#Lick Creek Park
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Trailer park Steve AU part 25
part 1 | part 24 | ao3
cw: throwing up, recreational alcohol & drug use
“Well, thank fuck I didn’t wear the Reeboks,” Eddie laughs.
Steve groans 'Jesus,' because he doesn't know what else there is to say to that. Eddie came out of nowhere. Materialized like some kind of freaky wizard. And that would— that would be on brand, wouldn’t it?
Eddie the magician. Eddie the shapeshifter.
Maybe Eddie is Misty? Would explain why she left him all those dead rats when he first—
“Oh, fuck.” His stomach rolls at the thought, a hot-cold-nasty-sick shiver down his spine, and he bends forward to retch again. Hits the grass this time at least, right between Eddie’s boots; groans and spits drool into the dirt. Eddie smooths a hand between his shoulder blades, which is nice, even if everything else about this totally blows.
“Godddd,” he moans when the dry heaving stops. He lifts his head to apologize and nearly tips himself into the mess he just made.
“Whoa, whoa whoa, hey; easy,” Eddie shushes, steadying him with both hands. Warm palms against his biceps; firm grip.
“S’nice.”
“Yeah?” Eddie grins, private and soft. "Alright, arms up."
"Mmh?"
"Up! Come on, sweetheart, up you get." He loops Steve’s arms around his neck, wearing him like a cape. Steve giggles into his fluffy curls, nuzzles his nose into them because they're warm and Eddie smells nice, and time does that weird drunk thing where Steve slow blinks and suddenly they're a hundred yards away.
Edge of the creek, downstream from the falls where the water’s just a thin squiggle cut through smooth, mossy stone. Eddie's got Steve facedown across his lap, gathering up his hair and making a headband with his hands, and he's apologizing in advance for Steve-doesn't-know-what.
"Big breath," Eddie warns him, and then he dips Steve's face in the icy stream like he's battering fried chicken in a goddamn egg wash. Two quick dunks, the cold ripping through Steve's nerves; it's all finger-licking fucked.
"What the hell?!" Steve splutters when Eddie lifts him up, rolls him onto his back and smiles down at him.
"Mornin', sunshine!"
"Jesus Christ!"
Eddie's laughing at him hard. "Sorry, big boy. Had to wake you up somehow."
He brushes Steve's bangs off his face, and Steve pants up at him, wide awake now. Trembling. In the dark, Eddie's eyes look nearly black. Two inkpots full of moonlight.
“'M awake," Steve mumbles to distract himself from the sudden kick-throb behind his ribs. "Sorry I barfed on your shoes."
“Ah, comes with the territory.” Eddie kicks his legs out, rinsing the toes of his boots off in the stream. “Drug dealer, remember? Seen a lot worse than this at parties, sweetheart, I can promise you that."
Steve blinks at him. Still feels syrupy and slow like he's wading through mud. Sweetheart. The word's a fog machine in his mind. Hazy warmth; candy clouds. "If... If you're a drug dealer, then... should've woken me up with drugs."
"Oh?"
"Mhmm. Jus' rude not to, really."
Eddie's lips quirk. His eyes are soft, his fingers combing through Steve's hair, and Steve's head is still in his lap, even though it probably shouldn't be. "If you want coke..." he murmurs, his voice a low, fond rumble, "you can just ask for it."
"Yeah?"
"Sure, Stevie."
Steve watches with rapt attention as Eddie reaches into his jacket, pulls out a little baggie and holds it up in question. Steve gulps; nods.
Fuck yeah. He hasn't had coke in forever.
Eddie pours the smallest amount onto the back of one hand, licks the thumb of his other and presses it into the pile, coating it in white powder. He brings it up to Steve's mouth and rests it right against his lip — barest hint of pressure; not hovering, not pushing in. "Well, go on," he smirks.
Steve makes a questioning sound that comes out like a whine, a high, nasal thing in the back of his throat. His cock stirs in his jeans.
"Ask me," Eddie whispers.
"Can I have it?" Steve asks. He can feel Eddie's thumb against his lips as he speaks; has to stop himself from flicking out his tongue to get a taste. "Please?"
"Fuck," Eddie hisses between his teeth. "Yeah, baby." He presses into the meat of Steve's bottom lip; drags it down, exposes skin that's wet and warm. Dances over it with the pad of his thumb — the inside of Steve's lip, his gums, his tongue.
There's no mistaking the sound Steve makes for anything but a moan, throaty and deep as he sucks Eddie's thumb deeper into his mouth; hollows his cheeks, makes Eddie gasp. Makes him twitch his hips up under Steve, and it's good, and Steve feels like there are live wires where his veins used to be, the rush of the coke and Eddie's hands and Eddie's noises in his good ear, and—
"Hey!" someone shouts across the field. Eddie moves like he's been shot at, flinching away from Steve entirely, a hand pressed over his lap as he turns to see who's coming.
Steve lifts his head to look. His mouth is buzzing, lips full and flushed like he's been kissing someone. Kissing Eddie. God, he wants to. Wants to hike him up the falls, shove him hard against a tree.
But he can't. Because Jason Carver's here now.
Great.
—
part 26
gonna do the tag lists in separate reblogs from now on (with the tag "#trailer park steve au taglist" if you'd like to filter that content), comment and let me know if you want me to add you tomorrow (21+ only, please confirm your age if you're asking to be tagged)
#trailer park steve au#steddie#steddie fic#steve harrington#eddie munson#my writing#my fic#cw: alcohol#cw: drugs
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I like to do this grounding exercise I jokingly call "go touch grass" but honestly it's... almost exactly that.
First you need to go outside. It doesn't have to be far, it doesn't have to be "in nature" -- just somewhere with a bit of wind and sky. A parking lot is as good as a pasture. Make sure you're safe and aware of your surroundings, that you're not about to get run over by a cow or eaten by a moving van.
Close your eyes. Become aware of the surface of your skin. Can you feel the wind on it? Can you feel how it's stronger on one side of your nose and there's a bit of a lee on the other cheek? Can you feel that strand of hair against your neck? Is there sunlight? Feel how you can actually register the heat of it wherever it touches. Maybe the wind competes with the sunlight. Maybe it's cloudy. Maybe there are tiny raindrops that hit your skin. Feel it.
Look down. Really look, like you're five years old again, looking for Special Rocks. Find a bug and follow its path across the pavement. Look at the pattern in the gravel, the way it piles up against the side of your foot. Grind your toe into the ground a bit, see how you cause a mountain range to appear in the dirt. Look at the individual blades of grass, and that dead leaf -- look at its delicate veins. See the little tufts of fibers on the heads of the grassy weeds and how they tremble at the slightest breeze. You can crush them underfoot if you want to -- they'll grow back. Smell the green scent of the broken stems, and then look at how many thousands more blades of grass there are around you, unperturbed.
Look up. See the sky, through the branches or between buildings or over your neighbor's roof. Are there clouds? Look at the way the light filters through them. Tilt your head to the side and see how changing your perspective can heighten your understanding of the shadows. Is there a plane flying over? Maybe a bird? Watch it until it's out of sight. Maybe there are stars. Look closely at their shifting colors and try to name them -- is it blue? or red? or something that's neither?
Listen. Take in one by one the sounds of distant traffic, of a neighbor's washing machine, of the kids next door or the dog three doors down, the birdsong across the creek, the squirrel chittering in the maple tree. Single the sounds out one by one and really listen to them, the way you'd listen to a new song that you're trying to understand the words to. Lick your lips and listen to the sound your jaw makes when you move, or the brush of your hair against your ear, the sound your jeans make as you walk, the crunch of dry grass underfoot or the sksh-sksh of gravel.
Take in every sense with deliberate intent. Focus on your skin, on the tips of your fingers brushing against a brick wall or clasping a porch rail or just rubbing the cloth of your shirt between them. Feel how the air moves over your arms. Listen to the sound of it and the sounds of the world moving around you, whether it's a busy downtown or a rural driveway. Wiggle your toes inside your shoe and be aware of how the pressure changes as you move them. Walk and try to register each shifting muscle as your feet bend, legs picking up and setting down again.
I have bad anxiety -- some weeks worse than others. I've taken to going on a walk every day during my break at work and doing this process as I go. It never fails to make me feel more solid and grounded, and while I've never had much luck with straight meditation, I think this comes pretty close.
You are real, you exist, the world is moving at its proper pace, and all around you life is blooming and growing and shifting and becoming.
"All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well."
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ectoberhaunt day 10: occultism @ectoberhaunt
mccultism
words: 1698
read it on ao3
cw: death but it's funny
*THIS IS CRACK. like i lost braincells writing this. enjoy.
it's just an innocent summoning ritual.
Sam pulled up in front of Danny’s place, honking her horn twice to let them know she’d arrived. He and Tucker, with Cujo swaddled under Danny’s arm, emerged from the front door, and rushed down to the street.
With her sunglasses lowered, Sam rolled down the window so her friends could hear her. “Get in the car bitches. We’re going culting.”
Danny scoffed at her poor joke and climbed into the front seat, Cujo on his lap, with Tucker sliding into the back.
“Hey!” Sam protested. “Cujo goes in the back - I don’t want him jumping on the steering wheel.”
“That was one time! And I made us intangible before we hit the grocery store!” Regardless, he tossed Cujo towards Tucker, who yelped as the pup assaulted him with slobbery licks.
Turning his attention back to Sam, Danny lowered his voice. “Do you have the goods?”
Sam wiggled her eyebrows and motioned towards the empty seat in the rear. On it sat multiple fast food bags stained with grease.
“Where’s my milkshake?” Tucker complained.
“Ice cream machine was broken.”
Tucker growled in dissatisfaction.
Sam began driving the familiar route towards the Nasty Burger, Danny raising his eyebrows in confusion.
“What are we doing here? We already have the food.”
“Alright! I can get my milkshake!” Tucker yelled from the backseat.
“We’re picking up Valerie from work,” Sam answered, then turned to Tucker, “and you stay in the car. We’re not staying long.”
Pouting, Tucker closed the car door and replaced his seatbelt.
The other passenger door opened and Valerie appeared. She scooched the fast food towards the middle and slid in.
“Hey guys,” she greeted. “Thanks for picking me up, Sam.”
“Any time, although I’m surprised you wanted to come.”
Valerie shrugged. “Nothing better to do, honestly.”
“Fair enough.”
Cujo jumped into Valerie’s lap excitedly, Danny watching through the rearview. He blushed when their eyes met in the mirror and quickly looked away. If anyone else in the car noticed, they didn’t say anything. They were good friends like that.
The drive was fairly long - the spot was a good forty-five minutes out of town. Sam passed the aux cord to Valerie, to Danny’s displeasure (he’d been banned from dj-ing road trips). The car was alive with chatter between the four friends, making the drive fly by.
They eventually pulled up to an empty park. It’d been abandoned by the nearby town after a fire had ravaged it, and the town didn’t have the money to rebuild. It had since become a spot for hookups or drug deals, or in this case, a summoning ritual.
The four headed towards a dilapidated bridge that hung over a dried creek. Walking under it, there was an entrance in the walls to an underground cave system. Danny transformed and went first to scope it out, making sure it was safe for the others. Upon returning he phased his friends down one at a time so as to avoid the dangerous descent.
While Danny could see just fine, the others were lost in the total darkness. Tucker fumbled around until he found his friend’s arm, then broke it in half with a loud crack.
“YOW! What the fuck Tucker?” he yelled, a bright green glow simultaneously radiating from the wound and promptly lighting the cave.
“Chill, you’ll heal in like two minutes. We need light.”
