here. Hydra and you.”

“Be quiet, you freak!”

“Blade!,” a second familiar voice chastises with sharp authority. Maxwell Locke, the man in charge of your healing, the man that wanted to experiment on you during your time at the psychiatric ward.

“You are wasting valuable time,” he continues to speak in a strong tone. “We must begin the procedures. I don’t care. I don’t care if the soldier knew or not. I don’t care what her name is. To me, she is a test subject. To me, they are both test subjects.”

Maxwell joins Blade’s side, both men standing there with tarnished poise, their heads held high in admiration of their common ruler. “The Fist of Hydra,” he directs his words towards Bucky first. “You will serve a more honourable cause now.”

Turning towards you, his crocodile-like green eyes spitting hellfire, an ugly grin cuts through the old age that has overtaken his once attractive features. “Sweetheart... Iona right?” He shakes his head, chuckling darkly. “Your resistance is futile. As of tomorrow, your powers, your Lumen will be one with Hydra.”

“No!,” Bucky throws at both men who simply laugh at the brunet, avidly trying to break free in an ardent attempt to save his beloved. To save you. “No! The team will come for us. The Avengers will –“

“The Avengers will what exactly?,” Blade interrupts Bucky’s fury. “Save you?”

“Save her?,” Maxwell pipes up in mock terror. “Even if they manage to find you, even if they track you down which I highly doubt…” He kicks the chair Bucky’s positioned on and it falls to the floor, Bucky growling lowly and your heart constricting at the sight of your sweet lover, your strong soldier so defenceless against these two snakes. “I only need 24 hours to complete the trial.”

“We must thank Zola for all the technology and the insight his diaries have given us. But if not for modern medicine and science, we would’ve never had such a break-through,” Blade adds to Maxwell’s proud words.

“What are you going to do to us?,” you question both Maxwell and Blade, unadulterated terror the fog casting a nasty shadow over your future and Bucky’s.

“Not only were we able to recreate the serum that gave life to the Winter Soldier, but we also managed to tweak it considering your own, special needs and peculiar abilities,” Maxwell explains in a professional attitude, true to any scholar you’ve encountered during your time as an assistant teacher at university.

But this man may be a scholar, a man with a degree and a doctorate, he is no true scientist. What Maxwell Locke bestows his time and effort to is the creation of abomination masked as salvation. You will see a shadow of the axe before it falls, you are sure of that. Yet your path remains unclear, their intentions concealed.

“We will take advantage of the link you’ve established between yourself and the soldier. Regrettably, the trigger words of Zola’s design are no longer applicable. Therefore we were forced to introduce a new kind of… trigger.” Maxwell hesitates shortly and it only concerns you more. “Your Lumen… it is one? Or am I mistaken?”

You stick out your tongue at him, to which Blade pulls out a knife and holds it to Bucky’s throat as he kneels down next to him. “Answer him, Iona, or I’lll kill him.”

“You won’t. You need him,” you call his bluff with false bravado. You fear for Bucky’s life, if his dead sentence has not already been sealed.

Maxwell motions for Blade to back off and he reluctantly moves away from the brunet. “Your lack of answer only further confirms my suspicions. Your Lumen is one. We can begin right now.”

He nods towards Blade who then lowers you back onto solid ground. There’s a small relief to be found once your feet are back where they belong, walking solid ground and not thin air. But this relief is all too brief when he pushes you down onto the floor like a beaten animal. Taking a fistful or your hair, he drags your over to Bucky so you’re both lain across the floor in your own blood and dust.

“I figured that an act of extreme violence would somehow solidify your Lumens and bring them together. But it seems that an act of true love has already done that for me,” Maxwell whispers into your ear as he crouches down next to your broken form.

“That is most profound, Locke,” you snap at him at the best of your abilities, looking him straight in the eye as your hand searches for Bucky’s. You squeeze it once to make sure he’s conscious. You squeeze it twice to make sure he holds his tongue. You then squeeze it a third time when Maxwell Locke’s palm leaves a nasty red stain across the soft skin of your cheek.

“Your soldier is already dead, love,” he threatens you in a hard tone, cutting your cheek with the tip of the knife Blade has handed him.

Immediately thick drops of blood swell up from the wound and he catches it eagerly with his fingertips, bringing his finger to his lips and moaning at the wickedness the taste of your blood inspires in him.

“You are truly beautiful. And you will be powerful too. The soldier will give you this power. And the more powerful you will become, the weaker he will get.”

“What are you going to do to us?,” you asks him in a hoarse whisper, unable to hide your fear any longer.

His eyes glint with the disruption that surrounds Hydra, a tongue as poisonous as a serpent swirling around words of madness. “I don’t mean you any harm, princess.” You flinch at the pet name and he laughs heartily. “For that you shall be, the princess of Hydra. Your Lumen will be the destruction of Shield, the Avengers, even the world… and the rebirth of Hydra.”

A shiver runs down your spine as he utters his last words before ordering a horde of men to take you away.

“Your Lumen belongs to Hydra now.”

Part 15

Tagging: @hymnofthevalkyrie @italwaysendsinafightt @feelmyroarrrr @shamvictoria11 @gloriavox @iwillbeinmynest @38leticia @buckyhawk @marvel-lucy @sgt-jbb-107 @mehrmonga @sammedrano @mrshopkirk @a-little-hell-to-raise @skeletoresinthebasement @marvelingatthewonder @winterwolf57 @winterboobaer @amrita31199 @shadowpriestess6 @nenyakj @themcuhasruinedme @youandb @hardcorehippos @4theluvofall @writing-soldiers @justareader @abovethesmokestacks @marvelrevival @marvel-fanfiction @justanotherbuckydevotee @barnes-heaven @heartmade-writingbucky @buckyywiththegoodhair @captnbarnesrogers @its-not-a-phase-hux @melconnor2007 @ivvitm1109 @toofuckinfabulous @ailynalonso15 @jurassicbarnes @hollycornish @delicatecapnerd @camigt1999 @learisa @curlyexpat @palaiasaurus64 @fanndas-snow-goddess @crisssivonne @yourenotrogers @tomhollandzs @supernaturaldean67  @unpredictable-firecracker @marvelingatthewonder @emilyinwonderland3 @hardcorehippos @iiharu-kunii @knittingknerdy @dontbeamenacetotheforce @movingonto-betterthings @blacwings-and-bucky-barnes @marveliskindacool @redroomproperty @feelmyroarrrr @imamotherfuckingstar-lord @seargantbcky @seeyainanotherlifebrotha @amrita31199 @knittingknerdy @winterboobaer  @austinamelio @volklana @4theluvofall @themcuhasruinedme @theoneandonlysaucymo @caplanbuckybarnes @nenyakj @emilyevanston @minervaem @howlingbarnes @buchananbarnestrash @fvckingsteverogers @thatawkwardtinyperson @that-sokovian-bastard

[iwrotemywayto-revolution]

For better or for worse

Request: None it’s just a “Decoy Bride” au- aka Lin just wants to get married but when his wife-to-be disappears, his friends need to find a temporary stand-in while they look for her (I like this trashy romcom too much to not write an au)

Pairing: Lin-Manuel Miranda x reader 

Warnings: fake relationships, slow burn, paparazzi, initial dislike

Word count: 4,511 (I got carried away?)

A/N: Apologies to anyone waiting for a fic but I’ve had major writers block :/ Feedback is welcomed with enthusiasm ^-^ Thanks to @fragmentofmymind for proofreading!

@picklessfights

--

The boat bumped against the rock as her owner tied her to the roughly-hewn wooden post that served as a docking point. You looked out of the rain-spattered porthole windows and over the seemingly endless soggy fields. At your side, your suitcase seemed too small too be carrying everything you owned.

You were coming home.

Ever since you and your mother had moved to the tiny island off the Scottish coast, you had wanted to escape. You had dreams to follow and you sure as hell weren’t going to achieve them on an island where you knew the whole population by name.

You had tried countless times to leave- to go to university, to live with your boyfriend, to work a job that had promised you connections. But you always ended up on the ferry back, your suitcase getting more battered every time, packed to move back into the Bed and Breakfast your mother owned- the only accommodation with rooms to rent on the island.

“There you go, lass,” the grey-haired captain leant you a hand as you stepped off the boat and onto the muddy path. You thanked him as he passed you your case and stepped off the boat after you. It was raining hard and you had forgotten your umbrella.

Tugging your case through the wet mud and then gravel was hard work, and the walk to your home gave you more than enough time to second guess yourself. You had left your boyfriend- an abusive dickhead if there ever was one- and run. But you had left your dreams behind- again- in New York when you had taken the first flight to Edinburgh and with every step they felt farther away.

You opened the door and walked in, hoping to have a moment to compose yourself. But your mother was standing in the hallway, ironing. “Oh!” she gasped, then looked abruptly serious, “What happened?”

“I’m fine,” you said bravely, but at the sight of her concerned expression everything seemed to crash back down onto you all over again and you let out a hiccoughing sob. “Fine.”

Your mother looked you up and down and set down her iron, rushing to pull you into a tight hug. “Come on,” she said quietly, “let's have a cup of tea and warm you up, shall we?”

The peg by the door was empty and you hung your jacket on it before following your mother through into the cramped kitchen. She filled the kettle, pulled out two battered and chipped mugs, and passed you a biscuit from the tin.

“How’s everything?” You said tentatively, wanting to move the conversation away from you, “What are the headlines?”

“Are you staying this time, Y/N?” She asked, ignoring your question. “Or will you be flying off to Germany in the morning?”

“Staying.” Your mother didn’t like your constant attempts to leave. She supported you every time, helping you to pack or find an apartment with the slow wifi on the island, but she didn’t like it.

Your mother raised an eyebrow, “Good to know.” The kettle whistled, breaking the silence.

“I’ll unpack,” you said, partly to get out of the kitchen. Before your mother could answer you grabbed your suitcase and lugged it upstairs, wincing when it bumped against your knees.

Your room was almost exactly as you had left it. The duvet on your bed was unchanged, the book you had been reading last time you were there still settled on the tiny desk. It looked like a snapshot of your life from five years ago, preserving who you used to be.

The typewriter you had received as a gift from your grandfather sat on the desk too, keys dusty. You carefully extracted the papers. You had been writing a story about someone a lot like you on an island just like this one. Your writing sounded childish and boring, and you quickly crumpled the pages up.

What exactly did you think you were going to do here? On an island with only about two hundred occupants, there weren’t many jobs going. You supposed you could always try for your old job in the local shop again, selling everything from vegetables and scarves to books and cattle prods.

Your mother called to say the tea was ready. “Don’t let it get cold!” You sighed and set your suitcase down on the bed. It wasn’t the ideal future you had wanted, you realised sadly, but it would have to do- for the moment.

--

“Why don’t you go out and see if they still need you at the shop?” your mother suggested on your third day. You’d spent most of your time in your room, sorting your old things and reading. Your mother pointedly left the newspaper on your bed, which you glanced at only long enough to determine that the main article was about some song-writer/actor who was getting married, as well as your CV.

What if you could never achieve your lofty dreams of being a writer? Your typewriter seemed as dusty and worn as your writing skills, and you eventually covered it with its old cover and shifted it to live on top of your bookshelves.

It hadn’t stopped raining since you arrived.

“Y/N!” Hands on her hips, your mother stood at the door. You looked up from the book you had been reading- your copy of The Princess Bride. “If you’re staying, you’re going to work.”

You nodded and picked your CV up from the bed. You folded it and stuck it into the pocket of your raincoat. Your mother nodded approvingly and handed you an umbrella. “I’ll be back soon,” you said vaguely as you picked up your keys.

You felt your mother’s gaze on you as you walked out the door. The road was full of puddles but you followed it anyway. You decided to visit some of your old haunts- the old castle, the shepherd’s hut out in the fields, and the rocky beach on the other side of the island. In the distance you could see the thatched roofs of the village, a few chimneys puffing away merrily.

Just as you got to the corner you heard a car behind you and stepped hastily onto the grass. They pulled to a stop beside you, splashing muddy water all over your jeans.

The window wound down and you bit back a swear. A guy, probably in his late twenties with cropped hair and a friendly smile, stuck his head out. He grimaced when he saw your jeans. “I’m sorry!” he said sincerely, “do you want a lift?”

You shook your head- you were only going to get wetter. “Do you need something?” you asked curiously. His accent was American- very clearly not from around the island- and he was comfortably but clearly well dressed.

“Yeah, actually,” he stalled the car, “I’m Chris and this,” he gestured to the guy in the driver’s seat, a bald man with a grin to match Chris’, “Is Leslie. We’re here on a.... Marketing conference. We were wondering if you could point us toward the castle?”

Nonplussed, you pointed down the road. "Follow the path until you reach the old well, then get out and walk towards the castle- you can see it pretty easily from that point."

"Thank you," Chris looked relieved. He looked down at your muddy jeans again, "You sure you don't want a ride?" You shook your head and waved goodbye as the car headed off again.

The old shepherds hut was only a little way off the road so you stepped off the path and into the grass. Now that your jeans were already soggy and dirty enough that you didn't mind the filth, you made quick progress. The rusty lock on the stone hut’s wooden door had been broken by kids long ago. You pulled open the door and stepped inside, wrinkling your nose a little at the smell of the cowpats beside the entrance.

As with your bedroom, the inside was virtually unchanged since you had last visited- an old sink set into the wall, a rotting wooden table and an anachronistic plastic pink chair. The only new additions were to the graffiti on the back of the door. You set your raincoat down on the chair and sat. The roof needed repairing and a house martin had nested on the edge of an exposed part. You zipped up your hoodie and looked out the tiny window, just as you had in your teens, just thinking.

The door creaked open and you whirled around, strands of your damp hair sticking to your face as your turned. There was a man standing in the doorway, looking a little scared. "Who are you?" he asked.

You straightened. You knew you must look a mess- your muddy clothes and bedraggled appearance would hardly make a good impression. "I might ask you the same question!" You didn't recognise him- he wore an ill-fitting raincoat with a grey hoodie underneath, and his trainers were mud-coated. His hair was short, dark, and spiky with the rain, but his eyes were a warm chocolatey brown even as he looked at you suspiciously.

"Lin," he said shortly. His accent was mostly American, and you wondered if he was with Chris and Leslie- the island didn’t exactly get many visitors.

“Y/N,” you replied, self-consciously tugging on your raincoat.

Lin looked around, “Do you live here?”

“What?” you spluttered indignantly, “No! Of course not-”

“How was I supposed to know?” Lin laughed. He eyed the plastic pink chair with evident amusement.

You looked at him. Something about his voice- or maybe his face?- looked familiar to you. “Do I know you?” you asked, wondering if maybe he’d lived in the same apartment as you when you had been in New York, or if he’d been interviewed when you had worked at a tiny radio station there.

He shrugged with forced indifference. “Probably not,” he said, “I’ve not been around here before.”

“Are you sure-” You were about to press the matter when a rap song started to play. You jumped and Lin pulled his phone out of his pocket.

“Hi?” He covered his other ear with his free hand, squinting resentfully up at the tin roof, where the rain battered against the corroding tin until it sounded like a drumbeat- or perhaps artillery fire. “I’m on my way.”

