#I’ve been to the hardware store more times in the last six months than I have in my whole life

[lukadarkwater]

Spent most of the day refinishing my mom’s 1950 table because the top was pretty damaged and I guess I’m just going to quit my job at this point and become a handywoman

[capseycartwright]

okay but buck and eddie + "pretending you're going to kiss your best friend to see how they're going to react, they grab your face and kiss you back" from the kissing prompts

Eddie would, without question, move heaven and earth to make Christopher happy. It’s not something he’s ever had to doubt about himself - Christopher is his main priority in life, and Eddie would stand on his head for hours if it meant he got to see his son smile. All that being said - he might have bitten off more than he could chew, with this one.

Christopher was in El Paso for a week. Pepa had been going there anyway, and she’d taken Chris to see Eddie’s parents - despite Eddie insisting he could take Chris himself. Their work schedule wasn’t too bad, that week, and they had three days off in a row without having to use any vacation time, so he could have flown out there, but Pepa - and abuela - had insisted Eddie take some time for himself, which was not something he was very good at, so instead, Eddie had decided to surprise Christopher with a total room makeover.

Chris was the definition of a tweenager - he was hitting the age where everything was starting to be totally embarrassing (Christopher’s words, not Eddie’s) and so he thought his room was too childish. It’s just - Eddie hadn’t had the time, before now, to clear the room out, repaint it, replace all the furniture - the works.

Buck had been on board from the second Eddie had suggested it, and three trips to the hardware store, a whole day of painting Christopher’s room a seafoam green, and one very stressful trip to Ikea later, Eddie was sitting on the floor of his sons room, Buck looking entirely too self-satisfied as he pointed out Eddie was definitely building Christopher’s new desk wrong.

Eddie glared at his best friend. “Did you look at these instructions? It’s not exactly my fault that I put it together wrong,” he huffed, throwing the crumpled paper at Buck. “There’s pictures, and no words.”

“That’s supposed to make it easier, Eddie,” Buck said, smoothing out the instructions. “Come on, it can’t be that bad. We’re firefighters, we’re not going to be defeated by flat-pack furniture. Well, I won’t be - I don’t know about you.”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “You’re real cute, Buckley.”

Buck looked up, grinning. “Aw, you think I’m cute?” he teased, making kissy-faces at Eddie, leaning in impossibly close - close enough that Eddie could feel the huff of his breath against Eddie’s own cheek, close enough for Eddie to be able to study every flutter of Buck’s eyelashes. “You think I’m cute. You think I’m the cutest ever,” he continued, his laughter genuine and bright, filling in every crack of Eddie’s heart as always. “You think I’m cute, and you want to kiss me.”

Buck was probably joking, Eddie realised - but something about his words, they made something snap inside of Eddie.

His feelings for Buck, they had changed, a long time ago - in hindsight, part of Eddie had to wonder if their friendship had ever truly been totally platonic, given how deep the connection was, from day one - but Eddie had really accepted he had been in love with his best friend right after he’d gotten shot. The moment the bullet had torn through his shoulder had been a strange one - it was as though Eddie’s life, past, present, and future, had played on some sort of desperate, sped-up, movie-style preview, and his heart and brain had gone into overdrive. He hadn’t been sure of what it had meant, until he’d woken up and seen Ana where he wished Buck was, and he’d only lasted a few more days before breaking it off with Ana.

(“It’s Buck, isn’t it?” she’d asked, more perceptive than Eddie had given her credit for. It felt like the movement took every ounce of strength in his body, but Eddie had nodded. “I hope it works out, Eddie,” had been the last thing she’d ever said to him.)

But Buck had been with Taylor - and he’d been happy, for a long while, until they’d broken up pretty amicably. They’d wanted different things, out of life - Buck wanted a family, a house in the suburbs and a happily ever after, and Taylor’s vision of her future hadn’t looked like that.

(“It was too big a difference, to find a compromise on,” Buck had shrugged. “I want a family - she doesn’t. It wouldn’t be fair to ask each other to change our minds on that - but we’re still friends, and I’ll be okay.” He’d sounded so sure, that Eddie was helpless to do anything except believe him.)

The breakup had been months ago, now, and Buck had all but moved in, since, spending all his time with Eddie and Christopher and all those feelings Eddie had buried for the six and a half months Buck and Taylor had dated for had come back with a vengeance, and Eddie had felt like he was drowning in how much love he felt for Buck.

So maybe Buck was joking -

But Eddie wasn’t, when he dived across the floor and cupped Buck’s face in his hands, pressing his lips to Buck’s in a desperate, urgent kiss. He’d imagined so many versions of their first kiss - slow, and romantic, exchanged over dinner, desperate and hurried, exchanged in the midst of an emergency. Eddie had never imagined this - never imagined the way Buck was frozen, in Eddie’s grasp, never imagined feeling too scared to pull back because he was worried that would be the first, and last, time he ever got to kiss Buck.

Eventually - Eddie had to pull back.

“I’m sorry,” he managed, trying to wrack his brain for an excuse for his behaviour. Could he blame it on the paint fumes, maybe? Say that they’d addled his brain and gotten him a little high? They hadn’t worn masks, when they painted, after all.

Buck’s grip on his wrists was tight, stopping Eddie from moving away. “Do you think I don’t want this, Eddie?” he asked, his cheeks flushed an adorable shade of pink, eyes wide and sincere as he looked at Eddie.

Eddie had never felt more embarrassed in his life. “You didn’t kiss me back,” he pointed out, wishing Buck would let him move away.

“You didn’t give me a chance to,” Buck said, and before Eddie could say anything else, Buck was kissing him again, slow and unhurried, as though they had all the time in the world to do this, to figure out how best to fit together.

Eddie couldn’t help the surprised noise he made against Buck’s mouth as the younger man pulled him into his lap, the way Buck’s strong hands gripped his thighs and easily maneuvered him unfamiliar - but not unwelcome. “Do you really want this?” he found himself asking, steadying himself by holding tightly to Buck’s shoulders.

He’s not sure he’d ever sat in someone's lap before, as an adult. It was kind of nice.

Buck nuzzled his face against Eddie’s neck, breathing deeply for a second. “I’ve wanted you for so long, Eddie,” he admitted. “I can’t remember how it feels to not want you - to not want this, us, our family, forever.”

