#(​the rv is rusted to all hell)

[icelogged]

[everettswritings]

I just found ur blog and i love ur writing!! can you do lee!reader and ler!redvelvet? (It can also be the other way idm :D) take your time and tyy!!!!

Thank you and of course! I love RV so much, he’s so underrated and I am so starved for content. DevSisters, please, I need more of him. (Kink/NSFW accounts DNI!)

It had only been a few days since you joined the Cookies of Darkness, yet somehow you were managing just fine. Although you were still a stranger, the others were beginning to warm up to you and properly seeing you as one of their own- even if they wouldn’t openly express it too much. They have to keep up that image, right? Besides, it’s not like you’re all friends or anything! You’re only together to serve Dark Enchantress Cookie, nothing more… kind of.

The one you were closest to thus far was none other than Red Velvet Cookie: general of the cake army. It was easy for you two to bond because of the love you both shared for the creatures, even if they weren’t loved by society as a whole. When you get past appearances, the faint smell of burning from the oven starts to fade into a sugary dream. That isn’t exclusive to the cakes, either.

Red Velvet Cookie was standing by the oven, watching the flames through the holes of the rusted door and waiting to pull out the newest batch of cakes. You walked over and stood next to him, crossing your arms.

“How many do you think will make it?” You asked, sparking conversation for the hell of it. Red Velvet Cookie shrugged, his eyes didn’t leave the oven door, “The average for each batch is at least a third, that’s what I hope for.” He leaned his sword against the wall as he spoke “I’m still trying to work out a way to improve this old thing. The rust and heat are less than optimal for baking, let alone baking so much at a time. You’d think we could turn it off for at least a few hours so that I could at least clean it.”. You nodded along as he told you that, glancing at him while he kept his gaze fixed on the oven as the time for pulling out the batch drew closer. A timer dinged and the brittle door swung open, a massive cloud of smoke emerged and the flames still licked at the tray hungrily as if they desired to swallow the freshly baked cakes. You assisted the general, pulling out the massive tray and looking through the charred batter for whoever made it through. It always filled the both of you with a little sadness when you saw that burnt slop, it hurt to imagine what it could’ve become. While helping the newborn cakes off the tray, you were taken by surprise as a little cakehound barked and jumped on you!

You fell on your back as you were attacked with a barrage of licking. The cakehound sniffed and rooted around excitedly, it just came out of the oven yet it was so lovely already! It’s tail wagged and wagged as it turned up your shirt with its nose, finding bare dough underneath to continue licking. You gasped and started to laugh, but you couldn’t bring yourself to push the creature away, “S-Stop! Hahahahaha! Hahaha! Go join t-the ranks!” You tried to order the thing but you were laughing too much to be taken seriously. Red Velvet Cookie grinned smugly as he walked over, he had no idea you were ticklish! This was interesting. “Need a little help?” He asked, kneeling down beside you as if he would help. You nodded, still giggling like an idiot in front of him.

And who would’ve guessed? No sooner than you nodded for his help, he started tickling you too! He straddled your legs, pinning you down on the floor, and his hands started going after your stomach alongside the cakehound. His normal cookie hand scribbled all over the area, meanwhile he was using the claws of his cake hand to methodically scratch upwards and slide back down to start the climb all over again. Who knew he was ambidextrous? “HAHAHA! Hahahaha! Eeek! Hahaha!” Your voice became shrill as you were effectively double teamed by the general and his hound, you squealed and you laughed like crazy. “Awww, ticklish?” He cooed, moving his hands up to your ribs, “Maybe you should’ve had your shirt tucked in better!”. “Nohohahahaha! Hahahahaha! Stahp! Stahp IT-“ Your voice cracked and you wheezed. It was embarrassing how quickly you were reduced to nothing but giggles and squeaking in just a few moments, all because of an overly excited cakehound and Red Velvet Cookie himself, no less.

“A squealer, too?” The general chuckled, starting to double his efforts, “This keeps getting better! What’s next? Are you ticklish here?” His hands moved back down and started pinching your hips. You squealed again, your face flushing and growing hotter than the oven in an instant, “EEEK! Hahahahaha! Hahahaha! Hahahahaha!” You laughed and laughed all while neither of them ceased. Red Velvet Cookie couldn’t help himself and started to laugh as well, finding a ton of humor in how ticklish you are. This was by far the most fun he’s had with anyone on the team! But, of course, he wasn’t going to stop there. He started going all up and down your torso, his fingers crawling up like spiders and then sliding back down. You wheezed, starting to find it hard to breathe as you couldn’t stop laughing.

The time got lost on you both, so who knows how long you remained like that? You pinned to the ground, giggling like a crazed lune as neither Red Velvet Cookie nor the cakehound stopped. Eventually, though, right as you were starting to lose your breath for real you were finally released. You took deep, greedy breaths as you tried to make up the oxygen you just lost.

“D-Don’t… tell anyone.” You warned, pointing at him. “I won’t,” he smirked “if you let me do this regularly.”.

End of fic! Okay, I have a confession, this sort of thing has happened to me an embarrassing amount of times and that was low-key the inspiration. Like, one day while I was wearing a crop top my cat laid on my stomach, started purring, then started licking it! It was so stupid, I was laughing so hard. She kept up for at least a minute or two as well, so she knew what she was doing! Animals do that stuff intentionally, I don’t care what y’all gotta say. Okay, have a good one 🫶

[dreaminofdixon]

Ten.

A couple days later, we were packing up camp to roll out for the CDC. Bedding got jammed into Jim’s truck, Carol’s car was stuffed with food and water, and the RV was a mess of tents piled in the back. Everyone gravitated to their usual spots, pairing off with whoever they’d stuck to in this hellhole. I was left drifting, a spare part nobody knew where to fit. I used to be the one steering the ship, but now I was just… there, out of my depth.

“Get on.”

Daryl’s voice cut through the muck, rough as a busted chain. He was already on his bike, hunched over, wiping the handlebars with a rag that’d seen better days. Looked like he’d been chewing nails all morning.

“What’re ya waitin’ for? Ain’t got all damn day.”

“Calm your ass down,” I fired back, rolling my eyes for show, but my lips twitched as I hauled myself onto the bike. My legs slotted against his, thighs brushing denim worn thin, and my chest tightened—too close, too gritty, his heat cutting through the damp chill. Felt like stepping into a trap I didn’t hate, even if I wasn’t sure I belonged there.

“Quit yer bitchin’ and hang on,” he growled, snatching my wrist and slapping it against his waist. His fingers were rough, callused, covered in leftover dirt. “Like that.”

Oh, hell.

I fumbled my other arm around him, gripping tight as the engine snarled awake, loud enough to rattle my bones. After weeks of creeping around, choking on silence, that roar was a goddamn blessing—drowned out the world and all the shit in it.

We tore down the gravel, tires spitting rocks like bullets. The road was a graveyard—walkers lurching through the haze, cars gutted and rusting, signs tagged with faded curses or pleas, half-torn and flapping in the wind. Grass was dying in patchy clumps, brittle and brown, while weeds clawed up through cracked asphalt, choking what was left. The air stank of rot and gasoline, sharp in my throat.

An hour in—maybe, time’s a guess when the world’s gone to hell—I couldn’t fight it anymore. Leaned my head against his shoulder, eyes slipping shut, his jacket rough and sweat-damp against my cheek. Smelled like smoke, leather, and something sour I couldn’t place.

“Y’good?” His shout punched through the engine’s growl, head barely turning.

“Yeah, just beat,” I yelled back, voice raw from the wind. My body sagged into him, the bike’s rhythm grinding down the ache in me—days of running, hiding, barely sleeping.

“‘S fine. Don’t care,” he grunted, short and clipped. Couldn’t tell if he meant it or if I was just dead weight he’d rather ditch. Probably the latter. Still, it was enough to let me breathe, like the shitstorm around us—the blood, the rot, the end—could wait a damn second.

I shut my eyes again, the engine’s rumble chewing through my skull. Maybe he got how a ride wears you down. Maybe he didn’t give a rat’s ass. I wasn’t betting on anything more—guy like him didn’t strike me as the type to care about strays.

He rode that bike like it was part of him—sharp turns cutting through the muck, throttle steady even when the road turned to shit. I’d seen him baby it before, wiping it down with that same filthy rag like it was his last lifeline. That grit, that control, it seeped into me, made me think—stupid as it was—that maybe we’d scrape by. The engine’s growl, his bulk against my chest, the wind clawing at my skin—it was the closest I’d come to feeling steady since everything went sideways.

Miles bled together, and I kept circling back to it: Could I count on him? Not just for the ride, but for… more? Hell if I knew. He didn’t talk enough for me to guess, and I wasn’t dumb enough to ask. For now, I focused on the bike’s hum, the road’s blur, and the weird jolt of being stuck here with him.

Sun was bleeding out when we hit the CDC, and it was a damn massacre—bodies sprawled like roadkill, civvies and soldiers rotting side by side. Flies buzzed thick, maggots squirming in split guts, the stench so rancid it burned my lungs. Daryl killed the engine, kicked the stand down, and stuck out a hand to haul me off—rough, quick, no bullshit. I took it, legs shaky, and stumbled clear, staring at the carnage. Felt like a fever dream gone bad.

I yanked my shirt over my nose, swatting flies that felt like a damn swarm, and the group huddled up, faces gray and tight. Nobody said shit at first.

“Shoulda gone to Benning,” Shane muttered, spitting into the dirt, eyes raking the mess.

“Would it have been any better?” I asked, squatting to pick up a brass shell, its cold metal reflecting the dying sunlight. “Looks like the military did the cleanup here. The casings are large caliber.”

“She’s right,” Rick rasped, his voice tight. “The military took everyone out and then got overrun themselves.”

“What now?” Andrea whispered, half-choked.

“We can’t stay here,” Lori cut in, holding Carl close, both of them with shirts over their noses. “It’s gonna get dark soon.”

I flashed Carl a weak thumbs-up from a distance.

“Rough, huh, kid?”

“Nasty,” he groaned, face twisted.

“Should we see if there’s a way in?” Carol asked, shielding Sophia, voice trembling. “Obviously, they were protecting something inside, right?” 

“Maybe.” Dale turned, his face going serious as he spotted walkers approaching. “We need to make a decision fast. We won’t be alone much longer.”

Daryl stalked off, crossbow swinging, and dropped one with a wet thunk. Glenn shanked the other, panting as he jogged back. Daryl trudged up, wiping blood off his sleeve. “More’s comin’. Pick somethin’, fast.”

Rick stared at the ground, jaw tight. Lori shrugged, and he glanced at Daryl. “What do you think?”

Daryl scanned the slaughter, shaking his head. “Looks shut up. Don’ think it’s worth tryin’ t’ get in.” His eyes flicked to me - and then they were gone. “Benning’s just as sketchy. Say we head back, go east. Find somethin’ along the highway.”

“Everyone in?” Rick asked, scanning us. Nods, grunts, and he jerked his chin. “Move it—dark’s comin’.”

Daryl turned to me. “Still good t’ ride?”

“Yeah,” I said, trudging toward the bike. Daryl was already on, and I climbed up, arms looping around him—automatic, no fuss. The engine snarled, and we peeled out, gravel crunching under us, the stink of death fading behind. ***

@imadisneyprincessiswear

@knight-of-the-doctor

****

[sparklingmineraltequila]

American Wasteland

Note: Here we fucking go with round 2. Thanks to everyone reading, I hope it's somewhat enjoyable. Also, forgive the sometimes underbaked/ possibly mildly incorrect philosophy references but, for the sake of the fic, forgive me cause I doubt the people are here to hear a full blown thesis on Nietzsche's Anti-Theism

Warnings: drugs, violence, insinuations of smut

The interior is surprisingly clean given its owner and surroundings. Lodged in some armpit of Houston's outer bayous, the trailer park is littered with the Crusaders' Harley Davidson's, ripped up lawn chairs and the occasional hooker: slumped against an RV's entrance steps, faces vacant aside from the glazed eye euphoria of a particularly good rush of dope. While they were walking to his trailer, Rust noticed Cassandra looking at them in disgust, not the arrogant, middle class disgust reserved for hushed, cautionary tales at the dinner table, but a disgust of acknowledgment. Not necessarily directed towards the drugs but to the girls' stupidity, their pliability. Rust never met someone with such an aversion to weakness as Cassandra.

She glances around the trailer, duffel bag in hand: a mattress on the floor, the usual kitchen set up of these trailers, a lawn chair, a stack of books. She runs over the list of these items in her mind, repeating them like a grounding mantra like, if she doesn't, the exhaustion and desolation in her throat will bubble up into that sob that she has been suppressing for the last couple hours. Rust feels like he is almost seeing her for the first time, not bathed in dim lighting and the haze of cigarette smoke, out of the lace bras and free from the intoxicating smell of whiskey mixed her skin's natural musk. The under eye bags are visible along with the bruises on her left thigh, when one of the Crusaders got ahead of himself a few nights ago. Later on, Rust had taken him outside and punched him till he couldn't feel his hand, till each of his knuckles formed a raw cavity, the blood mixing with that of other Crusader.

Violence over apathy. Always.

'Wow, a fucking Sears catalogue you got here, Crash,' Cassandra states dryly, more to assuage the maelstrom of emotion in her than to genuinely be unkind.

'I don't recall boasting about the amenities,' Rust replies, his own drawl equally dry

She dumps her duffel bag onto the floor and moves to inspect the stack of books leaning against the wall,

'Kierkegaard, Schopenhauer, Nietzsche, Cioran. Jesus, Crash, you really are one dark son of a bitch with all this pessimism shit.'

'Nihilism, technically. And Kierkegaard's an existentialist.'

She shrugs, still squatting in front of them, 'Same fucking thing.'

Rust regards her cooly, 'Stop acting stupid, Cass. It doesn't suit you.'

She gives him a look over her shoulder, before rising to her full height, 'What the hell do you even know about me, anyway?'

Here it is. That acrimony. His coping mechanism may be the booze, the drugs and the fights, but hers is the crushing of any idea of talent about her; talent means hope, a fleeting idea that things might actually get better, that she might get out of this squalor and desolation. The imperatives of this terrain don't permit hope and they both know it. Rust, however, pushes her. He's like a recovering alcoholic with taste of Listerine, having now seen the first few slivers of the true Cassandra, he craves more, refusing to relent now.

'Pre-law at Rice on a scholarship ain't something trivial, baby.'

'Well who knows what the fuck is gonna happen to that, now.'

'What do you mean?'

'I have nowhere to live, Crash. The only things I have in my name are my scholarship, my locker at the club and the contents of that duffel bag. Nowhere to live means nowhere to study.'

He raises an eyebrow at that, gruffly stating, 'I told you that you could stay with me. That's why you're here.'

She looks at him for a moment 'Don't fuck with me on this. Don't make a promise that you can't or won't keep.'

'Do I look like a sweet talker, huh? Have I ever fucked with your head?'

She acquiesces, slumping down onto the edge of the mattress. 'Poor kid,' Rust thinks, watching her slide off her cowboy boots, her pack of cigarettes falling out with the movement. The subtle innocence of that act, the hiding of the cigarettes, betrays her suppressed naivety. No-one round here would give a fuck that she smoked, quite the opposite; they'd probably encourage her to do the heavier shit, to leave her pliant and docile, a tender cutlet for their calloused hands. But no, she hides them, like a trepidatious kid with their first joint, hands clammy and trembling.

'You can shower if you want. Make yourself at home,' the warm phrase contrasting with the cold tone delivering it.

'You gonna join me?' she arches an eyebrow, a devious glint in her eye and, fuck, if he doesn't love it.

'Cool it, kid. This is only gonna work if we can maintain some level of fuckin' decency between the two of us.'

She scoffs, giving him a questioning glance as she peals her leather jacket off, followed by her tank top, 'There it is, again. You being weird. What biker doesn't jump at the idea of screwin' any decent looking girl.'

Rust watches cooly as she unzips her denim shorts, amplifying the Crash persona, to eliminate any budding suspicion, as he replies 'I ain't fucking you. And, even if I was, I'd wait until you were in a better state. I want my girls knowing what I'm doing to them.'