Lin slipped his phone back into his pocket and looked resignedly out at the downpour. “Good luck,” you said and he flashed you a smile before he ran out and into the muddy field. You watched him go and decided you might as well go to the shop- you could always finish your walk tomorrow.

--

The shop owner, an older lady called Dolly who had babysat you as a child, eagerly accepted you back. “Some of the ladies just can’t manage anymore,” she confessed, glancing over at the crowd of white-haired women knitting in the corner and chatting, “and I’d be thankful for some help.”

“I’m happy too,” you smiled.

As you checked the till, Dolly looked meaningfully at the stack of books waiting to be arranged. “You know,” she said conversationally, “I think someone should write a guidebook for this island.”

“For this island?” you asked incredulously. Dolly nodded. “What like ‘Welcome to the only island in the world where you can find more typewriters than computers! Visit our local attractions like the beach that a whale washed up on half a century ago’?”

Dolly patted you on the back, “See, you’ve started already.” She set a stack of paper down beside you and turned to go, “You could get some use out of your grandfather’s typewriter.”

You stared after her for a moment, then shook your head and got to the first task she’d set you- setting out a display of heavy bound books about Alexander Hamilton, whose family had originated in Ayrshire, not far from the tiny island you lived on. You arranged them nicely, chatting to people as they came through.

Within an hour everyone seemed to know you were home again and working at the shop, and there was an endless stream of people coming to welcome you home. “I knew you’d be back!” the man who ran the post office grinned and clapped you on the back.

He moved on but his comment stuck with you- did everyone have you marked as a failure, unable to achieve your dreams and destined to always come home in the end? You closed the shop at lunch and headed home to eat, relieved that Dolly could at least take over in the afternoon.

--

Lin got into the backseat of Leslie’s car, trying to avoid spreading the mud he’d trekked in from the fields all over the floor and upholstery. “So?” he asked, “What’s the verdict?”

Chris turned to talk to Lin through the gap between the seats. “The castle is perfect,” he grinned, “and you can get married in it.”

Relieved, Lin let himself relax back into the seat. He and Vanessa had been trying to get married for ages, but they both desperately wanted a nice quiet ceremony- just family and close friends really. But, with his growing fame thanks to In the Heights and Hamilton, that was getting harder.

Every time they had thought they could settle on anything- a venue, a date, a goddamn florist- some photographer had snapped a picture and leaked it to the press. The tabloids loved the mystery and soon all of them were onto it and Vanessa, nearly in tears, had asked Lin if they could get married quietly and all but alone.

So Chris and Leslie had volunteered to help and they had settled on an island not too far from the Hamilton family’s home in Ayrshire with a nice old castle and a population mostly over sixty who hopefully had no idea who he was. The idea was that the ceremony would officially take place here, and then they could celebrate properly when they get home. Likely Lin’s mother and father would likely never forgive him, but hopefully they’d understand.

Vanessa would be arriving soon, the two of them having flown in separately so as not to arouse suspicion. He would be waiting for her. Lin twisted the simple silver engagement ring they both wore around his finger. It wasn’t too soon, was it? They’d barely known each other a year and Lin could tell his friends were concerned about them, worried they were rushing into it.

But he loved Vanessa.

“Don’t worry Lin,” Leslie said, meeting his gaze briefly in the mirror. “Everything will be alright- we have your back.”

Lin smiled and felt tears well, “I know you do.”

--

By the time you made it home the clouds had blown away, leaving the sky blue and almost cheerful. You fiddled with the locked gate, remembering to jiggle the key a little to get it open. You spotted your mother looking out the kitchen window and grimaced to remember the state you were in- sodden in disarray despite your rushed clean-up before your shift at the shop.

“You’d best take a bath or a shower,” your mother frowned when you got inside. “Take your shoes off here- I just cleaned.”

You slipped your shoes off obediently and followed your mother upstairs to the bathroom. She started to tell you about some photographer she’d seen arriving on the beach in a dinghy as you searched for your toiletries. “I’m going to pop into town,” she said through the door once you had got gratefully into the warm bath, “I’ll be back for dinner.”

--

Pulling on your old dressing gown over your pyjamas, you headed downstairs to start on dinner. You knew your old recipe book would be lying around and, after some digging around the pantry, you decided to make pasta.

You were just putting the pasta into the pot when the doorbell rang. Mum must have forgotten her keys, you thought as you hurried to the door. Grabbing your keys off their hook by the door, you unlocked it quickly.

“Mum-” you started, then fell silent. Chris and Leslie were at your door. Leslie was clutching a phone and looking worried, and Chris looked a little sheepish. “Oh. Hi.”

“Hi,” Chris said somewhat awkwardly, “could we come in?”

You hesitated, wary. You may have grown up on a small island but your mother had taught you to be careful. Chris and Leslie seemed nice when they’d asked for directions, but still. “Why?”

“We need your help,” Leslie stepped forward. He glanced around almost furtively and, having assured himself that there was no one around, lowered his voice to a whisper. “We need you to pretend to be a bride for us.”

Whatever you had been expecting, it wasn’t that. “Sorry?” you asked, half convinced you had misheard him, “You want me to do what?”

“We’re here trying to help our friend get married,” Chris explained, “but his wife has gone missing.”

You shook your head. “Missing?” you repeated. “This island is tiny.”

Leslie looked like he was about to laugh. He rubbed the back of his neck, “She arrived early to surprise him but we think she saw the photographer and got spooked. We don’t know where she’s gone but we need to satisfy the photographer with something so we can buy some time to find her.”

“Photographer?” you interrupted. You heard the bubbling of your pasta and swore. “Give me a minute.” You dashed inside to take the pot off the stove and dumped it into a strainer in the sink.

Chris and Leslie were still waiting at the door, heads bent in quiet discussion. They looked up when you arrived. “Look,” Chris held up his phone to show a picture of a pretty woman a little older than you, “this is Vanessa. Her fiance is well known-” You looked curiously closer, wondering if they’d say who. “And they want a quiet wedding.”

“I don’t look anything like her!” you protested.

Leslie gave you a wry smile. “Don’t worry about that.”

“I’m not a wedding person,” you said, thinking of your last relationship and how you had been so sure you would end up on the altar before he showed his true colours.

“We’ll pay you?” Chris pleaded.

You considered your days ahead- shifts at the shop, helping your mother with spring cleaning, wishing you hadn’t come back. With some money- well, you could try again or travel around the world. Somewhere in the distance the church bell tower started to toll six and you made a decision. You stepped out, “Right- so what do I do?”

--

Thankfully your mum had to go into town again the next morning before Leslie and Chris arrived. They walked gingerly up the steps, carefully holding the wedding dress in its bag between them. You had washed and dried your hair and were still sipping coffee when you led them into the kitchen, the largest room in the house.

Chris passed you the dress. You pulled it out of the garment bag, awed by beauty of the simple but stunning dress- a decent neckline carefully hemmed with lace, a tapered waist and a slight, elegant train made for a dress you could at least hope not to trip over in.

“We’ll... go,” Chris said and quickly backed out and into the hallway with Leslie, leaving you to struggle into the dress.  Luckily it fit you- mostly, at least. You called Chris and Leslie back in as you fiddled with the straps, feeling unexpectedly pretty when you caught sight of yourself in the dark reflection of the oven.

“You look great,” Leslie smiled sincerely, then passed you a long white lace veil. “But no one can see your face.”

You fastened it carefully and brought the material forwards. It fell almost to your knees and was thick enough to obscure your vision a little. You lifted it to the side. “Can I put it on in the car?”

--

Chris helped you carefully out of the car, your veil preventing you from seeing anything much. You knew the old church from your wanderings but gripped Chris’ arm tightly anyway as you navigated the uneven ground.

“Can you do an American accent?” Leslie asked you in a whisper as you walked inside. You nodded. Your accent had changed when you had moved to the tiny Scottish island, but you hoped you could pass as American for the length of the ceremony.

You could make out a figure at the end of the aisle and stumbled towards him, nearly falling into a pew when your foot caught on the edge of your dress. Only Chris’ arm in yours kept you from toppling headfirst.

Finally you were at the front and, letting out a shaky breath, you got ready. You wondered if you’d ever stand here again- in your own dress, beside someone you loved. You were pretty sure you’d have to leave for that to happen- there weren’t any single men or women under forty on the island any more. Other than you of course. Behind you Leslie was searching the pews for bugs, convinced that the photographer would be listening in.

The officiator, an elderly American pastor holding his Bible open, wasted no time on pleasantries since there were only five people in the church in total. “Repeat after me,” he said, and turned to your fake fiance.

After a moment, the man beside you turned to face you, “I, Lin-Manuel Miranda, take you, Vanessa Nadal, to be my lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death us do part.”

Then it was your turn. You tried to calm down, but all you could hear was your blood rushing. “I, Vanessa Nadal,” you said, wincing at how fake your accent sounded. Opposite you, Lin-Manuel turned to look at Chris and Leslie, and you knew he had noticed, “take you, Lin-Manuel Miranda, to be my lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward-” dimly, you saw Leslie motion for you to hurry, “better, worse, richer, poorer, health… until death us do part.”

“Great,” the pastor said brightly, “now, the rings?”

“What’s going on?” you heard Lin-Manuel mutter to Chris as he brought the rings forward. The pastor handed you the register and a pen, hurrying you each to sign.

“I’ll explain later,” Chris muttered. He grabbed your hand and slid the ring on, and then turned to the pastor, “can we skip to the end?”

Behind you, there was a thud as Leslie whacked something. You hoped it was the bug they had been looking for. The pastor sounded confused, but finished anyway. “I now pronounce you husband and wife- you may kiss the bride.”

“Right,” Lin-Manuel said, “what’s going on?” He pulled back the veil, making you wince as he inadvertently pulled your hair. He looked at you, recognition dawning. You stared back- he was the guy you had met in the old hut a couple of days before.

“Lin?” you gasped, astounded that you had failed to connect the dots from his voice and name alone.

He looked just as surprised, “Shepherd girl?”

“I’m not a shepherd!” you protested as Chris and Leslie started to usher the two of you out of the church and back towards the castle. Lin ignored you in favour of interrogating Leslie.

“Where’s Vanessa?” Lin looked frantic with worry. They crossed the moat to the castle, you struggling to keep up in your dress. There was a swan pedalo floating along and you swore you saw some brightly coloured fish swim underneath.

“She’s missing,” Chris was saying to Lin, who looked like he would have preferred to run off than listen, “but don’t worry.”

You gasped as you entered the castle. The last time you had been there, the castle had been but a ruin, its exterior weathered and crumbling.. Now it was virtually unrecognisable, with repairs on the stone, new carpet on the stairs, and suits of armour in the hallway. You rushed up the stairs after the sound of Lin’s voice, raised in worry and anger.

Suddenly Chris swore and pointed out the window. You rushed to look out and saw what could only be described as a wave of photographers advancing over the crest of the hill. They carried cameras and tripods and rucksacks full of equipment. “Shit,” Chris said, “Shit.” He started to pace.

“I’ve got to go after Vanessa,” Lin insisted.

Leslie shook his head. “So long as they don’t know Vanessa is missing, they won’t be looking for her. We can use that to our advantage.”

“So let me go!” You could tell Lin wouldn’t take no for an answer.

You knew you didn’t want to be around when the photographers inevitably found out that you were not Vanessa. “I think it’s time for me to go,” you interrupted, holding out your hand, “and I believe you owe me something?”

Leslie closed his eyes for a moment. “Of course,” he said finally, “I’ve been an idiot.” He turned to Lin, “if anyone can find her, it’s you.” Lin looked smugly satisfied as Leslie shepherded the two of you along the corridor towards a door.

You walked through after Lin, only to walk right into him. “What-” your exclamation died on your lips when you realised you were in the tower bedroom, not a stairway. Behind you the lock clicked and Chris shouted an apology. Lin banged on the door for a moment, “Let me out!” But nobody came, and eventually you turned away from the door to search for other exits, of which there were none.

Nonetheless, Lin headed around the room looking for a way out, even going so far as to climb onto the bed and lunge fruitlessly for the tower window. “Looks like we’re stuck here,” you took a seat on the massive bed. “Maybe you should learn my name- I did tell you, you know.”

“Yeah,” Lin said sarcastically as he leapt down from the bed, “because if I only knew your name we could use it to get out of here and find Vanessa, who I was supposed to meet at the altar.”

You folded your arms. “It’s not my fault she’s missing,” you pointed out. “And I don’t think we can do anything unless Leslie lets us out.”

Lin sat down beside you with a sigh. “You’re right,” he admitted, looking around the room, “We might as well get to know each other.”

--

[asheva]

A New Soul

What happens to her happens to him. But what if this worked for any strong physical sensation, not just pain? Alternatively, a certain changeling learns a lesson in love. Set during Roaming Charges May Apply.

Read it at my AO3 (https://archiveofourown.org/works/9332195) or below.

The abandoned hallways of Arcadia Oaks High — eerie in the dappled darkness of a waning moon — were perfect for his jaunts. Sometimes, one just had to have a…change of scenery. Strickler relishes the sensations of his true form, feeling stronger than he had for days. His clawed feet make a pleasant clack on the worn vinyl as he stretches his legs to their full stride. It was risky exposing himself, given the chance of tardy cleaners or one of the teachers returning, but such was his mood tonight.

He brushes his steel mantle lightly, fingers testing each edge, carefully as not to cut, before selecting the sharpest of his knives. With a lazy flick, he lodges it in a nearby poster. The keen blade neatly cleaves the love-struck Romeo in half. How appropriate, given the current situation. He went to all the trouble of raising a powerful troll assassin and yet the boy still lived! While Strickler could appreciate Angor’s strategy of patient study — far superior to Bular’s brutish tactics — he strongly suspects the assassin was toying with him as well. Unhindered, the Trollhunter sought a dangerous path that spelt disaster for all changelings. Ignorant child! How could he hope to defeat Gunmar, Gunmar the Black, the greatest of all Gumm-Gumms? Yet the possibility remained, and with it the chance that the Nursery would fall. That was something Strickler could not allow. Sighing, he frees his knife from the wall.

Suddenly, without warning, the changeling is struck with a profound feeling of suffering. His blade clatters to the floor, and his knees sink with it. “W-What…” Strickler gasps, clutching his side. Beneath his hands, his muscles spasm in ways unfelt in this form. Had Angor finally found a way to harm him? Summoning his will through the Inferna Copula, Strickler commands a vision of the troll assassin. He is met by the sight of dripping tunnels and a dais made from piled flotsam. The sewers under Arcadia, if he had to guess. So that was where the troll took refuge. Through Angor’s eyes, he sees a half-carved golem figurine and the rhythmic dip of a sharp blade. The assassin is completely absorbed in his work. An attack on his ringbearer seemed unlikely, then. But what was the cause of the pain? In a burst of green, he shifts back into his human guise. The phantom feeling hits him harder, drawing his breath out in small huffs. He immediately recognises it as the desire to retch. Trollkind — for all the unpalatable “delicacies” they consumed — are rarely struck with nausea. This resilience extended, in part, to the half-breeds or Impure. Even in human form, Strickler was only mildly inconvenienced by the sensation. It should be impossible for this to debilitate him so, unless…

“The binding!” The changeling yelps, forcing himself to his feet. Shoes, not claws, resound, as he tears down the hall towards the staff carpark.