“Our family,” Eddie echoed softly, brushing Buck’s sweaty, gel-free hair back off his forehead.

“Is that okay?”

Eddie nodded, leaning in to kiss the worry off Buck’s forehead. “It’s more than okay, Buck. It’s perfect.”

(It was hours later, when Eddie looked in the door of Christopher’s bedroom, a half-naked Buck doing his best to distract him as Eddie surveyed the wreckage of half-built flat-pack furniture littering Christopher’s floor.

“Chris is home tomorrow,” Eddie sighed, reaching back to run a hand through Buck’s hair. “We really need to finish.”

Eddie didn’t need to look at his best friend to know the younger man was grinning. “How do you feel about getting a TaskRabbit, Eds?”)

[litwitlady]

to make the desert bloom

The first time Michael pawns off a few feet of stolen copper wire he makes $68. He’s been totally swindled - the wire easily worth more than double that. But it’s enough to pay the remainder on his cell phone bill so he’s thrilled with the transaction.

A few months later Michael risks stealing a small spool of wire. He’s wised up about the wire’s worth, but still accepts a criminally low cash offer. But alongside the cash, he’s also negotiated a broken power drill. He has it fixed within the hour and that’s how his tool collection starts. 

Word gets around about the kid who practically gives away copper for nothing more than a few crumpled bills and some rusty old tools. Michael happily accepts broken wrenches, bent screwdrivers, and even a table saw with the cord cut off. He makes enough money to put gas in his truck and keep food on his table. And collects enough tools to supplement his income with various side-gigs.

By his twenty-first birthday, he’s even got $400 saved in his new bank account. His crime completely victimless, as far as he’s concerned. Old Man Sanders never once showing any interest in the piles of copper in the makeshift garage shed. What Sanders doesn’t miss can’t hurt him. And what Sanders doesn’t miss has saved Michael’s life on more than one occasion.

No one but his customers are aware of his scheme. A conman playing easily into the hands of lesser grifters. Until the day he overspends on one of Isobel’s birthday gifts.

She opens the newspaper wrapped box and immediately shoves the gift back into Michael’s chest. ‘You’re stealing now?’

He frowns down at the handwoven scarf. Realizes his mistake. And sighs. Because yes, he’s stealing now.

‘It’s not a big deal, Iz. Just some copper wire no one’s going to miss.’ He tries to give the scarf back to her, but she folds her arms across her chest and levels him with her deadliest glare.

‘Return the scarf, Michael. Give the money back to whoever you stole the wire from.’ Her face softens and she reaches out for his knee. ‘If you need money, I have more than I know what to do with. And we’re family.’

He kisses her cheek, shrugging off her offer. ‘I’ll be okay.’ 

She settles against him, interlocking their elbows and leaning her head on his shoulder. ‘You know I love you, right?’

‘I know. Me too.’ And it’s the truth. But he’ll never take her money.

That’s the last time he steals anything from Sanders for a long time. Until Alex Manes comes barrelling back into his life after his longest absence yet. 

They crash back together like always. Shacking up in his trailer for hours at a time, rediscovering each other’s bodies. And Michael allows himself to believe that they will finally make it happen this time. But then Isobel arrives with a bag of bagels and wakes him from his dream.

Once he’s able to shoo her away, he watches Alex practically fall out of the airstream in his haste to get away. Michael holds up the bag of bagels, but Alex shrugs him off and climbs into his Explorer. The engine whines - needing a new timing belt - as he flees from the junkyard.

Michael eats all six bagels and then steals the largest spool of copper he can find. It’s almost like he wants Alex to catch him. You’re wasting your life, Guerin on a constant loop inside his head.

And maybe he is. Wasting his life. On a boy he’ll never be good enough for.

That night at the drive-in he plays out the final act of their charade. Stupid alien movie and grease-soaked food, hands brushing accidentally as they both grab for a new beer with the anticipation of sex heavy between them.

A dance with Jesse Manes. 

A trade with Renly Thomas.

He makes the most he’s ever made that night. Almost twice what the copper is worth. But he ends the evening in red regardless.

Eventually, he confesses the whole scheme to Sanders. Promising to pay him back. Sanders turns down the offer, but Michael starts saving the money anyway. It’s what he imagines his mother would expect of him. 

He starts taking classes at Roswell Tech. He stops drinking. 

One night, a recently single Alex sits on the stool next to him at the Pony. Leans his elbow on the bartop and turns to Michael. ‘I need a favor.’

Michael drops his hat onto the bartop and snorts. Raises his glass of water to his lips but doesn’t drink. ‘A favor?’

Alex scratches at a divot in the chipped wood bar. Avoiding Michael’s gaze. ‘I need a few feet of copper wire.’

He’s convinced he’s heard him wrong. ‘What?’

‘Three feet. Three feet of copper wire. Heard you were the guy to talk to.’ His lips quirk up at the corner. And Michael suspects he’s being played.

‘Fuck off, Alex.’ There’s no bite in his words, just a sad sort of ruefulness. He slides off his seat and drops his hat back on his head. ‘You can afford to buy your own copper.’

He stalks out of the bar, too sober to stay and argue with an ex who will always be more than an ex. 

The sky is dark and near moonless. Broken glass splinters beneath his boots. A couple arguing loudly distracts him as he walks out to his truck parked near the highway. Unaware that he’s being followed.

When he finally looks up, he stops dead in his tracks. A large dark object sits in the bed of his truck. And it definitely wasn’t there when he’d last climbed out of the Chevy. 

He squints, trying to make out what the object could be without getting any closer. But it’s no use. A voice from behind startles him.

‘Won’t work without the wire.’ 

Alex.

Michael sighs and turns to him. ‘What won’t work?’

‘The sign I made.’ He motions to the back of Michael’s truck. ‘Electrical connections aren’t complete yet. Guess you’ll have to take it home and fix that.’ He hands Michael a brand new reel of copper wire. ‘Let me know how it goes.’

Michael gives him the dirtiest side-eye. But Alex only laughs and turns away. Michael ignores whatever the sign is and slides behind the steering wheel. Riding back to the junkyard in silence.