Danny grunted. “It still hurts,” he grumbled.
Ignoring the boys, Sam set down her backpack and began pulling out chalk and candles.
“Light these,” she ordered Valerie, who was currently trying her best to wrangle Cujo in her arms, handing her a box of matches. She passed the dog off to Tucker and started on her task. Meanwhile, Sam used the chalk to draw a near perfect circle complete with a large “M” in the middle.
Danny sat sulking in the corner, rubbing his broken arm. Cujo leapt out of Tucker’s grasp and bounced over to his beloved ghost boy, excited by the sight of the bone sticking out of Danny’s arm.
“ Don’t bite that oOowowwWWw!!!! ”
Tucker shrugged and started helping with placing the candles. Each point where the “M” touched the circle was decorated with 1-2 candles and a variety of french fries, nuggets, and cheeseburgers.
“Tucker! Don’t eat those!” Sam yelled at the boy, who had several fries sticking out from his mouth.
“I’m hungry. Can’t be doing cult shit on an empty stomach.”
“You’re always hungry.”
Tucker glared and swiped a nuggie.
“Danny! Get over here. We’re about to start,” Sam yelled across the cave. Cujo let out a yarf! at her voice and bounded over, jumping up excitedly at her legs. At her look of disgust, Valerie reclaimed the pup in her grasp.
“One sec- I just gotta- OOF! There we go.” Danny had successfully repositioned the bone, skin immediately regenerating and healing the wound, and rejoined the group. He examined the summoning circle before them.
“Looks good. Just one last thing.”
Danny took Cujo from Valerie’s arms and placed him in the middle of the circle.
“Danny!! What-”
Cujo lifted his leg.
Danny clapped his hands together. “Now it’s ready.”
They sat around the circle in a seated position, hands joined. Sam had an open book in front of her, and began rehearsing the lines.
Magic forces
Yellow and red
We reach out to you
Beyond the dead
We call upon you
Ronaldus McDonaldai
To hear our voices
And cross the divide
Your loyal followers
McCultists for life
Summon you now
With our lasting cry!
At this point, all four voices came together.
Ronaldus McDonaldai, Ronaldus McDonaldai, RONALDUS MCDONALDAI!
With the final cry, their voices echoed around the chamber.
And nothing happened.
The four all exchanged looks. “Did we…do something wrong?” Valerie questioned.
“I followed the instructions so carefully!” Sam whined, then glared at Tucker. “Maybe it’s because someone-”
A giant WHOOSH cut Sam off, as green fire and the smell of burning fast food engulfed the cave.
The group screamed.
In the middle of the circle was a friendly looking clown in red and yellow garb. He blinked once, then twice, taking in his surroundings.
Sam leapt up and bowed. “Oh Great One. Thank you for answering our call. We are the McCultists. Please bless us with your wisdom.”
The remaining teens echoed Sam. “Please bless us with your wisdom,” they repeated in unison.
The clown stared straight ahead. “Burgir.”
Sam cocked her head in confusion. “Burgir?”
“Magdonal. Burgir,” the clown recited.
Sam looked at her circle of friends, eyes wide. They all had blank expressions on their faces, also unsure of what to make of their idol’s words.
“Great Ronaldus McDonaldai. We do not understand. What do you need of us?” she tried again.
The clown’s eyes narrowed and his mouth scrunched into a scowl.
“Burgir.”
“We don’t-”
“Burgir,” he repeated, and began violently shaking. “Burgir. Burgir. Burgir .”
The clown’s scalp split like a caterpillar in metamorphosis. The outer layer of the being peeled away slowly, revealing a featureless black body, only a mouth visible. Its limbs were disproportionately long, its lengthy fingers resulting in the hands to resemble forks.
“B̶̔͊ͅͅu̷̧̐͐̈́̍͛r̴̗̅̕ģ̶̟͍̓̈ì̴̡̧̮̥̞͍r̵̡̞̟̗̒̌.” it hissed, then lunged at the teens.
They all screamed, and ran off in separate directions. All except for Cujo, who ran right up to the demon, wagging his tail. The demon grunted, picking up the dog and placing him on its shoulders, then ran after the teens.
It caught Tucker first - clearly upset that the boy had eaten part of the offerings. The demon unhinged its jaw, mouth growing to the size of its body, and swallowed Tucker whole. The same fate was met for Valerie and Danny, who despite their best efforts and combined supernatural powers, could not destroy the demon.
Sam had just made it to the crawl space that led to the exit. She’d squeezed most of her body into the crevice when she felt something grab at her ankle. She screamed as the demon pulled her out, the dirt scratching at her body as she slid.
The demon dangled her in front of its face, analyzing the being responsible for its awakening.
“Please,” she pleaded. “What have we done to upset you, my Lord?”
“B̷̢̨͍̣̘̤̝͎͓̠͓͔̰͇͚͎̫̭͓̝͓̰̈́̑̒̒̎̋͌̑͂͗̋̎̾̐͛̍́́̒͂̀͋̾̈́͘͘̕͝͝͝͝͝ǔ̷̧̝̦̫̳̥̮̖̱̙͓̠̪̖͓̱̗̟̳͉̠̦̰̝́̃̄̎̎̋͘͜͜ͅr̷̨̳̙̦̟̭̘͂̆̑̊̊͑̃̉̅͐͌̈̃̀͆̽͘g̸̨̯̣̞̤͚͍͍̘͓͙̮̰̾̌̀̀͜ĩ̵̡̛̛̦͚͍̩̠̦̥̲̖̪̤̯͇̍̈́̾̒̅̔͋́̾̌̇̀̋̊̚͝ȑ̶̢̧̨̩̳̜̹͚͇̭͎͙̠͙͔͇͙͙̪̈́̐̓͐̂̋̓̈́͗͜͝,” it said, then swallowed her whole.
“M̶̙̈́̊m̸̧̀̊m̶̧͚̖͆͆.̸̣̾ ̵̨̱̺́B̴̻̼̑͒̈͜é̸ͅe̷͈͗͛̓f̴̝̱̈́̍ͅy̴̺̕̕.”
———————
Sam rubbed her eyes, groaning at the hard surface she’d found herself on. She slowly opened them to see her friends all in the same state of confusion.
“Where are we?” she asked, looking around.
“Hi! Welcome to Maccers Prison. How can I help you?” a cheery voice appeared.
In front of the group floated a ghost in a black visor and apron with a yellow and red insignia threaded into the fabric.
“Prison?” Valerie questioned.
“Maccers?” Danny echoed.
A ruckus from behind startled the teens, and they turned towards the commotion. A rabid miniature poodle in a fedora was running around with nuggies flying from their grasp as a blob ghost chased them, screaming for them to release the nuggies. In the corner, a woman laughed maniacally as she typed away on her computer, while a small group around her begged through tears for her to stop, something about her Torturing the Boy. Across the room a pirate was sparring with another dog-like creature, characterized by an exceptionally blocky appearance.
“Is this…Hell?” Tucker asked.
The ghost that had greeted them brought their fingers to their mouth and let out a loud whistle that caught the attention of the other inmates. Their heads all snapped up.
“Hey! We’ve got some fresh beef over here. Care to give them their orientation?”
The collection of beings simultaneously grinned, and moved in on the newcomers.
“Maccers. Maccers. Maccers. Maccers. Maccers. Maccers,” they chanted.
The teens scrambled up and looked for an exit, any way out. There was no door to be seen. Cornered, Sam pounded on the walls, hoping that by some miracle there was someone on the other side who could save them. Danny attempted to wail, but instead of his deadly cry, he made a sound like that of a squeaky toy.
Their screams for help slowly dissipated as they became unwilling members of the Maccers Jail for eternity.
**playlist credit to @hannahmanderr & @duchi-nesten
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2: Warped Reflection
(previous)
on your way to prismville, you find an empty town.
->contains mild gore, dubiously consensual touching
.
.
.
One of the trees isn’t a tree. You’ve been keeping an eye on it since you pulled over.
Lunch is your leftovers from Henley Creek. You reach into the box you keep strapped into the passenger seat, half a dozen eggs cushioned by checkered cloth, and watch the thing creep closer. It’s the only cottonwood in a line of aspens. Spindly, bare branches swivel and twitch without wind to move them, bending at joints they shouldn’t have like radio antennae. Even when you’re looking directly at it, watching its gnarled bark shift ever so slightly ahead of its neighbors in the smallest, slowest inchworm increments, your brain struggles to recognize this as movement. It leaves no tracks, no trailing roots or dragging mud in the earth behind it. It seems like it’s always been where it is now.
The eggs are ripe, the shells crunchier. The jam-colored insides form clots of salty pearls that split on your teeth like roe. You lick a cloudy dribble of yolk from the corner of your lips and use your last napkin. It doesn’t look all that different from the other crumpled balls of bloodied tissue stuffed into a trash bag in your backseat. You lean over and pull your hand-drawn map out of the glove compartment, adding a tree with wiggling, finger-like branches to the blank space between Henley Creek and Prismville. You don’t plan on backtracking, but someone else coming south might need to know. While your right hand sketches, your left hand rests in your lap, wrapped in bandages. The pain comes and goes. You feel dead-end sinew twitching, trying to move something you no longer have.
Home is northeast, your heart says. You start the car and pull back onto the road. In the rearview mirror, you see the tree’s trunk twisted and bent. Every limb, every twig, every prickly little branch has curved downward, grasping like aerial roots for the empty space where you were just parked.
[NOW PLAYING ON THE RADIO: NEVERLAND BY LA SCALTRA]
There’s rain just briefly. Water sprinkles the windshield and glistens on the road. There’s a peculiar odor you can’t identify. It smells the way ice tastes or wind feels, whispers and almost somethings. You see shapes in the road and have just enough time to stop, tires squealing, the eggs in the box knocking against each other. It’s a woman in a brown shawl and two young children clinging to her skirts. They walk slowly. She tilts her head, staring directly into your headlights. The wicker basket on her arm is full of thorny weeds, wildflowers and budding, sepal-wrapped eggs. You hold your breath and don’t move a muscle until she and the children cross the road and vanish into the underbrush.
The highway narrows, three lanes merging gradually into a single rough, uneven road. There’s a river ahead and a covered bridge across. Ancient wooden planks groan and rattle beneath your tires. It’s colder on the other side. You see a rust-eaten sign wobbling on metal stilts, jutting out of an overgrown flowerbed. Something corrosive has taken a chunk out of the corner and bit through the gold lettering, leaving only “LCOME TO NEW RIDGEWAY.” A mirror is propped up against one of the signposts.
The fog thins but only a little. You drive slowly between brick apartment blocks and gently lit storefronts. For a while, you don’t see anyone. Not on the road. Not dining under the striped cafe awning on the corner or in line at the burger drive-thru. Not along the riverwalk, or at the post office, or at the crosswalk. There are a handful of cars parked on the street but no one inside. But there are mirrors—thousands of them. Full-length rectangles lean against utility poles and sidewalk trees. A row of small circles in brass frames line an alley, echoing infinite reflections at one another. Hand mirrors dangle from a fire escape, ribbons tied around the handles and looped through the metal walkway.
The abandonment seems recent. Lights are still on. The grass is neatly manicured. “Free Bagels!” proclaims the local bakery’s chalk sign on the sidewalk, the door propped open. You poke your head inside and think you spot movement behind the counter, but it’s just a mirror.
Your bewildered reflection stares back at you. It cocks its head sharply like a curious bird. Then it smiles.