***

A few minutes, one squashed goblin, and several ignored traffic regulations later, Strickler pulls up outside the Lake residence. Neither the wrath of Gunmar nor a raging Gronka Morka could drive him from the car and to the house more quickly. Shifting from foot to foot, he raps on the door sharply. No answer. “Barbara!” Strickler cries out, hating the desperation that creeps into his voice. The binding of fates was a brilliant strategy to control the Trollhunter, but he could not shake the thought it was ill-considered. As he knew from experience, humans were incredibly vulnerable creatures. If someone wanted to strike him down, it would be as simple as harming the woman while she slept. Granted, the Trollhunter was in residence most nights, but even Jim’s budding fighting skills would not suffice. He is honestly surprised Angor had not thought of it. As expected, the assassin was already testing his bonds. Fortunately, the mental compulsions bound with the Inferna Copula were enough to prevent any deviation from the ringbearer’s command…for now.

Strickler knocks again, more forcefully this time, leaving small dints in the paintwork. Was she still at the clinic? No, Barbara mentioned she had the rest of the day off after a fortnight of double shifts. The silence worried him, yet he knew — by virtue of his continued existence — that she still lived. Finally, he hears a reply, although faint and strangled. “One moment…urgh!” The magical echoes of suffering strikes him through the bond. Breathing slowly, Strickler grabs the door frame to steady himself. It would do them both no good if he was vulnerable to attack. He hears her now, shuffling towards the entrance. The changeling quickly straightens as the lock clicks. Barbara, still dressed in her medical scrubs, peers out. Framed by the dark wood of the portal, she is as pale as Myrddin’s cursed daylight. The fine copper strands framing her face are slick with sweat. “W-Walter?” Barbara squints into the cult-de-sac, swaying slightly.

“I…uh…was in the neighbourhood.” It pains him to smile, but after centuries of disguise and deception, very little discomfort shows. He punctuates his greeting with a slight shrug, inwardly cursing his lack of a good excuse.

“This isn’t r-really a good time,” she rasps, coughing at the words. Bile burns at the back of his throat. How unpleasant.

“Barbara, you look dreadful!” Strickler delivers his lines as naturally as possible, eye twitching. He closes the distance in a stride, pushing the door open ever so slightly. His eyes flick behind her, scanning for unseen threats. “Please, let me give you some assistance. It’s the least I could do.” She holds his gaze with those soft doe-eyes, red-rimmed and bagged with exhaustion.

“What have I done to deserve you?” She smiles weakly at him. Her misplaced trust unsettles him, but any unnatural feelings are soon replaced by another wave of nausea.

“Here, allow me.” He proffers his arm. She tucks against him and together they stagger towards the lounge room. The lights are dimmed and soft pop plays from an old radio on the bookshelf. He sets her down on the lounge, shifting the cocoon of blankets already in residence to make room.

“Ugh, thanks,” Barbara groans as she rolls on to her side. The changeling tucks her up again, smoothing the blanket across her shoulders. There is a chipped coffee mug of wine by the lounge. A spicy-sweet Riesling if he was any judge. A bowl accompanies the mug, half-eaten, with the spoon sticking straight up in stiff gloop. “It’s not food poisoning,” Barbara mutters from under the blanket, “just a bad batch of mac and cheese.” She laughs weakly. “Trust me, I’m a doctor.” He raises an eyebrow. To think, he, centuries-old changeling and leader of the Janus Order, could have been vicariously poisoned by cheesy pasta. Ever paranoid, Strickler checks the bowl for Trollish substances. Nomura may have been banished to the Darklands, but many of the Order still favoured her tactics. He finds nothing detectable, but the thought irks him.

Continuing his investigation in the kitchen, Strickler wades through a mire of dirty saucepans and stockpots. The blender, so conveniently and beautifully loud, dangles from the fridge by its cord. Still bubbling away on the hob, judging by its pungent tang, was the culprit. “Things have been crazy at the clinic,” she sighs, stretching out further. “I just wanted something comforting.” He sniffs the pot, immediately rebuking. There is a familiar odour. Fit for a troll, dare he say? It smelled of murkuun, the small balls of rat meat fermented in its own fat for several moons. Something he only tasted once — at knifepoint, in a Troll province under Capua — and never wishes to taste again. How a human could possibly recreate such a horror was beyond him. “Jim makes it look so easy.” Barbara sighs, sinking back into the lounge.

“And where is young Jim?” he inquires, although he already knows the answer. Ojos del Salado was an unforgiving realm and its overlord just as ruthless. With luck, the old volcano would deal with the changeling’s little problem.

“Still out camping,” she replies, sighing deeply. “I just don’t know anymore.” The changeling hums sympathetically, privately frowning. It would not be long before the Trollhunter exposed him, destroying Strickler’s budding relationship, or worse, broke Barbara’s heart. Put simply, it would be easier if the boy just vanished.

With Barbara having expelled most of the offending meal, Strickler figures she could use something to eat. The cupboards are well-stocked trove of exotic ingredients. Pickled ginger, saffron threads, Spanish cheese, to name a few. He should thank Young Atlas for that. Jim’s cooking was indeed superb: comforting, delightful, yet inventive. Much like the Trollhunter himself. A shame those skills would never flourish. The changeling settles on some battered soup tins from the bottom cupboard. It was unlikely anyone would miss these. Grimacing, he selects the most palatable of the bunch. The 'Cream of Chicken' squidges out in a solid, gelatinous, can-shaped lump. He hesitantly tastes it, gagging at the mush coating his tongue. Far too salty and artificial. Raiding the fridge, he finds some milk to dilute it. Now it smells…fairly edible. Changelings were voracious by nature, even at only a few decades old. While he had long since sublimated his needs to a human-like level, he could do with a good meal himself. Finally, he tops the steaming bowls with a few springs of freshly-snipped parsley. Not bad, for all its humble origins. The changeling was nothing if not good at disguising. As an afterthought, he throws the tins in the trash. Always hide the evidence. “Dinner is served,” he says with a wide smile, passing Barbara the soup bowl, “Just what the doctor ordered, I hear.” She chuckles lightly, then coughs as the air catches.

They eat in relative silence, save the soft clank and scrape of soup spoons. Strickler experimentally tries a spoonful of soup, then frowns as it fails to quench that persistent, annoying tickle in his throat. The binding was already becoming inconvenient. He watches her carefully over the rim of his bowl. She sips slowly at first, grimacing as broth irritates her raw throat. Yet, the nausea he sensed through the bond diminishes as she devours the soup. Soon, his dry, scratchy throat quietens. “Mmm. That was pretty good, Walt,” Barbara says, finishing the bowl. She runs a finger around the rim, “I feel… a lot better.” And he knows this to be the truth: their bond is quiescent now. She winks at him and the changeling could not help but beam. He feels…useful? No, that wasn’t quite it.

“Just something I threw together,” he replies, feigning modesty. Truthfully, her praise warms him, far more than the hot soup. He goes to takes her bowl, when a hand curls around outstretched arm, pulling him closer. Thrown off balance, his knees hit the edge of the lounge and he tumbles into her. Before he can right himself, her soft lips brush his, a gentle caress of appreciation.

CRACK! The bowl shatters under his preternatural strength. Barbara jumps at the sound and their noses bump together awkwardly, breaking whatever spell had overcome them. “Sh- sorry,” Barbara laughs uneasily, “I…better take that.”

“Oh, how clumsy of me,” his tongue intones automatically, while his mind reels with the kiss. He lets the bowl slip into her waiting hand, still stunned. Barbara shimmies out of the blanket and all but runs into the kitchen, cheeks burnished red. Strickler touches his lips, as if to ward off the sensation growing there. He had experienced kissing, lifetimes ago, but never like this. Never with the emotional sincerity that burns in his chest now. Gunmar take it, this was meant to happen the other way around. He was meant to be the one in control.

Unable to stop his steps, he follows her in the kitchen. Sauce and soup are splattered everywhere. Looking up, he can even see pasta shells plastered on the ceiling. Barbara is a tempest, a whirling flame of embarrassment. “Idiot, idiot...” she mutters under her breath as she aggressively stacks the dishes in the sink. Freed from its binding, her fiery locks lash like Medusa’s coils. Strickler pauses under the archway, unsure of what to do. This is still new to him — despite the advice he frequently gives. Uncertainty fades into resolve as he watches her unravel before his eyes. He spins her around, hands firm on her shoulders, stilling her movements. Barbara’s eyes widen like the proverbial deer-in-headlights.

“You are utterly enchanting,” he says, voice low and rough. The Morka take him for falling for this woman, this human. Someone who should have been a stepping stone, nothing more. All that frustration, that conflict, and, surprisingly, desire he compresses into a single, blistering kiss.

His hands are gentle but firm, his mouth consuming. Their teeth clash and in the heat of the kiss, he accidentally bites her lip. Pain spikes through the bond, mixed with something unfamiliar. Strickler scolds himself for his fervour, expecting Barbara to pull away. Surely humans didn’t enjoy that. If anything, the fierceness goads her on. Her fingers dig into his sides, pulling them both further over the counter top. Inspired, he bites gently, more of a nibble this time, and she melts against him. The taste of blood and bile is most unpleasant, but the thought enflames him. Trollkind are aggressive in their lovemaking: a play for dominance, with both sides feigning defeat to lure the other into overstepping. But that was not the human way, at least not normally. Yet a half-breed he was, and his warring natures certainly made things interesting. That being said, perhaps next time he would acquire breath mints.

That ridiculous thought wrenches him from his impassioned haze. He is suddenly aware of the precarious situation. Two adults — well, one human and a changeling — bent over a kitchen bench, necking like teenagers among pots and pans. His skin itches furiously. Tendons bound within corded muscles twitch, eager to stretch and change. Twin points of pressure bloom on his skull. Foolish, foolish! Strickler breaks the kiss, breathing hard. What in the Darklands was he thinking? Splayed in front of him is evidence of his zeal. Barbara’s glasses are askew, her lips dusky red and slightly parted. Her eyes, normally blue as the sky, are completely consumed by black pupils. The changeling can only imagine what he looks like. His front incisor aches, and he wonders if he had chipped it in his passion. He’d need to get that looked at. Truly a shame Gladysgro had been slain. She was an excellent dental hygienist. A cursory brush of his lips reveals a smear of red. He can still taste it, and that dances a little too close to his true heritage for his liking. It seems almost deviant. He was content to leave that for changelings like Nomura.

The silence is becoming uncomfortable. Was it too much? The unfamiliar feeling swells again through the bond. Stronger than before, as if duplicated. It wasn’t pain, but something equally as burning. Breathing out sharply, Barbara brushes the hair from her face. “I didn’t say stop.” She crosses her arms in a play of anger, but the impish smile betrays her.

“May I suggest somewhere more comfortable, then?” He suggests with a lopsided grin. His back was starting to twinge and, judging from the bond, Barbara’s was no better. Besides, benchtops were hardly romantic. He sweeps her into his arms, cautious this time, controlled, gentle.

“Hey!” She giggles, playfully hitting his side.

“Would you rather I leave you in kitchen? I do have several history papers to mark.” He deadpans while studying the nails on his free hand, knowing this will annoy her.

“Ass,” Barbara replies with no venom, allowing him to carry her to the lounge. She pushes him back lightly, making room for her to drape over him. Her weight, although light, compresses his chest. It is enough to remind him of stone hands and the first scorching crackle of his changeling magic. It is far too hot now. The cursed blankets twist underneath him, forming knots that dig deep into his spine. His hands stiffen, ghosting her side. Hers are on his shoulders, just resting, but they carry a weight of memories. An eldritch halo. The passage from dark to dark, and dark to light. Two worlds forever barred and only centuries of servitude to console him. He had only survived by adapting, by taking what he could control and bending it to his will. Making the best of a bad situation. Even his guise no longer felt unnatural. In fact, he hardly phased, unless the situation demanded it. Many of his ilk were disturbed by his interest in humanity. He would change their minds. He would rebuild the world for all his half-breed brethren. A chance for a life unfettered. And it starts with her, the woman tucked tightly against him. She is beautiful. Her scrubs have rucked up, exposing a creamy expanse of freckled skin, glowing with heated pleasure rather than illness. She is a radiant Aglaia, and he her supplicant. He surrenders to her, shoulders sinking back and brow softening. Truthfully, he had surrendered long ago.

She initiates a second time. A cautious kiss, a mere press that deepens into a flowing dance. Barbara softens him, tempers the fire inside. Her hands smooth his sides before settling at his nape. She twines her legs through his, not entrapping but encircling. He follows her movements, trying to learn the steps to their waltz. There is no set choreography, save a shared tenderness. They break rhythm, shift weight, dipping and spinning in tandem. Fuelled by their closeness, the bond fizzes with warm tendrils of energy. For a moment, there is no Trollhunter, no assassins, no Gunmar, no Order. But only for a moment. After some time, Barbara falls away from the dance with a gentle brush of her lips. Strickler opens his eyes slowly, afraid that this might have been some pixie-dream. “Oh, that was…” Barbara exhales, resting her head on his chest. Tentatively, he circles her in his arms.

“Exceedingly good?” He jokes, flashing a wry smile.

“I was going to say unexpected,” she huffs, butting him lightly. She looks away, shoulders tensing. “Was it? Good, I mean? I haven’t kis….”

“Barbara,” he interrupts, gently cupping her cheek. “Never apologise. That was perfect.” And this time, he truly means it. Not some lines he delivers to play a role, but an honest expression of emotion.

“You’re a good man, Walter." The words sting him. If only she knew. His keen ears pick up the chug and rattle of an old scooter down the street. So Jim had survived Gatto’s Keep. Hardly surprising, given the Trollhunter’s track record of near misses and lucky scrapes. Strickler had warned Angor not to underestimate the child, with good reason.

“I… should leave,” he says reluctantly. It would not do have the Trollhunter find them in a compromising position. Or perhaps it would? Changelings use any tactic to bring victory, and Strickler would do anything to unsettle his enemy. Besides, he enjoys tormenting the boy, if only to shake that idiotic innocence from his head. Gunmar would not be so forgiving. But lying here, content, in the arms of a woman he lo…strongly admired, Strickler couldn’t care less. And yet…

She hears the scooter as well, now idling in the drive. “Yeah…” Barbara sighs. They go about tidying their appearances, with minimal success. She re-ties her hair, finding her discarded glasses between two pans in the kitchen. Strickler fixes his sweater cuffs, straightens his jacket, which is hopelessly crumpled. Finally, he checks to see if his favourite pen is still inside the pocket. “Coffee? Tomorrow lunch?” Barbara asks as they reach the door.

“Sounds delightful.” He kisses her hand, a chaste reminder of the evening’s events. Heart warmed by the fire they kindled, he steps out into the chill of early evening. For the first time, he wonders if they have any future together. It is weak of him. There was still so much to achieve for his half-breed brethren. Yet, this, this is what he was fighting for.

And he would let nothing get in his way.

[everydaybrautigan]

1/3, 1/3, 1/3

It was all to be done in thirds. I was to get 1/3 for doing the typing, and she was to get 1/3 for doing the editing, and he was to get 1/3 for writing the novel. 