That makes her halt her movements, the flush on her cheeks in both desire and envy. She meets his gaze as she strips off into just her underwear and Rust prays to every God that he doesn't believe him that her hand doesn't hook into that lace waistband. The look they share is one of predator and prey, though the roles of who's who have been amalgamated into one. She's a smart girl, Rust knows, She won't let me see that, not yet. Infatuated as she is, girls like Cassandra don't place seniority of love over safety, over control. In a place like this, where violence for violence is the modus operandi, what hope do most women have when faced with a mean, drunk son of a bitch's fists. Cassandra knows the one way to ensure some tenuous semblance of control amongst the Iron Crusaders: sex. Not necessarily the act, itself; sometimes its denial is more effective, like now with Rust.

She stalks to the trailer's tiny bathroom, still in her underwear, throwing Rust one more coy look from over shoulder before going in and locking the door.

'Crash, baby,' she calls from inside, 'Your mouth might be able lie to me but your body sure as hell can't.'

As Rust curses to himself, adjusting the crotch of his trousers.

[gayboy-memoirofanaddict]

Chapter 12 - Your Love is My Drug

Hagerman, NM 2014

The RV was a carcass.

Rusted, gutted, and listing to one side like a drunk leaning against a bar, it sat at the edge of Brian’s family’s land, half-swallowed by sagebrush. The desert had teeth here—gnawing at the paint, splitting the seams, turning what was left of the upholstery into a nest for scorpions and black widows. I hauled myself onto its roof, the metal groaning under my weight like a dying animal, and sat cross-legged, staring in the distance. Somewhere beyond the scrub and the dust, past the crooked fence lines and the occasional skeletal remains of long-dead trucks.

Darren’s parents’ house was out there.

Nine months.

Nine months since he’d dropped me off here with a smirk and a “Don’t burn the place down, Gay Boy.” Nine months of Voxer messages left on delivered, of Facebook replies that never came, of nights spent convincing myself that if I just waited, he’d show up like he always did—engine rumbling, music too loud, grinning like he’d never left. Nine months since my last meth use. It was hell. Isolated way out in the boonies, Brian and the gang just smoked weed and drank so I was still able to do that. But no way to get meth. The worst of the comedown was in the first few weeks. I was so tired, and hungry, but mostly tired. I felt irritated all the time, that still hasn’t gone away. The cravings aren’t as bad as you’d imagine, maybe because there was no way to get it so my body didn’t bother with the cravings or maybe, I wondered, it was Darren. I craved him instead.

The sun was a molten coin sinking into the horizon, staining the desert the color of old bruises. I pulled out my phone—cracked screen, dying battery—and thumbed open Voxer. My last message to Darren was still there, unanswered:

Bradley Hayes (3:47 PM): Hey?

I hit record again. Held the phone close to my lips, close enough that the mic would catch the way my breath hitched.

“Where are you at,” I said, voice low. “Come see me.”

The wind kicked up, carrying the distant sound of laughter from the yard. Brian’s friends were here. 

I pocketed my phone and climbed down, my boots kicking up dust as I trudged toward the noise.

The “party” was just Brian, Tae, Shaylyn, and Koda sitting in a loose circle around a cooler, passing a bottle of cheap tequila between them.

“Look who decided to join the living,” Brian drawled as I approached. He was sprawled in a lawn chair, Tae perched on the armrest, her fingers tangled in his hair like she was marking territory.

Shaylyn and Koda were sharing a cigarette; their shoulders pressed together like they were glued at the seams. I grabbed the tequila from the cooler and took a swig, the burn doing nothing to dull the ache in my chest.

“You’re real good at partying all by yourself, Hayes,” Brian said, grinning. “Like, Olympic-level talent.” I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. “Thanks, I've been training for years. My therapist says I'm a prodigy.” Tae snorted. Shaylyn giggled. Koda just shook his head, exhaling smoke with a smile.

Brian raised his bottle, “Fucking Bradley,” he laughed.

I took another drink, the liquor sour on my tongue. The conversation rolled on without me��Tae talking about her dad, Koda and Shaylyn bickering over some band I’d never heard of. I stood there, half in the circle, half out, like a ghost haunting the happy lives of everyone else.

My phone buzzed.

I fumbled for it, heart lurching—Darren?—but it was just a notification. Some meme page I’d liked years ago. I stared at the screen, the anger rising hot and sudden.

Fuck this asshole.

I opened Facebook, fingers flying over the keyboard:

Bradley Hayes: Guess some people just like abandoning their friends. Should’ve known better. I really need to get some better friends.

I didn’t tag him. Didn’t need to. The grenade was thrown.

Midnight came slow and boring. I laid on my bed in the back room of the front trailer. This trailer was unoccupied except for me. It had power but no AC, and all I had was a cheap phone that Brian had found for me since my iPhone 4 had been fried by me trying to rig up a charger that didn’t fit it.

The front trailer was always an oven, the air thick with the stink of sweat and stale cardboard. I lay on the dusty mattress, my phone glowing against my face, waiting for a reply that wouldn’t come. I sat up, my stomach twisting. “I need to get outta here, maybe Brian and Tae have some weed.” I strolled out of my desolate isolation and through the middle trailer which was all metal and acted as a bridge between the front and back trailers. The middle trailer had the appearance of an old-fashioned camper it’s chrome shiny on the outside and pure dirt on the inside. The window AC unit from Brian’s room hung out of the wall into the middle trailer. As I walked by, I could overhear the conversation in his room.

Tae’s voice, sharp as a knife, “So we’re terrible friends?” A pause. Brian’s low grumble. The creak of the floorboards as someone shifted. I stumbled down the hall to Brian’s room, the door cracked just enough to see them all inside—Brian on the bed, Tae curled into him, Koda rolling another blunt. They froze when I appeared.

“Hey,” I rasped. “Y’all got any green left?”

Tae looked away. Koda’s jaw tightened. Brian just stared at me, his dark eyes flat.

“Apparently we haven’t been good friends,” Tae said, voice dripping with hurt. “Right, Bradley?”

The words hit like a slap. Brian exhaled through his nose, crushing his cigarette into an ashtray. “Just go, man.”

“Go.” The door shut in my face. What had I done to them? What happened? Was it my Facebook post? I hadn’t even thought about it. Did they view me as their friend? I didn’t think I had any friends, just Darren. I pulled out my phone and called Darren, he picked up.

“Sup, Gay Boy? His voice was soft, the sound of his usual playfulness.

“I can’t stay here anymore,” Brian is mad at me over a stupid Facebook post, I wasn’t even…It doesn’t matter can you come get me please.”

“You can’t stay with me at my mom’s house; I already told you that months ago.” He sighed, “Just walk over here, do you remember the way? You can sleep in my truck tonight and well figure it out in the morning.” He hung up after I told him I’d see him soon and that I loved him.

Regret filled my mind on the way there. Why was I never able to just be? Why was I so pathetic? Watching Brian and Tae love on each other, Shalyn and Koda’s easy symmetry—like they were carved from the same star, effortless in their joy. I hated it. Not them, not their happiness, but the way it mirrored everything I couldn’t have. Their friendship was important to me, and I fucked it up. Of course I did. I’m just a petty, bitter, love-starved fool.

Running away again. Always running—from the ache of being the outsider, from the way their laughter tangled in the air like wind chimes while I stood there, hollow. Watching love bloom while I froze to death on the other side of the glass.

But then, the New Mexico sky.

Above me, the stars pulsed like angels holding their breath, their light flickering in time with the ragged rhythm of my heart. The air was so clear it felt like a whisper—thin and sharp, whisking my pain up into the void where it dissolved like smoke. Around me, the prairie sighed: clumps of grass swayed, their dry whispers a lullaby. Swish. Swish. Like the universe itself was holding me in its vast and infinite embrace.

For the first time, I could breathe. The darkness wasn’t empty—it was alive, humming with a thousand distant suns, each one a reminder that loneliness is just a human thing. The cosmos didn’t care about my mistakes. Out here, under all that pulsating light, I was just another shadow leaning into the earth, forgotten but not erased.

The words rose in my throat before I could choke them down. Maybe it was the stars, maybe it was the way the wind carried memories like it had nothing better to do—but suddenly, I was singing. Soft at first, then louder, like I was daring the universe to hear me.

"High dive into frozen waves…" My voice cracked. I didn’t care. The desert swallowed it whole anyway. "Where the past comes back to life." I clenched my fists, nails biting into my palms. "Fight fear for the selfish pain—it was worth it every time." I sang it like a prayer, like if I just believed hard enough, the ache in my chest would turn to something beautiful. The wind whistled past me, I closed my eyes and just felt the air carry my pain, "Hold still right before we crash…" My breath fogged in the cold air. "‘Cause we both know how this ends." A laugh bubbled up, bitter as burnt coffee. Of course we did. I always ended up here: alone, staring at the sky, pretending the void had answers.

"Our clock ticks till it breaks your glass…" I trailed off, throat tight. The next line stuck to my ribs like a knife. "And I drown in you again."

Silence.

Above me, the Milky Way sprawled like a fracture in the dark, endless and indifferent. I wanted to scream. Instead, I whispered the last words, half to the stars, half to the broken pieces of my heart:

"If our love is tragedy… why are you my remedy?" The wind kicked up, scattering the words like dandelion seeds. "If our love’s insanity…" A pause. A heartbeat. "...why are you my clarity?"

The desert didn’t answer. It didn’t have to. I already knew—some questions only sound pretty in songs.

I arrived after what felt like three hours of walking minimum. I turned down Darren’s driveway, meeting him halfway. The moonlight silvered his sharp jaw, but nothing could dull the fire in his hair—copper tuffs glowing like embers against the night. Freckles dusted his shoulders like constellations. He was carrying a jacket as if expecting me to need it. “What did you do?” His voice wasn’t angry; it was smooth and silky. My heart leapt. I couldn’t answer, I just needed to see him, I missed this. The aura he put off was intoxicating. I never want to leave. “Let’s get you out of the wind.” He pulled me in and wrapped a jacket around me, the warmth of his arms melting the loneliness.

Darren’s truck smelled like sweat and old fries. I curled up in the passenger seat and laid it back as far as it could go. Darren leaned against the hood, smoking a cigarette, the cherry glowing like a firefly in the dark.

“You’re a mess, Gay Boy,” he said.

“Thanks. For… this.”

Darren smirked, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Don’t thank me yet.”

[wannabespacesmuggler]

D.D. | Shane’s Girl [1]

Part One | Masterlist | Buy me a coffee | Check out the playlist

Summary: Daryl Dixon knows he shouldn’t be thinking about you when he’s alone at night in his tent. Hell, he shouldn’t even be looking at you throughout the day. You’re not his. You’re Shane’s girl. But Daryl doesn’t like the way Shane treats you. And he certainly doesn’t like how you're forced to play ‘loving girlfriend’ to a man with eyes for another woman at the camp.

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader

Warnings: Merle Dixon being Merle Dixon, Shane Walsh isn’t great either tbh

Word Count: 1K

Author’s Note: This has been sitting in my google docs just collecting ~metaphorical~ dust. I was going to put all the parts into one very long one shot, but instead, decided against it because I really, really like what I’ve written so far and feel that some feedback can help cure the writer’s block plaguing me. Let me know what you guys think.

Extras: Playlist

Daryl Dixon didn’t think much of you and Shane when he first joined the ragtag team of survivors at the quarry, but he’s an observant man and Shane is anything but subtle.

It all started a few weeks after the world ended. Everyone was still recoiling from what they had seen and heard on their way to Atlanta, but they were trying to continue living. Shane was attempting to establish order in the makeshift camp. The women were charged with cooking, cleaning the laundry, and looking after the kids while the men were sent out to scavenge and hunt -- except for Dale, who spent most of his days working on his bucket of rust, and Shane, who has taken a liking to his newfound leadership and decided to become the watchful protector of the camp. Daryl thinks it’s a pretty backward way of thinking -- it’s the end of the world and we’re still worried about maintaining gender norms -- but who is he to argue?

It was one of the rare days Daryl wasn’t off on a hunting trip when you first piqued his interest. He was skinning the last of the squirrels he’d brought back from his latest hunting trip and Merle just had to open his mouth when you walked by.

“Hey,” Merle’s voice cut through the quiet conversations being had. Everyone’s eyes turned to him, including yours. “Why don’t you keep old Merle here company?”

Your eyes shift quickly to Daryl, who was trying to make himself look busy with the squirrel in his lap, before returning to Merle. You put your hands on your hips defiantly before answering.

“Looks like you’ve already got yourself some company, Merle.”

You motion toward Daryl while speaking. Daryl has to fight the grin that’s pulling his lips. He was expecting you to be like Lori -- quiet and submissive when the men are talking. But here you are, prepared to take on Merle Dixon all by yourself. He supposes he’s gotta respect that, even though he knows your answer is just going to rile Merle up more. Still, you’re here, standing up for yourself, which is more than he’s seen from others in the group. 

“What, you mean Daryl? C’mon sweetheart, he’s not much fun to talk to or look at.”

It’s the end of his sentence that has you turning to look toward Shane, who is once again sitting on top of the RV, a rifle in one hand and a canteen in the other. You’re hoping that Shane will look over and come to your aid. You certainly don’t need rescuing, but the support of your boyfriend would be nice right now. However, you’re met with nothing as Shane’s eyes never meet yours. You roll your eyes and turn back to Merle. 

Daryl watches you, squirrel in his hands forgotten for the moment. He can see the frustration on your face as you turn around, obviously not pleased with the fact that Shane is not paying attention to you in the slightest. However, despite your frustration, you don’t back down.

“I’d rather look at him than you any day.”

He knows you’re just saying that to get to Merle, but Daryl still ducks his head to hide the blush that spread across his cheeks due to your words. He quickly brushes the thought of there being even the slightest possibility that your eyes have wandered over to him during the past few weeks aside when Merle stands up. Daryl knows his brother and based on the look on his face, you’ve pissed Merle right off. This is bad news for everyone. 

Daryl stands as well, a hand already reaching out to stop Merle from advancing toward you. Merle swats Daryl’s hand away roughly. The action makes Daryl take an immediate step back, head ducking down again. 

“Don’t touch me!”

Merle’s raised voice seems to have finally gotten Shane’s attention.

“Woah, woah, woah. What’s going on here?”

Daryl lifts his head in time to see Shane make his way to your side. He places a hand on your shoulder as you continue your seething staring match with Merle. You’re about to brush off the encounter and tell Shane not to worry about it, when Merle opens his mouth again. 

“You better muzzle your bitch.”

And that’s when all hell broke loose. Shane launches toward Merle, yelling unintelligibly. You are quick to grab Shane off of Merle and Daryl follows your lead, pulling Merle back. Eventually, you and Daryl are able to wrangle Merle and Shane away from one another. You still have both your hands on Shane’s chest when he begins shouting again.

“You stay away from my girl. You hear me? You don't talk to her. If I see you even look at her, she won’t be able to stop me. Both of you.”

Shane’s eyes move from Merle to Daryl and the look in his eyes is ice cold, it damn near almost sends a shiver down Daryl’s spine. Daryl nods as Merle continues to struggle against him. Seemingly content with the response, Shane wraps an arm around your shoulders and begins moving you away from them. You spare Daryl a brief, apologetic glance before allowing Shane to drag you toward the RV.

Daryl pushes down the knot developing in his stomach as he watches Shane manhandle you. His hold is less protective and more possessive. It seems much less like he came to defend you from some unwanted attention and much more like he came over just to take back what’s his.

He shakes his head -- physically trying to rid himself of the thoughts ricocheting in his head. It’s not like he can do anything anyway. Shane made it crystal clear that you are off-limits -- and who is he to argue?

[ronniescribbles]

Tiny CuRickosity (Wonder Day)

Flesh Curtains!Rick Sanchez x Little!Reader

Rainbow Week 2022 (created by @whimsycreator)

629 Words 

“The world is filled with wonder and beauty. Life is mysterious.” – After a long night of performing, Rick shows you how he truly feels about your regression.

You can read it on AO3 here!

A/N: Day 3 of Rainbow Week! This is my first time writing for Rick, so I may have went a little off theme, but I wanted to have extra fun with it💗 p.s. I struggled so hard with this title😭

Rick was exhausted, you could easily see by the bags under his eyes darkening more than usual. A full night of bar shows would do that to you, for sure. He fumbled with his guitar, examining it for marks and scratches. His focus seemed to be on nothing in particular, though, just flipping between channels of distractions. 

----------------------------------------------

Moonlight partially illuminated the inside of the tour bus, which was less of a tour bus and more of a dingy, poorly customized, and probably stolen RV. The lumpy seats and rust on the door handles didn't help, either. Though despite how unmanaged the vehicle felt, the scrawny man beside you made it feel like home. 