You’ve got one foot in your car and the keys in the ignition when something stirs the fog. A person, the first you’ve seen here, slips out of an alley. Glancing back and forth and ahead and behind him, he walks casually but quickly like someone afraid to draw a predator’s eye. He’s thin and delicate-looking, tugging nervously at the long sleeves of a black turtleneck sweater, long blond hair feathering across his shoulders.
He’s at your window in just a few long strides, knocking softly but frantically. His voice is muffled and he’s nearly whispering but you catch what’s probably “please,” “help” and “be here soon.” You’ve neither rolled down your window nor unlocked your car but he’s presumptuous or maybe desperate, crossing quickly to the passenger side. He tugs uselessly at the door handle and peers at you with wide, teary eyes.
Your fingers perch on the button to unlock the door, indecisive. Then you hear the dragging; stone grinding against stone. A woman lurches through the fog, her suit jacket hanging open and her tie loosened. There’s blood on her shirt but something else, too, watery and dark like motor oil or ink. She moves with a lopsided, lumbering gait because of the sledgehammer she’s dragging behind her.
“Please,” the man says, louder this time. “Please, please, please don’t leave me out here, please!” The woman moves faster. She wraps both hands around the sledgehammer’s long wooden handle and you make your choice.
The doors unlock and the man flings himself into your passenger seat. He’s startled by the box of eggs but quick enough to catch himself against the dash when you slam your foot on the gas. The woman doesn’t give chase but you don’t slow down, watching for anything else moving in the fog.
“Thank you,” the man says. He’s crammed himself into the space in front of the passenger seat, folding his arms over the egg box and peering up at you. “Thank you so much. Can you just—I don’t live far from here. Take a left at the light there.”
“Is it safe?” you ask him.
“Yes. Everything’s just fine as long as you stay inside. Follow this road a while. I’ll tell you when to turn.” His jeans are fraying at the knees and he picks at them occasionally, his nails unusually sharp. He lifts himself just high enough to peer out the window occasionally but mostly he looks at you. His eyes are vivid green. “Why did you help me?” he asks.
“Why?” you repeat, not expecting the question. “You thought I’d just leave you there?”
“You thought about it. I wouldn’t have blamed you.” He plucks at his sleeves again, tugging at them until they cover all but his fingertips. “The Drift is dangerous. So many things pretending to be people. I could’ve been one, but you let me in anyway. Ah, it’s this turn coming up. Go right.”
“I like to see if I can help,” you say. The suburbs are just as dead as downtown. The bins are out for trash collection. A garage door is wide open, an unwound gardening hose snaking around the back of the house. You think you see curtains move in an upstairs window, but you aren’t sure. “If I have to fight, I’ll fight. But I try to help first.”
“It’s that one. The house with a birdbath on the lawn. I’m Elisile, by the way,” he says, managing a small smile. Then he frowns. “You look…disappointed.”
“Oh, no, sorry,” you say quickly. “Just lost in thought. This one, you said?”
“Yes, this one.” He’s watching you while you pull into his driveway. “You’re…one of those, aren’t you? Not just a courier, but…you look so normal…” You put the car in park and unlock the door, not looking at him. “No, I’m—I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean…I used to have a friend in the Stillwoods. She was one, too.” He winces as he squeezes himself out of the small space and gets out of your car, rolling his shoulders and stretching his legs. “Sorry. And thank you again,” he says, offering a soft smile. His eyes are an earthy brown. You blink, startled. Was that the color they were earlier? “I’d ask you to come in but I don’t have much to offer,” he says. His soft laughter dies in his throat as his gaze shifts down the street. You see a car in the rearview mirror, screeching erratically down the street.
“I should probably go, huh?”
“No. She’ll run you off the road,” he says quickly. “Come on. We’ll wait her out.”
You don’t like the idea of leaving your deliveries unattended but the car swerves onto the curb and into the grass, smashing the birdbath. Elisile practically drags you with him up the steps. He doesn’t stop to fumble with his keys. It’s unlocked. He doesn’t think to lock it behind him as you stagger into the entryway so you do it for him, slipping the deadbolt into place just as something hard and heavy slams into the front door.
“We should be alright now.” The house is silent. Dust dances in a beam of strangled sunlight. The hallway is furnished with soft carpet, potted plants and a decorative glass dish sitting on a narrow table off to one side. Elisile watches you take in your surroundings. He’s smiling. Not in a cruel, menacing way but warm and comforting. He looks delighted when you notice the mirrors lining the hall. “I never did explain what happened here, did I?” he muses. “You never asked. That’s so…unusual.”
Elisile takes a step forward and you lurch back, stumbling. There’s a pile of shoes beside the door. Adult’s and children’s. The welcome mat has little paw prints running across it.
“You have to be careful with mirrors in the Drift,” he says. “You know all about that. Special glass, special chemicals. Your car’s all up to code, but in New Ridgeway? These are the old style. Thinner. Easier to move through.”
“Why?” you ask, feeling blindly behind yourself for the doorknob. You’re not careful and slam your wounded hand against it, pain radiating all the way up to your shoulder. He’s coming closer but he’s not stopping you. His eyes flick down to your bandages with interest. “Why would you—why fill a town with them?”
“Why do you help people you shouldn’t, child of the road?”
Your fingers fumble with the deadlock and that’s when he lunges. He goes for your hand, squeezing the tender, throbbing spot where your little finger used to be and slamming you up against the door. He’s cold against you. His breath is frigid and his skin leeches your body heat.
“I’ll tell you why,” he whispers, brushing his knuckles against your cheek. “Because you’re trying to go home but you can’t, so you take what you can get. And they’re close enough, aren’t they? When you’re lost together, you almost feel safe.” You twist out of his grip, fumbling with the lock just long enough to feel his cold fingers ghost across your shoulder. Two stumbling steps out the door, you freeze.
The woman you saw before is right there, clawing to the door on her hands and knees. She’s bruised and bloody, her sledgehammer lying in the grass by her feet. There’s something on top of her. It’s a person, you think. It is, for just a second. Then it shifts and shimmers, fractaling into other shapes. Human, animal, celestial bodies, unnatural angles, it wraps a hand—a claw? A tendril, silver and reflective—around her throat and pulls until she arches uncomfortably, tilting her head up at the thing with a scream caught in her chest.
Elisile’s fingers curl beneath your chin and he guides your gaze back to him, standing beside you in the grass. “You’re more like us than you are them,” he says. “There’s no home for you here. There never will be, no matter how useful you are.”
“Home is northeast,” you tell him. Your voice quivers. His gaze softens with pity. The woman in the grass reaches out with one trembling hand, the other clawing and pulling at the thing around her throat. It squeezes tighter. Its changing fingers and feathers and insectoid limbs hold her head still. Something sharp pricks the corner of her eye. A gushing wound spreads across her forehead. The thing starts to settle, shapes smoothing, colors flattening. It has her eyes.
“I can be your home,” he offers. “I can give you everything they can’t.” His eyes are deep blue, and probably not his. He leans in, pressing his lips to your cheek. It’s cold and sharp. You feel a bead of blood slide down your chin. When he cups the back of your neck, you push him away. You hear him sigh as you rush to the woman, past her and the thing and the toppled birdbath, grasping clumsily for the sledgehammer. It’s heavy and the space of your missing finger still stings. The metal wedge drags through the dirt as you struggle to lift it with your fumbling grip.
“You’ll never find it,” Elisile says, the kindness gone from his voice. His words are flat and emotionless but that welcoming smile and those warm, changing eyes remain. “You’ll search forever. You’ll wander until you die. You’ll do everything they say but you will never be welcome. Do you understand? No matter where you go, child of the road, it. Won’t. Be. There.”
You swing the sledgehammer and the thing shatters. Shards of light and cold and wriggling shape burst apart with a shrieking hiss, black blood spattering your face. It’s cold and stinging. Trying to wipe it off your chin cuts up your fingers. The woman heaves and sputters, clutching her bruised throat. Blood trickles from a gash across her forehead and drips into her eyes.
Elisile is gone. The door to the house is wide open. The sledgehammer slips from your trembling hands.
“Hey, are—are you still there?” the woman says hoarsely. “I saw you earlier, right? In town? I need help getting to my car. Like, now. Before it comes back.” She tries to stand and winces, catching herself with her hands. She’s keeping her weight off of her right leg. “God, I must look insane. Listen, I’m not one of those things. I'm cleanup crew. Check me! Glass mimics are cold to the touch and they don’t sweat. I’m bleeding red, right?”
She’s warm when you sling her arm over your shoulder and help her to her feet. She makes a pained sound and leans more of her weight against you. There’s a leather messenger bag in the passenger seat of her car and papers scattered around the back. Her medical supplies are in the trunk.
“Hey. Whatever it told you, don’t sweat it,” she says. “They like to fuck with people. It’s all mimicry, just copying stuff they’ve overheard. They don’t really get humans, you know? They don’t know what we feel, why we do things.”
“Right,” you say weakly.
“Ugh, I need a shower. You know what the closest town is? There’s fucking nothing out west.”
“Prismville’s somewhere north, but—”
“Civilization! Thank god.” She slaps a few bandaids on her forehead and wipes the rest of the blood on the sleeve of her suit jacket, tossing it haphazardly into the backseat. “Talk later, alright? You lead, I’ll follow. Let’s get the fuck out of here.”
You nod, dazed. You don’t have it in you to argue. You hear the woman’s car stutter before it starts. She gives you a thumbs-up in the rearview mirror. You hesitate before pulling out of the driveway, glancing up at the house. There’s no one there. The mimic has retreated for now, moved on to easier prey.
You rub the cut on your cheek where he kissed you. If no one else had been in danger, if you’d been all alone, would you have let him hold you? Would you have let him sink his teeth into your lips? Your neck? Somewhere even more tender? Would you have given him your eyes if he promised you somewhere you could always come back to, knowing it must be a lie?
Home is northeast, says the heart. Your throat constricts and it’s hard to breathe as you ignore the pull and drive due north instead.
(next)
#rotpeach writes#goretober#the drift#i promise this will not just be “weird vague things happen the novel” lol it'll start to make sense#hopefully. potentially. eventually
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hewwo! can i request the male LI's getting flashed by their S/O. like, she lifts up her skirt to show that she's not wearing underwear?
(think it's just standard DoL relationships to warn for)
Alex
It's been a long day on the farm. Alex is just about to start working on clearing out the next field when she tries to get his attention.
He doesn't mean to ignore her, really! He's just so focused that he doesn't hear her calling his name.
And then she screams
Alex's head snaps up, adrenaline shooting through him as his eyes dart over the field, looking for the source of her distress.
His eyes land on her, questioning.
She’s got a sly grin on her face, one that sets Alex on edge a little.
"What are you-"
He cuts himself off as she lifts her skirt, exposing herself.
For a moment, Alex can't look away, eyes locked on her pussy. She giggles, and Alex adverts his eyes, face going pink.
Her laughter turns into a shriek of delight as Alex tackles her to the ground.
The fight she puts up is all performative, a quick scuffle in the dirt before Alex has her pinned under him.
She lets out another breathless laugh as the farmhand fumbles with his overalls.
Avery
It's been a lovely evening.
All night Avery has caught people giving him envious glances, mouths watering as he paraded his date around.
Then comes the end of the night, arguably his favorite part.
His hand rests high on her thigh as he pulls into the hotel parking lot, giving the soft flesh a quick squeeze before telling her to head on up to the room.
It's just a fleeting moment, his name said in a low voice to catch his attention.
She's quick, so quick he could almost believe it didn't happen at all.
But it did.
In one swift motion, she pulled the hem of her dress up just enough to show off her bare cunt, the words "Avery's Monopoly" looping across her pubic region.