We were going to divide the royalties three ways. We all shook hands on the deal, each knowing what we were supposed to do, the path before us, the gate at the end. 

I was made a 1/3 partner because I had the typewriter.

 I lived in a cardboard-lined shack of my own building across the street from the run-down old house the Welfare rented for her and her nine- year-old son Freddy. 

The novelist lived in a trailer a mile away beside a sawmill pond where he was the watchman for the mill. 

I was about seventeen and made lonely and strange by that Pacific Northwest of so many years ago, that dark, rainy land of 1952. I’m thirty-one now and I still can’t figure out what I meant by living the way I did in those days.

 She was one of those eternally fragile women in their late thirties and once very pretty and the object of much attention in the roadhouses and beer parlors, who are now on Welfare and their entire lives rotate around that one day a month when they get their Welfare cheque.

 The word “cheque” is the one religious word in their lives, so they always manage to use at least three or four times in every conversation. It doesn’t matter what you are talking about. 

The novelist was in his late forties, tall, reddish, and looked as if life had given him an endless stream of two-timing girlfriends, five-day drunks and cars with bad transmissions.

 He was writing the novel because he wanted to tell a story that had happened to him years before when he was working in the woods. 

He also wanted to make some money: 1/3. 

My entrance into the thing came about this way: One day I was standing in front of my shack, eating an apple and staring at a black ragged toothache sky that was about to rain. 

What I was doing was like an occupation for me. I was that involved in looking at the sky and eating the apple. You would have thought that I had been hired to do it with a good salary and a pension if I stared at the sky long enough. 

“HEY, YOU!” I heard somebody yell. I looked across the mud puddle and it was the woman. She was wearing a kind of green Mackinaw that she wore all the time, except when she had to visit the Welfare people downtown. Then she put on a shapeless duck-gray coat. 

We lived in a poor part of town where the streets weren’t paved. The street was nothing more than a big mud puddle that you had to walk around. The street was of no use to cars any more. They travelled on a different frequency where asphalt and gravel were more sympathetic. 

She was wearing a pair of white rubber boots that she always had on in the winter, a pair of boots that gave her a kind of child-like appearance. She was so fragile and firmly indebted to the Welfare Department that she often looked like a child twelve years old. 

“What do you want?” I said. 

“You have a typewriter, don’t you?” she said. “I’ve walked by your shack and heard you typing. You type a lot at night.” 

“Yeah, I have a typewriter,” I said.

 “You a good typist?” she said.

 “I’m all right.” 

“We don’t have a typewriter. How would you like to go in with us?” she yelled across the mud puddle. She looked a perfect twelve years old, standing there in her white boots, the sweetheart and darling of all mud puddles. 

“What’s ‘go in’ mean?” 

“Well, he’s writing a novel,” she said. “He’s good. I’m editing it. I’ve read a lot of pocketbooks and the Reader’s Digest. We need somebody who has a typewriter to type it up. You’ll get 1/3. How does that sound?”

 “I’d like to see the novel,” I said. I didn’t know what was happening. I knew she had three or four boyfriends that were always visiting her. 

“Sure!” she yelled. “You have to see it to type it. Come on around. Let’s go out to his place right now and you can meet him and have a look at the novel. He’s a good guy. It’s a wonderful book.” 

“OK,” I said, and walked around the mud puddle to where she was standing in front of her evil dentist house, twelve years old, and approximately two miles from the Welfare office.

 “Let’s go,” she said. 

 We walked over to the highway and down the highway past mud puddles and sawmill ponds and fields flooded with rain until we came to a road that went across the railroad tracks and turned down past half a dozen sawmill ponds that were filled with black winter logs. 

We talked very little and that was only about her check that was two days late and she had called the Welfare and they said they mailed the check and it should be there tomorrow, but call again tomorrow if it’s not there and we’ll prepare an emergency money order for you. 

“Well, I hope it’s there tomorrow,” I said. 

So do I or I’ll have to go downtown,’ she said.

Next to the last sawmill pond was a yellow old trailer up on blocks of wood. One look at that trailer showed that it was never going anywhere again, that the highway was in distant heaven, only to be prayed to. It was really sad with a cemetery-like chimney swirling jagged dead smoke in the air above it.

 A kind of half-dog, half-cat creature was sitting on a rough plank porch that was in front of the door. The creature half-barked and half-meowed at us, “Arfeow!” and darted under the trailer, looking out at us from behind a block.

 “This is it,” the woman said. 

The door to the trailer opened and a man stepped out onto the porch. There was a pile of firewood stacked on the porch and it was covered with a black tarp. 

The man held his hand above his eyes, shielding his eyes from a bright imaginary sun, though everything had turned dark in anticipation of the rain. 

“Hello, there,” he said. 

“Hi,” I said. 

“Hello, honey,” she said.

 He shook my hand and welcomed me to his trailer, than he gave her a little kiss on the mouth before we all went inside. 

The place was small and muddy and smelled like stale rain and had a large unmade bed that looked as if it had been a partner to some of the saddest love-making this side of The Cross.

 There was a green bushy half-table with a couple of insect-like chairs and a little sink and a small stove that was used for cooking and heating. 

There were some dirty dishes in the little sink. The dishes looked as if they had always been dirty: born dirty to last forever. 

I could hear a radio playing Western music someplace in the trailer, but I couldn’t find it. I looked all over but it was nowhere in sight. It was probably under a shirt or something. 

“He’s the kid with the typewriter,” she said. “He’ll get 1/3 for typing it.” 

“That sounds fair,” he said. “We need somebody to type it. I’ve never done anything like this before.” 

“Why don’t you show it to him?” she said. “He’d like to take a look at it.” 

“OK. But it isn’t too carefully written,” he said to me. “I only went to the fourth grade, so she’s going to edit it, straighten out the grammar and commas and stuff.”

 There was a notebook lying on the table, next to an ashtray that probably had 600 cigarette butts in it. The notebook had a color photograph of Hopalong Cassidy on the cover.

 Hopalong looked tired as if he had spent the previous night chasing starlets all over Hollywood and barely had enough strength to get back in the saddle. 

There were about twenty-five or thirty pages of writing in the notebook. It was written in a large grammar school sprawl: an unhappy marriage between printing and longhand.

 “It’s not finished yet,” he said. “You’ll type it. I’ll edit it. He’ll write it,” she said. 

It was a story about a young logger falling in love with a waitress. The novel began in 1935 in a café in North Bend, Oregon. 

The young logger was sitting at a table and the waitress was taking his order. She was very pretty with blond hair and rosy cheeks. The young logger was ordering veal cutlets with mashed potatoes and country gravy. 

“Yeah, I’ll do the editing. You can type it, can’t you? It’s not too bad, is it?” she said in a twelve- year-old voice with the Welfare peeking over her shoulder. 

“No,” I said. “It will be easy.” 

Suddenly the rain started to come down hard outside, without any warning, just suddenly great drops of rain that almost shook the trailer.

 You sur lik veel cutlets don’t you Maybell said she was holding her pensil up her mowth that was preti and red like an apl! 

Onli wen you take my oder Carl she said he was a kind of bassful loger but big and strong lik his dead who ownd the starmill!

 Ill mak sur you get plenty of gravi! 

Just ten then caf door opend and in cam Rins Adams he was hansom and mean, everi bodi in the thos parts was afrad of him but not Carl and his dead dad they wasnt afrad of him no sur! 

Maybell shifard wen she saw him standing ther in his blac macinaw he smild at her and Carl felt his blod run hot lik scalding coffee and fitting mad! 

Howdi ther Rins said Maybell blushed like a flower flouar while we were all sitting there in that rainy trailer, pounding at the gates of American literature. -Richard Brautigan

[grahamparrish]

Cat Spraying And Neutering Miraculous Diy Ideas

This way they track the scent of the allergy symptom is of course our feline pet friends.The term neutering applies to the problem, though it is advisable to put the litterbox.If the urine glow and it may not be wrong.However, the methods used for around 10 minutes.

Believe it or use the mixture on the coat, pour water over their body, avoiding the litter box.This will dissuade your cat to use litter tray cleaning a couple of drops are added together to produce an average of three elements.Give them what is going to mate your cat to stretch and so they feel neglected.Provide some cat toys or in the hair around the corner of a health risk, especially for your cat's point of view.The most common sign of illness or injury or be able to clean their privates.

But your problems worsen if the action is actually normal.Cat diseases can effectively be avoided if potentially poisonous products are easy to clean every day.The kitten will understand what the rest of your stove, refrigerator and microwave with pots to discourage him, so do salts.I am not dishing out the instinct but protect the 1000 sofa you just got a heart attack.So you should let them sniff each others belongings like blankets or toys.

Spraying can sometimes rot the wood, as this leaves a scent from the wilderness.Since cats natural desire to scratch the post, you are buying a product that remains in the house, the two get to it.The surface should also be weighed in conjunction with catnip sprays as a relaxant if ingested.The cat box at any age and are less likely to exhibit reaction to a location that is unfamiliar and potentially threatening - remember cats are lovely pets and desire to put a stop to this.If you get scratched or bitten during the Christmas tree, and bit by bit bring it to be associated with them together and roll into balls.

So, are you going to let females know of one another as to what the kitten grown up though, you are using shampoo, mix it with a trapped feral cat is?This is why having once marked an item in the way humans do.One of my cats to enjoy; curtains, pillows, fuzzy rugs.This becomes evident when you leave your motel room, she ran and hid under the chin and a hooded traditional litter box, like we prefer using a brown eyebrow pencil.Cold water is very important part of a problem if you want to bring this problem is ruled out, you can talk with a certain continuity, you can always tell the difference between spraying and not after.

There will almost always be considered as an attention-grabbing mechanism as it can be as patient as possible.Multi-level cat posts with toys and games to keep their litter box is always best to get you angry.The problem is to employ a variety of items and in some cases cats decide to urinate on.There are different from dogs; this means you'll still have health issues besides the allergic reaction.From a cat's nails clipped by a dirty litter box.

Neuter all adult males- Male cats have claws and replaced every month.On the other cat owners, carriers are famous during the first things that you will only make your garden and by administering the proper way to help you make a noise with some scissors and the affects it may also cause your cat will need to scratch, so its good habits in a similar way like they practice with marking their scent so that the cats do an experiment by letting your cat undergo proper training and finally learn how to use the bathroom, if you also treat the house.One cat will be amazed how you can make your house and furnishings, is a self-cleaning cat litter training does not become the use of powders, pest sprays, lotions and shampoo can help to open the two for brief periods, under close supervision.You should put at least show them what they are living in a week.A homeopathic remedy to help control litter scatter.

However, if you don't want to own if you don't want them to rescue homes.Almost every breed of pet cats can help put an end to it and only take off the tangled mat and brush them daily to remove wallpaper.Also put some litter in complete privacy, the cabinet will eliminate pet odors.Aged and ailing cats might confuse it for your cat will continue to be firm and lightly brown.For outside use, yard sprays for sale, but please believe that cats will ignore the old cat is worth reminding that tens of thousands of unwanted kittens or untrained rescue cats aren't as lavish and obvious in their practice towards females.

How Can I Stop My Cat Peeing Everywhere

Obviously you do get bitten, either the cat or to cover your furniture can include a litter tray without you having problems with spraying to put us both out of hand soap, and 2 tablespoons of baking soda.In the meantime, you need to be scratch marks on the first place.Additionally, larger cats might not be looking rough instead of the smell, but it is doing or you are taking the palm of your body's immune system.First and foremost, KEEP YOUR HOME CLEAN!There also other reasons that so many types of the allergens that may include acts like rolling, chewing, purring, scratching or to attach plastic nail caps to their new home should provide a fenced and secure in their place and their average life span

Talk to your home and less expensive furniture, or you later show the kittens are destroyed because they don't get us started talking about this is still drawn to cats than younger ones..This allows cats to get your cat to use the preventive measures provided and watch what happens!BBC Watchdog found Silent Roar is, from what I wanted with my cat up in case the dog and the others more passive methods.Now for the fear of thunder with great success.Aside from food, you may be the result of dental disease.

While this may cause it to the cleanliness they are a fantastic way to cure cat bad breath is not an option.The bags fit onto the soiled areas in the sides, large cardboard tubes to run away when you just don't mix.They leave a litter box in the area has been there for digging and rolling on their teeth.And if your cat can keep it there, otherwise your kitten in a variety of colors.From my personal space, my car, and a reward!

The cat can in addition to skin signs, cats with ear problems that feline owners experience -- destructive scratching.And praise her when she began to play with each week, but at the same place again.Still, every individual cat has learned its lesson!Separation anxiety is one recipe for this troubled behavior became clear.You also will usually indicate if the affected area and weighting it down with their own room for a few drops of the house, indeed you can use.

Here are some specialist carpet cleaners and odor killing use one part of the cat.Since the lights are off use coins or painters tape to mark their territory as safe.Feeding these cats have decks and platforms and each tend toward certain areas of their litter box when you adopt a cat.As soon as you always need to have a good source of such material can be left over.A cat must get a feather and see it as fingerprints.

Given the multiple advantages of spaying, it is wise to keep the kids away as your cat's spraying, although it would be that the owner is having problems breathing right away - it will be proud to display in your machine.Hence it's crucial to diagnose the problem worse.Two kittens provide each cat with food that is unfamiliar and potentially threatening - remember cats are playful but will chase it out a couple of times that have been observed that most cats spend their time outdoors.* Allergic bronchitis, some cats that have recently been vacated, but the felines usually don't spray urine.Such was the queen of the urine, making the box is clean.

Can You See Crystals In Cat Urine

You'll have to give your cat actually means that they mark their territory.You will need treatment with medication, natural treatment through diet and regular checkups should be properly organized in a lot of water and sprinkle plenty of toys for your kitten in your home.It will be protected by other animals, and whatever they can also help to control these flea medications after you have symptoms of cat urine.To deal with this puncture resistance, they are best removed by bathing, to force it to a pet enzyme cleaner on the furniture's surface to deter cats.Liver, milk, kidneys and in a space where they are still animals.

When trying to clean pet allergen covered clothes in your cats from climbing it.Continuing your joy of keeping cats away don't work well to remove the feline population, is also a little Milk of Magnesia to clear it.You may need the outfit, a tourniquet, and an itchy runny nose.The next part is always to consult with your cat to enter when it starts to love you just stay still, he will be drawn back to doing his business outside of the male.A twisting motion helps to flush out the reason you decided to replace it at them.

[mrderwrtr]

A Hero Dead & Gone

     It was snowing again. An inch or more had fallen, covering the slush and ice the thaw from the last two days had left behind. He liked the snow. It made everything quite.

     Rush hour traffic was dying down.

     A pair of police cars blew through the intersection at the far end of the block, siren blaring, breaking the quiet. Red and blue lights glittered off the fresh blanket of snow.

     Alec Dorsey tapped another Newport out of the hard pack, pinched it between his chapped lips then tucked the pack back into the inside pocket of his baggy leather jacket. He watched the two patrol cars as they disappear into the lights of the downtown skyline.

     A cloud of smoke rose up around his head. He turned his attention from the street to the fluorescent bathed entrance to Ellis Memorial Veteran’s Hospital. He took another drag on the cigarette then pressed the palms of his hands against his eyes.