You, on the other hand, were restless beyond control. Sitting in the green room and waiting for the night to end seemed easy enough, but god if it wasn't the single most uneventful 'job' you could have. Rick always reminded you that you were his good luck charm, and that he enjoyed having you around, but you only got to see him briefly in between breaks. 

You'd stashed some coloring books in your backpack to ease the pang of boredom, knowing that you'd probably slip into headspace if left alone. With all the noise backstage, it was hard to calm down, even with your noise-cancelling headphones. And as always, with your luck, you found yourself pulling out your gear right as the gang barrelled through the door. 

Now, Rick knew of your little side and seemed to approve in some sense of the word, but after a night of performances, it wasn't something you felt comfortable bothering him with. It was easy to unintentionally get on Rick's bad side when he was exhausted; you just didn't want your little self to be too much on him, especially not right now. 

"B-uugh-babe, what are you- why the hell are you staring at me like that?" 

With a few harsh blinks, you realized you'd indeed been looking at Rick this whole time. 

Crap.

"Uh, I don't know, I'm just.. tired. Really tired. Yeah."Very smooth, you scolded yourself, before he had a chance to respond. 

As expected, he cocked half of his unibrow in disbelief, but seemingly shrugged off the urge to press further. 

"Yeah sure, whatever. You're lucky I'm tired. Just- just come here, yeah?" 

Rick lifted his thin arm for you, and without hesitation you slid beside him. It felt nice to let gravity go and feel his warmth next to you. You felt his hand rub your shoulder, the spiked bracelet he donned for shows poking against the fabric of your band tee. 

Rick made you think a lot whenever he was around. Not necessarily in a bad way, just a curiosity that made you wonder about the world in a way you usually didn't. Maybe that's why you found yourself leaning towards your regression more when he was around; he was a smart guy, and in any case, who wouldn't become tiny at the thought of aliens and spaceships and adventures? 

"Uh.. Rick?" You peeped, trying to disguise your big voice's faltering. 

He made a short noise in response. 

"Can's you..," you sighed, trying again, "can you talk about the planets you've been to?" You pouted at your growing inability to stay big. 

Rick chuckled to himself. 

"Well, uh, I remember that one time we played at Buttworld  – they go-ughh-gotta whole lotta butts there." 

True to your little nature, the word "butt" sent you into a fit of giggles. 

"I knew that'd get you," Rick smirked. "Y'know, you really don't have to hide that sh..shtuff around me. I mean, really, do you know how much I've seen in space?" 

Maybe you didn't have to worry about being a bother around Rick, after all.

[starlessea]

Here Comes the Sun: XI. Time is Running Out (Daryl Dixon/Reader)

Series Masterlist: Here Comes the Sun

Summary: Daryl Dixon scares the hell out of you climbing out of that damn creek. It takes hauling his ass halfway across Georgia and taking a bullet for him to realise that you're not half bad. He slowly starts to come around, despite grumbling about how much he doesn't like your singing, or that you can't use a gun for shit - and don't get him started on that ugly yellow tent of yours. It takes him a while before he starts to see for himself that he's found a best friend for life, and that he doesn't actually mind the colour yellow that much, after all.

Words: 7954

Chapter Warnings: Language, Implied trauma, Violence and injury.

You were running. Every corridor connected into another one, each less familiar than the last. The muffled groans and sluggish footsteps got louder with every passing minute, as you felt yourself lose energy. You slammed another door open and ran down the next dark hallway, squinting as the lights flickered dimly to illuminate the dead.

Eventually, you reached a set of double doors and flew through them, not stopping to look back. Your lungs burned as you panted, and your legs felt unstable under you. Quickly, you turned the corner, only to see the dead end it concealed. Your knees buckled beneath you as you let out a sob, hands trembling uncontrollably. The undead closed in on you, swarming the doors and creeping through the crack one by one.

You pressed your back against the wall, scurrying to crawl away as you watched them approach. It was then that you spotted the first walker break through, trudging forward with its legs dragging behind. It was a man. It had been a man. It was tall and large, with a build nearly double your size. Despite the pale greyness of its eyes, you swore that its gaze leered over you in a way that made your skin crawl.

It gurgled as it got closer, blackish blood coming up from its mouth and splattering the floor by your feet. You noticed the wound on its chest, like a gunshot, that oozed each time it took a step. It got closer, reaching out a grubby hand and gripping onto the collar of your vest. You let out a scream as its snapping jaws hovered above your face, almost as if trying to say something. Yet, all that came out was watery groans as the blood spattered onto you. Despite it being dead, you almost felt its breath over your cheek before it lunged.

You bolted upright in your sleeping bag, bringing a hand to your face and neck to check the skin there. Heaving, your chest swelled as you gasped for breath, and your ribcage felt like it might burst open from the force. You whipped your head around, taking in the surroundings of your tent. The yellow canvas walls remained the same as they always were, and your polaroid string hung above you like a faulty dreamcatcher.

As you tried to regulate your breathing, you wiped your forehead and the back of your neck, trying to soak up some of the sweat that had formed there. It was the same nightmares as usual. You'd been having them for a few days following the incident at the bar - especially since Randall still remained in the Greenes' barn, not even a few minutes walk from where you slept.

The light stung your eyes and you rubbed the corners of them forcefully. Your sleep was usually disrupted, and you'd wake up periodically in the nights - so you often slept in now as a result. You hadn't told anyone about it, but you didn't have to. Daryl had noticed. The two of you had become closer after the incident, with him looking out for you a lot more than he usually did. He made sure that you didn't go anywhere near the barn, and had a lot to say when Rick decided on sparing the boy held prisoner within it.

In truth, Daryl had been your comfort these last couple of days. On the nights where you woke up in tears, drenched in your own sweat, he'd be conveniently sat near the firepit when you came outside to get some air. He'd say that he was keeping watch, but wouldn't go back to bed when you offered to take over - always waiting until you left, first. Even in the daytime, after you'd come around following a bitter cup of coffee, he wouldn't push you away if you wrapped yourself around his shoulders or grabbed his hand excitedly to show him something.

Sometimes, he'd even let you crawl into his tent when you wanted to ramble, listening for a while before his patience met its limit and he kicked you out. Still, you weren't sure what you'd have done without him. The sight of that shy smile of his, the one that crinkled the corners of his eyes when he thought no one was looking - that was enough to keep you going when you had your doubts. Before you knew it, you realised that you would give anything to hear one of his shallow laughs, even if it meant making a fool out of yourself to pay for it.

Once you had settled down a bit, you pulled on a pair of jeans over your legs, to go with the button-up shirt you had slept in. Your curly hair was matted from the sweat, so you tied it up and away from your face rather than even attempting to comb out the knots. You were sure that you looked a bit of a state, but you didn't give it a second thought as you unzipped the yellow submarine and stood out into the morning air.

It had started getting a little colder, the dew collecting on the grass and forming little droplets that wet the toes or your boots. There was a slight chill in the air, where the breeze had picked up, but it wasn't quite cold yet. Still, you huddled the material of the shirt closer to your body and folded your arms, looking at the archer who sat a few feet over from you.

He glanced up for a second and gave you a curt nod, drawing his eyes away from what he was doing.

"You look like hell." He noted, not even looking at you as he said it.

Daryl sat on one of the tree stumps near the fire pit, head hanging down to focus on his hands. He had a rusted pocket knife in his palm, and was using it to sharpen one of the arrows he was making. You'd seen him do it before, watching mesmerised as he worked with the efficiency of a master craftsman. His hair seemed to be getting longer, compared to when you had first met him, and now draped a little in front of his eyes when he looked down. A few nights ago you'd teased him and asked if he was growing a mullet, but in reality you rather liked it.

You shot him a wide grin, dusting off your jeans as you took a seat beside him, ruffling his hair between your fingers in greeting.

"Then you must be heaven, angel." You winked, hoping that the teasing would distract from the grogginess of your voice. "Good morning." You added, seeing him shake his head at you.

He didn't grumble nearly as much at your jokes anymore. Sometimes, he'd even make some back. You enjoyed the playful banter, and the way it made your heart race when he let out the occasional deep laugh at you.

"You still wearin' that?" He asked, not even looking up.

You realised that he was referring to your button-up flannel shirt - the one he had given you. Most nights you slept in it, but you avoided wearing it in the daytime in case people noticed who it originally belonged to. In your half-awake state you must have forgotten to change out of it.

"Problem?" You quipped back too quickly, and you saw him roll his eyes at your defensiveness. "You said I could keep it." You reasoned.

Daryl hummed in response, blowing the wood shavings away from the stick he'd been carving.

"Looks like a dress on ya." He drawled, finally shooting you a sidewards glance and raising an eyebrow as he did so.

You beamed a smile at him, running your fingers over the material that draped down almost to your knees, and remembering how it had looked on him.

"And?" You questioned, crossing your arms over your chest. "It's comfy." You explained, before asking why he minded so much.

He ignored you, continuing to shave down the arrow in his hands carefully. You didn't relent, standing up so that you were directly in front of him, and giving a small twirl to show off the shirt.

"Are you missing it?" You teased, trying to prompt him to look up. "Do you want it back?" You poked, walking around the log he was sitting on so that you were behind him while he worked.

Daryl let out a small sigh at your antics, putting down the blade and resting the arrow beside him. You didn't give him time to turn around and scold you, slipping your arms over his shoulders and around him before he could. Your chin rested just above the crook of his neck, and you could feel the wisps of his hair tickling at your cheek.

"What would you do for it?"

You'd wanted to joke with him, but it came out like more of a shy whisper as you lost your nerve. Your cheeks were nearly pressed together and you could feel the heat radiate off his skin. His heartbeat was quick beneath your palms where they rested, clasped over his chest. It felt like you had handfuls of butterflies, fluttering nervously there. You suddenly felt your own pulse pick up, as your playfulness started to seem a lot less innocent than it had only a few moments ago.

Someone cleared their throat from behind you, and you instantly flung yourself back from the man in shock. It was clumsy, and you'd almost taken the archer with you as you slipped on the damp grass beneath your feet. Daryl shot you a glare after he had recovered, grumbling about how you'd almost choked him.

You heard a chuckle and turned to see Glenn watching the exchange, his baseball cap in his hands. Quickly, you fumbled out an apology which sounded more like an excuse, explaining how he'd startled you. He shook his head before giving your shoulder a squeeze.

"Sorry to interrupt." He started, looking between you and Daryl. The other man stayed silent, going back to his work like he'd never taken a break from it. "Could I borrow you for a minute?" Glenn continued, gesturing to you.

You raised an eyebrow at him before he explained. "I'm doing some work on the RV with Dale. We could use some help and everyone else is busy."

You looked over at Daryl, and then back at Glenn, before agreeing. You gave the man a small wave as you said goodbye, not really sure of how to act around him now. You didn't know whether it was what you had done that made you shy, or the fact that Glenn had caught you doing it. In truth, you hadn't really planned for anything to happen, but you got caught up in the moment without realising it. You tried not to think about what could have played out if Glenn hadn't showed up.

Daryl gave you a quick nod as you left, and you and Glenn started walking towards the RV. In the distance, you could see Dale lounging on the roof of the vehicle, under his parasol like usual. He had his binoculars in his hands and gave the pair of you a wave when he saw you together.

"So," Glenn dragged, catching your attention, "what was that?"

"What was what?" You bit back, feigning ignorance.

The man didn't buy it, knowing you better than your cheap lies by now.

"You know what." He said, with an air of certainty about him. "You and Daryl, just now."

You stayed silent, not wanting to give anything away. In all honesty, you weren't sure yourself about what had happened back there, and didn't really know how to answer. If you were being truthful, you definitely felt something for the man. You had done for a while. Daryl, on the other hand, you weren't sure about. How long had it taken him just to be accepting of your touch, and not shy away from your hugs? How many hours had the two of you spent together before he stopped looking at you with distrust, or flinching away if you moved too suddenly. At this point, you were content with what the two of you had. Or, you tried to convince yourself that you were.

"I saw that whole thing back there." Glenn carried on, catching you lost in your own thoughts.

"Yeah?" You questioned, giving him a side-eye glance as you smirked. "Well I see you and Maggie sneaking off to the stables at night, but you don't hear me saying anything about it."

Glenn inhaled sharply beside you, seeming to choke on whatever reply he had planned. You let out a snort at his expression, and clapped your hand over his back as the two of you reached the RV.

"Choose your battles carefully, Rhee." You warned him teasingly, watching as he squirmed under your touch.

"Yes, Ma'am."

The three of you worked together on the RV for a while before taking a short break. It was mostly Dale instructing you to pass him tools and run to ask Hershel if he had the things you were missing. You were pretty clueless when it came to any kind of vehicle, so you tried to absorb as much as you could, mentally matching the names with all of the parts that Dale showed you. Glenn seemed to know much more, having spent a lot of time with the older man during the day. Surprisingly, you all got along really well and even cracked some jokes as you scrambled to remember which screwdriver head was which.

Glenn eventually excused himself to go and help T-Dog out with something, and Dale left you 'in charge' of the toolbox, as he put it, as he left to go with him. You hadn't been there long, sitting on the steps of the trailer in a daze by yourself, before Maggie had come out of the farmhouse with a pitcher of lemonade for you all. She sat down next to you, offering you a glass. You took a gulp, feeling the coolness run down the back of your throat as the ice cubes hit your teeth. It was really refreshing.

"Glenn told me about you and Daryl this mornin'." She looked over at you with a grin.

You rolled your eyes at her, wondering when the man had even had time to say anything. He'd only gone into the farmhouse for all of five minutes to use the bathroom, before you all had started work on the RV. That boy never ceased to amaze you with his ability to run his mouth. You already felt exasperated by all of the questioning, and you hadn't even begun to start answering your own yet.

"There's nothing to tell." You corrected, but her smile didn't let up. "I already warned your boyfriend to worry about his own dirt, instead of trying to dig up other people's."

You shot her a look that you thought would tell her to drop it, but she didn't take the hint. Or, she didn't care to, more accurately.

"He thinks you're sleepin' together." She said matter of factly, taking a sip of her own lemonade nonchalantly and ignoring your expression.

Your eyes widened in disbelief, totally not expecting those words to come out of the mouth of a farmer's daughter. Then again, you knew what she and Glenn got up to when they thought nobody else was around.

"Maggie!" You gasped, slapping her shoulder.

The lemonade spilt out of the top of her glass slightly, and splashed onto her jeans.

"What? I didn't say it." She frowned at you, wiping the stain. "Can you blame him?" She asked, cocking an eyebrow in your direction.

You usually felt like you could talk to Maggie about anything, and rarely got embarrassed at any of the details she shared with you, either. Yet, you couldn't help but feel a bit dumbstruck at the allegation. The thought of you and Daryl - sweet and shy Daryl Dixon - sleeping together had just tipped you over the edge like lemonade in a glass.

Maggie went on, ignoring your stunned silence. "The two of you got ya tents away from the rest of your group, and hang around each other most of the goddamn day." She pointed out, nodding her head in the direction of your camp in the distance.

"That's not fair." You pouted. "He's my friend, and I spend the same amount of time with you and Beth as I do him." You defended, but she crossed her arms and gave you a once over - making an obvious point of looking you up and down.

"You're wearing his shirt." She said flatly, glancing at it like she'd been waiting to bring up the observation for a while now.

"And some days I wear yours!" You retorted, raising your voice in desperation.

You stood up from the step, and Maggie laughed at how flustered she'd made you.

Before she could add anymore, you spotted Glenn walking back to the RV with a dumb smile on his face, totally oblivious of the chaos he'd caused. You shot him a glare, causing Maggie to look over in his direction.

"Glenn Rhee, get your ass over here now!" You yelled at him, and watched as his face fell.

He looked over at Maggie, who just shrugged her shoulders and collected the empty glasses. She gave Glenn a quick peck on the cheek before whispering something about him being on his own, before leaving to return to the farmhouse.

"Ah shit." He muttered below his breath, looking over at you with a sheepish smile.

You stayed by the RV well into the evening, after chewing out Glenn and sending him on his way. You'd offered to put all of the tools back since Dale wanted to go out for a walk and check on the fences around the area. He gave you a warm smile as he left, offering you a 'thanks, kid' that reminded you of your own grandfather. You didn't even try to argue back with him that you were in your twenties, just sending a smile his way in return.

It was already dark outside, since the seasons were changing and making the world seem more shadowy at earlier and earlier hours each day. You had borrowed a jacket from Beth the last time she came out, handing you a sandwich in place of the dinner you'd skipped. The air was chilly and you were grateful for the extra layer protecting you against the cool night's kiss. The breeze rustled the leaves and made a few flutter down to the ground, next to your feet.