Even as the corners of his mouth twitch into a frown at the thought that someone might have still seen something, his cock twitches in his trousers.
She lets go of her dress, the fabric falling back into place before she saunters off.
Avery's eyes flicker over the area, making sure no one else witnessed what he just saw.
It's at that moment that he realizes exactly how calculating she is. There are no cameras pointed at this spot, no windows where any peeping toms could lurk. No one else. Not a single soul.
She'd planned this. Made sure he was the only one who saw.
Avery parks in record time.
Eden
The thunk of an ax splitting wood is such a common sound in the clearing that Eden really should be able to ignore it.
But he doesn't.
Not today.
Not after another lonely night.
He lets himself get caught up in the chopping. In the hefty swing down. In the creek of the wood parting for the ax. In the feel of the handle in his hands and the sun warming his skin.
It's a moment of sudden awareness that Eden feels how his shirt is soaked through with sweat; damp fabric clinging to his body. His mood only sours further as he yanks the fabric away from his chest, only for it to settle back. He grumbles, yanking the shirt up and over his head, letting it land on the ground without a second thought.
The moment lasts long enough that Eden becomes aware of the eyes on him.
His head snaps up, scanning the clearing.
And there she is, his wife, standing right where the forest encroached on the clearing.
He's about to call out to her, becon her over and pin her to the ground. A proper welcome home.
But she cuts him off.
She yanks up her skirt.
Eden's not aware of how he licks his lips at the sight of her bare pussy, but he's plenty aware of how his cock swells in his pants.
Before he gets a chance to do anything, she turns on her heel, sprinting into the forest with a laugh.
Eden doesn't hesitate to tear after her.
Kylar
One of Kylar's favorite ways to pass time is to follow his darling around.
She's so pretty, so beautiful. He has to make sure no one tries to touch her, hurt her.
He can't let anything happen to her.
If that means following her around in the hot summer sun and during the harsh winter nights, he'll do it. He loves her, after all. A little sunburn or some numb fingers are a small price to pay, he thinks.
He just doesn't want her to know, doesn't want her worrying about his own health.
She wouldn't find it strange or weird, he doesn't think. Not when they're in love. This is what people who are in love do, right? Protect each other?
That's why he's following her as she makes her way home late tonight.
Maybe he could get a scrap of her skirt? Something to hold onto, to remember this lovely night?
Or, maybe not. She's already at the orphanage door.
She turns, and Kylar ducks into an alley. She didn't see him, right?
She's scanning the area when Kylar peeks out. His stomach does a flip as she seems to notice the small movement, eyes locking onto him.
Before he can pull back, she grins, quickly yanking her skirt up.
It takes Kylar a moment to process what's happening, that she's flashing him, that his darling's naked pussy is on display in the middle of the street.
As suddenly as it starts, it stops. She turns and scurries inside the orphanage.
Kylar stays rooted to the spot, stunned.
He's not sure how long he stands like that, peeking out of the alley, eyes wide, and fingers digging into the brick wall.
A sharp pain, a sliver of brick biting into a fingertip, and he comes back to himself.
Kylar slinks behind the orphanage, cock pressed awkwardly against his pants as he moves, intent on checking the security of her bedroom window.
Robin
Robin mutters under his breath as the screen flashes bright red and his character dies. He's usually great at this game, but not today.
He can't focus.
All day his girlfriend has been teasing him. Kisses between classes and wandering hands during lunch.
He'd waited for her after school, had wanted to walk with her back to the orphanage, maybe invite her into his room.
Maybe rest with his head between her leg, maybe kiss her all over and make her squeal, maybe make her laugh and moan and cum on his tongue and-
The screen flashes red as his character dies.
Robin sets the controller down with a sigh.
It's useless, he can't focus on anything. He should just go to bed early or something.
He's about to stand when his door flies open and there she is, his missing girlfriend.
Before Robin can say anything, she yanks her skirt up, giving him a fleeting view of her pussy before she runs off with a giggle.
Robin is only stunned for a moment before he's scrambling after her.
Sydney
Sweat drips off the tip of Sydney's nose as he finishes off some of the last weeds encroaching on the temple garden.
It's been a long, long day.
The worst part is, his beloved couldn't come to the temple with him this afternoon! She was working on a project for school and had to go collect mushrooms in the forest.
Understandable, he guesses. Still, he wishes she was here, talking with him, keeping him company. Wishes he could see the way her shirt would cling to her back and chest while working, arms flexing while pulling weeds, sweat running down her neck, the way her lips would look pressed to a cool glass of water, and-
He should talk to Jordan. All these thoughts clouding his brain, there must be a solution. Something. Anything.
A way to get his chastity belt off, a way to see her, have her, worship her.
The snap of a stick in the forest bordering the temple garden breaks Sydney from his thoughts.
It takes Sydney a moment to process what he’s seeing, his beloved girlfriend standing at the edge of the forest.
Her eyes flit around the garden and Sydney is right about to ask her what's wrong when she does it.
When she pulls her skirt up.
Sydney swallows thickly at the sight of her.
She’s gone before he can collect himself; before he can go to her and drop to his knees in front of her.
Sydney stays in the garden, willing his erection away, before going back into the temple.
There’s got to be a way to get his charity belt off.
Whitney
Whitney leans back against a row of lockers, lounging as he watches students mill around in the crowded hall.
Classes will start soon, but he doesn't care about that. Whitney's barely listening to his friend's chatter as he scans the halls.
His slut has yet to show.
Bitch.
She better show up soon.
He might start thinking she was avoiding him if she didn't.
And he'd make her pay if that was the case.
Ah, there she is.
She’s on the far end of the hall, but Whitney would recognize his slut anywhere.
The hall is too crowded for him to bother pushing his way, through.
So, he settles for watching her.
And there’s plenty for Whitney to look at.
The curve of her neck, the swell of her chest, the expanse of skin between her school socks and skirt.
She shivers, glancing around the hall as if she can feel his eyes on her.
When their eyes lock, she gives Whitney a sly grin.
Whitney frowns, unsure what such an expression from his slut might mean.
Until she pulls her skirt up.
A cheer goes up from Whitney's friends, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
She’s following his “no underwear” rule.
Whitney kicks off from the lockers, but she’s already gone, the echo of a laugh reaching him.
She better be in maths.
#degrees of lewdity#alex the farmhand#avery the businessperson#eden the hunter#kylar the loner#robin the orphan#sydney the fallen#sydney the faithful#whitney the bully
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Protecting children from pedos is now “Puritan sex negativity” according to a pedo transwoman .
Berkeley Police allowed a suspected pedophile to walk away from a sting conducted by predator hunters despite being shown evidence that he had been expressing interest in molesting multiple children, including an infant.
On August 20, anti-pedophile vigilante group Predator Poachers uploaded footage of a sting they conducted in Berkeley, California to YouTube involving a trans-identified male who had been purportedly seeking to meet a 9-year-old for the purposes of sexually abusing her.
The girl was in fact a decoy established by the group as part of a months-long investigation into the man, who went by the name Sophia Westfall.
Speaking to Reduxx, predator hunter Alex Rosen says Westfall first contacted the decoy’s Instagram account in April, and soon after began initiating sexual conversations with the child.
Rosen is a full-time anti-pedophile vigilante, and he and his small team have traveled across the United States conducting stings on predators since 2019. Ample evidence is gathered prior to a confrontation, and police are then called.
Rosen told Reduxx that the sting uploaded on the 20th had actually been conducted on June 7 when he and his team were in California.
“Sophia was one of the reasons we were in California but we actually had multiple suspects in the state,” he explained, noting that Sophia had been picked up by two different decoys on two different platforms — Instagram and Telegram. Rosen says both decoy accounts had been populated using altered and AI-generated photos.
Rosen provided Reduxx a number of screenshots belonging to conversations Westfall had with the decoy. Westfall tells the girl that he masturbates to thoughts about her, and suggests a number of ways he wants to molest her.
“I’m thinking of other things too, but maybe tickles too,” Westfell wrote in one message, “Kisses and touches all over. Kisses between your legs especially!”
Disturbingly, Westfall suggested that he wanted to sexually abuse the girl’s 6-year-old sister, saying “well, you know I love young girls. I’m just excited thinking how fun it could be to play in bed with both of you!”
The decoy then advised Westfall she also had a 1 year old sibling, stating “
she’s probably too young” for sexual activity, to which Westfall replied: “That doesn’t bother me. Never too young to start learning!”
While Westfall would ultimately establish a meet up with the decoy purporting to be 9-years-old, he also communicated with a separate one of Rosen’s decoys on encrypted chat service Telegram. That decoy was also intended to be a 9-year-old girl.
“He sent some very illegal stuff to our decoy on Telegram,” Rosen says, noting that it included extreme child sexual abuse material appearing to show very young children being sexually assaulted. Westfall also gave suggestions to that 9-year-old decoy on how to pleasure male genitals.
“Some people like stroking a hand up and down over it… or you can wrap your mouth around the tip and lick or suck,” Westfall says, continuing: “It can absolutely be exciting.”
The filmed confrontation took place at Strawberry Creek Park in Berkeley, where Westfall thought he would be meeting with the 9-year-old he had been interacting with on Instagram. Instead, Rosen and his team showed up with a bundle of evidence they had printed off.
In the dramatic video Rosen uploaded to YouTube on the 20th, Westfall is seen wearing knee-high-boots, a skirt, a pink top and a hat littered with trans pride flag buttons. He immediately attempts to walk away from Rosen when he is confronted, and is even defended by unknowing locals in the park who believe he is in need of assistance.
Westfall continuously says “leave me alone,” and “I don’t want to talk to you,” while hiding his face behind a medical mask. He refuses to answer any of Rosen’s questions, and simply paces across the park repeatedly.
At one point, the police show up — apparently called by bystanders who believed Rosen was harassing an innocent individual.
Rosen is seen trying to show police his bundle of evidence, and explains to multiple officers what his investigation had uncovered. But, disturbingly, police do not detain Westfall, and allow him to leave the park — which is full of children — without resistance.
Rosen tells Reduxx he was shocked by that decision.
“Based on what we showed them … It should have been an instant arrest. Especially with the lewd [images] he had sent. I have never had a predator who was trying to molest a 1-year-old, and unfortunately there have been a few, that was not arrested on the spot.” Rosen says, “[Police] said they needed to gather more evidence and check with the District Attorney. But a place like Berkeley, like New York City, they are known for not locking up criminals.”
Predator Poachers, Rosen’s team of anti-pedophile vigilantes, says they had calculated for a poor police response due to the location of the sting, but they had still been confident an arrest was going to be made because the evidence was damning.
“I was well-aware that I was doing this catch in Berkeley, and I knew what that meant for cop response. But I thought even then… this is just too bad that cops are going to make an arrest. I was that confident. Especially with [the suspect] sending my decoy child sexual abuse material. But I was wrong, sadly.”
Rosen also notes that Police had expressed frustration with him when he “misgendered” the suspect.
Predator Poachers has successfully initiated arrests in multiple states, and that 80% of the other suspects he had confronted in California had been arrested the day of his stings or in the days after he spoke to police, but Westfall still has not been charged with any crime.
“This person said they wanted to molest a 1-year-old. They sent child sexual abuse material on Telegram. There was horrific, horrific sh*t. All I can say is, we’ve gotten people arrested for a lot less.”
Reduxx reached out to the Berkeley Police Department, which did confirm it had an open case number related to the incident, and suggested the matter was still under investigation.