He sits inside his trailer for a long time. Doing his best to ignore what’s still in his truck. It only works for an hour before he’s back outside and threading the wire through the back of the oak sign. Completing all the electrical connections and yawning through several dramatic sighs.

Once the wiring is finished, he plugs the cord into his power pack and watches as a soft neon glow lights up the night. He stays behind the sign. Protecting himself from whatever it says.

At some point, Isobel arrives. Walks slowly towards him, purples and blues lighting up her face - brow deeply furrowed. ‘Um, Michael? Is there something you want to tell me?’ She motions to the sign and his fear increases tenfold.

He shakes his head, hops up onto the worktable behind him, and carelessly swings his legs back and forth. Trying for nonchalance. ‘Nope. Just fixing Alex’s sign.’

Her mouth falls agape and her eyes go wide. ‘Alex made this?’

Michael nods. 

‘How the fuck are you this calm?’ She’s frantically waving her arms in a decidedly un-Isobel like fashion.

‘Don’t care what it says.’ He’s nervous though. Slips off the table and grabs the leftover copper. It’s probably more than what he stole in the first place. Tosses it onto Sanders’ stack. Suddenly very suspicious about Alex’s intentions.

‘Michael. Come here, right now.’ Her arms are crossed. Death glare back in place. But then she dissolves into high-pitched giggles and he’s never felt a fear so great in all his life.

He bites the bullet and goes to stand beside her. The first thing he notices is how pretty the lights are - pastel neons with a haunting glow. Very reminiscent of the alien tech on his console. 

The words take a minute to form in his mind. He struggles with them. Blinks rapidly several times. Shakes his head and tries again. But each time he lands on the same phrase.

MARRY ME.

‘It’s a joke right? Gotta be.’ Michael swallows hard and stares at the words until they grow fuzzy, losing all meaning. ‘We’re not even dating, Iz.’

Isobel wraps her arm around him and hugs him close. ‘I think you’ve been dating since you were seventeen. Maybe not in the conventional sense - but dating all the same.’ She sighs at the romance of it all. ‘And now he wants more than that.’ She pinches his ribs. 

‘Ow! What was that for?’

‘I can already hear you trying to find some reason to reject him. I will not let you ruin this for me, Michael. Do you understand me? I have a wedding to plan.’ She pulls out her phone and starts flipping through her calendar. ‘Spring or fall?’

Michael rolls his eyes and turns at the sound of tires on gravel. Isobel squeals when she recognizes Alex’s Explorer. Michael’s heart starts to race.

Alex climbs out slowly. Eyeing the sign over Michael’s shoulder. ‘I couldn’t sleep.’ As if that’s all the explanation required. ‘Phone was too quiet.’

Isobel flies into Alex’s arms, nearly knocking him over. But his eyes never leave Michael’s.

‘Give him some space, Isobel.’ She pulls away and looks back and forth between the two of them. Smiling so wide it’s contagious. ‘I’ll call you in the morning.’ She kisses both of them on the cheek and leaves them to their fate.

She stays up all night preparing mood boards.

Back at the junkyard, Alex shoves his hands into his pockets. Feeling naked under Michael’s intense gaze. He waits anxiously for Michael to say something - to say anything.

‘I guess I just don’t understand. Where did this suddenly come from?’ Michael leans against an old junker, watching Alex fidget.

‘Honestly?’ He looks up at the stars and then back down to Michael. ‘I’ve been sort of miserable lately. And one day I looked at my reflection in the mirror and asked myself why.’ He shrugs his shoulders and laughs softly. ‘Got dressed and went to the hardware store.’ 

Michael studies the perfectly formed tube lights. ‘Quite the talent you got there. And completely new to me.’

Alex grins, his anxiety easing a bit. ‘I had help.’

‘And this isn’t a joke?’ 

‘Not a joke. Not remotely a joke.’ He takes several steps towards Michael. Stopping an arm’s length away. ‘I don’t mean tomorrow. Or next month. Hell, maybe not even next year. But one day. When we’re both ready. That’s what I want.’

Michael nods and pushes off the junker. Now only half an arm’s length away. He looks back at the sign. ‘I’m ready whenever you are.’ Drags his eyes slowly back to Alex.

They smile at each other, still able to blush after all these years. And regardless of who moves first, they both land in one another’s arms. Haloed by the sign’s luminescent proposal.

[imamotherfuckingstar-lord]

What We Did, pt. 27

Summary:  After finding out you were pregnant, Bucky agrees to help you leave the hero life. The two of you go to Seattle, and hamper down for six months until you start dreaming of a certain someone. Convinced the dreams are a sign, you and Bucky go back to New York. Will everyone be happy to see the pair of you? What questions will they have? And will the lie Bucky and you made up finally resurface?  

A/N:  3 MORE PARTS LEFT.

Warnings: //cheating//pregnancy//ADULT STUFF//

masterlist

Chapter Twenty-Seven: Acceptance

The mattress was high-end, the best of the best that cost more than a month’s pay at the hardware store. Tony and Pepper had it sent when Bucky and you were moving and it had proven to be more comfortable than a bed of clouds – but not tonight. Your back was aching and there was nothing left to do but get up. Bucky was snoring next to you, so you slowly got up without disturbing him – he had been working hard at the shop and even harder trying to keep your mind off everything. It had been about three days since Clint came by and you had decided it was best to cut off all communication. So, you had turned your phone off and figured if it were important, your friends could get in touch with Bucky.

You got up and slowly got off the bed, not just because you did not want to wake Bucky. You were nine months pregnant, less than six days away from your due date and you surely were showing it – and feeling it. Your feet slid into the house slippers near the bed and quietly left the room. Downstairs, you walked into the kitchen and served yourself a glass of water before settling on the couch where you turned on the television.

Reruns of I Love Lucy were on and it made you think of Clint; it made you think of the times before the two of you slept together that night in Germany. You had gotten along with all your teammates but something about Clint had been familial. He was, when it came down to it, a regular guy. You were just like him; the Avengers could do without the pair of you but there the two of you were. Sitting at the table with the others, fighting alongside them, and it was fair to say, the two of you spent more time recovering from injuries together than the others. The friendship grew organically and most often, you sought him out. The two of you would joke around, go to games in the city and when you found out about his family – you liked to badger him with questions about Laura and the kids as reruns of I Love Lucy played in the background. He was, aside from Nat, your best friend.