It was peaceful, and you could see the warm light flicker through the windows of the Greene farmhouse. The rest of the group were out doing perimeter checks and mending some of the fences, so it was just you standing as the sole guard of a rundown RV. Once you had finished organising the array of screwdrivers back into their meticulous places, just as Dale had instructed, you closed the toolbox and secured it shut by the latch.

You sat back onto the step, rolling your stiff shoulders and wishing that Daryl was here to give you one of his Spartan massages that hurt so bad but felt so good. You scarcely had time to relax before a scream had you bolting upright and alert. It was in the distance, you could tell, but it was definitely a scream.

Immediately, you rushed inside the RV to retrieve one of the pistols from the gun bag there, before setting off running in the direction of the yells. It didn't take you long to notice the group that had gathered near the end fence of one of the fields, close to the woods. You kept your pistol lowered in your hand as you jogged towards them, still not able to make out what they were all crowded over.

As you got closer, you saw how Lori was shielding Carl from the scene and prepared yourself for whatever you were about to witness. It didn't take long before it came into view, the sight of Dale on the ground and the dispatched walker beside him. It was horrifically graphic. The man you'd been joking with not even an hour before now laid there with his entire chest cavity exposed. It was so violent that you weren't able to tear your eyes away as he gurgled the familiar sound of death from his throat, like the one you heard in your nightmares.

It looked as though his ribs had been pried open and you could only watch as the older man suffered. His eyes met yours, pupils wide and dilated as he tried to speak. You stared back helplessly before someone stood in front of you, blocking your view. The printed angel wings told you who it was before you even looked up.

You watched the ground as you heard the familiar cocking of a pistol, and your eyes rested on the fishing hat that had fallen a few feet away. Images flashed through your mind of Dale wearing it, and him putting it on Carl's head occasionally to swap it out with his sheriff's one. You kept your gaze on it, lying abandoned in the grass, as Daryl spoke to the man.

"Sorry, brother." He said, and pulled the trigger.

That night you returned to your tent alone, trailing slowly behind the others, and thought about that hat and the man who wore it. Glenn had picked it up and taken it with Rick and Shane, as they went to dig a grave for Dale. You kept thinking back to a few days ago, and how you'd all sat around the fire of the main camp, spread out on the deckchairs one night. Even Daryl had joined you, as you had bribed everyone to endure your company with the promise of Jack Daniels.

You brought the bottle with you in your satchel, taking a seat by the fire pit next to Dale, who shook his head when you took it out. You offered him a small smile and shrugged, telling him that you'd come across it whilst scavenging with Glenn and Maggie. As the others arrived, you poured some shots to whoever wanted any, and made them swear not to tell Hershel.

The night had been a small dose of escapism washed down with whiskey. There wasn't enough for you all to get completely drunk, but the tipsiness definitely settled in and got you all loosened up and giggling. At some point, Glenn had devised a game that resembled 'never have I ever,' but even got the people who weren't drinking involved.

Much to Dale's dismay, the slightly buzzed man had pulled the hat from his head and stated that whoever wore it had to answer one question completely truthfully. The fishing cap then made its way around the circle, as you listened to Shane talk about stealing a car, T-Dog's videogame collection, and how Carol had once put laxatives in Ed's coffee.

"You're kidding!" Andrea yelled in disbelief, when it was finally your turn. "There's no way you have a tattoo."

"I do." You smiled, taking a sip of your drink and feeling it numb the back of your throat. "And no, I'm not showing it to you." You winked at her, causing the group to laugh.

"It's in a risky spot, ain't it?" Shane teased, looking over his glass at you with a cheeky grin.

"No!" You shouted at him, which gained even more laughter from the onlookers.

Shane shook his head at you with a smile. "Yeah, whatever you say."

Lori piped up from where she sat. She wasn't drinking, now that she was pregnant, but she seemed content enough from the atmosphere.

"I can't believe you have one." She spoke, looking you up and down slightly as if trying to guess where it was. "I never pictured you the type."

You snorted at her words. "What? Just because I was a teacher for a short while?" You teased, crossing your arms.

People usually made the same assumptions about you, even before the world had ended. You had an education from a prestigious university, bright eyes and that naive look. It was only natural that most people didn't consider you as the type to hang around at rock concerts with your father or work part-time shifts at the bars he played at when they were understaffed.

"I have fifteen piercings, too." You added, feeling generous with your information.

Rick shook his head at you with doubt, and you found it refreshing to see the sheriff look so relaxed.

"What? Where?" He questioned, squinting his eyes at you. "How come we haven't seen them?"

"Because I keep my hair down most of the time." You explained, before tucking the strands behind your ears to reveal them.

A few members of the group came over to get a closer look, and you grinned like an excited puppy, showing off the metal jewelry to them.

"And I have my belly button done." You added, pointing to your stomach but not lifting your vest to show them.

T-Dog watched you with suspicion across the campfire, as if he couldn't entirely figure you out. His eyes were narrowed and you shot him your best grin as he stared you down half-heartedly.

"None of this fits my image of you." He admitted, and a few people agreed.

You shrugged your shoulders, pouring yourself another shot and not caring whether or not you should slow down. You felt better than you had in a long time. Even though your head felt a little fuzzy and your throat burned each time you knocked your glass back, you couldn't put a price on the laughter you all shared and the memories each of you recalled.

"What do you want me to say?" You asked sarcastically. "Pretend that I spent most of my time at libraries and not gigs, listening to Led Zeppelin?"

You heard a low chuckle beside you, as Daryl took the bottle from your hand and poured some more into his own glass.

"Thought you said you were borin'." He drawled, his accent even thicker from the whiskey.

"I am now!" You said loudly, throwing your hands up in defeat.

The others laughed a bit at that, before you went on, prying at the other man who had refused the hat of truth when it came his way. You'd tried to force it on that stubborn head of his, but had only succeeded in spilling one of the glasses and getting a scolding from Lori.

"What about you, Dixon." You eyed him where he sat. "I can't even imagine you existing before all of this." You admitted.

He raised an eyebrow at you, but you continued. "It's like you were built to survive an apocalypse."

You saw the others nod in agreement, staying silent to listen for the man's response. A few of them had seemed surprised that Daryl was even participating, and now looked even more confused at how the two of you interacted with each other.

"What d'you mean?" He asked, taking a swig from his glass.

You smiled to yourself before answering. "I don't know." You confessed, before addressing the rest of the group. "Can the rest of you picture Daryl Dixon mundanely watching TV, and eating pizza instead of squirrel?"

That joke got a lot of approval from them, as you saw Carol let out a snort in the corner of your eye, holding onto her own small drink with both hands.

"Shut up." Daryl grumbled in response, but you saw the slight smile that lingered on his face.

After that, you had placed Dale's hat back on the older man's head and gave him a hug before turning in for the night. You felt giddy from alcohol and good company, and had squeezed him tightly before telling him that no one else suited that old, raggedy fishing cap as much as he did.

The next morning after Dale's death was hard, but you'd all had practice in dealing with death by now. The funeral was carried out quickly, and Rick made a speech about how the group needed to honour Dale by being more in sync with their decisions - referring especially to Randall. You all then gave a few words, and said your goodbyes. Glenn had made a small wooden cross as a marker for his grave, and hung the fishing cap on top of it at the end of the informal ceremony.

After that, the Greenes had tried to distract you all by telling you to pack your things up and prepare to move into their farmhouse for winter. Given that they'd become a lot closer to you all in the last few weeks, and that Lori was now pregnant, they said that it was only reasonable. It would be a bit of squeeze to fit you all in, they admitted, but it would be better than freezing outside in flimsy tents exposed to the elements.

So, there you were, collecting your belongings and putting them into your worn satchel with care. You didn't have much, save for your polaroids, some clothes and your knife. The only things you had left to pack down were your sleeping bag and your yellow submarine, so you decided to go and check how Daryl was doing before you continued.

The two of you hadn't had much time to talk about the events of last night, barely exchanging a few glances and letting your palms brush against each other during the funeral. He'd gone through a lot in the last couple days, being left with the dirty work of torturing Randall and having to shoot Dale. Even if he seemed alright, you thought that he probably held some guilt for what had happened. You knew that you certainly did. You spent the night wondering why you hadn't gone with the older man, wishing that you'd gotten there sooner.

You clambered out of your tent with your satchel strapped over your chest, before walking a few steps over to Daryl's. His tent was unzipped, and you poked your head around the entrance to see him crouched inside, collecting his arrows and the few possessions he had scattered around. You watched him in silence for a moment, as if trying to find any sign of distress before he noticed you.

"Don' worry yourself, Sunshine." The man grumbled, sensing you.

He didn't even look up from what he was doing, which made you jump in surprise at having been caught.

"Jus' go pack down yer own tent." He instructed, folding up a pile of his clothes and stuffing them into a backpack.

"Sunshine?" You questioned, wondering whether or not the nickname was sarcastic, as you continued to watch him with suspicion.

You crouched down in the entryway, debating whether or not to go in.

"Look, Daryl-" you started gently, but he cut you off midway.

"'M fine." He said sternly. "Don't need no therapy session every time one of us kills someone."

You let out a sigh, deciding to go inside. You crawled your way past him, making yourself comfortable on top of his sleeping bag while he worked around you.

"I don't know about you, but I'm not planning on making it a habit." You admitted gently, seeing him stop what he was doing and look over at you.

"Ain't about what ya want. It's about survivin'." He corrected gruffly, his eyes meeting yours.

You gave him a sad smile before responding. "I know. But I don't want to live like that." You said. "There's a difference."

He shook his head, sitting back so that he was opposite you.

"Ain't no difference when yer dead." He muttered, and you could make out the slight flicker of pain behind his eyes.

You looked down to your hands, gathering your thoughts. You weren't sure whether you wanted to make yourself vulnerable to man by telling him your true feelings on the matter, but you felt like you needed to. You owed him that much.

"When I was out there alone, before I found you that day-" you started, recalling the days that seemed like a lifetime ago to you now. "That was surviving."

The man listened to you silently, his stare heavy as he took you in.

"At first, I was just grateful to be alive." You admitted, feeling ashamed to say the words out loud. "My camp, they were the brave ones."

You saw as Daryl started to shake his head to disagree, but you didn't let him interrupt.

"I just ran away and hid." You confessed, voice small as you said it. "After that I realised how unfair it all was."

Daryl stayed silent for a few seconds, before responding.

"What was unfair?" He asked, his words gravelly.

You met his eyes, already feeling like you'd revealed too much to him.

"How us cowardly would always be the last ones standing." You said softly, looking back down at your hands and thinking of all the people they failed to protect.

This time, Daryl responded quickly, moving closer to you so that you heard his words clearly.

"Ya ain't no coward." He spoke, his face near yours as he tried to catch your gaze.

You met it, fighting the urge to look away as the intensity made you want to tremble.

"You're a force, Teach." He told you, like it was a fact.

He stared at you for a few seconds, as though waiting for you to accept it.

You nodded at him eventually, letting out a small sigh as you realised that you'd been holding your breath.

"I don't want to just survive anymore, Daryl." You told him. "I want to live. I want a life that I'm okay with fighting to protect." You continued, feeling your voice grow stronger with each passing second.

Daryl remained still where he sat, giving you his entire attention.

"I know you hear me at night." You confessed, thinking back on the times you'd woken up yelling at invisible figures, or panting to try and catch your breath.

You caught his eyes flicker, as he fidgeted a bit and stretched out his legs.

"You pretend like you don't, but I know you do." You went on. "When I wake up from a bad dream you've always got your lantern lit, or sometimes you'll get up just to toss a log on the fire, and make an excuse that you can't sleep."

You smiled to yourself as you watched him feign ignorance, as though he needed to keep up an act you both knew had broken. No matter the type of man Daryl Dixon pretended to be, you saw straight through him.

"I'm at a point where I don't regret it anymore." You continued, not really sure where you were going with your speech. "Killing those men." You clarified, seeing him tense as you did so.

"I know it makes me sound like a monster, but I'd rather let the nightmares haunt me if it means that my family won't."

You took a deep breath, wondering if you should carry on to the point where there was no turning back.

"If it means that I can sit here now, with you, and be thankful that I was the one who managed to pull the trigger first." You finished, afraid to look up and meet his eyes.

You felt entirely exposed to him, as you sat there on the scratchy material of his sleeping bag, running your hands over it for comfort.

"Is this it?" He asked after a few seconds.

"What?" You replied, watching as he shuffled about in front of you.

"Is this the life you want?" He muttered, his voice coming out strained.

You nodded your head. "It can be." You told him. "It is." You reiterated, more certain this time.

You felt like all of your thoughts and worries were spilling out before you, like tipped ink spreading over paper. You couldn't stop yourself from telling the man everything.

"We've lost people," you acknowledged, not missing the way he frowned as you said it, "Dale and Sofia." You continued. "We'll probably lose more."

"But, call me delusional, I still have hope." You said with a smile, wondering if you truly were fooling yourself.

Daryl seemed to think so too, furrowing his eyebrows at you.

"What're ya hopin' for?" He asked.

"I don't know." You answered.

"Some days it's for a cure to be found." You said, wistfully. "Others it's that we can all live peacefully on this farm until we grow old. Sometimes, I just want to find a matching pair of socks in my laundry." You finished with a slight chuckle.

"And recently, I've been hoping that it rains." You added, hoping that he wouldn't laugh at that one in particular.

He didn't, instead glancing out of the tent, towards the clouds gathered above it.

"Give it a couple days." He mumbled, and you didn't doubt him for a second.

"Yeah, I hope so." You responded, looking up at the sky, too.

You sat in his company for a bit longer as he resumed his packing like nothing had happened. He didn't seem to have much, either, but you still watched curiously as he went through it. After a short while you noticed him pick up a glossy magazine, and put it in one of the bags. You instantly recognised it as the one you'd given him before, from the gas station, about motorcycles. You were surprised that he'd kept it, since it had been a few weeks since then.

"Did you read it?" You questioned, before you even realised you had said it.

"Yeah." Daryl responded, matter of factly.

"And?" You pried, stretching out your legs to laze back further on his sleeping bag. "Got any tips for me?"

He scoffed at that, shooting you a glance as he zipped up the bag. "Don' fall off."

You rolled your eyes at him, before deciding to tease him back a little.

"Mark my words, Dixon." You pointed at him. "One day I'll be the one riding that thing and you'll be clinging onto me."

He didn't bite to it, sitting back down opposite you with a smug look on his face.

"You tryna give me nightmares now?"

When he finished, you reached for your satchel lying next to you, remembering one of the reasons you had come to see the man in the first place. You pulled out his flannel shirt from it, which you'd neatly folded earlier on, and offered it out to him.

"I was thinking that I should probably return this to you." You explained, as he gave you a confused look.

"Thought ya was gonna use it to bribe somethin' outta me." He quipped, snarkily.

You nodded at him, rubbing your thumb over the material.

"Yeah, I thought about it." You admitted. "But then I realised that we were all going to be staying in the Greenes' living room together from tonight. Practically on top of each other."

Daryl stared down at the shirt in your hands, but didn't take it from you. Instead, he leant back on his knuckles, as if moving even further away from it

"What's that have to do with 'nything?" He asked, and you wondered whether you were prepared to answer truthfully.

You thought back on the game you'd all played with Dale's fishing hat and wished that you were wearing it now, to be able to muster up some false courage.

"Well," you started, swallowing thickly, "then you'd realise that I sleep in it every night." You confessed, noticing how his expression changed a little. "And that would be embarrassing."

Suddenly, the silence started to seem stifling to you as you played with your hands in your lap, looking down at them. You felt your stomach flip as you awaited his response, but it never came. Instead of waiting any longer, you decided to get out of there before facing inevitable rejection. You cleared your throat and started packing up your satchel in a hurry.

"Anyway, I should go." You excused, trying not to appear flustered. "Got to haul anchor on the yellow submarine."

You picked up his shirt once again and held it out to him, looking over with pleading eyes and praying that he'd just take it so you could leave.

He didn't, shaking his head again at the gesture.

"Nah, it's yours." He said gruffly. "I don' care what ya do with it."

You spoke up, wondering if you were really willing to fight with this man over a shirt.

"You might not, but I'm sure the others would have something to say about it." You explained, thinking about how Maggie had picked up on it straight away when you'd worn it by accident the day before.