While Westfall deleted the Instagram profile he used to contact the 9-year-old decoy, he has an additional account on the platform. While it is now defunct, the profile was primarily focused on taking photos of women in public without their consent.
Westfall often placed extremely sexual captions beside the stealth images, and even featured photos of what appeared to be young girls he had taken.
On Twitter, Westfall is still active and posting. Amongst retweets of pornography, Westfall engages with trans activists and sometimes speaks on trans-related issues. The day after the sting, Westfall retweeted a post arguing it was “puritan sex negativity” to try and argue “drag and queerness” wasn’t inherently sexual.
His profile features a link to a defunct WordPress blog he maintained titled SaphikoSophia.
In 2015, Westfall made a post to the blog in which he praised a book titled The Perils of Protecting Children from Sex.
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Catfish and Dog Cemeteries
Chapter Nine of Sweet Home Alabama
Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x OC (Linley Mitchell/Floyd), Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x OC (Linley Mitchell/Floyd)
Description: The Annual Pigeon Creek Catfish Festival is always your favorite event of the summer. Being back here after seven years feels different. It should be a consolation that you're only going to be in Pigeon Creek for a few days more. But instead, another encounter with an old friend makes you question everything you thought you knew about your soon-to-be ex-husband. A chance encounter with the man himself makes you question everything else in your life, too.
Themes: love, attraction, angst, sex, cheating, lying
Warnings: discussions of grief, discussions of miscarriage, discussions of animal death
Word Count: 2665
A/N: This chapter is one of the saddest in this entire fic. I know, I know. It's awfully hypocritical of me to say that when most of Sweet Home Alabama (the movie) is really really sad. This is the chapter I sobbed while writing. It's also the first time Jake and Linley address the pain they have put each other through. I hope you love it!
Thanks to the gorgeous @desert-fern for reading over this chapter and smacking my imposter syndrome demon when it refused to give up.
AO3: Cross-posted here!
Wattpad: Cross-posted here!
My Masterlist
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Pigeon Creek's Catfish Festival is busier than you've ever seen it when you pull up and park your rental car on Main Street the next day. The festival used to be your favorite day of the summer, the one day during summer vacation when you could run free and eat as much candy and fried things as you wanted. You walk through the crowd on autopilot, walking down the line at the buffet until your plate is filled with all of the things you never actually let yourself eat anymore, and slip a twenty into the donation jar at the end of the table. The fried fish and steaming french fries had looked so good that you couldn’t stop yourself.
But as you stand in the grass with your plate in your hand, it reminds you of something else. Nobody in Pigeon Creek likes you very much. Everyone you know is chatting and laughing and enjoying the good food. Yet you’re still the outsider. Like you were before Jake became your best friend like you have been every minute of every day since you left town. Not a single person wants to meet your eyes. A part of you understands why. Jake was the golden boy of the town. Jake is still the town hero. You’re just the girl who threw him away.
Of course, what you don’t expect to see is Dorothy sitting at one of the tables with a baby in her lap. She’s the only person who doesn’t glare at you as you walk up.
“D’you mind if I sit here?” Gone is the confident Linley who took New York by storm. In her place is the four-year-old with a lisp who used to get pushed off of picnic tables because she was too different.
“Sure.” You sit silently, gratefully, smiling at the chubby-cheeked baby in Dorothy’s lap.
“I, um..” You’re captivated by the shocks of tiny dark hair and big eyes and the way the little sweetheart is waving their fists around. “I didn’t know you and Mickey had a baby.”
“Aww, yeah. When you came around the bank the other day, there wasn’t much time for us to catch up now, was there?” She hums to the baby for several long moments before turning all of her attention to you.
It occurs to you at that moment that maybe you were more than a little prejudiced yourself as a kid. You have more fun with Dorothy than you’ve had in years. Getting to eat good food and just be yourself probably helps, too. Every time you see her snuggle her daughter, it feels like your heart breaks a little more. You can’t turn back time or change history. Seeing the baby squeal as a calf licks her hand makes you smile.
“Y’know he went up there?” There’s a secretive smile on Dot’s face as she rescues the baby from having her frock eaten by a goat.
“Who?” You drag your eyes away from the kids playing in front of you and focus back on Dorothy. “Dot, who went up where?” When she just looks at you, the lightbulb goes off in your head. “Jake? When?”
“About a year after you left.” That little tidbit of knowledge hits like a dart hitting a bullseye on a dart board. “He doesn’t know that I know, but Mickey let it slip once.”
“Jake was in New York?” You sound like a stuck record, but you can’t believe that Jake ever went to New York. Jake has always hated the idea of the big city, much preferring the country to the city.
“He told Mickey he'd never seen anything like it.” Your heart is six feet under the earth.
“He realized straight off…” You’re leaning in despite yourself, some sick sense of curiosity expecting you to know, “That he'd need more than an apology to win you back. He needed to conquer the world first. He's been tryin' ever since.”
You didn’t think that you were so cruel a few days ago, standing in the middle of that fashion show back in New York. But now? Now, you feel like the worst person on the planet.
“That's why he kept sending the papers back.” Is the world spinning off of its axis, or is that just you? How is it that you can know someone for most of your life and that they still surprise you every time?
“Yeah, it's funny how things don't work out.” The baby starts fussing in Dot’s arms, and the sweet burble of sound puts a smile on your face.
“It’s funny how they do.”
You spend the rest of the day hanging out with Dorothy, smiling and laughing like a fool while playing with the baby. But it’s as night falls and the kids all go home to bed that excitement starts to course through your veins. The first twang of the guitar sets your feet tapping. For the first time since you came back to Pigeon Creek, you feel like you’re at home. With good music and even better alcohol in your hands, you finally feel free.
Of course, what you’re not expecting, even though you totally should be, is Jake and Bob walking up to the small gathering you’ve found yourself in. It’s almost like once Dot approved of you, everyone else did, too. He looks like sin, his worn jeans clinging to his thighs and a soft red flannel clinging to his broad shoulders. His eyes and hair glisten in the soft light, and if you were a younger, less encumbered woman, you would have climbed him like a tree. But as it is, your soul feels heavy, and your left-hand feels even heavier. The worst part isn’t just how you lost the love of your life. It’s in how you’ve lost your best friend, too.
You can’t look at his smiling face, not when it hurts to see him happy when you’ve never been sadder. So, instead, you fixate on the glass your beer is in. It’s crystal clear and gorgeous, and well, it’s glass like you’ve never seen in New York. Is it any wonder that you lift the glass to see if you can see the manufacturer? Of course, just as you lift up the glass, it’s Dot who notices what you’re doing.
“Oh, honey, you…” She giggles, looking at you, “You drink that from the top.”
“I know that, Dot. I’m just lookin’ to see who makes this Deep South Glass. I wonder if you can get it in New York?" You take a sip of your beer and sigh. "It's beautiful."
"D'you hear that, Jake?" There is mischief in Dot's voice. "Lin wants to know where she can find that snooty-faluty glass." Why's she asking Jake, of all people?
"Why ask me?" See that? That's why Jake Seresin was your best friend. He always knew exactly what you were thinking and had the courage to express the thought, too.
"Oh, I dunno. Maybe it's because…" You've only had a few sips of your beer, so you don't miss the glare Jake shoots at Dot. You don't know why he's keeping secrets, but you have a feeling it isn't for a good reason. "You're all spiffed up and all."
"Wait, y'all." You probably look as confused as you feel. "Am I missing something?"
But all of a sudden, the familiar tones of Sweet Home Alabama by Lynyrd Skynyrd echo across the dance floor. You can count on one hand the number of times you've passed on dancing to this song - and all of them have been when you were in New York. It's a right of passage, a way of life. A part of you is sure every 'Bama baby has been put to bed at night with a crooned-out rendition of this song since it came out. Already, you can feel the beat tapping your toes, but a part of you isn't sure if anyone will ask you to dance. You smile vaguely as Dot marches off to the dance floor, Jake in tow, leaving you standing at the edge of the dance floor yearning.
"Y'know, she says that I've got two left feet, but the truth is she's got no rhythm." You startle just a bit at Mickey's voice, though you smile when you hear the pure love in it for Dot.
"Why don't we show her just how well I can dance, then, Miss Linley?"
"It would be my pleasure, Mr. Garcia."
You're smiling from ear to ear as Mickey twirls you around on the dance floor. Your eyes flutter closed as you feel the beat in every hummingbird thud of your heart. But when you open them again, it feels like the world's standing still. The music is gone. There isn't another person on the dance floor other than Jake and you. He's got his hand on your waist, and your heart's not beating in time anymore. Your palms grow clammy, and your tongue feels like it's swollen in your mouth.
There is something unreadable in Jake's gaze as he twirls you once, twice, and then one final time before applauding for the band and walking away. You spend the rest of the night as far away from Jake as you possibly can. You know where he is; you always have. But it's different going out of your way to avoid him. Everyone's cleared out for the night when you finally see the sign for the dog cemetery.
Bear used to love clear nights like this, and something about it makes you remember him. His little plot is the newest, and it hurts to think of the puppy you bottle-fed lying six feet under the ground when you never even got the chance to tell him you loved him one final time.
"Hi there, boy." Your hands shake as you clear away a couple of twigs ensnared in his grave marker. "Sorry, it took me so long. I would have come sooner if I'd known you were sick."
Sitting here tonight, you don't think you can lie. Not to Bear. "Actually, that's probably not true. I've been pretty selfish lately."
Tears track hot down your cheeks as you remember the dog you loved with all of your heart. "Dogs don't know anything about that, do they, though? You were always like a big old pillow. Like when everything went pear-shaped…" Your voice cracks on the words because pear-shaped is an understatement for how your life splintered. "You never left my side. And then I just left you. I bet you sat there wondering what you'd done wrong."
"I told him it was my fault." You stand up so quickly that you nearly fall over. It's Jake because who else would it be when he's so close that you can smell his cologne and feel the heat radiating off of his skin?
"Quit bein' so nice."
"It's the truth." It's not. Not in the slightest. It was your fault. Your body, your mouth. Your fault. But you can't verbalize your words or how sorry you were for everything that you did.
"How come it has to be so complicated?" You sigh the words even as you wipe your tears away.
"What?" Despite his hatred for you, his voice is gentle, a melodic hum over the buzz of a summer night out in the country.
"The truth, life…" Finally, you trace your fingers over Bear's name. "This."
"He was one hell of a good dog, wasn't he?" You can only nod, moving to sit on a stone bench nearby. It's quiet for several moments, just you and Jake staring at the graves.
"You looked like you were having fun out there tonight." It's true, you did have fun. But it wasn't quite as easy as he thought it was to let loose.
"I'm happy in New York, Jake. But then I come down here and…” You gesture around you to all of Pigeon Creek. “This fits, too." Who are you trying to convince? Him? Or yourself?
"Since when does it have to be one or the other? You can have roots and wings, Lin." Not possible, not with your all-or-nothing life.
"Maybe I could just fly south for the winter." As if the Honorable Carole Bradshaw would ever let you do that.
He sits down next to you suddenly, warming the left side of your body as he gets close.
"Look." It takes you a bit to figure out what you're looking for, but when you see it, it makes you feel like a kid again. "There. Do you see 'em?"
"Only you. Lightnin' bugs." There's a childlike wonder on his face. This close, you can feel each exhale and can see the specks of amber floating in the green of his eyes
"You know, I still go out there sometimes. I see those big thunderheads rollin' in. It's like a religion." Of course, he still goes out on the beach in the middle of lightning storms.
But his confession has you spilling one of your own. "I had a dream about it the other night." You watch the lightning bugs track pinpricks of light through the dark night.