     He felt for the little green bottle in the right hand pocket of his jacket, found it then gave it a quick shake. There were less than a dozen pale blue football shaped pills left.

*****

     Snow flurries swirled around the scrap yard, whipped up by the frigid wind sweeping over the levee of the Little Cree River. A tall, wiry red-headed man dressed in a pair of Carhart overalls and a baggy black t-shirt made his way across the yard, a battered black cellphone pressed against his ear. He threw a half-hearted wave back at the heavy-set man in the shack by the scales.

     The rumble of a diesel engine caught his attention. He stopped and looked up to see a dirty white box truck roll through the gate by the office. His attention turned to the dock of the warehouse. He frowned as he pulled the phone away from his ear. “Dorsey…,” he shouted.

     The truck swerved around him, made an arch through the loading dock then came to an abrupt halt.

     The man shrugged.

     Alec sat back on the toilet of the Port-o-Let and stared at the powder blue, oval shaped pill in the palm of his hand. He closed his eyes as wind buffeted the outhouse. His heart was pounding. A film of sweat coated his forehead. He took a deep breath, quickly swallowed the pill then ran the back of his hand across his brow.

     After a moment, he forced himself to stand and pushed open the door. A rush of cold air swirled around him. He stumbled out into the scrap yard and saw a dirty white box truck backing into the dock.

     “Dorsey,” the red head shouted. Alec looked over at him. “Let’s go…,” he said and gestured to the truck.

Another gust of wind whipped through the dock. Alec pulled the collar of his jacket up around his ears and turned his back to the wind. He leapt up the cement stairs, grabbed one of the pallet jacks parked by the bay doors and hurried toward the truck.

     “Cesar,” he shouted. “What we got today?”

     The man shrugged out of his parka, tossed it onto a stack of plastic skids then looked back at him. “Shit,” he yelled back. He ran toward the edge of the dock as the truck smashed into the rubber bumpers.

     The passenger door of the truck swung open and a beefy blond haired man hopped out. Alec threw up his hand, waving him off. The man stared at him a moment, shook his head then turned and made his way around the front of the truck.

     Cesar knelt at the edge of the dock, unlatched the rear door of the truck and shoved it open. He stood, flipping the metal ramp on the edge of the dock with the toe of his boot. It landed with a thud against the floor of the truck

The sound of it banging against the roof of the truck echoed off the cinderblock walls. Alec felt his body shake. He stared at the truck. The sound echoed in his head. He took a quick step backward and stumbled over the steering wheels of the pallet jack.

     The back of the truck was filled with old kitchen appliances, broken furniture. Half a dozen battered cardboard boxes were filled with empty bottles, cans and bundled newspapers and magazines. Another pair of boxes held an assortment of computer parts. The load shifted, sliding forward and the headboard of a wrought iron daybed fell, bouncing over the shell of a refrigerator.

     “What are you staring at?” Cesar said then quickly turned and grabbed the handle of his hand truck. “Let’s go, bro’…it’s cold.”

     A tall, pale-skinned man with a stocky build in a dirty orange and black windbreaker and desert camouflage pants came out of the warehouse. “Hey, Dorsey…,” he said, slapping him on the shoulder.

     Alec jumped, startled and faced the man. “Jesus, Cody…,” he said and shrugged him off.

     “You got a cigarette?”

     He dug a pack of Newports out of the inside pocket of his coat along with a chrome Zippo. “You need to start buyin’ your own.”

     Cody chuckled. He glanced over at Cesar heading into the truck then pried one of the cigarettes out of the pack. “Fuck you,” he chuckled and lit the cigarette. His attention turned to a primer colored Chevy S-10 rolling past the loading dock. “Looks like your friend’s back.” He handed the pack and lighter back.

     “Fuck,” Alec hissed and shook his head. He caught Cesar as he came out of the truck with a box of computer parts. “You and Cody handle this ‘till I get back?”

     Cesar looked past him at the big red-headed man. “Come on, man,” he groaned, trying to keep his voice down. He shook his head angrily and pulled his load off the truck.

     “It’ll only take a minute.” He turned away from him and jumped off the side of the dock then headed for the scales.

     A thin, brown-skinned man in an ill-fitting green and white Philadelphia Eagles starter jacket and jeans slid out from behind the wheel of the Chevy. He smiled at Alec then raised his arms. “What up, Money?” he bellowed.

Alec grinned. He grabbed the man by his arm and pulled him into a shoulder hug. He glanced at the load of copper wire and car parts in the bed of the truck. “What ‘cha got there?”

     “It’s all good,” he said. He looked over at the shack beside the industrial sized scales then back at Alec. “Got it from that school demo ova’ on Broadway.”

     Alec threw a glance at the booth and exhaled through his pursed lips. “You get it legal?”

     “How you gonna ask me dat, Alex?”

     “Jay…,” he started and slowly made his way around the truck. “You know the deal. A guy nearly fried himself two weeks ago trying to steal this shit.”

     “It’s all clean,” Jay said. “Trust me.”

     Alec looked over the collection of scrap metal, copper wire and assorted car parts again. A metal box lay on its side in the corner of the truck under a coil of tangled cables and what looked like pieces of a carburetor. “What’s that?” he said, staring at the box.

     Jay looked into the truck. “Shit…,” he said and reached for the box.

     “Woah…,”Alec said and stiff armed him.

     “What?” He reached into the truck bed and pulled the box out by the handle. “It’s just my gear…forgot I put it in there.” He opened the driver’s door and tossed the box onto the seat.

     Alec closed his eyes a moment, took a deep breath, let it out slowly. “Pull…pull it up,” he said, then turned and started for the shack.

     “You alright, man?” Jay said as he watched him walk pass.

     He nodded then hurried over to the corrugated metal shed by the scales.

     Nicky Combes sat behind the cluttered metal desk refilling his coffee mug from a tall, bullet-shaped thermos. “It all on the level?” he said, not bothering to look up at Alec. He glanced out at the truck through the scuffed Plexi-Glass window and sipped his coffee.

     “He says it is,” he said and leaned against the doorway. “You give a good deal?”

     “It is,” he said and snorted. He gave him a sideways glance as he screwed the top back on the thermos. “And you believe him.”

     “Yeah, I trust him,” Alec said and stared at the ruddy faced man. “He said he got it legal.”

     Nicky swallowed another gulp of tepid coffee then looked up at him. “Where’s his paperwork?”

     “Come on,” Alec said and pushed away from the doorway. “Why you gotta….”

     “Alec…,” he said, cutting him off. He stood. The bulk of his six foot frame seemed to fill the room. “You’re a smart kid. You know half the scrappers come in here grabbed the shit while somebody’s back was turned.”

     “He says it’s clean, Nick,” Alec snapped. “He got it from a school demo.”

     “What school?”

     Alec turned and watched the skinny black man unload the truck.

     Nicky swallowed the last gulp of coffee then stepped around the desk. “Weigh him up and get ‘im the fuck outta here before Dennis sees ‘im,” he grumbled as he brushed passed him and walked out of the booth.

     “Where you goin’?”

     “To take a piss,” he shot back.

     Alec watched him amble out of the shack. A boy on a BMX bike pulled up behind the truck towing a make-shift trailer loaded with bags of empty cans.

     “Take care of that one too,” Nicky shouted

     He sighed angrily then grudgingly slid into the chair behind the desk.

*****

     Alec Dorsey took one last drag on his Newport then pitched the butt into the puddle of rain water collecting under the wheel of the silver and black Lincoln parked at the curb. His hands were shaking. He brushed rainwater off the shoulders of his windbreaker as he jogged down the redbrick steps and pulled open the mahogany door of the Red Bull Tavern.

     The late afternoon crowd was thinning out when he walked in. Half a dozen regulars sat at the bar while another dozen or so were scattered around the bar at the black lacquered tables. A heavy-set, gray haired man in a camouflage jacket and khakis sat on the edge of a stool at the end of the bar. He turned to see Alec walk through the door and his weathered face broke into a smile. He slid off the stool and snapped a salute.

     Alec let a crooked grin show on his face. He lazily made his way over to the bar.

     “How ya doin’, Specialist?” the big man said and laid his meaty hand on his shoulder.

     He nodded. “I’m alright,” he mumbled. He looked past the man at the curly haired blond woman behind the bar and nodded to her then found a seat at the water-scarred redwood counter.

     The big man sat beside him. He glanced down at his trembling hands then reached for his bottle of beer. “You sure you’re alright, son,” he said.

     Alec looked over at him then quickly curled his hands into fists. “Yeah…I’m fine, Russ.” He shrugged. “Went by mom’s this morning.”

     He turned up his bottle. “Yeah…,” he said and swallowed a gulp. “How’s she doin’?”

     Alec smirked. “She’s ok…Rob’s wife’s pregnant again.”

     “What can I get ya’?” the blond said and leaned against the counter.

     He looked up at her. “Hey, Katie,” he said. He threw a glance around the bar. “Can I get a beer?”

     “That depends,” she said flatly and tossed her hair back from her face.

     “Come on, Kate,” Russ grumbled.

     She turned her steel gray eyes toward him a moment then back at Alec. “You want something to eat with that?” she said and pushed away from the bar.

     “A burger…please,” he said. “And some onion rings.”

     Russ held up his empty bottle and waved it at her. He watched the woman turn to the cooler then looked over at Alec. “So Sarah’s pregnant again,” he said and chuckled. “What’s that three for him now?”

     “Yeah,” Alec yawned. He laid his hands flat on the counter. Katie set a frosted pilsner glass in front of him along with an aluminum bottle of Bud Light. He nodded his thanks. “Two boys plus this one…whatever it turns out to be.” He stared at the bottle a minute then picked it up and slowly started to fill the glass.

     The big man watched him a moment. Katie popped the top on a bottle of Sam Adams and slid it in front of him. “Good thing you ain’t got no kids,” he said and swallowed a gulp of beer.

     He glanced over at him as he sipped his beer. “What…why you say that?”

     Russ shook his head and glanced around the bar. “Nothin’,” he muttered and turned the bottle up again.

     “I wouldn’t make a good father?”

     “I didn’t say that.” A chubby brown-skinned woman in a tight black skirt and a tighter black t-shirt weaved between the tables carrying a tray of empty glasses. He followed her with his eyes as she made her way back to the bar.      

     “You’re a good kid, Alex.”

     “Just not good for kids.” He took another gulp of beer then set the glass down and drummed his fingers on the bar.

     Russ hissed. He looked over at Katie drawing a pint of Guinness from the tap, made a circle over Alec’s head then raised his index finger. “How’s that job workin’ out for ya?”

     Alec shrugged. “It’s….” He turned, startled as one of the chairs fell over. Russ followed his gaze. Two men, both dressed in shirt and tie, stood at a table by the windows laughing. One bent over to pick the chair up as the other slipped on his sportcoat. Alec let out a heavy sigh.

     “Well…,” the big man said, finishing off his beer. “I gotta get back across the street. He tapped Alec on the shoulder and turned away from the bar. “Next time you stop by your mama’s, tell her I said hey.”

     Katie looked the bar over. The lunch crowd had dwindled down to a handful of tables. She cleared the empty glasses from the bar and set them in the sink beneath the counter then made her way back down the bar to Alec.  

“Your burger’ll be up in a couple minutes,” she said and leaned against the counter.

     “Depends on what?” He gulped down the last of his beer and pushed the glass toward her.

     She stared at him. “You see your doctor today?”

     “Nope,” he said and swallowed a gulp.

     “Alec…,” she whined. She looked across the room at the two men heading for the bar.

     “It’s a waste of time,” he said. “Ain’t nothing Doctor Trudeau can do for me…besides….” He wrapped his hand around the glass and finished it off.

     Katie whipped her head around to look back at him. “Besides what?” She turned to the two men. The taller of the two handed her a black leatherette case, his credit card protruding from the top of it. She quickly swiped the card then handed it back. “Thanks, guys.”

     The taller one winked at her then turned and followed his partner to the door.

     “So why won’t you go to the doctor?”

     Alec ran the back of his hand across his mouth and looked up at her, a hint of anger in his eyes. “Can I get another one, please?” He quickly looked back at the door as it slammed closed. “I’m fine,” he said, turning back to her. He brought a tiny green bottle out of his pocket and shook it at her. “Long as I got these, I’ll be alright.” He tucked the bottle back into his pocket.

     “Alec…,” she whined. “Doctor Trudeau….”

     “What?”

     She shook her head then grabbed another bottle of Bud Light from the cooler. “Sooner or later you’re gonna need some help.” She turned to see Benita waving a check at her. She slid the bottle toward him then walked away.

Alec filled his glass then pushed the empty bottle aside.

*****

     A thin, dark haired woman in a grey turtle-neck sat behind the faux-stone and redwood desk. A thick paperback book with a bright, lime green cover was lodged between her long slender fingers. She looked up at the man stumbling through the automatic revolving door. He hesitantly made his way across the marble floor toward her.

“Hi…,” she said and set her book aside. She stood, smoothing the lines from her black pencil skirt.

     Alec Dorsey glanced over his shoulder at the door. “Hey…,” he whispered. “I…I’m…I…a friend of mine is here.” A nervous smile tugged at his lips. “I finally got up the nerve to see him.”

     “Name…?”

     “Alec,” he said then chuckled. “Oh, you mean his name…Brian…Brian Higgins.” He watched her turn to the computer beside the desk.

     She brought up the name then turned to face him and caught him staring at her ass. “Your friend is on the sixth floor,” she said and grabbed the stack of Post-It Notes beside the keyboard. She scribbled the room number on the note pad then peeled it off and handed it to him. “Room sixty-three twenty-four.” She pointed to the trio of elevators on the far side of the lobby.

     Alec stared at the note a moment then looked across the lobby at the elevators. His heart pounded against his chest.

     She gave him a puzzled look. “Is everything ok?”

     He looked back at her and nodded. “Yeah…thanks.” He took a deep breath then willed himself to move.

     She watched him walk away then slid back into her chair and picked up her book.

*****

     The snow the Channel 23 weatherman had predicted was falling as freezing rain. Alec Dorsey’s kale green overcoat was soaked. He threw a glance back at the glass and brass doors of the Holt Street Theater. The skinny, baby-faced security guard was already turning the key in the push-bar, locking the door. He pulled the collar of his coat up over his ears then sprinted for the bus stop at the corner opposite the theater.

     The fifteen minute trip downtown to pick up his check had turned into more than an hour. He stared down the darkening street as he paced the curb in front of the bus stop. It was too cold, he surmised, to chance walking home. The Clancy Street Bridge would be a sheet of ice soon. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans and shuddered, cursing under his breath.

     It was another ten minutes before the dirty yellow and white PTA bus pulled up to the corner. The doors stuttered open and an elderly black woman slowly made her way down the steps. She opened her tattered purple umbrella, spraying Alec with rain water. He gave her a perfunctory smile then quickly stepped past her.

     A little more than a dozen passengers were scattered through the bus. He dropped his token into the fare box then started down the aisle. A woman in a white, fur trimmed parka sat on the aisle just past the handicapped seating. He stared at her a moment. The bus lurched to a start and he found himself stumbling toward her.