“Can’t sleep?”

You looked over to your right, Bucky stood at the end of the couch. He looked tired but he smiled as he walked around to the couch, flopping down next to you. He pulled you into his side and rested his arm around your shoulder, kissing you lightly on the forehead.

“I – I feel bad, Bucky.”

His fingers squeezed your shoulders and he sighed. “I know, it’s a tough situation.”

You wanted him to say you had done the right thing, but you had saw his face the day you signed the paternity request papers the lawyers had brought over. He was not in favor of it and wanted to talk to Clint face to face – solve everything without lawyers but he also wanted you to feel some peace, so he went along with the plan. He loved you that much and you were more than grateful to have him as your husband.

“I just need time,” you whispered, eyes focused on the black and white screen. Lucy was shoving eggs into her shirt and you sighed, looking up at Bucky. “After the baby is here, I’ll fix everything.”

Bucky, his eyes soft, touched your hair gently. “I know, sweetheart.”

“Then maybe we can finally enjoy a honeymoon,” you said, lighting up the mood. He perked up then, looking wide awake as he recited different places to visit. Having a hunch, he had already looked up these places, you asked him what his favorite was, and he shrugged.

“I was thinking we can rent a cabin up north, just relax with the baby – get away from all this craziness.”

Just the thought alone was enough to get you giddy, ready to start a life as a real family. Sitting up, you touched the side of Bucky’s face – he deserved happiness and you were going to be sure to give it to him.

“It sounds perfect.”

….

It was two in the afternoon the next day, you were in the kitchen rummaging for something salty to munch on. Bucky had just driven you home from your final checkup – the baby was official due in three days and everything was looking great. You were feeling relaxed and you suspected it had to do with shutting off your cellphone. It had been a nice couple of days, Bucky finished his last shift at the hardware store and was on his paternity leave. It was nice to have him home all day, the two of you mostly lounged around, taking in the quiet before the baby’s arrival.  He was doing yard work in the front, there was an avocado tree he was planting he got from work.

Finding a can of peanuts, you grabbed a water bottle and took it outside to the front. You heard him talking to someone and assumed it was Ben. Your husband had taken to grilling the man on fatherhood every chance he had got but when you approached closer, you saw it was not your neighbor – it was a tall blond man.

“Steve?”

Bucky turned and moved out of the way, to reveal his best friend standing there with a gift in hand and a large smile on his face. You were not angry at all, in fact, you were elated to see the man – the last few days without drama had done wonders for your mental health, so you greeted him with a warm hug and kiss to the cheek.

“What are you doing here?”

Steve pulled away and reached a hand to Bucky’s shoulder. “I’ve come to congratulate my friends on their marriage.”

Your face fell, afraid Steve was angry but he just grinned. “Bucky told me, I’m happy for the two of you. I know if I could have, I would have been there. I understand why you did it the way you did, I’m here to celebrate with my friends on a new chapter of their lives.”

“You’re going to be an uncle soon,” Bucky teased, and Steve laughed.

“I’m old enough to be a great-great uncle.”

The two men laughed, and you beckoned them to follow you inside, where the three of you sat around the kitchen island. Steve had planned on sticking around until the baby was born and when you offered to put it up, he declined.

“We got a hotel, didn’t want to get in the way.”

You made a confused face and glanced over to Bucky, who looked equally perplexed. “Sam’s here too?”

Steve shook his head; apprehension colored his face as he said no. You asked who then and he said something in a low whisper but cleared his voice and spoke up. “Nat – she’s here.”

As if on cue, the doorbell rang and your heart raced, looking over to Steve. “You guys have synchronized watches?”

Bucky’s laugh at the joke cleared the tension from Steve’s shoulder, he relaxed and glanced at you. His eyes found yours and he smiled weakly, as if he were pleading with you. “She wants to see you.”

You.

The room felt a bit warm as you slowly got up from the stool, reaching for Bucky’s hand to give it a reassured squeeze. His head tilted back to get a good look at you, and you nodded knowingly, leaning down to kiss him before leaving the kitchen to get the door. Your heat was racing with each step; the last time you had seen you, you practically banished her from this part of the country. You had told her not to come back until she was willingly to accept your life decisions. It hurt to lose her, and you had not realized how much you missed her until you opened the front door.

Natasha was as beautiful as ever; her hair was pulled back in a French braid and she was wearing dark jeans with a leather jacket. She stood there; lips pursed in a way that made her look like a child being scold for something. Her eyes gazed down to your stomach and she let go of the seriousness on her face.

“You look amazing,” she smiled, her cheeks rose and all the angry between the two of you seemed to vanish. Your eyes watered up as you thanked her, asking her to come in. She stepped into the house and when you closed the door, she stood inches from you. Her eyes were glossy as she looked around the small foyer, her lips pursed again but this time it looked like she was holding back tears.

“You told me to not come back until I could accept what happen…”

“I did,” you whispered, holding in your breath.

Natasha bit down on her lip and inhaled deeply; it was obvious she was having a hard time getting the words out. She took a few seconds to compose herself and then her eyes met yours, and she spoke through broken sobs. “I accept.”

.....

....

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[mychemicalxmen]

Unfinished Business

hey so I find crt’s recent interactions with the tua fandom to be sus as hell and it got me thinking about the most plausible way I could see him comin back in s3 and the conclusion I came to is a way-shorter and way-simpler version of whatever the hell this is so uhhhh here

2.9k, klave/klave-adjacent

... ... ...

“Is this really a good idea?”

Allison’s words are gentle as she stands in the doorway of Klaus’s room. Well, not his room, per se, but the grey-walled, undecorated space that would’ve been his bedroom in a timeline gone by. The Sparrow Academy doesn’t seem to be a huge fan of homey-ness. They’d ever-so-kindly granted the Umbrellas two nights’ stay in these cold cells while they gathered their bearings and prepared to face the new world they’d fantastically screwed up.

Klaus smiles at her question. “That’s hardly stopped me before, right?”

Allison rolls her eyes and drops her hands onto her hips. “I’m worried about you, okay?”