"It had me thinking, Lin. You ever wonder what would have happened if we hadn't have gotten pregnant?"
Your heart falls to your feet at his words. Please let him regret you, but not that sweet baby. Please, not your sweet baby. Your throat barely pushes out the sound as you whisper, "Jake."
"Just," His eyes are pleading, and the sight of the pain in his eyes blanks all the thoughts out of your mind. "Let me get this out before I can't. I thought that baby would be an adventure."
"And it took me a while to realize that it would have been your only adventure." Yup. The sound you hear despite the blood pounding in your temples is your heart shattering into infinitesimal pieces. "I just guess Mother Nature knew better, huh?"
Your hands make abortive movements in your lap. But you can't reach for him, not with the ring weighing your left hand down. "I was so ashamed, Jake. 'Cause I felt relieved. How selfish am I, huh? I lost our baby, and I felt relieved. I felt relieved. And I couldn't handle that. All of a sudden, I just needed a different life. So I left."
Your voice is so quiet you're not sure Jake can actually hear you.
"You’ve done really well for yourself. I'm proud of you, Lin." He's so close all you want to do is fall into him. But you can't. You can't.
"I'm just sorry I never danced with you at our weddin'." How does he make your heart feel so full that you're sure it's going to overflow?
"I'm sure this next one's gonna go better for ya." His hands are strong and warm and perfect as they cradle yours. But every press of his hands rubs the ring, Bradley's ring, into your hands. It feels like a brand, the guilt turning into a five-ton weight sitting there. And it's that itchy, heavy feeling that has you yanking your hands from his own.
"Jake, I can't do this." Who are you trying to convince as you walk away? Like so much of this conversation tonight, you're not really sure.
"I know."
Something about those words has you turning around. It's not a feeling or an expressed desire, but you still stand on your tiptoes and kiss Jake. Just once, you promise your traitorous heart. Just once. But he feels like home and tastes like it and smells like it. The electricity ricocheting through your veins makes you feel so good that you don't break the kiss until Jake does. Your lips are swollen, and you can barely breathe. But Jake? Jake just looks angry.
"Go home." Is it any wonder that you do so with your tail between your legs?
I DO NOT CONSENT TO HAVE MY WORK POSTED, TRANSLATED, OR PUBLISHED ON ANY SITES OTHER THAN HERE, ON WATTPAD, OR ON AO3 BY ME. IF YOU SEE MY WORKS ANYWHERE OTHER THAN HERE, ON WATTPAD, OR AO3, THEN THEY HAVE BEEN POSTED WITHOUT MY PERMISSION AND I WILL BE WORKING TO TAKE THEM DOWN.
Taglist:
@atarmychick007 @the-romanian-is-bae @lt-spork @buckysdollforlife @blackwidownat2814 @praline357 @seitmai @cheyrenee @trickphotography2 @abaker74 @marrianena-library @angelbabyange @temptest13 @kmc1989 @im-an-adult-ish @chaoticassidy @inkandarsenic @lynnevanss @shanimallina87 @khaylin27 @mizzzpink @emma8895eb @hookslove1592 @leahnicole1219 @djs8891 @sarahsmi13s @desert-fern @horseshoegirl @dakotakazansky @teacupsandtopgun @footprintsinthesxnd @thedroneranger @cherrycola27 @roosterforme @mak-32 @beyondthesefourwalls
#star writes#top gun fanfic#top gun fanfiction#top gun maverick fanfic#top gun maverick fanfiction#top gun imagine#sweet home alabama#a top gun au#star's sweet home alabama top gun au#jake hangman seresin x oc#hangman x oc#jake seresin x oc#bradley rooster bradshaw x oc#rooster x oc#bradley bradshaw x oc
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I'm Not Scared of Death - Chuck Grant
oOoOoOoOo
a/n - hiya, this is my first time writing something like this and I am not the most confident in my writing yet, hopefully this isn't too terrible but I wanted to write something a bit out of my element. Inspired by a lyric prompt I saw on here by @prxttyvixens and wanted to take it for a test run myself. Please go check out their page and work! They are GREAT!
oOoOoOoOo
I could feel the rush of my blood throughout my limbs, ending in a throb when it reached my head. My left palm was warm, it felt like someone was holding me, petting my hand, comforting me. I could hear mumbles that resembled voices, but the ringing in my ears overpowered them, I couldn’t make out what they were saying.
Flashes of my life before the war began to roll out before my eyes like the film reel they put on for us so many times before. I could see myself running through the woods, chasing my friends with sticks, pretending we were soldiers amongst the trees. I saw my mother, licking her thumb to wipe dirt from my forehead. I saw my sister holding my hand as I danced with her at our aunt’s wedding. I saw myself floating on my back down stream in the creek, eyes shut and slipping further and further away from my family on shore as the cool summer breeze kissed my skin.
Suddenly I was 17 again. I was not scared of death. I was walking along railroad tracks and playing chicken in the street and diving off of the high rocks at the lake near Veterans Park. I was carefree, careless even, I was alive.
I heard the mumbling voices around me again. I wish this damn ringing in my ears would stop; it’s giving me one hell of a headache. I could feel the rush of my blood throughout my limbs, down my legs to my toes, up to my waist then to my chest, stretching to my arms and fingers, looping its way back up to my head and ending in that throbbing sensation again.
The reel of my life began again. This time I’m older. Glimpses of uniforms and screaming eagles flashed by, foaming golden ales sloshed in their glasses as I sang, with Liebgott to my right and Tab to my left. Now I’m floating, or falling rather, along with thousands of toy soldiers in the sky, round parachutes deployed carefully cradling each one of us down to the cool lush earth. The ground below lit up here and there, and just as my feet touched the grown, the grass turned to snow and frozen dirt. Warm coffee in a cold canteen cup was handed to me, the canopy of the straight trees above our heads was bare, a blue and yellow flare lit the sky for a moment. It was like staring at a comet, or a meteor and I was nothing but a prehistoric beast waiting for my untimely end.
It was night now, and I was in a hole in the ground. The earth shook, it sounded like I was in the middle of the grand finale of the local Fourth of July fireworks show back home. A rifle now replaced the cup of joe in my hands. I looked off into the rows of exploding trunks in front of me and saw a smaller, younger version of myself, running with sticks, chasing my friends, playing soldier amongst the trees. For a moment, the me from the past stopped and looked in my direction, smiling before disappearing behind the shrapnel and earth a mortar round brought up in the wake of its detonation.
Suddenly I was 17 again. I was not scared of death. I looked it square in the face.
I could feel the rush of my blood throughout my limbs, and the throbbing at the end of this rush was muted now but still present. Voices continued to mumble but the ringing in my ears was barely easing up. I felt that same warmth on my left palm and a warmth on my right shoulder. I heard a voice, louder and closer this time, so much so I almost made out what it said. The voice was accompanied by a squeezing sensation of my left hand. I wanted to speak, I wanted to clear my throat from the sick taste of copper, I wanted to open my eyes but I couldn’t, and I wanted that goddamn ringing to stop. I felt a pressure in my head for a moment, and then that film reel of my life kicked on again.
I was sitting in a bar enjoying a beer and good conversation with two younger soldiers. Laughs were had, our thirst was quenched, and we loaded into the topless army issued jeep to head back to the rest of the company. I was driving, sharing the funny bits of my war story with the new guys, giving them the pleasure of knowing the one and only Wild Bill and his take-no-shit attitude. In front of us there were bright lights pointed head on. I squinted, told the newbies to stay in the jeep, and got out to help the soldier seemingly stranded on the roadside. That was at least what I assumed as the lights continued to blind me from the scene sprawled out at my feet. Once I could see clearly, figures lay on the ground, though I couldn’t make out their faces nor their clothing nor their bodies. They were blurs in my mind, censored blurs of flesh and grey coloring. My head moved in slow-motion between the two figures on the ground, my vision began to double as I looked up at the soldier in front of me, who was now just as blurred as the figures laying below. Just as my eyes set on his shape, the soldier raised his arm and pointed at my face. I couldn’t quite understand until I saw the black object in his hand. I made sense of what I was staring at even if my eyes couldn’t see. I heard a pop.
I could feel the rush of my blood throughout my limbs. Suddenly I was 17 again. I was not scared of death.
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Goatman
Legend tells of a half man/half goat creature, weilding an axe, stalking the woods and secluded roads around Beltsville, Maryland.
Several similar creatures have also been reported in Louisville, Kentucky, and Fort Worth, Texas.
Is it all just tall tales or could there be more to it?
In a small town called Beltsville in the U.S.state of Maryland, stories have been passed down by teenagers for the last forty to fifty years of a creature that is said to haunt the local woods and in particular a long stretch of road notorious for being a lovers lane.
A young couple parked their car after a date in 1957 along this track, named Fletchertown Road, and were canoodling when something hit the hood of the car, making a huge noise. They would later report to media that they found themselves being leered at by a “tall, horned man” that resembled a goat. If that wasn’t frightening enough, the man seemed to be waving what looked like a double-edged axe at them. The creature was then said to have turned and ran into the woods.
This was to be the first reported sighting of Goatman and over the years many have seen and described encounters with this creature. It is said to be between 7-8 feet tall and weighing 300 pounds, with the upper body of a normal human man, but a horned head and the legs and feet of a goat. In most accounts it is covered in fur, in other versions it is only partially covered.
What originally seemed to be an urban legend regarding young lovers being watched turned slowly into tales of the creature supposedly decapitating a man who pursued it into the woods one night. Over the years residents have claimed not only is the creature responsible for pets going missing or being killed, but it also has a deviant sexual aspect as many believe it has entered peoples homes and raped men and women.
Many believe the stories began due to the presence of an old hermit who, in the 1960s, resided in the nearby woods, and was seen regularly walking in and out of town at night along Fletchertown Road. A story began circulating that the creature was once a scientist who worked at a nearby agricultural laboratory who, while conducting experiments on goats, went mad and begun walking the back roads weilding an axe. Another version has an old farmer seeking revenge on local teenagers who killed a flock of his goats.
Stories of a similar creature are also told in Fort Worth, Texas where the creature is said to reside and haunt the local lake, hence it has come to be called the Lake Worth Monster. This creature was also said to watch young couples parked on the lake in the sixties, with many of the witnesses describing a very similar creature, but with scales!
Local police considered it to be a joke up until late 1969 when a young man claimed he and his lady friend were attacked while in the car, and showed an 18 inch scar on the side of his car where he claimed the creature slid an axe along his door. The following night the creature was seen by at least a dozen people when it hurled a tyre at drivers from a bluff, it is said that a photograph of the creature, the only one known to exist, was taken that night. Soon media started reporting that several local high school students had admitted to police to pulling several pranks by wearing a gorilla suit and walking along the lakefront. However, many of the then-teenage eyewitnesses still attest to this day that they saw a genuine monster.
A third creature similar in description and behaviour is said to be living underneath a train trestle in Louisville, Kentucky. The Pope Lick Monster, named after the creek below the train trestle, is said to be more malovolent in its nature, luring trespassers that dare tred onto the trestle in front of oncoming trains by supposedly using hypnosis or voice mimicry. In some accounts it also has an axe and has been known to jump down onto cars passing under the trestle.
In 1988 a local filmmaker created a 16 minute film called The Legend of the Pope Lick Monster, which caused controversy due to many railroad officials becoming concerned that teenagers would start climbing the trestle. An 8 foot tall fence was erected and signs warning trespassers were placed nearby, however it has not stopped a number of people from getting inside the area and making claims of seeing the creature.