"Here." You said more sternly, placing it into his lap. "Back with its rightful owner."

Daryl took it from his lap and placed it beside him, as he fumbled around in his jean pocket and pulled out his zippo from it. He flicked it open with his thumb and you watched as the blue flame jumped up, before he closed it again.

"Got enough gifts from ya." He said, gesturing to the lighter before looking over to the backpack where he'd put the magazine earlier.

He then pointed to the shirt, laid out in the space between you like a bargaining chip. "What were ya wantin' for it?"

You realised that he was referring to what you had said earlier, before Glenn had interrupted, and recalled how dangerously close the two of you had been.

"Nothing." You choked out, but it sounded forced. "I was just teasing."

"Ya weren't." Daryl said with certainty, and you felt your resolve crumbling.

"You're right." You replied.

Your eyes flickered over the man sitting in front of you, at his skin that was glazed by the sun and how much time he spent outdoors recently, and at his pale, steely blue eyes that watched you, watching him. He seemed just as nervous as you were, as if waiting for something to happen - for either of you to make a move. Yet, Daryl Dixon was shy. He was a sweet man bundled up in layers of trust issues and insecurity, which sometimes reared their heads as anger and frustration.

You saw beneath that. You saw the way he looked out for the group, and how he was hurt more deeply than any of the others at the loss of one of them. You noticed how he'd be up earlier than anyone else, making sure it was safe, and then how he'd go to bed the latest, too. At the same time, you were almost certain that this wasn't the same man you hauled from the creek that day. He looked the same, give or take a few scars and want of a haircut, but he was different. You could tell how much he'd grown in just a short space of time. He was a good man before, even if people were often fooled by his abrasive exterior, but he was an even better one now.

You gave him a warm smile, and felt a lot calmer than you had done in a while. You knew it was now or never, and accepted that you were, in fact, willing to risk it all for Daryl Dixon.

"There's one more thing I've been hoping for, as of late." You admitted, moving from his sleeping bag to crawl over to where he sat.

He stayed still, watching with a shy look, glancing over you as you approached with caution. As you got closer to him, so close that you could almost feel the weight of his eyes lingering on you, you picked up the discarded shirt and showed it to him.

He looked down at it in your hands before meeting your eyes again. You let your gaze flicker over his face, taking in his shy expression, before settling on his lips. This is what you wanted in return for his shirt, and you needed him to realise that.

You noticed how nervous he looked, and how he seemed to hold his breath at the proximity you shared. You rested one of your hands over his, feeling how warm it was beneath your own, before asking him your question.

"Are you sure you still want it back?" You flicked your eyes to the shirt and back at him, making sure he understood what you meant.

His gaze rested on you for a few seconds, as you felt your breath catch in your throat waiting for his response. He nodded.

You smiled back, raising your other hand to cup his cheek gently, stroking over it with your thumb as you felt a wave of affection run through you for the man under your fingertips. They almost trembled against him, as you felt a mixture of nerves and pure, simple emotion swell to the surface. Though, you felt his hand squeeze your other one, where you held it, and relaxed into his touch that reassured you.

You closed your eyes and closed the remaining distance between you both, placing a chaste kiss on his lips that made you feel a lot more than you'd expected it to. He was warm, and sweet, and trembling slightly. It made you smile into the kiss, and press more firmly against his cheek to remind him you were there. Even though it was obvious that you were there, kissing him, you needed him to know that you felt the same as he did.

You pulled away slowly, trying not to push for more. Your hand left his face and rested back at your side, suddenly feeling empty. The silence was loud, but it was comfortable. Your ears weren't ringing as they usually did. Instead, you focused on the soft sounds of Daryl's breathing, and watched as his eyes flickered over you and down to your own lips with want, as you had done to his. Though, he didn't seem quite confident enough in himself to act on it, and remained still.

Your heart beat quickly in your chest from the adrenaline, and you decided not to tempt things any further with him, either. He didn't say a word for a few seconds, but you didn't feel any sign of rejection. You moved away from him a little, allowing him his space, before picking up his shirt for the final time and pressing it into his chest lightly.

"Now it's yours again." You offered him a warm smile, which you felt was perhaps too big for your face. He took it from you.

You found it hard to conceal what you were feeling, but the look in his eyes told you that he didn't mind all that much. You sat in wordless wonder for a few minutes, considering what to say or do next. The sky had darkened a little as the clouds blocked the sunlight, and you felt the breeze pick up as your exposed skin prickled at the chill.

Then, you heard footsteps as someone approached the tent in a run. You whipped your head over to see Rick appear, ducking his head through the entryway and looking at the both of you with wide eyes.

"I need you to come with me, now." He instructed. "Randall's escaped."

A/N ahhhhhhh. AHHHH. I was SO excited to write this chapter, I cannot even tell you. This is merely the BEGINNING - the first flicker of this SLOW BURN! Just you wait until that confession... I have big things planned ;)

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[reel-to-reel-memoir]

July 3rd, Nine P.M Shreveport, I'm driving home from Florida. "There's evidence for god, call here" the billboard read. If I called, what would they say to me? "It's an honor to hear your voice lord" would be the only thing they could say that I haven't heard before. It's hours away from July 4th and our empire continues to crack. I've never felt such hopelessness about our future. The sickness of this country is not COVID-19. I looked out when I passed through Alabama and I see an RV park, dead and rusted RVs sit outside the park's fence. Trying to make them unseen, is there no end to our poverty class. I think of Ingo from Antkind, the puppets from his movie buried in his yard that were never supposed to be seen; coal miners, black people, workers etc. If he only knew how bad it really was, burying them so deep he breaks pipes, is what he would need to do to show how hidden the unseen really are. To capture the scale of the unseen the puppets would fill his apartment, and the building itself.

July 4th it's almost here, and it's dreaded weight. Joe Biden is president and is soulless. Those unseen are expanded and shot by police. Joe sleeps. The planet is burning. Joe sleeps. People lose the ability to vote. Joe sleeps. Joe wakes up in the middle of the night, puts on his bathrobe and heads to the oval office. Seeing himself as Martin Sheen playing Bartlett, the Catholic firebrand with his Notre Dame sweatshirt, Joe thinks of what quips to say to his secretary. The phone is ringing. That phone and all of it's infamy, from Kennedy dealing with the Cuban missile crisis to Regan calling black people monkeys. Joe sits down and answers the call, it's a wealthy donor.

I am God, is what burger land has taught me. Or is it just "a God"? Since I don't believe in theism. Regardless, my mustard seed of faith embedded within me will allow me to level skyscrapers, to create white powder from thin air. How should I use this power? How would I have used it? I was two when the two towers fell, Saurman corrupted by darkness and Sauron's power. I would be like him if I was ("a"?)God. On September 11th I was one, there's nothing to say but I must say what's true, Bush let the twin towers fall. All of me is all powerful and omnipresent or do I share duties with someone else. If I am God and god then I am nobody. 4th of July would be July 2nd if I was somebody. Everyone would know that Grover Cleveland had two non consecutive terms, if I could move mountains with faith. This is how I would waste my power, how am I better than Joe? I don't have any power.

It's Twelve A.M July, 4th. I've made it to Dallas, close to home. What defines America? Is the question I'm wrestling with. I know ultimately it's the small towns, those filled with the unseen. The simple living people who fly the flag high. But their nationalism is repulsive to me. I love this country in the abstract, I love the people, it's potential, but I have less than zero affection for our history and our future. Is that what the small town Americans see in the flag? The people and the potential? Trump's popularity tells me otherwise, the real underbelly is revealed through him. But was there not a populist movement that loved this country like I do in the Bernie Sanders movement? I don't know. All I know is there's nothing profound I have to say that will relieve us from the hell that is this 4th of July. I try to remember those in our history who wanted a better world, a better america. Thomas Payne, Eugene Debs, Henry Wallace, Malcolm X, Bernie Sanders. They're what define America to me. But my definition matters not, we are the world's leading empire. Our meddling and colonial conquests don't just go away. We live in a police state, nothing I can say will change that. We live without owning homes, without making a penny to our name, my idealism will not change that. We as Americans, as a country, are one thing, burgers.

[cowboyreddie]

EDDIE K.’S SEXY SUMMER ROAD TRIP FT. RICHIE T.

Word count: 19.1k 

Eddie and Richie road trip through the mountains, and realize what they mean to each other along the way.

playlist / read chapter one below the cut:

“Whaddaya think, Eds?”

Eddie turns. Richie has his hands on his hips, staring up at the rusting RV sitting in his backyard with a look of such genuine pride that Eddie almost pinches himself to make sure he hasn’t died and gone to his own personal hell.

It’s high praise to call what’s in front of them a vehicle, and recreational doesn’t even factor into the equation. More like death trap on wheels—which is high praise too, considering two of them are flat and two are missing altogether. Eddie’s ten feet away from it and already planning a tetanus shot.

He debates never coming over to Richie’s again—at least his third time today, look where that keeps getting him—adding Biohazard comma Richie’s backyard to his running list of reasons. Files in neatly, right above Biohazard comma Richie’s bedroom.

He’s considering Richie comma dumbass, which really should’ve made it on there already, when he realizes he’s still staring at Richie.

Richie’s eyes are all crinkly at the corners, like they get at the photobooth in the arcade when he turns just in time—a second before the flash—and sticks his tongue out right next to Eddie’s ear, so the reel comes out with Eddie realizing what’s happening too late to do anything but recoil in the first three and stick his own tongue back out at Richie in the last one.

It’s different from his usual crinkle and too specific to ever bring up to anyone else, but Richie does it every time they’re in there so who can blame Eddie for noticing, really, especially when they’re still just looking at each other. Eddie probably has the same face as in the photobooth too—horror edging on laughter, trying his best not to let Richie know that, fine, hanging out with him is kind of fun.

He doesn’t know why he can’t tell Richie how much fun he has. Somebody would probably look at him funny, the same way they would if he said Look! Richie’s got the same crinkle as at the arcade, isn’t it so nice?

They’re still just looking at each other. Eddie doesn’t know what it means but is suddenly worrying about a tetanus shot again and also that it does mean something, them looking at each other, when Richie’s eyes start to widen and then relax back down. That always means zinger coming, so Eddie bites the bullet before Richie can get there. “You want us to fix that? It probably has black mold, asshole.”

“I want us to restore her to her former glory, Spaghetti, Sonia’s in her prime—”

Eddie should’ve known it’d be this, always this or Eddie baby cutie patootie look atcha, which he bets is coming next, and ignores the tiny, tiny part of him that’s let down when it doesn’t.

“—get it, Eds, because she, like Mrs. K., is just waiting for me to get inside her—”

“—Gross, Richie, fucking gross—”

Richie stops short. “Gross enough to say no to the hundred bucks Went says he’ll give us if we can?”

Richie’s fucking grinning at him like he knows what Eddie’s about to say, which he does.

Because he has wronged God in some unknowable, horrific way, and also because he likes it more than he admits, Eddie spends all of his time with Richie. And because Eddie spends all of his time with Richie, who has never once missed an opportunity to spend money, Eddie is broke as hell.

Fuck.

Read more on ao3

[ixchel-sketch]

TITLE: Palehuiloca / Ayudar 

GENRE: Crime & Romance

FANDOM: Mayans M.C.

SHIP(S): Coco & Original Female Character 

STATUS: Complete

LENGTH: 5,291 words

Set while Coco is still a prospect. One of his first orders is to help newly full patched members Angel and Gilly locate a corrupt drug dealer at a local music festival. He never expected to meet Maya.

It was early in the evening when the headlights of bikes cut through the light of the setting sun and three members of the local motorcycle club were waved into the festival without so much as a second glance from security. All manner of people were attending, most of them on their way towards inebriation in some form of another. Johnny “Coco” Cruz looked around at the various stages set up in the large canyon, the sounds of whatever concert was currently playing blasted through the state park. Competing for the attention of the crowds of people weaving their way from one set to another. A couple that looked to be barely out of their teens stumbled by and nearly bumped into Coco had he not been hyper focused on his surroundings.

“Jesus, would you look at this place.” Angel’s dark eyes followed after them, noting the way the couple wove and leaned on each other in support. To the average attendee they seemed to be in the depths of young love, laughing and showering displays of affection no matter how inappropriate. To anyone with experience it was obvious they were high off their asses.

“That’s why we’re here isn’t it? Marcus said that we needed to smoke out some dealer. “ Gilberto “Gilly” Lopez adjusted the thick leather vest that all three of them wore, squinting out at the crowd in observation.

“For selling on Mayan terf?”

Coco finally came back to the conversation, a little bit confused on why they would be put on something that seemed to have nothing to do with the club. As a prospect, there weren't many orders that he was in a position to question. It helped that he and Angel had roomed together right before he'd patched in. He trusted him, which was something he hadn't experienced much before.

"There's been an uptick in overdoses. Someones cutting their shit and it makes the M.C. look bad. Since most assume that's where it's coming from." Now it made sense. It would definitely hurt their business and possibly gain unwanted attention from authorities if the main take away from the music festival was the amount of narcan used.

But how the hell were they supposed to find that needle in this shitshow of a haystack? The longer they stood idly by the entrance the worse that he began to feel about this whole thing. There were only three of them there and too many unknowns. They had no idea how serious this guy was or if they had their own crew. Paranoia leeched some of the stoic strength that usually radiated from Coco. No, crowded and booming festivals were definitely not his thing.

"We should split up," Coco scowled at Gilly's suggestion but all of them nodded in agreement nonetheless. "Cover more ground that way. Look for anyone buying or dealing. "

Maya had been attending music festivals since before she knew how to talk. She’d grown up dressed in tie dye onesies and been lulled to sleep by the sound of amature drum circles. It was a lifestyle that she knew like the back of her hand and the road between each destination felt just as much home as the stops between. All she really needed in order to be happy was the RV that she’d inherited from her father and enough gas and savings to keep making her art in comfort. Not many people seemed to understand her need for near constant travel and freedom, much less stick around.

Today had been different though. Slow, and while the general guests were perfectly content with the food vendors and alcohol sales, not too many had stopped through her booth and made actual purchases. Only in the last hour had there been a wave of people walking around and buying different trinkets and goods that she’d made. The increase in sales usually took up all of her attention. Mental energy split between being conversational and likeable as a vendor and keeping an eye out to make sure no one lifted anything. She supposed that was another reason for not wanting to be tied down --- maintaining a fake sociable mask for longer than a couple hours at a time was down right exhausting. With a heavy sigh Maya got up from her chair and stretched as tall as she could. It wasn’t very tall.

Finally she noticed a man standing with his back to the corner of her booth and steeled herself to once again paste on a fake smile. It wasn’t unusual for a potential customer to spend time just staring at a piece… but with a hint of concern she realized that wasn’t what he was doing. Dark eyes were focused intensely out at the crowd and she tried not to flinch when that gaze was turned on her. “Hey, can I help you?”

“What? No, I’m uh- good thanks.” He didn’t look good, warm brown skin having taken on a slightly pallid complexion. The man looked spooked, bordering on shaken and even though she knew better than to reach out something on Maya’s face must have given away her confusion and he rushed to explain. “It was just really loud, I couldn’t even hear myself think.”

“ You want some water?” Before he could answer the brunette was ducking behind a table to grab a metal thermos that was still chilly from her ice run earlier. He accepted it and she couldn’t bring herself to look away from the way his adam apple moved when he took a drink or the stray bead of water that escaped the corner of Coco’s lips. Maya licked her own subtly and subconsciously before adding, “Yeah, festivals can be a lot. I lucked out this year and my booth got placed opposite of the concert field. Shitty for sales though.”

When he handed her back the thermos her fingers brushed against his, releasing butterflies in her stomach and Maya tried her best to brush it off. Coco seemed to finally notice the different posters and jewelry that decorated the tables and his eyebrows rose, fingers ghosting over the designs pressed into leather bracelets. “All this stuff is yours? You made it?”

She nods, a natural grin spreading across full lips. There were few things that she carried a fair amount of pride about, her art being one of them. “Claro que si, Well, except for the bones, those I get from hunters and collectors. Same for the crystals.”

His hand fell away and Coco nodded. Something about the way that he was looking at the merch had Maya relaxing a bit, casting a glance back towards where people were clearing the man made path that separated the music from the vendors to herd themselves into a new performance. There probably wouldn't be anyone else wandering through her booth for a few hours at least.

“ It’s really tight, the detail in the designs is crazy.”

“Thank you. My name’s Maya.” She expected the blink of confusion that followed.