“Don’t be,” Klaus answers with a swatting gesture. “It’s been easy-peasy since I’ve dropped the pills. Parlor tricks. Did this song and dance tons of times for Madame.”

“Also, we need to unpack your relationship to ‘Madame’ at your earliest convenience.”

Klaus raises an eyebrow mischievously. “What happens in Dallas...!”

Allison sighs. “Okay, well, if things start to get, y’know, mega-spooky panic-time, you’ll just yell, right?”

“Yeah, yeah, sure.”

“Hey.” Allison’s voice is suddenly calmer. Klaus’s gaze snaps up to meet hers. “You’re sure about this?”

Klaus lets himself breathe for a moment. Tension fights to seize his limbs. He’s really about to do it.

His first six months of sobriety were the absolute nightmare that he knew they would be. They were all the sleepless nights, trembling hands, emotional eruptions, and torturous visions that he’d predicted.

But at some point, his powers became less like a stubborn faucet, run by an on/off switch with not much in between. With time (and Ben’s encouragement), he’d come to better understand his link to the other side. He’d learned how to cut and re-engage the connection at will, how to find faces in the crowd, how to call one forth, and how to sleep peacefully.

Most nights.

“I’m sure,” he says solidly.

He checks himself over, tugging his brightly striped shirt into place, tucking in his dog tag, and running a hand through the hair he’d half-considered chopping off the second he made it home. When he looks back up at Allison, he‘s feeling a bit less brave. “Do I look alright?”

Allison nods with a little grin. “You look great.” God, he wishes they’d reconnected far before this Dallas fiasco. She just cares so much. “Good luck,” she says.

“Love you, sis.” He blows her a lazy kiss as she leaves and closes the door behind her.

He paces around the room, steeling himself for the process. Like he said, it’s no big deal. Easy peasy. Even with that hiccup with alcohol, he’s clean enough to pull it off. He shakes out the last of his nerves with a couple tiny hops before settling in the middle of the room.

He stands firmly, feet apart, and drops his head. He squeezes his fists and lets the energy start to crackle between his fingers.

With all the insanity of this timeline, he needs to know what happened in 1968. He needs to see Dave.

It’s tougher to contact someone not already in the room. He focuses everything he has, and the energy pulses faster and stronger. Come on, come on…

“Klaus?”

He looks up with a start.

There he is, standing four feet in front of him. Those torn-up fatigues. Those searching blue eyes. That curly mess of blonde hair he hasn’t seen for three years.

Dave.

Klaus can’t keep the dumb smile off of his face.

“Hey there, soldier,” he practically whispers.

“Hey yourself,” Dave says - happy, though clearly disoriented. “Guess you weren’t making up all that ‘future’ junk after all.”

Klaus’s affirmative laugh is airy. But when his eyes trail down to the cavity in Dave’s chest, his heart aches in regret.

His jaw aches too. What a week it’s been.

“I have... so much to ask you,” Dave goes on. “It’s been a long time.”

Klaus swallows. Here goes. The million dollar question.

“Uh… How long of a time, exactly?”

He unconsciously holds his breath.

Dave glances to the side. “...Right around when JFK was shot. Must’ve been ‘63?”

Klaus exhales and sits on the bed, face blank.

Dave is wincing at his own memories. “God, I was such a dumb kid, I’m so sorry that you—”

Klaus isn’t hearing him. He’s too caught up on that number. 63.

If the Umbrella Academy doesn’t exist, Klaus Hargreeves doesn’t grow up in the same home as Five Hargreeves. He doesn’t get kidnapped by assassins. He doesn’t get his hands on a briefcase. He doesn’t go to Vietnam.

If the Umbrella Academy doesn’t exist, neither does the Dave that fell in love with him.

His Dave is gone. Really gone. 

This Dave was the timid hardware store employee he’d tried to get through to, striving to save his life and instead locking in his fate a few days early. This Dave is still the same person as the other one was. Same upbringing, same interests, same compassion, same smile, same violent death. But...

“—a strange time for anyone. You know how it is.”

Klaus tunes back in to Dave apologizing for his cringey adolescence. “No, no, yeah, I get it, don’t worry about it.”

In the pause that follows, Klaus feels his throat tighten and hot tears threaten to drop down his face.

Within the same pause, Klaus realizes the obvious. Dave is a ghost.

Kiddos and grandmas, or anyone who’s achieved either nothing or everything that their life had to offer them, they get the window to move on right away. One-way ticket to the Great Beyond, or the next life, or whatever the hell it is. Ultimate FastPass, Do Not Pass Go, Do Not Collect $200. Klaus has learned that spirits don’t tend to stick around on earth unless they have unfinished business. Sometimes they don’t even know what they need to do to start fresh, and that’s always the worst. Those souls become the bitterest, the loudest, the most tortured. Those were the ones who gave him hell in the mausoleum, with question after question that he couldn’t even begin to answer.

Dave seems to have managed okay. Probably spends a lot of time watching over his friends, his sisters, his neighbor’s cat. Klaus wonders what he could possibly have left to do.

“Major case of unfinished business you got there, huh?” Klaus asks. “Been waiting around, what, fifty years?”

Dave squints. “Well, it’s hard to feel it. Time works a little funny over here.”

“Right, of course it does,” Klaus recalls stupidly. He sniffles and swipes a hand under his eye as nonchalantly as he can. “Ah. Any idea what the little brat is waiting for you to do?”

Dave gives a tentative chuckle. “Brat?”

“Oh, Big G, the almighty, you know,” Klaus clarifies. “The bitch on the bike. I met Her once or twice. We’re not too chummy.”

Dave shows startlement, then shakes his head, acknowledging that this information should hardly faze him at this point. “Um. Yeah. Don’t know what She wants yet. Though She’s actually a cowgirl for me.”

“Of course She is.” 

And that’s the idiotic comment that causes Klaus’s voice to crack.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Dave asks. He hazards a few steps closer.

Dammit, dammit, dammit.

“No... Nothing,” Klaus stammers. He briefly covers his face and lets out a groan. “Ughhh, it’s going to sound crazy.”

“Really think you can beat ‘Time-Traveling Cult Leader with Prophetic Dog Tags and Tidings of Death’?”