Many in these areas, especially religious folk, consider the creatures demonic and the spawn of Satan. However many believe the stories are nothing but exaggerated legends told by youth around campfires.
#Goatman#ghost and hauntings#paranormal#ghost and spirits#haunted locations#haunted salem#myhauntedsalem#paranormal phenomena#supernatural
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Licking the mirror behind the station wagon
Unsettling dreams. I was a killer/collector and hid something in a box. It's still there under the stairs. A pile of coolers in the snow and foam, the creek in the woods. I was in a public garden walking into the island, potter's field liberty park an idea of pressure that I'm not married to, sometimes eyes follow you, sometimes like they know, and it's all sorted like that, isn't it, even before you begin, a dream cannot shake itself. And it isn't fair, to leave a dream waiting. Should I shake it, what's inside. The good could be ripped off, the truth is skeletal, bones and hair. I was walking beside an athlete with shingles, by the shrubbery, he had a sandpapery breastplate, with leather attached to his back. It was the double action, reagent, a sort of cure he said. I know this can't be right, but it's good for symptoms. It encouraged me to try. In the back of the car, certain things were shamed to begin.
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Hey there! In honor of Thanksgiving in the states, can you tell us three things your MC is grateful for this year? What about their LI?
And if you want to tell us three things you are thankful for too, go for it!
I know I am pretty late but I didn't want to let this one be in my WIP till next year...
Thank you @jerzwriter for this ask. I have taken the liberty to write for my OTP whom I consider my MC and their LI. Here it goes....
Book: TRR AU
Pairing: Drake x Olivia.
Word count: 1,177
Disclaimer: All characters belong to pixelberry.
Rating: teens
Warning: fluff
Prompt: prompt 7 by
@choicesdecemberchallenge2022 @peonierose
I am thankful for...
Drake parked his truck and moved out. He pulled on his jacket a bit more tightly as he felt the Lythikan chill. He took a moment to look at the serene white mountains around him. A smile played on his lips, unknowingly. ‘How did he get here? Loving the snow and falling in love with the snow queen.’
A soft breeze kissed his cheeks. ‘Just like her red lips do.’ He blushed at her thought. His life had taken a new turn when she expressed herself. ‘Olivia? Lady Olivia Nevrakis loves me?’ He had questioned himself aloud.
He shook his head and turned to walk into the Nevrakis chateau. Surprisingly, it was very quiet.
‘May be Olivia sent away the staff to spend a quiet evening with me.’ He chuckled at the thought and pushed at the main entrance. The heavy ornate doors opened with a slight creek.
‘This one needs some grease.’ He made a mental note. Olivia’s house had become his home away from home and he enjoyed being her handyman even when she had an army of men to work for her.
As soon as he stepped in, he covered his nose. ‘What an awful smell! Burnt meat.’ He assessed. The hall stood still and so did the staircase, the parlour, the library. He went to the kitchen, where the waft came from. The scene was a mess. Flour on the island and on the floor, the oven was all black and simmering though switched off. But no one in sight.
Drake’s brows furrowed. He called out with a worried note, “Livy?”
No response.
“Livy...” he raised his voice.
Still nothing. He hurried through the back exit. “Olivia?” he yelled into the backyard. He scurried to the left and then to the right side. He slowed down when he finally saw her crouched down on a rock. She had her knees to her chest, her arms curled around and head hung low on her hands.
He trudged slowly, “Livy?”
She raised her head and looked at him, her eyes red and welled up. Her cheeks showed stains of the dried-up tears. She was wearing just a sleeveless frock. He quickly removed his jacket to cover her bare arms. “How long have you been here like this?” He cradled her in his arms in an attempt to give her some warmth.
She rested her cheek on his arm as a silent sob escaped her lips. He patted on her red head wondering what went wrong. “Let’s get you in, first.” He pulled her up and they walked back into the kitchen.
He helped her settle down in a chair. She looked at Drake and then her eyes fell on something behind him. She winced at the sight.
He got up to check out where her gaze had rested. That’s when he noticed all the food spread out on the kitchen island, platform and table.
He snickered, trying to control his laughter, now that realisation hit him of hat brought the meltdown to his headstrong girl. He moved the ladle into a bowlful of gooey mix. He dipped his finger in and licked it.
“Why does this taste like salted syrup?”
Olivia covered her face with her hands in embarrassment. He heard her muffled reply, “I was trying to make pie.”
“And you mixed up between salt and sugar.” He stated. His eyes fell on the baking tray nearby. “Ah! you made the crust as well.” He tried to take a piece off the baked crust of pie but he couldn’t break it. “Hey Livy, this crust is as tough as you.”
Olivia gave out a wailing cry, still hiding her face. Drake was smiling. He knew he was on the right track and he moved to where the burnt turkey laid. “Oh boy! It seems this turkey couldn’t tolerate the Nevrakis cooking. Look he committed suicide.”
Olivia peeped through her fingers and saw Drake standing there and guffawing at her. She ran to him and playfully pounded on his chest. He encircled his arms and embraced her, now laughing out loudly and soon she joined in.
She relaxed in his arms. He knew how to diffuse the situation. He knew how to make her smile through tears. As she calmed down, he placed a kiss on her head, “Why did you put yourself through all this?” he asked.
Her lips thinned out in a line, “I wanted to do something from your tradition for you.”
“Hmm, well that can be managed.”
“How?” she fanned out her hand at all the wasted food.
He beamed at her, “Come with me.” He held her hand and walked her out to his truck. He uncovered the cargo bed to reveal the large vessel full of food.
Olivia gasped. “What? You made all of this?”
He nodded bemused with her reaction.
“Why?” she looked at him confused.
“Because I wanted to share my tradition with you.”
She gave him a side hug and he took the opportunity to leave a peck on her temple. “Now, where do you want me to put this so that we can enjoy a happy meal?”
“Anywhere but my kitchen.” She scrunched her nose at the thought of the mess she had left behind.
“Okay, as you say. We can deal with your kitchen later.”
Drake carried the food as she guided him to the terrace. They ate and sat their, enjoying the view of the mountains around.
After a scrumptious meal, the duo headed to her room to catch up on their favourite show. Olivia sat on the couch and Drake made himself comfortable laying down, resting his head in her lap. He loved the feel of her fingers raking through his chestnut hair. He had closed his eyes, relaxing, when she asked him, “Drake?”
“Hmm?”
“What are you grateful for?”
He opened his eyes and gave her a puzzled look. “Where does this come from now?”
“Isn’t this what is supposed to be said after the meals on Thanksgiving?” she questioned back.
“Sort of...” he shrugged.
“So, what is your answer?
He started counting on his fingers, “The first thing I am grateful for is having Liam in my life.”
“And?”
“Having a loving nephew.”
“And?”
“Being able to survive amongst the pretentious nobles.”
“And?”
He deliberately kept avoiding what she wanted to hear.
“I thank God that I know how to cook food without burning it to ashes.” He said teasing her.
She slapped him on his shoulder. He doubled up in exaggeration. “Ouch, ouch, ouch! That hurt.”
She tried to push him away when he turned and held her by her arms. His brown eyes steadily gazing into her green ones. “You. Your love. That is the best thing I could ask for. I am grateful to God for giving me these moments that I get to share with you, the happiness that you bring to me, the way you take away all my worries and pain, the fact that you love me... I am grateful that I get to love you, Olivia.”
And he sealed it with a kiss.
Tags: @3pawandme @alj4890 @angelasscribbles @bascmve01 @bebepac @busywoman @dcbbw @gkittylove99 @harleybeaumont @iaminlovewithtrr @karahalloway @kingliam2019 @lovingchoices14 @nestledonthaveone @neotericthemis @mom2000aggie @phoenixrising308 @princess-geek @riseandshinelittleblossom @secretaryunpaid @sfb123 @sillydg @tessa-liam @tinkie1973 @txemrn @walkerdrakewalker @choicesficwriterscreations @yourmajesty09 @flowerpowell (if u r interested in a Drake fic) @lovealexhunt (for the photo edit)
#choices monthly challenge#choices fic writers creations#playchoices#drake walker#olivia nevrakis#twinkleallnight#pixelberry#the royal romance#trr#trr fandom
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Just want to tell you that I really love your hc you leave in different peoples inboxes (even when they are angsty af) ❤️ if you have more ideas - please share!
oh! 😭😭😭😭 thank you so much!!!!! 🥺
Ok so how about some mer!bruce? most of the ideas are courtesy of @ivebeenghosting but they were kind enough to share them with me!
• Alfred is human and found Bruce clinging to his dead merparents on a beach. They were killed by poachers who were after their scales (very sought after in jewelry and cosmetics). He raised him and kept him safe and hidden and is basically the granpa of Bruce's brood.
• It all came crashing down when this guy who moved in the village only a few years ago came into town with his truck full of Bruce's merbabies, buying ALL the ice cream stocks of the local supermarket and going to the vet with a bloodied Dick (he got injured by yet another of Bruce's potential mate). Alfred is less than pleased.
• I personally would find it hysterical if Alfred can understand merlanguage perfectly (which consists of chirps, shrill sounds and screams) and the mers seem to understand him perfectly despite the fact he only speaks English. This is never addressed by anyone nor by the story.
• Lex and Clark are exes and have a son together (Connor). They worked together, Clark was a marine biologist but Lex got greedy and started his own lucrative but deeply unethical sea park thanks to Clark's research. The divorce got messy. Clark was ruined and disgraced as an academic while Lex got Connor's custody and won't let him see him.
• The merbabies refer to ice cream as the "yummy cream" in their merlanguage.
• Connor comes across a tiktok of a local showing a blurry pic of a guy with a truck full of things that looks like kids and Connor goes "wait....DAD?!" and proceeds to run away from home to go to the town and try and find out where his dad lives.
• He accidentally wanders into the cavern creek near Clark's house where Bruce and his brood now live. Connor finds himself face to face with a whole gang of mers, which is not good since he knows mermaids are extremely dangerous and territorial, especially when they are raising youngsters. Bruce is hissing, claws and sharp teeth out before he starts sniffing and....wait.....smell familiar.....smell like.....Clark????????
• Clark comes as he usually does to check on the mers and feed them his fattest catches to find his estranged son being half-drowned and licked by Bruce and his babies.
• Connor later asks him if Bruce is his new stepdad. Clark almost dies choking on his coffee. Alfred sternly denies. Bruce is bringing fish to Clark like he's his mate.
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My childhood dog Max was terrified of water but the best park in town had a creek running through it that I loved to play in. So one time we take him to run around, and I'm hopping across rocks in the stream.
I sat down on a small boulder in the middle to rest and Max comes up to the water's edge and starts whining. He looks at me and sticks a paw in the water and pulls it back out right away in fear. He's pacing back and forth. I didn't really know why so I was just telling him it was okay.
Then finally he steps into the water, and runs through the creek, whimpering the whole time, until he gets to my rock. He climbs onto this tiny rock that is not big enough for both of us and he's all crying and licking my face.
This dog wanted to be with his kid SO bad that he braved the most terrifying thing in the world (creek) just to climb onto a tiny rock with me. I don't know if he thought I was stuck and wanted to help or if he just wanted me close by but either way it was very sweet and this is why he was the best dog ever.
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SPIT - Chris Sturniolo, (Probably Part 1)
A/N: This is my first time writing a story AND I JUST GOT MY NAILS DONE SOO CUT ME SOME SLACK!! Also this story is quite long so have fun!
Warnings: Use of drugs and alcohol, heated make outs, DEFINITELY SMUT!!