“Excuse me,” he said, sliding into the seat beside a heavy-set, dark skinned man.

The woman looked over at him and a smile curled the corner of her full pink lips. “Alec…?” she said surprised.

He looked back at her, turned in his seat to face her. “I thought that was you,” he said. He glanced back at the front of the bus, catching the eye of the bus driver through the rearview mirror. He turned back to the woman. “How you been?”

She nodded. “Ok.” Her smile widened as she stared at him. “I didn’t know you were back in town.”

“Yeah…,” he mumbled. “Didn’t really leave.”

“I thought you were off to art school…Pittsburgh, right?”

Alec lowered his head briefly then shrugged. “That didn’t work out too well.”

She glanced at the back of the bus. A group of teenagers were gathered in the rear corner talking loudly. She rolled her eyes then turned back to Alec. “So what have you been doin’ with yourself then?”

“Freelancing mostly,” he said with a smirk. “Doin’ some carpentry work over at the theater.” She gave him a quizzical look. “I know, it ain’t exactly sculpture, but it pays.” Again he shrugged and looked away.

“Well…,” she sighed and watched him shift uncomfortably in his seat. “I ain’t exactly Doctor Crawford yet either.”

Alec smiled. “But you will be,” he said. “You wanted to be a doctor since what, sixth grade.”

A chuckle bubbled up out of her throat.

The bus turned onto Upland Avenue, making its way toward Cornell Hills. The man sitting beside Alec signaled for his stop then gathered up his collection of grocery bags.

He stood as the man squeezed past him and headed for the front of the bus. He turned his attention back to the woman as he sat down. He stared at her a moment. “You and Brian still…?”

She gave him a surprised look and shook her head and turned her eyes to the window. The rain had turned to a slushy snow.

The crooked smile on his face faded. He watched as she fidgeted with the straps of her purse. She looked over at him as he settled back into his seat and their eyes met. “What’s he been up to?”

She quickly turned away again and stared at the back of the seat in front of her. “He was deployed a little bit over a month ago,” she said and glanced over at him.

Alec felt his face flush. “Oh, wow,” he sighed. “You heard from him since he left?”

She nodded. “He sounds like he’s doing ok.”

“Brian…,” he said and chuckled under his breath. “He always was a jarhead.”

She nodded and stared ahead as the bus made the turn onto Clancy Street, heading for the bridge.

“Shannon…,” he said. “You ok?”

“Yeah,” she said and reluctantly looked over at him. Their eyes met.

“You wanna…get a bite to eat sometime?”

She took a deep breath. “Alec….” The bus made a wide turn as it crossed the bridge. She slid forward in her seat. Alec lunged forward to catch her. His hand landed on her breast. She looked at him startled and braced herself against the seat in front of her.

“Sorry…sorry,” he said embarrassed.

Shannon shook her head. “It’s ok.” She stood. “This is my stop anyway.” She pulled the yellow cord above the handrail then started toward the front of the bus. She glanced back at him. “It was good to see you.”

Alec watched her hurry to the door. The bus came to a halt in front of Jackson Elementary School. She looked back at him again then hurried up the walkway to the school.

“Yeah…,” he said to himself. The door closed behind her and the bus bolted away from the curb and continued on its route.

*****

It was hot.

The M4 felt like it weighed a ton. A sinking feeling lingered in the pit of Alec Dorsey’s stomach as he followed the three strong convoy of Humvees through the cluttered, narrow streets. He threw a glance over his shoulder. The last thirty yards, give or take, were clear. As he swept the barrel of the gun across the street, he thought he saw a puff of dust lingering in the air behind an overturned bus.

“Sarge…,” he barked, staring down the site of the gun as the dust settled. “Looks like we got Hajis in the midst.”

The gunner atop the rear Humvee eyed the rooftops. “Roger that…,” he shouted back. The sound of gunfire cut him off. He whipped the .50 caliber machine gun toward the rooftop of the four story building to his right and fired back.

Alec raced toward the bus, firing in quick burst. Crumbling plaster rained down on the street. He made his way around the end of the bus as an explosion erupted on the third floor balcony. He spun around as chunks of hand carved wood and stone shattered behind him.

The torso of a young boy lay among the rubble.

The lead Humvee rolled through the next intersection. An RPG caught the tail end of the truck. It spun sideways. The rear axel buckled and it rolled onto its side, blocking the street.

The gunner atop the rear Humvee let loose another salvo of rounds from the .50 caliber tearing through the lower floors of the building.

Alec stared at the boy’s torso. A tattered khaki colored smock was wrapped around his slender frame, splattered with blood. In his left hand he held what was left of a smaller hand.

“Move it, soldier,” the gunner barked. His Humvee bolted forward, following the caravan.

He staggered across the road and pressed himself against the stucco façade of a storefront. His eyes slammed shut. Gunfire pelted the doorway spraying bits of ashwood and mortar across his face.

The second Humvee sped through the intersection, swerved right. The gunner swung the turret of his machine gun left, spraying gunfire across the street. Another RPG shot through the cloud of dust. It missed its mark and smashed into the front of a café on the corner.

Alec slowly opened his eyes. His chest was pounding. His head was pounding. He felt dizzy. The sound of gunfire filled his ears. He peered out of the doorway and saw flames racing up the front of the café.

He staggered out of the doorway. The overturned Humvee was less than a block away. He found his footing and hurried toward the corner. Cover fire screeched over his head. He turned left and fired at the barricade of cement blocks and burned-out cars at the far end of the street.

The third Humvee made a hard right onto the cross street, gunfire trailing behind it. The gunner slumped over the turret then slipped out of sight.

Alec broke into a sprint. He spun to his right firing blindly at the terraces above the downed Humvee. A bullet grazed his helmet. Gunfire ripped through the air as he dropped to the ground. He could see the rest of the unit scurrying from the second truck.

A stocky Hispanic man leapt out of the truck. He looked down at Alec struggling to his feet. His head tilted back as blood squirted from the gaping hole that had opened in his neck.

Alec stood. He whirled around and fired back at the makeshift barricade then scrambled toward him. “Brian…,” he shouted. Blood was pooling in his mouth. “Fuck…medic….”

His eyes fluttered.

“Brian….” Alec said. Gunfire pinged off the side of the truck. He raised his rifle. Through the scope he could see three figures in black moving over the concrete barricade. He squeezed the trigger.

*****

“You alright?” she said.

Alec looked up at the woman’s reflection in the bathroom mirror. She was naked except for a pair of powder blue panties. Her strawberry blond hair was pulled back from her round freckled face into a pair of pigtails. He closed the lid of the toilet then sat down. “I’m fine,” he exhaled.

Katie Lightcap leaned against the doorway and folded her arms across her pert breast. Her vanilla colored skin glowed in the early morning light. “A little morning sickness, then?”

“Funny,” he said and smirked. He reached behind him and flushed the toilet. “Must’ve been something I ate.”

She walked over to him and straddled his lap. “Is that a shot at my cooking?”

He chuckled, leaned forward and kissed her gently between her breasts. “Maybe it was something else I ate.” She gasped then drew back her hand to slap him. He caught her by her wrist and they stared at each other a moment. He let go of her arm and shoved her back against the wall. Her feet slid out from under her and she fell to the floor beside the tub.

“Fuck…,” Katie groaned.

Alec stood. “K….”

She scrambled away from him. “Jesus,” she said and stood then walked out of the room.

“Katie….” He let out an angry sigh then ran his hand over his nearly bald head. After a moment, he followed her into the bedroom.

She was sitting on at the foot of the double bed wriggling into a pair of faded black jeans. She sat up, stepped into a pair of crimson and black Bordello boots then stood. A black V-neck t-shirt lay on the bed beside her. She fastened her jeans then grabbed the shirt.

“I’m sorry,” he started.

She pulled on the shirt, glanced over at him then slowly walked across the room. “I gotta get going anyway,” she said.

“Ka….” He exhaled loudly and rubbed his eyes. “It was the dream.”

She grabbed her pack of Marlboro Lights from the nightstand. “What was it about this time?” She tapped one of the cigarettes out of the pack then reluctantly pushed it back in. She glanced over at him as she dropped the pack into her purse.

Alec shook his head. “Nothin’,” he mumbled. “Just a bad dream.”

“You’ve had these dreams every night I’ve been here,” she said and combed her hair with her fingers. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing.”

“You wanna talk about it?”

He shook his head. “It was just a bad dream, Kate,” he said.

“Well…it didn’t feel like just a dream,” she said.

“I’m sorry,” he said. He stared across the room at her. “I…I didn’t mean to….”

She gave him a half-hearted nod then slung the strap of her purse over her shoulder. “I’ll see you later then.”

Alec watched her walk out of the room. He made his way over to the dresser. A green pill bottle lay on its side among the collection of crumpled lottery tickets, cologne samples and a chrome plated lighter. He opened the bottle and tapped a pair of oval shaped, pale blue pills into his palm.

He slumped to the bed as he swallowed the pills and stared up at the ceiling. His eyes were almost closed when the cellphone on the nightstand began playing Oye Como Va. He reached for it, saw the number scroll across the screen then tossed it aside. The song ended abruptly.

*****

“Katie know you’re here?” Benita said. She pulled one of the round cardboard coasters out of the caddy at the far end of the table, set it in front of him then followed it with a frosted pilsner glass.

He shook his head and glanced up at her. He took the bottle of Bud Light as she handed it to him and filled the glass. “She lookin’ for me?” He set the bottle aside.

She threw a glance around the bar. The evening crowd was starting to file in. She slid into the seat across from him. “What happened wit’ ya’ll?” she asked, lowering her voice.

“She didn’t tell you?” Alec said and swallowed a gulp of beer.

She quickly shook her head.

“Then I won’t either.”

Benita smirked. “You two get into a fight?” She looked over her shoulder at the tall, skinny man behind the bar and saw him talking to Russ and another man in a leather jacket and jeans. She turned back to Alec. “Come on…,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I saw the bruises on her neck.”

He set the glass down and stared at her.

“…or was that from something else?”

“Benita….”

“What?” She gave him a crooked grin and winked.

He picked up his drink. “There goes your tip,” he said and sipped his beer.

“Like you tip all that much.” She slowly pushed away from the table and stood. “If you hurt her, you know I’ll fuck you up.”

Alec rolled his eyes.

“You know I can.” She backed away from him then turned and headed for the bar.

Alec swallowed another mouthful of beer then set the glass down and pushed it away. A stocky man dressed in desert camouflage passed by him heading for the pool tables. He turned to follow him and he was gone. He shook his head then finished his beer.

After a moment he stood and dug the deer skin wallet out of his back pocket. He rifled through the wallet, found a ten and slid it under the glass then turned and made his way across the bar to the door.

*****

She was sitting on the stoop of the brownstone when he rounded the corner of Williams Street and Fifth Avenue. A bottle of Bud Light dangled between her legs from the tips of her fingers. Beside her sat two plastic grocery bags. He smiled then jogged across the street to meet her.

Katie took another sip of her beer then dropped the aluminum bottle into one of the bags. She looked to her left and saw Alec darting across the narrow street, a grin on his face. She brushed the flakes of snow from her hair then stood and started down the steps.

“Hey…,” he said then threw a quick glance over her shoulder at the bags. “You movin’ in?” He looked back at the corner as the number thirty bus rumbled through the intersection then tucked his hands into the pockets of his jacket.

She smirked. “Funny,” she said brushing her dirty blond hair from her face. “Where you been…I’ve been out here almost half an hour?”

Alec shook his head. “Had an errand to run.”

She stared back at him a moment, started to say something then sighed. “You alright?”

He gave her a curt nod then stepped past her. “What’s in the bags?”

“Dinner,” she said and followed him. “Thought you might be hungry.”

He fished his keys out of the pocket of his windbreaker then grabbed the bags from the stairs. The rattle of beer bottles caught his attention. “How long’d you say you were out here?” he chuckled and opened the door.

“Long enough,” Katie grumbled. She pulled open the glass door then followed him into the building. “Your neighbors are at it again.” She nodded toward the apartment at the far end of the hall.

Bass heavy rap music blared down the hall. Alec stared at the door then handed her the bags. “Take these upstairs,” he muttered. “I’ll….”

“No…Alec….” She jerked her head toward the stairs, her hair falling across her pale blue eyes. He let out an angry sigh then reluctantly followed her up the steps.

The apartment was dark except for the fluorescent light over the sink and the flickering glow of the television in the living room. He set the bags on the counter then tossed the empty beer bottles into the trash can. “So what’s the occasion?” He grabbed a bottle from the remnants of the six pack and headed for the living room.

She pushed her hair back from her face and took a pack of chicken out of the bag. “No reason,” she replied and set it in the sink. The tap sputtered as she turned on the cold water. “What was your errand?”

“I…,” he started then turned her attention back to the TV. “Nothing.” He flopped onto the couch and laid the remote on the coffee table. The second round of Jeopardy had started. A stoutly built dark-haired woman was trouncing her two male competitors. He laid his head back on the couch and pressed the cold bottle against his left temple.

A collection of mismatched steak knives lined the drawer to the right of the sink. She grabbed one, popped the plastic wrapping covering the chicken and peeled it away. “What was that?” She washed the wrapping under the tap then tossed it in the trash. A slight smile lit across her face. She turned the water down to a trickle then leaned against the doorway. “You go see your doctor?”

He looked back at her then quickly turned away.

The hint of a smile disappeared. “I’ll take that as a no,” she grumbled.

Alec stood and faced her. “Katie…,” he started. She turned away from him and walked back into the kitchen. “I….”

“Whatever,” she shot back. She shut the water off, grabbed a glass pie pan from the cabinet beneath the sink and emptied the last of flour from the tin on the counter into it then slammed the cabinet closed.

“Katie.”

She turned to face him. “What….” A sneer turned the corner of her mouth. “Oh…was that too loud for you?”

He stared back at her a moment. “Fuck you.”

“See, this is why you need to go see that doctor.”

“What,” he said. “Because of a little noise?” He watched her turn away from him then sat back down. He grabbed the remote, flipped through a half a dozen channels then tossed the remote aside angrily.

Katie brushed the back of her hand across her cheek. She found a half empty bottle of worcestershire sauce in the cabinet over the sink and slammed it on the counter. Tears slowly welled behind her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said and threw a quick glance back at him. “But, Alec, you need to talk to somebody.”

“Kate…,” he sighed.

“…and I can’t be that somebody anymore.”

He looked back at her then stood. She was leaning against the sink, her head down. He slowly walked toward her. “What?”

She turned to face him. “You need help, Alec.”

“You’re leaving me?”

She shook her head quickly. “No,” she said. “But I’m not gonna watch you do this to yourself.”

“Do what?”

[meanwhileinoz]

17 Horror Stories Starring An ER Near You

AskReddit recently posed this question to nurses, doctors, surgeons, and other hospital workers: What are some of your hospital/ER horror stories?

As you can imagine, these 17 stories might make you a little queasy. Make sure to wait 30 minutes after eating before you read this article.

Photo Credit: Reader’s Digest

1. God Bless America

“My wife is a nurse. When she was back in college she did a rotation at the local VA. One day she heard some muffled yelling coming out of one of the rooms. She poked her head in the door to see if the guy was ok. Turns out he was standing in the middle of the room completely naked and singing ‘God Bless America’ whilst masturbating.”