“It wasn’t a cult,” Klaus mumbles in futility. He drops his hands and gives it his best shot. “The first time I met you - first time I met Dave - was in a totally different timeline, in 1968. That’s how I knew all that stuff about you. And you died the same way, except I was there the first time. The other time. The same time?”

“You and ...’Other Dave’.... fought together,” Dave offers.

“Yes!” Klaus confirms, relieved that he’s making sense. “Yeah, exactly. Which is why I tried to stop him - you - from going.” He indicates Dave’s abdomen. “And, obviously, I failed. But because of some stuff my family screwed up along the way, you never fought with me, so I remember a lot more than you do, and it’s all just...” He gestures helplessly. “A real kick in the dick.”

Dave tilts his head in a mix of sympathy and confusion. “That... does sound pretty crap.”

Klaus doesn’t expect it when Dave sits next to him on his bed.

“You want to tell me what I missed?”

“Oh, no, no, no, Dave, you don’t want that. That’s a long story.”

Dave shrugs. “I’ve got some time to kill.”

Klaus manages a smile. Talking will keep him from crying.

He tries his best to tell everything chronologically, but almost every step of the beginning requires some Hargreeves Family Lore that he reluctantly recaps as efficiently as possible. Dave is an exceptional listener. Always has been. He lets Klaus ramble on and on and asks little questions now and again to get a clearer picture. Klaus appreciates Dave’s effort to form a coherent narrative out of the scattered snapshots that time has left him with.

Klaus stumbles with pronouns. He makes a point to refer to His Dave with “him” as opposed to “you”, but he can’t help but slip a few times in the middle. Dave seems to understand.

Klaus tells him about the day they met. He waters down the Time Police part of the tale and focuses on what came after. Dropping into the tent at dawn. The casual conversation on the bus. The strange instinct that he got to stick around for a few days.

He tells him about soldiering. He tells Dave how focused and respected he looked on the battlefield. But he also tells him how kind he was to new recruits.

He tells him about their first R&R together in Saigon. He tells him about the vibrant bar and the strangest music and the secluded back hallway.

He tells him about the nights in the jungle they’d stayed up and dreamed up plans for when they’d go home together. He tells him about the day those plans fell apart. When Klaus runs out of story to tell, he just stops. Dave looks at him thoughtfully. Klaus can only imagine what must be running through his head. He knows it’s not judgement, or embarrassment, or anger, or loathing. Dave is too sweet for any of that.

Dave is too good for the rotten fortune that found him, time and time again.

“I’m sorry,” Klaus says.

“For what?”

“I’m sorry that I couldn’t save him,” Klaus answers. He fumbles again. “You. Him? Young Dave?”

“I’m getting a headache keeping track of it myself,” Dave admits.

“You,” Klaus settles on. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save you.”

Dave looks into him for a breath. Then, he reaches out and touches his arm. Klaus wants to dissolve into dust.

“I think I understand why I loved you,” Dave says.

A bittersweet laugh tumbles ungracefully from Klaus’s mouth. He tries not to draw attention to the new round of tears that spills over with it. “You do?”

“Yeah. I do.” Dave gives him the gentlest smile. “You shouldn’t be sorry. You tried so hard. I could’ve had more courage, fought back, ran away, something, but I just... wasn’t ready.” He glances down. “And I wasn’t going to be.”

Klaus’s hand closes over Dave’s on his arm.

“But I always remembered you,” Dave adds. “I always thought you were brave.”

“Goddamn, I was convinced I’d pushed your Big Awakening back a good two months, at least.”

“Far from,” Dave assures. His eyes crinkle with the flash of a memory. “I’m... not sure if I should tell you this.”

Klaus cocked his head. “Well, shit, Davey, now you have to.”

“I’m assuming Other Me told you something about Bill, right? Met in junior year, moved to Austin after school, always a bit of suspicion there...”

“Yeah?”

Dave’s face reddens slightly. “I mean, it wasn’t anything serious, but there were a few weeks when I was home, before this last tour...”

Klaus’s eyes widen. This was not an event on his timeline. He mocks outrage and pushes Dave’s hand away. “David Joseph Katz—!”

“The point is,” Dave poorly stifles a laugh, “I had hope. That it was gonna be alright, and that after this round, I’d be back in America for good, and I’d find my place.”

Hope.

Klaus supposes hope is nice. It’s just not terribly helpful with the way things panned out. In the world where Dave still didn’t make it home. In the world where he’s stuck here, waiting for a way to move on. In the world where he’s still around to see how little good that hope did him. And frustration starts to churn Klaus’s stomach, even though he knows...

“...This really wasn’t your fault,” Dave says, reading him just as perfectly as he could in ‘68.

Klaus hadn’t noticed how long he’d fallen silent for. “I know,” he mumbles, and logically, he does. But that doesn’t make it hurt any less. There had to be a timeline out there where everything ended up alright, where him and Dave lived happily together just like they’d talked about, but he is never going to find it now.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats. “And I still love him. Christ, he made one of the deadliest shitshows in American history the only place I wanted to be. He made me the happiest that I’ve been in a long, long time. He made me feel so treasured. So... strong.”

When the tears return a third time, he stops trying to hide them. He carelessly wipes the heel of his palm across his cheek.

“I wanted to tell him all that,” he finishes. “He gave me something so special that I don’t think I’ll get again.”

A sob escapes Klaus. Dave patiently waits for him to work it out.

“I know I’m not him,” Dave starts, “But for what it’s worth, I think he’d know you still love him. I think it’d destroy him to be apart from you. But I don’t think he’d want you to destroy yourself.”

Klaus knows the spiel that’s coming, and so badly does he want to dismiss it all as disgusting cliche. But he also knows Dave’s sappy tendencies well enough to know that, in this case, it’s probably accurate. Hell, he’s hearing it from the man himself.

“If you couldn’t get back to him, I think he’d just want to know you were happy,” Dave says. “You know? That you kept moving and kept taking care of yourself. And kept looking for the kind of love you deserve.”

Dave shifts to face him more directly. His eyes are bright with intention. “You have so much life left in you. You deserve a new chapter.”

Klaus feels beaten and weary all over. His mind is finally slowing down to the present.