“Sorry, what?”

“Just call me Maya.” Another nod and from the way that Coco’s shoulders sag just a bit she can tell he’s starting to relax too. Whether it's because of the compliment that he’d given her work or just a sudden craving for more substantial human interaction, Maya made up her mind and opened the canopy flap that led to where her RV was parked behind the booth. “I was planning on taking a little break -- para fumar. You wanna join me?”

Finally a genuine smile touches the other’s eyes as Coco replies “I’m always good for a smoke.”

She led Coco back to the small table pulled under the awning and sat down in a rusted lawn chair, motioning for him to do the same. It creaked under his weight and she couldn’t help but offer a slightly embarrassed smile while retrieving the glass jar from a leather satMaya hanging over her shoulder. The inside of the glass was so coated in crystals and weed dust that it was hard to make out the details of the small buds jostled within. “So is this your first festival in awhile?”

“Yeah, you could say that. Probably my first.”

“No shit?” Maya passed Coco the ornately blown glass piece she’d been gifted some time back. It was surprising to find how easy conversation was to have with him as the two began to talk about their interests. Music was the easiest shared denominator, with Maya’s tastes being basically anything that isn’t outright offensive or problematic. But slowly the two started to talk about more personal stuff as well. They came from vastly different backgrounds but somehow nothing seemed to get lost in translation, the time passed faster than either had realized and before she knew it the light was just starting to fade from the sky. Their shadows stretching out in the grass before them and tinting the campsite in a pretty orange.

“So you like to go it alone?” The conversation had circled back to her and Maya rolled her shoulders in a relaxed shrug.

“I’m still only twenty fuckin’ three. And I’m picky as hell, hanging around musicians all the time you know. I’m not just some fuckin’ groupie.”

Coco held up his hands and hissed as if he’d touched something hot, “I got you, my bad.”

She deflated and ran a hand through messy dark waves. As much as she loved the freedom, sometimes loneliness did creep into her life and forced Maya to examine what she really wanted… but she wouldn’t know how to settle down even if she tried. “No it’s on me. My shit. Sorry, dude.”

He nodded, accepting the apology for her snappy response before his cell phone went off and drew Coco’s attention away from the company. With a sinking feeling he realized he’d missed out on the reason they were originally there. All he could do was hope that Angel or Gilly had found something to take back to El Padrino. “Yeah? I’ll be there.”

Maya waited a moment before speaking up, unable to hide the curiosity in her voice. “Those the guys you’re here with? Tus hermanos?”

Coco stood up and fixed the lawn chair, which had sagged so that the seat of it was brushing the ground. She moved to follow him and he offered her a hand to help Maya to her feet. They stood close for a moment while she regained her balance, so close she could smell him and it caused the hair to rise on the back of her neck and heat to coil in her stomach. Shit. Taking a step back, she brushed off her clothes and tried to meet his eyes when Coco replied; “Yeah , sort of. Better than any family I was born with. Even all that shit they say about brothers in arms in the military ain’t nothin like what the M.C. is.”

Dark brows furrowed and Maya pieced together what he meant, not having much experience with bikers outside of slightly unpleasant gas station exchanges. “So you’re here with guys who are also in your...motorcycle club?”

That seemed to make Coco laugh and shake his head while grabbing a cigarette from the box in his vest pocket. Before he could fumble around for his lighter she managed to fish hers out of her pocket, holding it out to him. “Yeah,” He took a drag and made sure to blow it away from where she stood. “We’re actually here trying to pick up. I don’t know if you use anything harder..”

A deep frown creased her face and she gave Coco a subtle once over, as though potentially seeing him in a different light. “Oh...No I uhm, I don’t. That shit’s gotten kind of dangerous.”

He looks equally relieved and she can’t help but be a bit confused. “Good, I mean, I don’t neither. Not like that.”

Coco’s done his share of hard partying and drugs, been addicted and managed to come to terms with his limits. Something in the way that he holds himself lets Maya know that she can believe him, that he’s not just back peddling in order to save face. She nods and goes to untie the opening of her booth to let people know she’s once again open for business --- and to allow Coco to exit into the main crowd.

“Because I’ve seen some people be taken off the grounds for OD’s...it’s depressing shit.” Mostly it was just people who attended but every once and awhile a musician or vendor would end up getting an ambulance called. It was always sad, especially if it was someone that she’d see at a few different venues and become somewhat friendly with.

“See that’s why we’re trying to find the guy selling this shit... stop it from getting into the community.”

Her expression changed to one of surprise before a full bottom lip slipped between her teeth in mild indecision. She was sick of seeing people taken advantage of in her community, at least Coco’s gang was doing something about it. “...I could help, maybe? Talk to the other vendors and see if they’ve seen anything. Are you guys camping out or are you coming back tomorrow?”

She hoped that they were, handing Coco one of the cards that she kept on display so that he might be able to get in contact with her again. Dark eyes tracked the motion of him slipping it into his pocket, her own hands fumbling awkwardly. Coco’s phone buzzed again and she could tell from his reaction it was probably his guys asking where he was.

“We’ll be back. I’ll hit you up.”

He returned to where their bikes were being looked after with a much lighter heart, both from the conversation and finding a potential lead. Gilly was tempted to stay a bit longer and as much as Coco wanted to agree it was obvious to both him and Angel that had much more to do with the actual festival than the club’s interests. Angel was disappointed in the lack of concrete evidence and it showed in his scowl and furrowed brow.

“Damn man. Everyone’s high but it just seems like a bunch of fuckin hippies.” He grumbled, looking either Coco or Gilly in the hopes that they found something of more use.

“I saw someone get carried out but it could have been heat stroke. No one else around.”

Angel turned to Coco, “ What about you? Any luck?”

In no rush to admit that he’d wasted most of his time blowing off their orders to talk to some chick, he kept his answer clipped. “Yeah...maybe.”

The internal conflict caused him to stiffen when Angel’s hand landed on his shoulder in camaraderie. But the other Mayan only seemed encouraged by Coco’s admission, wrinkling his nose before stepping back to mount his ride. “Shit, you smell like skunk.”

The night went by uneventfully despite Maya’s best attempts to find any of her connections that might have an idea what was going on or who was dealing. None of her artisan contacts had any interest in exploring those kinds of narcotics and had a similar reaction to the one that she had earlier. Only after explaining why she was looking for the illicit substance did their judgement lessen. Eventually, after making sure to put the word out that she was interested in trying something different (as a ruse to lure out the dealer) Maya was forced to give up and go to sleep with the hopes that the next day would bring better luck.

And whether it was her own self manifestation or the will of the gods, after spending most of the next day with her attention split between selling her goods and looking out for any nefarious activity her first lead appeared. Half way through the day someone was taken from the medic tent looking half dead but no one seemed to know much about it. Coco messaged her, checking in to see if she had found anything. All of the texts were very...Friendly. They joked back and forth just as much as talking (if not more) than about what was happening at the festival. By the time she did hear back from one of her contacts -- a time and place to meet the person who was selling smack, Maya was too excited about having a legitimate reason to see Coco again than to think through all of the potential consequences of going to the meet.

With her booth closed up and cellphone slipped into the back of her pocket, Maya headed to the spot in the back of the general campsite. It wasn’t too far from her where she was vending but definitely far enough from the security spots and exits to be inconspicuous. The man waiting for her was tall and spindly, the dark cliche hoodie he wore nearly hung off of him with how loose it was. His greeting smile felt lewd, red rimmed eyes focusing on the naked skin of her legs for far longer than she was comfortable with. A sinking feeling started to build in her gut but Maya decided to ignore it.

“So I heard you were looking to pick up ?”

She froze, a small frown working its way onto her face. Even when she wanted so hard to play it cool.“Well, not me, my friend was interested…”

“And where’s your friend?”

The tone of his voice made the hair rise on the back of her neck and Maya looked around to see if there was anyone else nearby. The sound of music playing could be heard even from the distance of the campground and she knew better than to hope there would be anyone loitering there instead of watching a band. “He’s meeting up with me later.”

“Your boyfriend?” The man took a step forward, reaching out to pick up a strand of her long dark hair. At this distance she could make out the details of his pockmarked cheeks and nearly gasped at the memory of his face disappearing into the crowd after the EMT’s had taken away the person hours earlier. Maya’s heart started to race and muscles froze into place with the rise of panic. It was a challenge to take the answering step back, only to find that there was a tent flush behind her back.

“No, just a friend. So can I uhm, can I get the stuff?” Her anxiety to leave was building but Maya didn’t want to take off without at least getting some proof to show Coco that she had found the guy.

“Of course baby, why? You in a hurry?” She watched as his hand made contact with her arm, the other one going to grab her hip almost forcefully to try and drag Maya closer. The grip should have been strong enough to bruise but she couldn’t feel anything beyond the shock. Her dark eyes go wide and it takes a few quick breaths to work past the fear.

“Yeah actually I just need to… can you-- Hey!”

The sun had already set by the time that the Mayans rolled back up to the festival. Coco once again had a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach though this time it was for a different reason than being triggered by the crowd. He’d been texting Maya most of the day but in the last hour she had stopped without warning. And when they got to her booth it was closed up and deserted, most of the vendors having shut down by then. Gilly gave a look around before sending Coco a sympathetic shrug. “You sure she was supposed to meet you here bro?”

“It looks pretty empty.” Angel agreed.

“Yeah man this is her spot.” He didn’t like this feeling at all. Like a coil of stress winding tighter and tighter at his core, a rubber band stretched to the breaking point. What he wouldn’t give for it to just be his fucked up mind playing tricks on him again. Just when he was about to finally dismiss it a feminine shout echoed through the space. “ Shit!”

Maya had her eyes pressed tightly closed as the heat of the stranger pressed against her caused sickening chills. Her heart raced so loud that anything that was coming out of his mouth was lost to the rushing noise in her ears. A spell or curse that was caused by paralyzing panic and only when his hand moved from her back to ghost over the curve of Maya’s ass did it break enough for her to scream.

“GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME, ASSHOLE!” Her arms came up to push him away, gasping in surprise when at the same time someone grabbed him by the back of the neck and yanked him back. The motion was too quick, but the line of Coco’s back could be seen as he pinned the dealer to the ground and laid blow after blow to the man’s face. After a few minutes Angel pulled him off, pushing Coco away so that he could catch his breath and pull himself together after unleashing all that rage.

Maya jumped when she realized there was someone standing behind her with their hand on her shoulder, large dark eyes looking up at Gilly and he released her and took a step back to give the shaken woman some space. “You good? “

Her answering nod was a little too quick to be believable but no one called her out on it. “ Yeah, yeah I’m fine.”

“Is this the guy?” Angel nodded towards the bloody heap on man on the ground, still standing between him and Coco though Gilly moved closer to help lift the suspect.

“I don’t know, I know he sells. And he was hanging around someone who OD’d earlier.”

Their expressions went tight and she received a nod, Coco finally walking back over to them and muttering something in Angel’s direction. “ We’ll talk to him.”

While Angel and Gilly dragged the unconscious man back towards their bikes, Maya turned her attention back to Coco, finally noting the way his lips had pulled down into a sour scowl. She had a feeling that a large part of it had to do with her and a knot of guilt formed in her stomach. He started to turn back towards the exit of the festival, about to leave without saying a word and before she realized it Maya was reaching out to gently wrap her hand around his bicep. “ Do you wanna come back to my RV? Get a drink?”

He looked at her hand for a long minute, still not able to meet her eyes even after she let go. “...Okay, sure.”

Neither of them spoke on the way back to where her RV was parked. The tension was nearly palpable and she pulled out a beer from the cooler typically reserved for guests and passed it to Coco. Her eyes lingered on how his fingers were wrapped around the neck of the bottle, knuckles red and bruised from impact. While he opened it she went about unlocking the 1990 Winnebago so that they might be able to talk with some semblance of privacy. The comfort of her mobile home was a soothing balm against all of the excitement and chaos she’d been involved in. Maya deftly opened some cabinets and removed a half finished bottle of tequila and dusty shot glass.

“You know what you did earlier? Was pretty stupid.”

When she looks up from preparing her drink Coco is staring at her intently. “...Excuse me?”

The incredulity in her voice sets him off and Coco pushes away from where he’d been leaning against the narrow counter to loom over her. Now she can tell that she’d seriously misunderstood something earlier as he looks...actually angry. The bottle is forgotten behind him and his chin raises, a defensive posture if she’d ever seen one. “That guy could have pulled a knife, or a gun. Then what?”

She hadn’t thought about if that had happened, but she had a feeling saying that out loud wouldn’t help her case. In an attempt at levity, Maya forced a smirk and tilted her head in faux innocence. “Get shot, I guess?”

It doesn’t help. His brows draw together and his tone raises which causes her to reel back. It only now occurs to her that she doesn’t actually know him that well or what he’s capable of in anger. “What the fuck kind of thinking is that? Eres una pinche idiota?”

Maya’s gaze drops to the floor and her shoulders sag in defeat. She can tell that the reaction is one out of concern for her wellbeing but she doesn’t have a clue on how to fix things. With a heavy sigh she rubs a hand across her face. “I just wanted to help,” Coco continues to look at her, and his expression softens just a bit in acceptance. “ ...You’re right. I wasn’t thinking.”

Coco is still standing close enough that if she were to lean forward it wouldn’t take much effort at all to place a kiss on his chin. The thought taunting her almost as much as the way that his voice dips an octave and ridiculously long lashes cast shadows on his cheeks. “ Next time just call me, yeah?”

A hopeful smile pulls at full lips and she rocks forward on her heels so that their chests are nearly touching. “Next time?”

“That’s not what I ...shit, I just mean,” His eyes are locked on her lips and the atmosphere of the confined space in the RV has changed with their mood. The air is heavy and she closes the distance between them in an obvious invitation, one of her hands splaying flat on his chest where the patch meets the leather of his vest. Coco’s eyes grow even darker if possible.

“It’s cool. I got you.” There are no expectations as he wraps an arm around her waist and pulls Maya into a hungry kiss. It’s not soft or gentle and she matches his pace eagerly. The hand on his chest snakes around to stroke over the hair at the base of his neck and one of his rakes up the tank top she’s wearing in order to cup her breast. His other arm is pulling her closer still, passion completely unleashed and Maya is forced to break away in a gasp of pleasure when Coco’s leg parted hers and pressed the lines of their bodies against one another until she could feel the tent forming against her hip.

In an act of rare dexterity she managed to turn them so that her back is facing the hallway. It’s far too great a sacrifice to pull away from him or the way that Coco is running his hands along her body. He follows her until the back of her knees press against the mattress and helps to lower her down, wet kisses trailing from her mouth to the column of her throat.

His touch lights her nerves on fire and Maya sighs into the kiss, opening her mouth so that he can take advantage and wind his tongue against hers. Once the heavy leather vest is dropped on the corner of the bed she removes her shirt and pulls Coco back down on top of her. His hands roam and grope her torso while the warm weight of his hips pin her down and roll against her. “Que quieres?”

“Don’t st…keep going.” It’s all the encouragement that he seems to need before Coco is slipping her jean shorts and underwear off her legs and placing nips and kisses along Maya’s hips. It’s a quick tease before her returns to place a kiss on her swollen lips. The fabric of his button up shirt rubs against her chest and she manages to slide her hands beneath it and the thin wife beater under that. They're both in too much of a hurry to really focus on removing each other’s clothes entirely. It’s a \victory just to be able to get a few of the small buttons undone as Coco unfastens his belt to slide his pants down his hips.

“Oh...fuck.” The unbidden whine slips from Maya when he presses two fingers inside of her, whispering a compliment into her ear before replacing his fingers with the head of his cock. It’s been awhile since she’s been with another person, and when he thrusts his entire length in with one quick motion she can’t help but lock her legs around his waist to hold him in place. Coco senses her tense and takes a couple of deep breaths, panting against her shoulder before placing kisses on her chest.

“Relax, mi cariña.” Coco groaned, gripping her ass and pressing Maya closer. He waited until she moaned and rolled her hips against his before picking up the pace of his movements. Once they find a rhythm it doesn’t take long before Maya is coming undone. She cries out in pleasure and tenses around Coco, arms tightly wound around his neck and face pressed against his shoulder. Just a couple of uneven thrusts later and he’s following close behind, groaning and rolling off of Maya so that he’s facing her on the mattress. They both have to catch their breath and she savors the look of pure relaxation on Coco’s face. The lines of stress fall away and he looks years younger.