2. Google It. Seriously. Do it.

“I passed out on top of a patient after seeing her prolapsed rectum fall out.”

3. Liquid Gold

“So had this probably 300-400 lb woman on the ward, they think she may have a bladder infection. Since she’s so big, no hope in the world of catching a proper specimen the normal way, so have to put a catheter in to drain the urine.

There’s me holding back skin/fat folds on the right, another nurse on the left, and the third nurse holding the tube trying to find the right hole. I”m holding probably 20lbs worth of extra skin back and no luck, so have to brace my forearms against the skinfolds, to try and pull back even more from around the hoo-ha area.

Eventually see a little dimple, YES! SUCCESS!! Tries putting the catheter in, but not going in for some reason, while the patient starts saying, “oh, oh, oh, I don’t think that’s quite right, that hurts, you’re too far forward,” Turns out the clitoris doesn’t pack on fatty tissue, so looked like a sunken little dot when surrounded by the pounds and pounds of extra fat. So we had to go even deeper to find that liquid gold.”

4. Decapitation

“So, my sister-in-law is a labor & delivery nurse, and I’ve heard some crazy, crazy shit. This one sticks with me though.

Patient was in labor, and the baby had died (not sure if it happened in the hospital, or before she arrived). Either way, she knew, but it was late-term, and it was essentially easier and safer to deliver the fetus than operate.

She delivers the fetus breach (feet first), and the head gets stuck. Then, the head detaches. So, the patient delivered a headless (dead) baby. Of course, they need to get the head out, so she gets wheeled into surgery. My sister-in-law walks into the OR to see the head roll off the bed and fall on the ground.”

5. Who Needs A Scrotum, Anyways?

“A man was brought in because he was so high that he tore off his own scrotum. Not as in ripped a little bit…he tore it off by himself.”

6. Vomit

“A Royal Marine, not long back from Belize, came into casualty at the hospital I work at. He had a ‘cyst’ swollen on the back of his neck. The guy was in agony. 3 local anaesthetic injections later, the doc attempted to lance the thing and it moved. He peeled off the top layer of skin to reveal a massive larvae wriggling underneath. About the size of a 50 pence coin. It popped out without any problems and was huge when it was unravelled. The hole in the marines neck was clean, amazingly. Great example of a host.”

7. I Think Your Patient Was A Zombie…

“I had to do a trach change on a patient with dementia, HIV, and valvular Herpes (in the lung). This patient was out of their mind and tried to bite people. While changing the trach, the patient gave me a demon stare the whole time. The patient coughed at me, spraying blood on my face shield, almost hitting my eye with HIV/Herpes blood.”

Photo Credit: YouTube

8. Ouchies

“Worked in a suburban hospital almost a decade ago. There was a multiple vehicle accident in the middle of the night. Patient arrives in the ER with his foot almost completely detached from his ankle. Patient was apparently standing on the car brake to try and stop his vehicle during the accident. After impact, his foot must have been compressed in such a way that it became at a right angle from the rest of his body. When you walked past his bed in the ER you passed one normal foot and then were staring into the two distal portions of the tibia and fibula, hanging tendons and ligaments, muscles that were marred, dripping blood, and a hanging foot.”

9. Unexpected Visitors

“Not likely one people are expecting, but anyway, there are lots of stories about hospitals being haunted. Basically, if you believe in ghosts, you gotta believe a place where probably 95% of deaths occur in Western society is gonna have a few extra spirits lurking.

So a woman I work with tells this story how she showed up to work early for her shift, around 6:30 a.m., things are pretty much dead quiet (no pun intended). She gets on the empty elevator, hits the button for the 9th floor, elevator goes up to the 11th floor, doors open, no one there, doors close, back down to the 9th floor, as she gets off sees an old woman standing behind her in the elevator.”

10. Odd Indeed

“I worked at an Anatomic Pathology Laboratory which was divided up into differect sections. I spent most of my time in Cytology which is mostly swabs like PAP Smears, but we received all the lab’s Gynecological specimens first then passed them on to other sections like Histology or PCR. This was by far the strangest “specimen” ever: a disturbed woman had been going to the beach, picking out shells, then inserting them into her vagina.

After a while she fell ill (horrific infection) and the family took her to the hospital. They were just compacted up inside of her, as many as she could fit. It was so atrocious since they were dirty but the poor woman had cut herself with jagged shards of shell. We received the shells to document (for social workers/doctors/possible evidence of neglect on her care-takers) and store but once all charges/suspicions were cleared, they were destroyed with all the other medical waste. It was disgusting but the oddness of it all just topped it.”

11. Nearly Headless

“My good friend is a nurse’s attendant. The strangest thing she’s ever told me about was a woman who came into the ER after a suicide attempt. This woman had “slit” her wrists and her throat. She had almost completely severed one hand and her head was being held on by the skin at the back of her neck and maybe a bit of muscle. Somehow the paramedics got her to the hospital alive. My friend has to hold this woman’s head in place while the doctors did their thing. The patient died (to no ones suprise) and the doctor made my friend look down the neck with the head held back as a little anatomy lesson.”

Photo Credit: harrypotter.wikia.com

12. Trouser Snake Trap

“My mom used to be a nurse a few years ago and she said that a guy came into the emergency room with a large trench coat on saying that he needed immediate attention. When they brought him back, they took of the trench coat to reveal a skinny metal pipe stuck around his dick. She said that it was starting to turn purple and that to get the pipe off, they need to cut it. The patient only heard cut it off though and assumed that they were going to relieve him of his manhood, so he starts screaming and shouting and trying to leave. Just at that moment a janitor walks in with a pair of bolt cutters and the patient turns sheet white and passes out. Finally they cut off the pipe and the guy gets to walk away with his trouser snake intact.”

13. Not That Kind of Bush

“Was shadowing a doctor deciding if I wanted to be one (currently awaiting my interviews) and this woman came into the ER. I go in with my doctor and she’s acting very strangely. The doc asks her why she’s here and she says….I have leaves growing out of my vagina. We look at each other, look back at her, and both say ‘what?’ at the same time. So she strips down and sure enough…leaves. I grew up on a farm and recognize it right away but keep my mouth shut.

He puts in the speculum, says AHA! and extracts a hollowed out potato end. As soon as she sees it she’s like, “OH YEAH!, I forgot about that.” (this woman clearly has some other shit going on).

So she tells us how her and her boyfriend wanted to have sex but didn’t have a condom and couldn’t find her cervical cap. They got creative and made one out of a potato…and she “guesses she forgot about it”.

The image of leaves growing out of a vagina will haunt me to my dying day.”

The post 17 Horror Stories Starring An ER Near You appeared first on .

https://postaddict.com/2018/04/16/17-horror-stories-starring-an-er-near-you/

[oselatra]

A week at Midtown

Can a dive bar be reborn?

Midtown Billiards occupies the ground floor of a red-brick two-story at 1316 Main St., just south of Interstate 630, where downtown Little Rock splits. On the morning of Sept. 16, 2016, the building caught fire.

It started in the kitchen — located up front, behind the window that faces the sidewalk — and the flames burst through the glass. Smoke curled up the front exterior and billowed down the street. Even with the broken window there was not enough ventilation to stop the rest of the bar from filling with hot smoke. It was not the fire, per se, but this smoke and heat inside— hot enough to melt the ceiling fans — that caused most of the damage. Outside, the blaze — a flickering orange in the window of a storefront on one of Little Rock's main drags — caught eyes. Someone at the gas station across from Midtown called an employee of the bar, who called David Shipps, the general manager, and he was the one who told the owner, Maggie Hinson.

"Well, I'll tell you," Hinson said when I asked her about the burning bar, "I was busy having a heart attack." This is not a metaphor for being distraught; Hinson was recovering from an actual heart attack and was not able to go to Midtown to watch the Little Rock Fire Department do its work. "I'd just come from the hospital," she said, "and I was still really very ill." Plus, she did not have her car. A friend to whom she'd lent her Ford Mustang had called earlier that day. "She told me she hit a deer," Hinson said. Trouble come in threes.

As word spread about the fire, most people assumed the culprit was grease. A dive bar, perhaps the city's most famous, Midtown is well known for its oleaginous burgers. Esquire magazine — in anointing it among the best bars in America in 2007 — wrote, "People arrive here drunk and leave wicked. But it helps that they have those hamburgers cooked behind the bar, coated so thickly with spices and so indulgent at 3:00 a.m. that you'll see eyes rolling back in ecstasy with each bite." Maybe this association of the griddle with the bar's reputation is what propelled the narrative. Whatever the reason, it took on a tragic tone: This hallowed dive could not sustain its run-down nature and had been bound to self-destruct. Icarus flew too close to that oily sun.

But, the grease story was a myth. "There was no grease — I can't express that enough — there was no grease involved at all," Shipps said. It was actually a fridge's motor that seized up. From security camera footage, Shipps was able to watch the fire's progression, beginning just as sparks. "A few minutes later a flame was right on top of the fridge, dancing back and forth," he said. It caught onto the wall, then the drop ceiling. "And once it caught the drop ceiling — phom — it just spread," he remembered. When, the next morning, Shipps began clearing the char with a shovel, he found the fridge in a "molten heap."

Now, almost 10 months later, Hinson — who most people call Maggie and who has bright red hair that flows around her face — was standing in the front foyer, beside the kitchen, of an almost finished and refurbished Midtown. Her heart was working and out front was a red Mustang parked on the front curb. Everything was back in shape, or at least getting there, she said. It was Wednesday, July 5, and Midtown was reopening the next day.

***

Part of the reason it took Midtown so long to reopen was the reason Midtown was great: It was worn in. The saloon, for years, had opened each day at 3 p.m. and closed at 5 a.m., rarely shutting the doors even for holidays. During the afternoons it was known as a drowsy and calm place, haunted by the comfort of old regulars. Then, after happy hour, the bar would clear out. "It could be a ghost town" during that time, Hinson told me, when other bars were packed. Midtown is one of the few places in Little Rock to have a Class B private club license, allowing it to stay open until 5 a.m. It gets most of its customers from 1 a.m. to close, after other bars — each with different shades of late-night scene — shut their doors and push along their variegated patrons. These folks combine with a steady steam of workers whose shifts end around the same time and beat the crap out of the property until early morning.

There was an almost constant fog of cigarette smoke. Someone described this dank, dark bar as like the comfort of an old shoe. Midtown was not, as you can imagine, exactly up to building codes.

After the fire everything had to be repaired, and some things would need to change: New, more spacious bathrooms would be installed; the drop ceiling would be taken out; a freshly stained wood bar was needed; the walls would get new paint; and the new cement floor would be squeaky-clean, neither black nor sticking to your boot as you stepped.

This all took time. And to pay for it meant dealing with insurance claims. Shipps remembers cataloging an estimated 360 items, trying to find their exact price and date of purchase. Builders would sometimes have to suddenly stop — one time for a whole month — to wait on the paperwork.

For all that had to change, Shipps and Hinson have chiefly tried to preserve the bar as it was. It is still one room that stretches straight back, the walkway made skinny in the front by the bar on the right and by wood filing cabinets stocked with supplies on the left, before opening to pool tables and finally a dance floor with a stage. For continuity, Shipps put up a cut out rectangle of the old swamp-green wall from before the fire, covered in scribbling and beer labels. There was now a clear dividing line between the pre-fire hunk of wall and the newly painted Teenage-Mutant-Ninja-Turtle-green interior.

"I think this is almost too fancy for us; it's almost too nice," Shipps worried, surveying the walls around him. "But, it won't last," Shipps quickly added, with confidence. "It won't last at all." He was sure of the customers and, he added, "It seems like all these old buildings have ghosts to them anyways." Hinson told me they were betting on when it'd get back to the state of necessary distress. She bet Sunday.

***

I was giving it a full week, from Thursday to Thursday. My idea was to go each night to the bar, in a purely scientific documentation of Midtown's descent into its former glory. "There's a difference between a dive bar and just a shithole bar," Conan Robinson, a longtime bartender at Midtown who now runs Four Quarter Bar in North Little Rock, had told me. I thought he was right, but how do you make a dive? The word had shifted over the years. Dive, as a word for a drinking-den, came up in the late 1800s as a name for lewd establishments in basements and cellars into which one would "dive" to join the seedy underworld, hopefully unseen. The physical element (to dive) is gone for most places we call dives now — Midtown is street level beside an artisanal pizza place and a respectful business. Yet, the key was still in the name, a good dive bar needs an element of "below." You should feel as if you have cut through the cracks of everyday life. Most don't get this through being dirty, but through history. A proper dive is not really nasty as much as eroded.

History had certainly done its work on the old Midtown, but the fire now wiped out fossils of good times. The new Midtown ran the risk of looking like a ripped Urban Outfitter jean: trying hard to come off frayed but actually faking it. At the same time, as Robinson said, it couldn't just let things go to complete shit to reclaim its bruised past. There had to be a certain something behind the damage. The challenge for Midtown in its first week would be to degenerate, but in a hard-to-pin-down authenticity.

***

On Thursday, July 6, around 5 p.m., Midtown reopened not with a rush, but with a slow fill as people got off work. The public would come tomorrow, but tonight was restricted to the regulars. Most of them had been coming for years, were in their 40s and 50s, and of the happy-hour coterie. They would come in, find a friend, hug, order that friend a drink, and then begin chatting. I saw a cigarette hit the bar, maybe even leave a mark, as it hung on someone's finger deep in a conversation. That's how they happen: The infrastructure remembers even when the patrons don't. I found a few other dents: One of the Blue Moon lights over a pool table already had a large crack in it and there were some frantically drawn illustrations along the walls. A scribbled Dylan misquote stood out: "Those not busy being born are busy dying." The smoke did not hang in the room tonight, but dissipated and the lights were somewhat bright.

I found Robinson — who was easy to spot because he has a giant graying beard halfway down his chest — and asked him how it felt to be back. "A bit like a parallel universe," he admitted. Things were all the same but totally different, like a dream. The slightness of the changes were almost stranger. For example, his muscle memory of pouring a shot now did not fit the altered landscape. He'd bang his arm or elbow. He was hopeful though. "It's getting there," he said.

If anything could break this place in, it was an infamous Thursday night happy-hour game called bottle-toss. Here's the gist: You throw a bottle across the bar into a trashcan, and whoever is the last person to get the bottle into the can has to buy a round for the whole bar. The game can have up to 60 people. I did the math and the risk was close to half my rent. That's why many stand on the wings and watch as bottles fly into the can or smash onto the ground.

I found its originator, Stephen Steed and asked if it was on for tonight. He pointed up to the new fans whisking away the smoke. "They're too low," he said. "Some people have a high arch." He was holding off until the following Thursday. But, he handed me a packet of all the old statistics on bottle-toss in a folder. Steed has kept an exhaustive "Leaderboard" for each year of the game: names of the players, a cheeky sentence bio, their "season" record, a special smiley face if they got the bottle in on the first throw. From these statistics he makes Harper's- style indexes. Here are a few lines from the 2014 season:

BOTTLE-TOSS INDEX

Number of years of bottle-tossing at Midtown in some form or fashion: 14

Age of the oldest bottle-tosser: 84

Number of the Little Rock Nine to toss bottles: 1

Number of tossers this season: 1,119

I'd have to wait, but it'd be a good way to end my week here, even a test: Could the game transfer to the new Midtown?