“Gia I told you, i’m not going to this party! I mean i’m only gonna know some people there!” I was never the biggest party person, especially when it came to “influencer” parties, and my best friend Gianna knew that.
“Monet pleaseeee! I’m begging you! I swear it’ll be worth it!” I could hear the desperation in her voice, I mean it was the weekend, I didn’t have work or anything, fuck it. Let’s go.
“Be here by 9.” I could hear her cheer and clap and jump around behind the phone, causing me to let out a chuckle. “You won’t regret this Monet! Dress cute and be ready to get plastered i’ll be there soon!” She exclaims, hanging up the phone, I set mine down and huff looking at myself in the mirror, groaning as I begin to get ready.
I hear honking from outside my house, and I pick up my stuff, I was wearing a tight sleeveless white dress, with a little bow at the top of it and of course, my Doc Martins, the honking continues and I rush downstairs, exiting my house to see Matt’s car, the tan mom van, the door slides open and i’m met with Matt in the driver, Gia in the passenger, as Nick and Chris are sat in the back, the smell of weed immediately hits my noise, and I realize Chris had a blunt between his lips, they all greet me as I enter the car.
Matt: “Hey dude”
Nick: “Hey queen!”
Gianna: “Sexy mama what’s up?!”
Chris: “Wassup Mamas”
I let out a chuckle and nod my head “Hey ladies, how’s it goin’?” They all exclaim about how excited they were to party and I shrug slightly.
Chris: “Oh come on ma, you never go out with us! Live a little!”
I laugh back, and shake my head, he holds out the blunt that was between his fingers to me, I gladly except it, and take two hits before passing it back to him, he pats my thigh twice with a grin, leaning back on the seat. “Atta’ girl.” he let’s out a chuckle, and so do I, we pull up to the house and Matt parks on the street, we all pile out, and immediately split up as we enter the house.
After around, an hour or two of me just wandering around, progressively getting drunker and drunker, I stumble into a room, being met with yet again, the smell of Marijuana, I look closely at the guy sitting on top of the bed, rolling trey in his lap, it was Chris of course, the creek of me opening the door makes his head shoot up, and he gives me a smirk.
“Hey ma you drunk yet?” I shake my head, obviously drunk, and sit down next to him on the bed, just…watching him roll, he shoots a quick look over at me and chuckles, the room falls silent for a moment, before the beginning of ‘Poison by Brent Faiyaz’ begins to play downstairs, but it was so loud we could hear it perfectly, I fall back onto the bed and giggle.
“God I love this song Chris..” I say with a huge grin plastered on my face, he looks over at me again and shakes his head..looking up and down your body, then turning his attention back to rolling up.
“God it gets me like..horny.” I say, not really aware of what just came out of my mouth but, it did, and for some reason there was no regret, he looks back over at me with sort of widened eyes as he begins to lick the blunt shut, keeping his eyes on mine as he does, I mouth the words of the song, watching him finish the blunt, I sit up as he lights it and takes a hit.
“Aint nothin better for me now, than your poison babe…” *I mumble softly, a bit confused as to why he was so silent, he chuckles again as I recite the lyrics, handing me the blunt, I hold it between my fingers and take a hit.
“..With my hands around your throat, I know you like that.. girl i’ll do anything, to hear you scream my name..” He recites with another laugh, as I hand the blunt back to him, we stop to, very badly harmonize to the “I doooo~” we laugh at each other for a moment, as he takes another hit off the blunt, and in that moment I feel as we both say, Fuck it. And smash our lips together, the blunt still being held securely in his right hand, as his left slides up my thigh, it didn’t feel real, his cold rings on my bare skin sent a shiver down my spine, he pulls away, and I stare for a moment.
“Im-“
“I didn’t-“
“Im sorry I think it was the song..”
“Yup, yup mhm, the song”
We share a small awkward chuckle as we talk over each other, and he takes another long hit of the blunt, handing it back to me as he coughs.
As I hear ‘All The Time by Jeremih’ begin, my jaw was slightly agape and I chuckle.
“Wow whoever is on Aux just wants people to fuck huh?” I ask, giving him a nod cross faded grin, I take a hit of the blunt, and ghost the smoke before motion for him to come closer, I cuff his face with my left hand, and we shotgun..as I pull away, he nods.
“You have no idea how hot that was..how hot you are Monet..now I wanna do it.” He takes a final hit of the blunt and does the same, cuffing my face with his hand but as we shotgun, our lips meet, the kiss continues to grow more passionate, as he begins to push me back on his bed, pulling away from the kiss wanting to put out the blunt, I bite my bottom lip and motion my eyes down to my thighs, he picks up on it and raises and eyebrow.
“No way..wouldn’t that hurt ma? I mean it’d be sexy but, painful..” I nod my head in agreement, that’s what I wanted.
“Just do it..I swear it’d turn me on even more..” I reply, giving him those eyes as I look up at him, that look of lust, desperation, and being incredibly horny, he shrugs, and moves down to my lower waist, he grips my left thigh with his left hand and looks up at me as he puts the blunt out, leaving small circular burns up and down it, I whimper in pain, but a good pain, as I pull my legs up a bit.
“Fuck, that was..” He stops his sentence, and begins to kiss the burns, trailing his tongue up and down my thigh, he lifts up my dress, leaving it rolled up past my belly button, and his fingers begin to fiddle with the waistband of my black laced panties, I let out a shaky breath, feeling my excitement grow more desperate for his touch, I take off his blue fitted hat, and place it next to me so I could slide my hands into his hair, he slowly pulls my panties down and smirks.
“God you’re fucking soaked, I haven’t even done anything..” All I could do was let out a breathy giggle in response, he holds his hand up to me and I look down at it.
“Spit.” He demands, I immediately do as he says, and spit onto his hand, he nods and brings it back to my core, sliding his middle and ring finger up my folds, causing me to let out a moan, bucking my hips.
“God dammit..” I mumble, leaning my head back onto the bed board and gripping his hair tighter, he lets out a soft groan as I do, his face moves closer to my core, and he licks up to my clit, softly twirling his tongue around it, my back arches and I let out whimper, I push his head down slightly, causing his tongues to slide down and slip inside me.
“Chris! Chris!” I moan out, his tongue continuing to lick around me, he moves his hand onto my stomach, his thumb gently rubbing circles around my clit, I buckle my hips again, feeling that knot in my stomach form, and my grip on his hair slightly loosens, he definitely feels me about to finish, so he stops, pulling away from my pussy, I look down at him confused.
“W-Why’d you stop? That was..god that was so fucking amazing.” He nods in agreement, his eyes were red and hooded, it was definitely a sight to see, he pulls me back into a passionate kiss, and my hands travel down his body, pulling at the rim of his shirt, he gets my signal and pulls away from our kiss as I lift his shirt over his head and on the floor, and without me saying a word he unbuckles his belt, and pulls down his pants, I look down at his bulge, basically jumping out at me, and I begin to palm in through his boxers, looking up at him as I do, he lets out a low groan, and sways his hips forward, so I could keep going, biting my bottom lip as I do.
“Mmm do you like that Chris? Do you want me to keep going~” He leans his head back a bit, but I didn’t wanna waste his high, nor his climax, I pull his boxers down and it springs out, sort of hitting my stomach, I look down at it, and spit in my hand to lube it up, I begin to stroke up and down his shaft, letting my thumb massage his tip, he lets out a whimper, sort of taking me by surprise.
“Okay..okay no more.” He says with a breathy chuckle, as I move my hand away, he spreads my legs aligning himself with me, he gently rubs his tip up and down my folds, we didn’t even need the spit, his precum was enough. We both share a soft gasp as he gently slips into me, I push out a moan, leaning my head back on the pillow, he starts off with slow thrusts, gripping my thighs and bringing my legs up and spread.
“God you’re so tight.” He says through gritted teeth, his thrust beginning to speed up, I couldn’t say anything breathy chuckles and moans, I squirm a bit, but he spreads my legs back apart.
“Don’t move..” I nod my head but god it was so hard, I move my arms back behind me, gripping the top of the backboard, squeezing my eyes shut.
“Chris..Chris im already close..” I say, feeling that knot in my stomach comes back, and he slaps my thigh, gripping it tighter as his thrusts get faster.
“If you cum before I say so I won’t hold back, now wait for me.” I was surprised by his change of attitude, I liked the dominant side, the sting on my thigh from the slap, his pase getting faster, it drove my crazy, I couldn’t even respond with words, the feeling of his cock hitting my G-spot with every thrust, his hands gripping my thighs, he was a nice guy, but when it came down to sex, he was rough, he treated you like you were nothing but a worthless slut.
I feel his thrusts grow harder, his legs were shaking, his nails dug into the skin of my thighs, and I was scratching his bare back, definitely leaving big marks up and down it, he was groaning more rapidly now, I knew he was about to climax, and I couldn’t hold mine in any longer.
“FUCK! Fuck, Chris please! Please let me cum!” I exclaim, he quickly brings a hand to cover my mouth, we were still at a party, even though it was his room he didn’t want anyone to waltz in or hear us.
“Shut up.” He growls, his hand still over my mouth, he was whispering and groaning under his breath as he shoved two fingers into my mouth, I wasn’t sure how he knew it’d completely shut the hell up, but it did. “Suck on my fucking finger…you slut.” His words were covered up my breaths, as he sped up more, thrusting harder. “Come on Monet cum, cum all over my fucking dick!”
I open my eyes, my mouth was agape as my whispering and moaning grew louder, as I finally climax, after a few more thrusts, I feel his dick twitch inside me, as he finishes, we ride out our high for a moment, and he finally slides out of me, planting another weak slap on my thigh, as begin to get our breathing back to normal, and he leans his head back , to my surprise he strokes his dick, and more shoots out of him onto my stomach.
“You weren’t done huh?” I ask with a chuckle, he shakes his head and plants another kiss on my lips, plopping down next to me as he uses his shirt to clean ourselves up.
“You wanna smoke again?” I swat my hand in face playfully, continuing to stare up at the ceiling.
A/N: I’m sorry that was so long! But I definitely wanna write more sooo lmk 😜
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I am a big fan of the "lighten up"/"it's not that bad" trope.
I like Eddie gross. Def. doesn't shower as often as he should, barely does his laundry, doesn't wash his hands after he goes piss. That kind of shit. Meanwhile, OCD Steve that prefers to look "presentable" as much as possible.
I kinda love the idea that Eddie just simply does not Care, and teases Steve about how dirty he is (so many bad jokes to be made here). Like, Eddie is 100% the type of person to tackle Steve to the ground even even if Steve's wearing a white shirt and still somehow gets Steve laughing about being covered in dirt and gravel, mud, or whatever the fuck else because he's charismatic like that.
They're at the park and Eddie regularly pushes Steve into the creek kind of shit, just to fuck with him. "Oh, lighten up!" Eddie laughs. - Tries to push Steve into the water again a few weeks later, but Steve has Learned by then to expect it, so he just tumbles forward a bit that time. Maybe only his shoes get wet, and it's one of those, "Oh shit," moments for Eddie and he just BOOKS it cus Steve is gonna get him back this time.
Only difference being, getting Eddie dirty or wet won't faze him. So Steve gets him in a headlock and starts wiping Eddie's face like a Dad does, doing that thing where he licks his thumb and scrubs a dirty spot off Eddie's cheek and Eddie is just wailing because for some reason his little brain thinks that's more gross than walking around with an unidentified dirt mark. "It's not that bad," Steve says, grabbing his own shirt and scrubbing Eddie's face and Eddie's just laughing and pouting the entire time.
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