Maya wants nothing more than to reach out and brush some of the dark hair off of his forehead, but when she does she’s pinned with that same intense stare from earlier as he flinched away from her hand. The connection that was there between them suddenly feels dulled. Coco rolled onto his back, staring up silently at the roof of the RV.

“So… you said something about next time.” She had a sudden sinking feeling in her gut and joined in the direction of his gaze. It was dark out now and the small amount of daylight had charged the old glow in the dark star stickers so that they set off a subtle glow. The longer she looked, the easier it was to pick them out against the faded roof material and ignore the embarrassed burning of her cheeks.

Coco sat up and fixed himself into his pants. From the angle she was at it was nearly impossible to tell exactly what his expression was. “...Yeah. I’ll give you a call.”

That certainly didn’t sound reassuring.

“Right.” Maya’s tone turned flat and cold, earning a glance from the other before she followed suit and sat up to pull her discarded tank top back over her head. Her shorts had been shoved off of the bed in their earlier activities however her underwear lay crumpled near by and she slipped them on to put off meeting his eyes. “Well, I’m only going to be in the area for another couple of days then I do a show up north. If I hear from you it’s cool but if not...it is what it is.”

The warmth of his palm spreads over her cheek and Coco pulls her up so that he can place a gentle kiss on her lips, far softer than she ever would have expected. “ Hey, querida… I’ll call. I got you.”

A soft smile spreads across her face as he slings his kutte over one arm and she pulls him back for one final kiss, happy to get to know him and already excited for the next time they would see each other.

“Ride safe.”

[wroughtbetwixtfanfic]

A Place To Call Home, Ch 8.

Fandom: Rosewell, New Mexico.

Summary: A canon divergent take on Roswell, New Mexico, and the relationships  between Isobel, Noah, and Rosa; later parts will shift the focus to  Michael and Alex, as well as Michael and Noah. What is it like to share a  body with another alien? Can broken trust be mended? Do the ends really  justify the means?  

Rating: M.

Tags: Canon divergence, minor  character death, not really character death, body sharing, polyamory,  hurt/comfort, addiction problems, sickfic, revenge, fix it, friends to  enemies to lovers, lovers to enemies to lovers, Noah is complicated, cw:  dubious age stuff for a little bit considering Nasedo/Noah is  who-the-hell-knows how old.

Word Count: 2833

Dawn broke, painting the Roswell sky lilac, magenta, and gold.

The  road that led to Carlsbad was desolate. It had been easy enough to lure  a driver to him, persuading them to take him to Midway RV Park. It was  along his chosen escape route, lingering just far enough away from  Roswell that Nasedo felt comfortable hiding there until sunrise. He kept  to the scant scattering of trees, curled up against the trunk of one  farthest from the RVs; sleep evaded him, but he closed his eyes and  rested as much as he was able. He would have to move swiftly once it was  time, and he would need whatever strength he could muster.

As  the sun peeked over the horizon, Nasedo felt some measure of relief. He  could feel his powers, still coiled inside his body like a rattlesnake  ready to strike. It was irritating to know that it would take hours to  accomplish what he, a skilled fighter, had once been able to do in  minutes. Still. His powers hadn't left him. They merely required  patience, and practice, to return in full. He wouldn't need more than a  couple hours at most, regardless. Not if he was careful.

An old  man in the RV park was shuffling past, walking towards a rusted-up  truck. Nasedo waited until the man was a couple paces ahead before  moving out from the trees and slinging an arm around the man's shoulder  in a gesture of familiarity. "Keep walking," Nasedo said, his voice  calm. "Where are you heading?"

The man's eyes glazed over. "Hagerman."

"Hagerman is a lovely place. You'll give me a ride there, won't you?"

"Alright."

Nasedo  glanced around as the neared the truck. There wasn't anyone else  around, but anyone could show up out of the blue. He took the  opportunity to enact the first part of his plan. The lamp post near the  truck had just flickered off for the day; he could still hear the hum of  electricity running through it. He pressed his hand to the cool metal  as the man opened the truck door, sending a surge of power through the  lines. Nasedo took some of the energy into himself, sending the rest  blasting outward with a crack. The power in the park sputtered and died,  with lights in the distance dying soon after. The metal of the post had  warped, with a lightning strike pattern branching outwards.

Time to go.  Nasedo climbed into the truck, and the man drove out to Main Street  without a word. He leaned back against the seat, taking a slow, deep  breath. Using his powers in such a way was taxing, but it was vital to  leave a noticeable trail. Manes, he recalled faintly, had been friends  at one point with Valenti. The bastard would notice the signs. If Manes  saw a trail leading away from Roswell, and the heirs were still in  Roswell, hopefully it would pull suspicion away from them long enough  for Nasedo to strengthen himself and return to the heirs more prepared.

He  looked at himself in the mirror of the car. He didn't look much older  than Max. Had he really been so young when he went into stasis? He  couldn't remember anymore. Soldiers went straight from school and into  service, and their species had such long lifespans, they didn't age the  same way as humans. At least he recognized himself otherwise. Darker  brown skin, brown eyes, black hair. He knew that, unfortunately, he  would have to be careful. A little less than half the state was white,  but that 'little less than half' was very loud and wasn't exactly known  for progressiveness. He'd have to split his energy between leaving  breadcrumbs for Manes and whatever parasites he had on his side, wiping  memories, and turning people's attention from him. It would be a  difficult day, but the end goal was simple. Leave a trail down to  Carlsbad, take a bus from there to Albuquerque, and disappear into the  swarm of humans that called it home.

Large fields, empty except  for the occasional horse, gave way to farmhouses, a baptist church, and a  gas station. Hagerman was small. Quaint, Isobel would have  said with a little nosewrinkle, and not in a flattering sense. Nasedo  would have to move on to a bigger city to avoid suspicion, but he  wouldn't force the old man to go farther than intended. It wasn't worth  the effort, if he could find another ride.

"Where are you heading, friend?" Nasedo asked.

The man barely blinked. "Rio Felix apartments."

"I see. Why don't you let me off at the church, and then you can be on your way."

"Alright."

The  old man stopped, and Nasedo got out. He circled around to the driver's  window, patting the old man on the shoulder. "Thanks. Do me a favor and  forget you ever saw me."

"Huh?"

Nasedo walked off before  the man could come to his senses. The truck sat there for a moment,  idling, but kept going. The switch to the next vehicle happened fast.  There was a car near the edge of the church, covered in Christian  stickers with some lanky white man getting inside. A minute later and  they were on their way to Lake Arthur. A young goth-looking sort outside  Lake Arthur's city park got him to Aretesia. A larger city meant more  potential witnesses, but it also meant more people distracted with their  own thoughts, emotions, and lives. It also meant that, when Nasedo  tapped into the energy grid at the WalMart and blew the power in the  entire city, it was sure to make the news.

By the time he got to  Carlsbad, delivered by a semi-truck driver who smelled like cigarette  smoke and tequila, the sun was beating down and the air was thick with  the summer heat. Nasedo stole one of several pairs of sunglasses from  the truck, hopping out and taking in the scenery. Carlsbad was smaller  than Roswell, but not claustrophobic like the others had been. He didn't  feel like eyes were on him as much, which made swiping the wallet of  some polo-shirt wearing douchebag easier. Fifty bucks. Enough for some  food, and a one-way ticket to Albuquerque.  

The Motel 6 was  seedy, but the staff members were overworked by tourist season, and  seemed too tired to care about much of anything. Convincing the older  woman at the desk to give him a room for the night-- free of charge--  barely required any of his powers at all. Nasedo sighed as he flopped on  the bed in the motel room, curling up and drifting off to sleep as soon  as his head hit the pillow. By the time he woke up again, the sun was  setting. The clock on the nightstand read that it was seven o' clock at  night. It was tempting to go back to sleep, but his stomach was roiling  from a lack of food; he would have to go out and find something.

A  lack of phone or computer meant having to do things old school. He  flipped through the yellow pages, finding a store within walking  distance. It wasn't anything fancy, but it didn't need to be. He was  able to buy more water, a couple frozen dinners, and enough packaged  foods to make it to Albuquerque. The woman at the check-out stand gave  him a warm smile, and he forced a smile back, but he felt his insides  twist. The only ones who had ever looked at him like that were Isobel  and Rosa. He didn't want anyone else to, certainly not some strange  human who would ship him off to a lab the moment they knew the truth.

Nasedo  stood in the motel room when he got back, the silence suddenly and  painfully obvious. He was alone. Before he'd met Isobel, the emptiness  had been maddening-- but now that he'd known her and the other heirs,  now that he'd known Rosa and tasted what it was like to have someone  love him and care for him, life felt hopeless. Even if he managed to  bring Rosa back to life, it could take years for Max to get strong  enough, and he knew in his core that Rosa would never forgive him. None  of them would, would they? Isobel would never trust him again. It was  useless. And yet, Nasedo knew he wasn't owed that. Rosa deserved to  live, regardless of how she'd feel about him.

He sat in the  middle of the bed, crossing his legs and closing his eyes. He wished  that his king and queen had survived, or that he could see his parents  one last time. If only he could ask for their wisdom. The only advice he  had were the last words his father ever said to him, just before the  attack the fell their kingdom. Don't let poison fill where love should be.  His father had disappeared moments later, marching into battle  alongside Nasedo's mother while Nasedo was sent away with the rest of  the royal guard.

They had been warriors to their last breath,  stalwart and honorable. He had aspired to be like them to the end of his  days, as well, but the crash had changed everything. Anger and hatred  had festered where love had been. Isobel and Rosa had been the guiding  stars in his life keeping that tainted ichor from consuming him. They  were lost to him, now, and the only choice he could see going forward  was to use that poison inside him to save Rosa and keep the heirs safe--  even if he had to do so from afar. He could pretend, at least, that  there was something noble in that.

But even if it was the  most-right choice, he was no longer what he had been. He'd broken so  many oaths already. Without an elder to direct him, and knowing that  punishment would be handed down on him if there were any elders left,  Nasedo embraced his newfound purpose. Nasedo slid off the bed and held  his old clothes in his hands, focusing. They dissolved into ash in his  palms, and he dumped the particles into the wastebasket. There had been  stories of warriors that had become something darker-- through  necessity, but they were never spoken of, and treated as outcasts among  their people. They were the ones that dispatched enemies in their sleep,  using night as their disguise, or slipped toxins into their drinks. War  was a bloody, terrible thing.

And what were most humans to him, except enemies in a war that had begun in 1947?

It made his next task easier to think of it that way.

He  packed up everything he planned to take with him, shoving it into a  backpack that he'd purchased at the store. Human food tasted strange on  his tongue, intense and foreign in a way it hadn't when he shared  Isobel's body, and the shower's heat and pressure was almost painful on  his skin. At least sleep remained the same, providing a few more hours  of relief before he set out. It wasn't hard to find some loud, irate,  and drunken bigot who was looking for a fight. It felt like nothing,  this time, taking the ranting fool's life. Nasedo dumped the body in the  bushes; by the time anyone found it, the handprint would be visible.  With any luck, it'd draw anyone who was looking away from Roswell.

The  ten hour bus ride to Albuquerque followed. The air inside the bus was  too warm, stagnant, and smelled like sweat. Thankfully, no one opted to  sit next to him; he leaned back against the seat and closed his eyes,  enjoying the rush of strength that moved through him. Taking a human  life did restore some of his strength, after all. He knew he should have  felt some sort of shame, but the creature had been a vicious, violent  thing. Remorse was a waste of time and energy on someone who wouldn't  have felt remorse for doing the same. And if it eased the ache in his  core, if it healed some of the damage done to him by time thanks to  hiding from murderous humans, then why not revel in it-- just a little?

Besides.  With any luck, it was the last life he would have to take. As soon as  he got to Albuquerque, he would convince a few tourists to generously  donate their wealth, and find shelter. What else did most humans need,  besides a safe place to sleep? A phone or computer, to access  information and communicate. Access to transportation. Food, clothes,  hygiene supplies. The hardest thing to acquire would be his human  identity.

Nasedo knew a little of what he had to do. After all,  Isobel, Max, and Michael hadn't come with proper papers, either. Isobel  and Max's parents didn't say much about it, but their father was a  lawyer himself, and had shared the story of how the three had been found  nameless, mute, and naked in the desert. They hadn't had any records,  of course. No parents found, no proof of any of their births. He had  mentioned in passing how some families chose not to have social security  numbers for their children, often due to religious reasons. It was  assumed that that's what had happened to Isobel and her brothers. Kids  like that could still get one later in life.

All it would take was a good story, and a little persuasion.

A  four hour transfer in El Paso, Texas, gave Nasedo time to grab a cheap  burger from the closest fast food restaurant. It was so unlike the ones  at the Crashdown-- thick, juicy beasts piled high with crisp pickles,  onions, and sweet rounds of tomato-- but it quieted the snarling in his  stomach. It also gave him a chance to mull around town and pick a few  pockets, gathering up a small bundle of cash; he bought new clothes at a  funky boutique, changing before he got back to the bus station.

It  was strange to walk among so many humans after all that had happened  within the last two days. He expected that, at any moment, someone would  notice that he wasn't human. Or, perhaps, someone would have recognized  him somehow from Carlsbad. After all, he couldn't wipe the memories of  everyone possibly within eyesight. Which was why Nasedo got nervous  when, as they made a brief stop in Las Cruces to pick up other  passengers, an older woman stared hard at him before taking the seat at  his side. Her eyes were hazel and deeply wrinkled around the ends; she  had long salt and pepper hair, pulled back into a braid, and skin just a  bit darker than his own. Perhaps how his mother would have looked, had  she lived to become an elder.

"I'm sorry for staring," she said,  with a thick accent that he couldn't place. "You look so much like my  grandnephew. He lives so far away now."

Nasedo didn't know what  to say, so he pretended he was talking to an elder from back home. It  felt less bizarre. "I'm sorry he's far away. Do you see him at all?"

"Not often. I'm going to see him this week. He lives in Sante Fe with his parents. It's very beautiful there."

"I've never been."

"Maybe someday." She leaned a bit closer. "Are you traveling towards someone, or away from them?"

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, you have a look. I have two children, nine grandchildren. I know the look."

For  a moment, Nasedo didn't respond. "Away from someone," he finally  answered. His throat squeezed shut, and it was hard to speak. "I, uh. I  messed up, and I'm trying to make it right."

The old woman reached out and rested her hand on his. "Have faith. You'll find your way back to them, someday."

"How do you know?"

"When you get to be my age, you know."

They  spent the next eight hours alternating between silence, dozing, and  Nasedo smiling appreciatively as the old woman showed him pictures she  had of her 'favorite children'-- nine cats that were being watched by  her eldest daughter, and her daughter's wife. Both were doctors, the old  woman said with a proud look. When the bus pulled up to the station in  Albuquerque, Nasedo had learned more about knitting and indoor gardening  than he'd ever anticipated.

"Thank you for the company," Nasedo  said to her as they got off the bus. The time had gone by faster than  expected, and he almost felt sad at parting ways. "Have fun seeing your  grandnephew."

The woman gave him a hug, and he didn't resist. "Bless you. Good luck."

He  watched after her as she shuffled to the parking lot, and to a car that  was waiting. A couple helped her in; to his surprise, the old woman  looked back and waved through the window. Nasedo waved back, unable to  help smiling.

Maybe, just maybe, some humans weren't so bad.

[crashdevlin]

Pale Rust- Ch. 1

Author’s Note: This is an idea I’ve been trying to write as an original but I have converted it into an AU because I really want to get it out into the world, lol.

Summary: Syeira Calderas, her brother, mother and cousin get kicked out of their Romani Caravan and end up stuck in the small town of Deep Well, Alabama, where ‘gypsy’ is a dirty word. She doesn’t want to make friends with the townspeople but there’s something she can’t quite resist about a green-eyed boy named Dean, but will that matter when the absolute worst happens?

Pairing: eventual Dean x Syeira (OFC)

Chapter Word Count: 3065

Chapter Warnings: a little bit of angst

Story Warnings: angst, violence, death, teens flirting, eventual smut (after 18th birthdays happen)

Mother moved us to Deep Well, Alabama in the middle of June. The Family hadn’t left us with very much money to start our new lives, but they let us take the RV and that was good enough for Mother. We panhandled for a few days, Aishe and I helping as we sang and played guitar on the sidewalk, and that got us gas money and food for the trip out of Raleigh.