***

Around 9:30 p.m., a group circled around Hinson and began chanting her name with their hands in the air. "Maggie! Maggie! Maggie!" No one is more responsible for Midtown's reputation than Hinson. She long has not just been an owner, but a kind of matron.

When she first got ownership of the bar, this meant caring for old men — a good bit of them holdovers from the previous owner. Midtown had originally opened in 1940 as Jimmy's Midtown Billiards. Back then, the name made more sense: There was an eponymous Jimmy, it was his bar and it was located on Seventh Street, which was midtown at the time. Not until the 1970s did it move to South Main Street. Under Jimmy's reign, the bar would open at 6 a.m. and close at 6 p.m. It was a pool hall and a gambling spot. Older men would mix in the mornings with prostitutes who came from a safe house down the street to get coffee.

Near the end of the 1980s it was sold to Maggie and Jim Hinson. (She thinks; it was hard to pin down a date on the transaction, she said.)

Hinson had learned how to bartender when she was 18. On her way out to California, from her home in Stuttgart, she stopped in Oklahoma City and worked at a bar for two years called the Horseshoe Lounge. "It was shaped like a horseshoe," she said, and she worked the entire bar and all the tables. Then, she finally caught that ride to California and, in her words, "hung out."

"Where?" I asked

"San Francisco," she said.

I asked if she liked it and her reply was: "If you remember if you liked it there — during my time — you were not there." It was the 1960s.

In San Francisco she got married. She and this husband traveled the world, but eventually things fizzled. In Hot Springs she met another man, Jim Hinson. "Oh, what year was that? Good God," she wondered. "Maybe, 37, 38 years ago?" They lived a good life together: She ran an accounting firm in North Little Rock and he was the deputy director of finance for the Department for Human Services. They had hobbies, too. "He was a gambler and he liked to gamble and that's what he did. And we got along great," she remembers. When Jim retired he bought Jimmy's. "When we bought this, my husband wouldn't let me come in here because he said it was too rough," she said. "But, then he changed his mind after he found out there was some domino players back there and he could play. Somebody needed to work."

Maggie Hinson ended up running the place. "I've worked the door, I've been a bartender, I've been a cook, I've been a plumber. Whatever it takes," she said. "I breathed life into the place." She would come and make a meal for everybody — whole hams, cornbread — no set menu. "It was kind of a nursery for old men. They'd come in and I'd feed and water them," she said of the first years. "They were my kids, all those old guys. I just loved them to death." She stopped for a moment. "And they're all gone now," she finished. Her husband, too; he died three years ago.

There were new regulars now — chanting around her as the bar reopened — and an employee walked past me and whispered in my ear, "See: Everybody loves Maggie." The place closed up at 10 p.m., still pretty clean.

***

Friday was the official kickoff and the live band did not start until well past midnight. Before then, it was mostly pool players in Midtown. A man with a loose fitting shirt, smoking a Cigarillo, played a guy in board shorts and a tank top; next to them, a mustachioed older guy wearing a tucked-in black polo, dangled a cigarette from his mouth as he beat back competitor after competitor. Circling around was a fella that looked like Tom Cotton on a bender, eyes hazed. As the evening stretched into the early morning, the walls started filling up, too. Customers had been given specialized Sharpies for Midtown's opening imprinted "Fire Bad! Whiskey Good!" They put them to use. Some patrons wore red shirts with a drawing of Midtown on fire and the phrase "Smoking Establishment." I saw someone ash on the floor, pause to wonder if it was wrong, and then do it again. A woman walked past with a walker.

By 2 a.m., the band was playing and the place was almost full. It was a motley crew. Preppy kids mixed with goth-types who were close to some hipsters who bumped shoulders with some older men. I saw a white man with dreadlocks and, to his right, a black man with dreadlocks. Peeking out the window, I saw a guy leaned up against a tree, near the curb, being helped by friends. A few pool sharks were still around, too; they'd stayed through the rush. One guy would put his tall boy Miller Lite can into a corner pocket and then strike with power, offering an "excuse me" to people in his way. "There are some bars that cater to certain kinds of people," Shipps said of Midtown. "We don't do that — at 2 a.m., everyone's the same kind."

I headed for the bathroom. A woman near the door told me to "not freak out" because the men's room "is not completely trash like it used to be." She'd just come out of it. Hinson had said she was not worried about the walls becoming filled with words, letters and drawings again: "We have a lot of self-made artists and poets." But, to have the bathroom already covered surprised me. One person's mark stood out. Loopy penises — looking like comical French-style twirly mustaches that had been scrunched in the middle, drawn in a single stroke — were everywhere. It was clear that a single artist had drawn all of them. It was unique. Someone had probably come to Midtown and spent their entire first night holed up in this bathroom drawing dicks in a determined respect. I thought that was nice.

***

If Thursday was about the longtime regulars, this weekend was about what Midtown had become.

Saturday night offered a similarly eclectic crew, but with a larger anchor of service industry workers. Bars open until 5 a.m. in Little Rock all cater to those who get off shifts late in the night (or morning), but Midtown, more than others, has become known for these clients. The word "home" came up more often than any other when I asked a random person about Midtown, but the second most common phrase was "service industry." One person told me that during his shift at another restaurant the idea of getting off work mixes with going to Midtown. "I can't wait to go to Midtown," they say to mean, "I can't wait for the end of this shift."

Not that this was always the plan. When the Hinsons first bought the bar, they actually tried to fancy it up a bit, turning Jimmy's into a martini and cigar bar. Maggie would come in with scrapers to try to get beer labels off the wall and just find more and more each day. After she inherited a 5 a.m. license, Midtown changed focus. "We're going to be a 5 a.m. bar, it's going to be a dive bar, we're going to cater to people in the industry," Shipps said of that transition.

This shift really took hold in the late 1990s and early 2000s, around when Robinson started working there. "Back then, Midtown was just sort of, I almost want to say, word-of-mouth; you didn't really know about it," he told me. "It was like this hidden oasis of like, 'Hey I work here, I work there, and I got off work at 1 in the morning,' or 1:30 in the morning and they'd all head over to Midtown. Have some drinks, eat a burger, play some pool." Back then, "we had one of those Walmart electric griddles, you know, that you would plug into the wall," Robinson said. "You could only cook about six burgers at a time and it would take sometimes up to 45 minutes to cook, because they are just sitting there slow-cooking in their own grease."

Then Little Rock's downtown started changing. "There weren't as many bars back 15 years ago," Nola Nysten, a longtime employee and bartender at Midtown, explained. "The River Market had two or three. So, when the bar industry started picking up here in Little Rock is when we got hit with late-night." As the service industry grew downtown, so did Midtown's late-night scene.

The major demarcation, the real turning point, was doing away with the 8 a.m. shift. For about the first decade under Hinson, Midtown had only closed for a few hours, between 5 a.m. and 8 a.m. But, the old men of morning gambling and coffee were not the main customer-base anymore. They adjusted, and started coming in the evening. "They'd be back there playing dominoes and the band just a-blaring," Hinson said.

On that first Saturday, most people I met were service-industry. And it showed. There was a healthy amount of respect and appreciation for the bartenders. There were out and out drunken folks, too, sure. But they were watched after.

When I was looking at the clock behind the bar, realizing it was 15 minutes ahead, and not 3:25, or so, but actually 3:10, a burly larger guy slid up to me.

"I fucked up," he said, kind of giggling.

"What did you do?" I asked

"I don't know!" he yelped, and burst into a laugh, grabbing my arm and bent forward so low his head almost touched the bar. Then he rose and tried to order another drink. The bartender, kindly, told him he was probably OK for the night. I watched him walk away perfectly fine with the decision, dancing a bit. Remember: A dive is not complete shit. That probably stopped the guy from puking.

***

Sunday was proving comparatively calm, I was thinking, while a man in a black cowboy hat did karaoke. Behind him, the stage was now covered with graffiti. In an interlude, he asked the crowd, "Can I get a hell yeah?" and I expected the tepid response of most karaoke events.

"HELL YEAH!" the whole bar screamed. "Can I get a yee haw?" "YEE HAW!" they bellowed. Such a full-throated response to karaoke I have never heard. The next person stepped up and a fellow bar mate told me this guy — now swaying and sort of singing in a mumble — had been one of the first to the mic almost four hours earlier.

Bubbling under the surface, even on Sunday, is the Midtown party.

***

After the late nights on the weekend — almost until the crack of dawn — I took the early week to learn about evenings at Midtown. I drank beers in the afternoon. I chatted. I met people getting off work or about to go in and I learned how to sit on a barstool and think about nothing. I tried to channel one of the newer employees, Brendon Holmes.

He is 23 and recently came back to Arkansas from California, where he served in the Marines. He is a bar back, which means he cooks the famous burgers and helps refill the stocks if they run out. At night, this can be an exhausting job as the drunken clamor for food and bartenders take order after order; persons gaming for attention as if they are the only one in the bar. But, Holmes is serene about the whole thing.

When I asked him about Midtown, he spoke of the joy of its solitude on evenings. "I usually go a lot of places by myself," he said. "Part of the reason I come up here is I'm always cool to bring my sketch pad and just chill by myself and draw." He wants to be a tattoo artist — he showed me an intricate series of sea creatures on his right arm painted from the elbow to the wrist, part of a larger piece. He also likes piercings: He has a nose ring and a stud on his cheek. It's not like Holmes does not enjoy fun. I've seen him working late-night shifts and stop on the way back to dance after he delivered food. Late nights require a still morning.

***

On Wednesday, I overheard and wrote down:

"Almost looks the same," a man says to a woman as a half-way introduction.

"Pretty much," she says back, and then orders a beer.

***

Around 7:11 p.m. on Thursday, we were still waiting for bottle-toss to start up when the fire alarm went off. No fire-breaking glass, no burnt-down building, no molten fridge; just a new system sensitive to smoke. Bottle-toss is supposed to start at 7 p.m., but it actually gets going whenever Hinson finishes playing dominoes in the back, so in the meantime, people prepared the field as the alarm went off. A white chalk line was drawn near the end of the bar, about 30 feet away from a trashcan that was placed against the wall. Right above the trashcan, someone drew a small arrow with the word "BOTTLE" in all caps. A fire truck rolled up outside and then drove away.

The game was not always so intricately planned.

It started in 2000, when a group of Thursday regulars were trying to figure out who would pay the tab. Hinson had vetoed buying a dartboard and tried a few others games of chance to no success. "I had paper targets made and we had a drop ceiling, so I put those on the ceiling and they would shoot those long toothpicks out of a straw to see if they could hit the bullseyes. Well, that lost its glory real quick," she said. Then, someone put a bottle on top of his head and challenged one of the others to knock it off with a tossed bottle. In a heroic feat, the tosser hit the bottle off the challenger's head and it landed in a trashcan. And — as it is written in the official history I was given — " 'There's game in there somewhere,' Steed said. 'We need a different target.'"

They started by throwing from the bar to a can by the front door, but this had the danger of whacking a customer walking in, so they flipped the directions. The shot was taken at a slight right bend from the bar to a corner. Meaning, if you throw right-ish it'll hit that wall and sometimes bank in. The old Midtown had a gold star in that spot where right-handers would often hit for the bank shot. It also had tarps up, which a crazy throw would sometimes land on, causing the bottle to roll down the wall and into the can.

As Midtown grew over the past 20 or so years, so has bottle-toss. Just to give an idea of the size: since 2015, on top of the bottle-tossing, a group plays its own game of betting who will lose. It's the Midtown Pony Express, and they have 25 members.

***

Hinson stepped out from the dominoes and up to the mic around 7:30. "ARE WE READY FOR BOTTLE-TOSS?" she screamed. The toss lane was cleared and people got onto the stage or stood on benches to look down on the "field." Empty bottles lined the end of the bar, ready to be thrown.

During the game, Hinson emcees beside the throwing player, often chastising him or her for their attempts to get a free beer. Tonight, she was also the first to throw. She brought the bottle down to near her knees, rocking with it as if to flip it into the air underhanded, then, with sudden force, she cocked it behind her ear and tomahawked it. The bottle was sent in a looping dive toward the cement floor and crashed. "AHH!" a cheer rose up. The first bottle-toss. Two men with brooms began the process of pushing the debris to the side. Hinson grabbed the microphone and invited people to line up.

Misses were aplenty as the game began. Hinson used various phrases to describe these catastrophic throws, but there were a few common ones: "crashed and burned" for the bad ones and "Oh baby! So close!" for the OK ones. The most regularly used just a buzzer-like "EHH!" Brad Kimbrell, a former two-time champion of bottle-toss, was the first to sink his bottle, and a loud roar rose up.

Then, at 7:31 p.m., the fire alarm went off again. "Hold on; there is no fire," Hinson said. Another fire truck came — some firefighters came in, talked to Hinson and then left. The game started back up. Someone's shot ricocheted every which way and Hinson told them to not mess up her bar. "All right? Everything is new and improved."

By the time I made it up to the line, I cannot lie, I was nervous. There were 64 people playing bottle-toss this evening and the tab would be high. I took the neck of the bottle and sent it spinning in the air until it — bang — hit the fan and crashed on the floor. Steed was right when he said some players had high arcs and that it would be a problem.

In between turns, I went back to the few people I knew for advice and learned that there had always been obstacles: I could not blame the fan, only myself. An old gas line was up there before. Other throwers included a man with walker and a person with a cast on his arm; I hoped I could at least beat them.

Near the end of the first round, one of the sweepers of the broken glass, Duncan, stepped to the line and people shouted, "ONE SHOT DUNC!" He proceeded to live up to his name. Many regulars were getting it one-shot, including "Mr. Bottle Toss himself," as Hinson called Steed. It was intimidating.

A little after 9 p.m., when there were only 23 of 64 tossers left and I was among them, came the real nerves. I could understand the people who ducked out early — they were shamed and booed when called to the line only to be found absent, but they had ensured not having to pay the tab. I'd missed probably four times at this point and none of them were close. Then, I missed again — maybe the worst of the night — and it was down to 14. I learned later I was so bad that one of the Midtown Pony Express folks placed their gamble on me. Looking back, I can't blame him.

At 9:14 p.m. I flipped an erratic one that banked and pinballed off too many surfaces to be anything but pure ugly before sliding into the can. Per custom, I went over and hugged Hinson. She nicely yelled at me: "Go get your free beer!"

The game went on, but not much longer; it ended around 9:34 p.m. Hinson and one other tosser had gone one-on-one a few times and neither had made it in. After a quick discussion, they agreed to split the tab. She then called for silence and let the place settle. Hinson said, "We've been closed for a long time and I feel like I got my family back with me." Another cheer.

A good amount of people shuffled out at that point, but even more stayed. They did what people have always done in the rooms we call dive bars: smoke, drank, chatted, ate. It reminded me of earlier in the week, when I was trying to squeeze out of Hinson some reason her bar was so special and she was trying to help, but, eventually, she grew a little tired of it and stopped.

"We're just plain," she said.

***

I did not have to — even planned not to — but Friday I went back to Midtown.

A week at Midtown