When Dave subtly opens up his arms, he eagerly takes the offer to wrap him in an embrace.

This is the last he’ll see of him. He can feel it. He tucks his chin over Dave’s shoulder and clings onto the fabric of his vest, eyes shut, trying to commit every sensation to memory.

Dave returns, lightly weaving his hand into Klaus’s hair. Klaus recalls with a weak grin that he knew Dave would be fond of the new length.

It’s safe and sacred and almost everything that he’d planned for on that day he’d desperately wandered the mansion halls, calling out for any help he could get, twisting a bundle of rope in his quaking hands.

He hears a whisper of a wind chime.

“Shit. Shit, shit, shit,” Dave mutters.

The blue glow pierces through Klaus’s eyelids. He pulls back to look at Dave.

He’s crumbling apart, piece by piece, and drifting away. Bright light speckles the entire room.

“Klaus?” Dave asks. His voice is soft but threaded with slight fear. “Is this...?”

“Yeah, it is,” he answers. He tightens his grip on Dave’s arms. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For letting me say goodbye.”

A beat passes. Then, understanding washes over Dave’s face. He pulls Klaus close once again, stroking his hair.

He presses a kiss onto Klaus’s forehead.

Klaus doesn’t watch him go. He only opens his eyes when his arms are at last empty.

Specks of glittering blue light still float through the air. Nothing else remains but the wrinkle on the bedspread where he was sitting. Klaus’s face still feels warm where his lips were placed just moments ago.

Klaus buries his head in his hands. “Allison,” He calls out. The sound is pathetic. He clears his throat and tries again. “Allie?”

He hears her heeled boots click down the hall. He can’t bring himself to look up when she opens the door. “You okay?”

“It’s over,” he summarizes.

“What do you need?”

A joint. A fist full of pills. Five shots of tequila. A good sock in the head so he can go back to that pre-Technicolor hellscape and tell that bitch on the bike what he really thinks of Her.

“Can you just sit with me for a minute, please?”

Allison closes the door and obliges.

They talk, slowly and softly, about absolutely nothing at all, while Allison smooths her hand against Klaus’s back. They stare at the cold tile floors together for a long time. Klaus asks if it would kill the Sparrows to hire an interior decorator.

[thetravelerwrites]

Hearthway Hollow: Shahan

Rating: Mature Relationship: Female Human Reader/Male Werewolf Additional Tags: Exophilia, Hearthway Hollow, Werewolf Boyfriend, Interspecies Romance Content Warnings: Stalker, Stalking, Guns, Shooting Guns, Anxiety Words: 7007

This is a belated birthday gift for @momolady​! While fleeing a man who has made her life hell for years and looking for an out of the way place to hide, the reader stumbles upon a town that isn’t on any map: Hearthway Hollow. Please reblog and leave feedback!

The Traveler's Masterlist

Visit Hearthway Hollow!

Erring on the side of caution had never done much good for you. Erring on the side of paranoid worked much better.

You researched on your phone about out-of-the-way towns that would be good to settle in if you wanted peace and quiet, and cross referenced them with maps, and you found one town that didn’t appear on any map at all: Hearthway Hollow.

The town had a strange reputation, but you believed most of what you read online as much as you believed in Santa Claus. It was supposed to be a front for some kind of cult, though honestly, you’d sell your soul at this point if it meant safety and stability.

Driving through it, you had to admit the town was beautiful, like something on a postcard. The buildings were nice in an old fashioned, small-town kind of way, most of them red brick. The people you saw walking the sidewalks and in the shops looked weirdly happy and contented. All of them. It was… odd, like a Stepford Wives kind of thing. Maybe this was a cult town.

Eh, who were you to judge people’s lifestyle?

This was the third time you’d changed towns in the last six months, and you hoped you’d be in this town long enough to earn a savings that would cover your next terrified midnight flight. You’d been sleeping in your van to save funds for about a week, moving constantly, having only enough money in your pocket to pay for a few months rent, at most.

After driving for a while, you didn’t see any sort of town hall or city center, so you stopped at the hardware store, which to your eye appeared to be the heartbeat of the town, and went inside. There was a tiny young woman with dark hair and thick eyebrows sitting on a stool at the counter, flipping through a magazine.

“Hey there!” She said as you enter. “Haven’t seen you before.”

“Yeah,” You said, your hoodie up and your hands in your pockets. “I’m looking to rent a place and I’m not sure who I should talk to about that. I didn’t see any kind of notice board or realtor signs, so…”

“Oh, well, you’ve come to the right place, then,” The woman said with a laugh. “You’ll be wanting to talk to my dad, Big Billy MacAllister. He owns more than half the town.”

You gave a small, tired shrug. “Okay, great, how do I get in touch with him?”

“Just a sec,” She said, jumping off her stool and going to a door behind the counter that said “Employees Only.”

“Hey, Dad! Someone here for you!”

“Coming!” You heard a gruff voice bark back.

“He’ll be right with you,” The young woman said brightly, getting back up on her perch.

The door opened, and a mountain of a man walked out, all muscles, beer gut, and body hair. You took a dubious step back as he circled the counter, wiping his hands.

“What can I do for you?” He grumbled.

“I’m told you’re the person to see to rent a place in town?” You said.

“Yep,” He replied. “What are you looking for?”

“Something small and cheap. Like, studio apartment,” I said. “In town, not in the woods. Somewhere where there’s a lot of light, surrounded on all sides by buildings, preferably buildings that have security cameras positioned toward the streets. And I need to move in quickly.”

His head rocked back at the laundry list of demands you’d just rattled off. “Uh… sure, the apartment above the hardware store is actually empty right now, so if you’d like that, you’re welcome to it.”

“What kind of locks does it have?” You asked.

“I’m sorry, what?” He responded, his thick brow furrowing.

“What kind of locks does it have?” You repeated with more emphasis. “And how long are the screws in the door hinges?”

“Uh… It has a standard doorknob lock and deadbolt,” He said, sounding a little confused. “And the hinge screws are… I dunno, four inch.”

“Not good enough,” You replied. “The screws need to be at least nine inches, and there needs to be a sliding lock in addition to the standard locks. I’ll buy them out of pocket and install them myself, if you don’t want to do it.”