Mother says she made Deep Well our home on purpose, that it ‘felt like home’, but I think this is just where the money ran out. We parked the RV at a campground on the outskirts of the town, not that there is much of a town. We picked the most remote plot we could and Mother put that ‘First week free when you sign a one-month rental’ deal to good use getting a job as a waitress at the all-night diner in town.

Not very many people talked to us and we are more than well-versed in keeping to ourselves, but it took only one person to notice our bracelets and scarves and my mother’s accent. It took only a single peek at the inside of our RV and the owner of the campground had spread the word ‘gypsy’ all over Deep Well. Mother didn’t let it affect her much and over the summer it didn’t cause much pain to my brother, cousin or me. I was not looking forward to us starting school at that small town gadje school, but Milosh and Aishe didn’t have the good sense to dread it, themselves.

“Smile, Sarah. A new year, new you, right?” Aishe said, walking out of the bedroom and grabbing a piece of over-cooked toast from the plate where I left them.

“I am as I was born, Cousin,” I said, turning my head to examine her. “You seem to have on a mask, though.”

Of course she knew what I was speaking of without looking at herself. “So, I’m not wearing jewelry. Sue me. It’s a bit showy, isn’t it? All the gold and silver...with the coins. Traditional, but-” She sighed. “-why don’t we try to blend in here?”

The very notion of ‘blending in’ disgusted me. “I don’t feel the need. Blending in with these...outsiders is not a priority.”

“They aren’t the outsiders here, we are. We don’t have the Family to wrap around us anymore. So we might as well let ourselves be like them.”

I glared at her and shook my head. “You’re gonna be eating those words when I finish their stupid school and go find Papa Pietro, plead our case.”

“Oh, I doubt it,” she countered.

“Voices down. Mother needs sleep,” Milosh whispered, standing from the small booth table and looking between us with disappointment. “Let’s just try to have a good first day at our new school. Maybe we’ll make some friends. Can you please try to make friends, Sarah?”

“Don’t Anglicize my name, Milosh. Gadje idiots can’t pronounce it, but you can.” I stood from the table and looked at my brother. “I don’t want to make friends...and I guarantee that they won’t want to make friends with you.”

I grabbed my notebook and pencil from the counter and began my trek to school, knowing that Aishe and Milosh would follow at their own pace. The walk to school was something I greatly enjoyed. It was nice, mostly through the woods with a peaceful background of morning birdsong and I could almost forget where I was heading.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out my iPod Shuffle, placing the earbuds in my ears as I stepped off of the red dirt road that ran to the plot of land we’d leased for our RV and onto the two-lane blacktop that ran through Deep Well. It was Main Street, of course, because small towns with only a single blacktop road running through them aren’t known for their original thinking.

It took another twenty minutes before I made it to the school. That little stone building with the cross above the the double-door entrance. It was a small school but somehow still bigger than you’d expect for a town with a four-digit population. As I walked onto campus, I wondered how many empty rooms the building held.

I sat in the grass next to a tall oak, leaning back against the bark as dozens of children milled around the school courtyard, all eagerly welcoming their friends and family back to the Hell of Alabama public school. I closed my eyes and lost myself in the music as a Fall Out Boy song flowed into my ears. I was abruptly pulled back to Earth when I felt a tugging at my hair. My eyes snapped open and I looked up to see a tall brown-haired boy wearing a red letterman’s jacket. Clutched in his fist was my headscarf. I pulled the earpiece from my left ear and stood, pointing at the scarf. “That’s mine.”

“This yers? Really? Couldn’t tell,” he said, looking at his hand. His voice carried that thick Southern accent that I was fighting not to hate. “These coins real?”

“They are really mine.” I put my hand out expectantly. “Give it back and no one gets hurt.”

He scoffed, his lips twitching into a smirk. “You think you can hurt me, gypsy trash?”

“‘Gypsy’. This is your word, not ours,” I said, shaking my head at him. “I just want my scarf back. I won’t even ask that you leave, just give my belonging back.”

He looked at his friend, a shorter blond boy with dark green eyes was wearing a similar jacket, before he threw my faded red scarf at my feet. I bent down and picked it up, shaking dirt off of it as I straightened. “Nais tuke, redneck,” I said as I tied the scarf around my hair.

“What was that, some kinda gypsy curse?” the blond boy asked.

“Yes,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Shock me with your knowledge of my culture, gadje. That was a gypsy curse, one that makes your penis shrivel and fall off. The only way to stop it is if you run away as far as you can from me.”

The shorter boy scoffed but then he looked around uncomfortably before turning and walking toward the schoolhouse. The taller one watched his friend depart before following him. I looked around the schoolyard as the boys disappeared into the building. There is very little variety on the campus. Diversity in Deep Well is finding a blue-eyed brunette, so Aishe was bound to be the darkest-skinned student in town.

I felt a bit jealous of my younger cousin some days. When I compared myself to her, it was hard not to. She definitely embodied the Egyptian origin of the term ‘gypsy’. With her tan skin and dark chocolate-colored hair, she would have been right at home as a bust next to Nefertiti.

By contrast, my hair is dark blond, drab like Mother’s. My skin is pale, like Father’s, a nod to our Eastern European lineage and I’ve been stuck at five feet tall since I was twelve years old. The only place where I was secure in my superior aesthetics was my eyes. Her eyes never shined. They were a dull brown, no matter the lighting, no matter her mood. They were never a match for my bright green orbs and I was always secure in that knowledge.

Milosh and Aishe were easy to tell apart from the Deep Well natives even though they walked onto campus with a group of them. They were both a touch taller than the other students. Milosh was a bit thinner and Aishe was several shades darker. They would never blend in, no matter the effort they put into it.

I pulled my headphones off and turned off my Shuffle as I walked up to them.

“Oh, you made it here? I thought you might skip the ‘outsiders’ school,” Aishe said in a snippy voice.

I rolled my eyes. “I don’t quit. Besides, we live in America. It’s the law, Cousin.”

“We’re Roma,” she spat out at me. “Since when do Roma care about the law?”

“Are you fine to perpetuate the stereotypes? You take off your gold and decide to ‘blend in’ and now all Roma are criminals?” I spat back.

“My parents are-” she started.

“Are not all Roma,” Milosh cut into the conversation. My little brother is ever the voice of reason. “It is a sad circumstance that so many Romani men and women are forced to turn to crime, but we have never needed to do that. And your parents won’t have to be criminals anymore once they get out, okay? We can all live well together.”

“You think that her parents are gonna move here to Deep Well, Alabama and live the simple life like we are?” I asked as a bell rang obnoxiously in the steeple of the school.

“We’ll tell them how things are going so well for us. They’ll be sure to move here,” Milosh responded.

“Or they might take their gadje-pretending daughter away to remind her of who she is.” I held the door open for them, my eyes flicked to the crucifix over the door frame. Aishe cut those dull brown eyes at me as she passed. “Do you forget that your parents are still part of the Family? Meaning you are still with Them.”

“Yeah, except I’m not with Them, am I?” she snapped. “No one in the Family would take me. Aunt Lulu is the only one who would support me, the only one who cared.”

“Mother doesn’t complain that we lost the Family. She does not complain about this town. Why do you?” Milosh asked.

Milosh’s voice is soft but he has learned to speak many levels of subtlety. There are themes under his words that he wouldn’t speak aloud. ‘Move on,’ he doesn’t say. ‘Grow up. Get over it.’

I stopped at the door to my classroom and my throat clenched around the words, “We didn’t do anything wrong.”

He turned around and kept walking toward his first class, backward. “Yet, they expelled us from caravan, anyway. Doesn’t that say more about Them than it does us?” He smiled his soft smile as Aishe turned away and into her own class. “Good luck today, Sister.”

I nodded. “Nais tuke. Luck to you, too.”

The teacher was tall and blond and her brown eyes were bright and shining. The plaque on her desk read ‘Ms. D. Hanscum’ and it was almost drowning in a sea of framed pictures turned so that Miss D. Hanscum could see them whenever she sat down. As I walked past her to go sit down, she put a gentle hand on my shoulder.

“I’m sorry, but we can’t have hats or head-coverin’s in class except for religious reasons, honey.” She seemed genuinely apologetic so I didn’t fight her about it as I pulled the scarf from my hair and wrapped it around my left wrist. “Perfect.” She smiled at me when the coins jingled as I walked.

Miss Hanscum stood at the white board at the front of the class and cleared her throat as soon as the bell stopped ringing. “Good morning, students. Welcome to English III and IV. We are going to split the seating arrangements by grade, but that can wait a few minutes. First, I wanna talk to the students who’ve never had my class before. My name is Miss Donna and as long as you don’t make it on my hit list, you can call me that.”

She leaned against the pristine white board and looked out across the classroom. “This class is more than just reading some books and writing forced essays on what you think I want you to say that the author was tryin’ to say. It’s more than just grammar and punctuation and formattin’. I want you to go to college. That is my goal for each and every one of you. I want pictures of you getting crazy at a football game or excited letters about joining a fraternity. I want you to get out of this town just as much as you wanna get out. Just like I wanted to get out.

Now, go ahead and ask your peers who had me last year; I strive for ‘tough but fair’. I want you thinking, not drownin’ in homework. Just cooperate with me, come to me with your concerns, and I’ll do everything I can to get you to where you want to be.”

I know my classmates were thinking about big cities and real universities, but my mind turned to Papa Pietro and the Family, our place in the Caravan. My mind turned to home. Could this woman possibly help me get there.

I decided that getting my hopes up would be a bad idea as Miss Donna sat at her desk and began the roll call. “Sierra Calderas?” It was the fourth name she called, behind an ‘Anderson’ and two boys called ‘Brock’ who I would have assumed were twins if one of them hadn’t been sent to the Juniors’ side of the classroom.

I raised my left arm as an answer, a bit shocked that she’d come so very close to saying my name correctly. She went a little Spanish on the pronunciation, but ‘Sierra’ is pretty damn close.

“Is that how you say it, honey?” Miss Donna asked, leaning forward to catch my eyes.

I looked down at my desk, avoiding the gazes of my peers. “Was close. ‘Syeira’. It’s more ‘ear’ than ‘air’, and it’s ‘Calderas’. Like ‘call-dare-ras’. Calderas.”

She smiled brightly at me over the picture frames on her desk. “If you don’t mind my askin’, where are you from? I’m tryin’ to place your accent.”

I shrugged. “Lot’s of places. Raleigh, most recently.”

She leaned forward more on her desk. “Well, that ain’t a North Carolina accent.”

I knew what she wanted, of course. Not where I come from, but where my family comes from. “I was born in Portland, Oregon and my brother was born in Albany, but my parents emigrated from Czech Republic and Romania. That’s what you’re hearing.”

“Well, you must have a lot of stories since you move around so much, Miss Calderas?” she said, her pronunciation perfect despite the country in her voice.

“Ain’t that what gypsies do?” a blond two rows over asked. She said the word ‘gypsy’ like it was a curse word, like I’m certain most of the people in this town say the ‘N’ word.

“It’s also what our military families do, Ruby,” Miss Donna said, leaning back in her desk chair. “You gonna hold it against them?”

It was shocking to have a gadje defending me, but it was nice. I looked down, letting my hair hide my face. From behind the curtain of my bland strands I could see a senior boy turning in his desk to look my way. He had bright green eyes, dark hair and a faded brown leather jacket. He responded to ‘Dean Winchester, welcome back’ and then he turned around in his seat.

Dean, or ‘Mr. Winchester’ as Mr. Singer insisted on calling him, was also in my second period Pre-calculus/Algebra II/Trigonometry class. Mr. Singer is a rude, round old man who wears trucker caps and does not care for me at all. He made that clear after the Pledge of Allegiance that first morning. “We don’t speed through the Pledge of Allegiance in this school, Miss Culldergrass, and we say it right.”

“I didn’t speed,” I argued. “Just didn’t pause at all the places they teach you to pause at in elementary school. You don’t have to pause there; they teach it that way just to make it easier for kindergartners to remember. I am not a kindergartner. And I suppose you are referring to my omission of the ‘Under God’ line, yes? Well, I’m sure a man so old as you remembers that the line has not always been there, it was added during the Red Scare of the fifties because someone thought that making a bunch of school kids proclaim that America was under God’s protections would somehow scare those Commies back to Russia.”

It’s one of my many talents that I can piss people off very quickly and to great extent, while also being completely correct and therefore, untouchable.

“I learned the Pledge from my great grandfather, Pietro, who was the first Calderas to become a naturalized citizen of these great United States. If the Pledge he took back then is not good enough for you, Mr. Singer, I’m very sorry...but I will continue to say it the way I was taught.”

The man sputtered, trying to get words out of his red face. “Just… slow it down, Calldurgrass.”

Dean was staring at me again after this interaction. He made me uncomfortable. I pushed my hair behind my ears and took to doodling flowers on my notebook. I could hear the clock ticking on the wall a few feet away. Two and one-half hours before lunch period, five before the final bell ring. Tick tick tick.

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[buggs]

I was driving in the middle of nowhere several miles east of Las Vegas, New Mexico on state country road 419. There was nothing for miles, not even a tree. Then suddenly, out of nowhere, I came upon a huge junkyard. Except this was not your typical junkyard, it was a treasure of old vintage vehicles of different stages of disrepair. I slammed on my breaks, did a U-turn and parked right on the outside of the property fence line. Suddenly a man was standing in the distance looking at me and I started to get nervous. He started to walk toward my direction, and I thought, he is going to tell me to take a hike. He then yelled at me "are you going to stand there or are you going to come in?" That is how I met Olmo Pacheco. He gave me a tour of his treasures, and I have never seen so many bad ass vehicles together in one place. This was a dream come true for anyone interested in the "Mad Max" of vehicles. He had hundreds of vintage vehicles in different shades of rust color. He showed me each individual vehicle and the story behind them. He was totally converting a vintage bus into some type of RV from the ground up for a client from out of state. He was such a character, I immediately took a liking to him and was so interested with everything he had to say He told me the county and state authorities told him he could not have all these vehicles in his property and was told he had to removed them. Weeks later a team of environmentalists showed to his doorstep from Santa Fe, and they wanted to inspect his property. They told him he had to remove all the vehicles from the property as they presented a hazard. He told them he had a permit in his car, and they asked him to show it to them. He went inside his car and pulled out his gun and pointed the gun at them, telling them, “This is all the permit I need, now get hell off my property before someone gets hurt. Next time bring backup." That was several years ago, he has not seen them since. https://www.instagram.com/p/CbiKZS4rNwi/?utm_medium=tumblr

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[tangent101]

Okay. Let's unwrap this.

First? Teenagers can and do cheat on each other. Hell, we see an example of it with Zach sexting Victoria while dating Juliet. Trust me, that was not thrown in there to make it "more grown up" but because teenagers do this sort of thing as frequently as adults do. And trust me, when teenagers cheat, being a teenager is not an excuse. It's not a reason either.

Second? Her relationship with Frank was the one that Chloe considered "cheating" and got her the most upset. Of course, it also was one that lasted over a month during what was likely the summer of 2012, seeing all the pictures were set when the plants were green. (Do note that they specifically patched in that Rachel was a year older after the game's release because otherwise Frank's relationship would have been statutory rape.)

Third, she had a relationship with Mark Jefferson that was an open secret she was sleeping with Jefferson. Students openly bandied it about even half a year after Rachel disappeared. She even wrote about it in a letter to Chloe that Max finds, crumpled up, in the cement bunker in American Rust.

Of course, there is one last "not cheating" defense in which folk claim that Rachel never dated Chloe and thus her being with other people means she wasn't technically cheating.

And you're saying that Rachel is not responsible for her actions? Because I very much doubt Frank approached Rachel. Further, we know she was looking for a way out of Arcadia Bay. Frank had an RV. That's the perfect way out. Except for Frank being a druggie and dealer....

Similarly, Jefferson never needed approach Rachel to pose for photos if all he intended was to kidnap her and put her in the Dark Room. In fact, given he has a list of victims a page long and the particulars of those he kidnaps... Rachel seems a very odd victim unless he deliberately targeted her intending on murdering her and blaming Nathan. And why would Jefferson want to do that? Maybe she threatened to blackmail him unless he helped set her up to be a model in LA. Or she perceived something and let it slip.

Rachel was no perfect angel. LiS was created by a different company before anyone had a dream about Before the Storm. Let her be the imperfect impulsive girl she was when LiS first came out.

anyway! Rachel never cheated on Chloe because being victimized by adult men twice her age (one of whom drugged and kidnapped her) is NOT cheating!! she’s literally a teenager!