The guy called Big Billy laughed a little, this sides of his mouth turning up under all that facial hair. “You expectin’ an attack or something?”

You didn’t laugh. Or smile. You just stared at him. “I also need to know who’s hiring in town, if you’d happen to know about that.”

“The grocery store is always hiring,” The young woman said, watching the interaction between you and her father with intense interest.

“Great, thanks,” You told her, then turned back to her dad. “When can I move in? Do you need me to give you a deposit or fill out an application?”

“Nah, I’m not worried about that,” He replied. “I just need your name and social for insurance purposes.”

You told him, and his daughter jotted it down.

“I’ve got some stuff stored up there, so give me a day to clean it out and it’ll be good to go,” He said. “Will that do?”

“Yeah, that’s fine,” You replied. “Last question: does this town have a shooting range?”

The father and daughter shared a surprised look.

“Yeah, the police station has one that’s open to the public, but you have to make an appointment. You can’t just walk in and start shooting.”

“Cool,” You replied. “I’ll come back tomorrow for the keys, then.”

“Sure,” He said, still staring at you as if you were a puzzle to be solved. Before he could ask a question you didn’t want to answer, you turned and walked out of the shop, deciding to go and apply at the grocery store next.

You’d never seen a grocery store that didn’t sell meat, but they told you the butcher had the monopoly on that. You submitted your application and, when they asked your address and you told them it was the hardware store, they had a funny look on their face, but they accepted it without remark. They said they’d call you in a few days.

That night, you drove out of town and stopped at a rest area that was brightly lit and on a main highway. It had vending machines, water fountains, and showers. You refilled all of your empty water containers, had a quick wash in the showers, bought a dinner of coke and honey buns, then locked yourself into your van. Your futon mattress was laid out in the back, next to which was a locked travel trunk with all of your worldly possessions in it. Underneath your pillow was a loaded .22 and a twelve inch buck knife.

You removed your hoodie and took the can of mace, taser, and pocket knife out of your pants and lay them next to you on the mattress, so they were in easy reach. You lay down on your bed, fully clothed, and clicked a button on the key fob to set the car alarm. Sleep was slow in coming.

The next day, you went back to the hardware store and met up with Big Billy.

“Ah, I’m glad you came in early. I decided to upgrade you,” He told you.

“You made the changes to the door?” You asked.

“Nope,” He said. “There’s another property of mine I think you’ll like. It’s small and comfortable, and surrounded by a high fence. Here’s the keys.” He handed you a keyring with two keys on it.

You frowned a little. The store’s upstairs apartment was more defensible. “If I don’t like it, can I still have the apartment upstairs?”

“Sure,” Billy said, shrugging. “But I have a feeling you’ll love it.”

Your frown deepened with doubt, but you thanked him.

“It’s on Plymouth Road. Red house with a white door. Number 6557.”

“Got it,” You said. “And the doors?”

“I fixed ‘em up, like you asked,” He replied.

“Good. Thanks.”

You exited the store and headed over to Plymouth Road.

When you arrived at the house, you noticed immediately that there was a high privacy fence that went from the garage around the back of the house. Beyond that, there were trees. You grimaced. You’d specifically told him you didn’t want to be close to the woods.

But then, you realize who your neighbors were, and couldn’t help but smile. On the left was a normal house with a picket fence, and on the right, just next door, was the police station.

Maybe this would work out after all.

Moving your belongings into the house took all of fifteen minutes, and when you were finished, you walked next door to the station. At the desk was a young man in a uniform, perhaps in his mid-to-late twenties, tall, slender, and fit, with dark skin and black hair. He was writing something on a notepad but looked up when you walked in. He had the most peculiar but pretty gold-green eyes. His badge said “Madhwari.”

He paused for a moment when he saw you, his mouth open and the pupils of his eyes dilating slightly. You assumed you looked pretty shady with your hoodie up and your hunched posture, but he smiled after a few seconds, cleared his throat, and said, “Hello there. What can I do for you, ma’am?”

“Hi. I was told you guys have a shooting range, but that I’d need to make an appointment.”

“That’s right,” He replied. “I’ll need to see your gun license.” He reached into a drawer and pulled out a form. “Fill this out, please.”

You took out your wallet and pulled your license from it and handed it to him. He handed you a pen in return. As much as you disliked leaving a paper trail, you filled out the form.

“Ah, you’re the new girl next door, eh?” The officer said. “Billy told us about you.”

You frowned in annoyance. That Big Billy had a big mouth.

“When can I use the shooting range?” You asked.

“Well,” the officer said, handing back your license. “We’re slow at the moment, so if you’d like, you can use it now. Do you have your gun with you?”

“No, it’s at home.”

“Well, go get it and I’ll let you in.”

“Thanks, Officer Madhwari,” You said as you headed for the door.

“Eh, we’re not a last name kind of town. Call me Shahan,” He said, a wide smile on his face. You gave him back a ghost of a smile and left to retrieve your firearm.

Upon returning, another officer was at the desk, a freckle-faced guy with a scar and eyepatch who otherwise looked like he was an over-tall twelve year old playing at being cop.

“You’re the girl Shahan’s waiting for?” He asked. You nodded. “I’m Saul. Welcome to town.”

“Thanks,” you said, taking his proffered hand and shaking it. Jeez, was everyone in town this friendly? It was unnerving.

“He’s already in the range,” Saul said, pointing at the door to the far right. “Go straight through.”

“Cool,” You replied, and made your way to the door.

Shahan already had the goggles on and earmuffs around his neck with a second pair on a table waiting for you.

“Are you practicing, too?” You asked.

He shook his head. “Sorry, it’s policy for an officer to supervise when a civilian is in the range. That’s one of the reasons you need to make an appointment.”

“Gotcha,” You said.

“What are you shooting?” He asked, looking at your gun. “That’s a cute .22.”

“What do you shoot?” You asked him.

He pulled his sidearm from its holster and showed it to you. “Standard issue,” He said. It was a 9mm Glock 19. Nice. If you could afford one, you’d definitely have bought it instead of your Ruger SR. As functional as it was, you’d definitely have liked something with more accuracy and a bigger punch.

“Can I shoot it?” You asked him.

He winced and shook his head. “Sorry. I’d lose my job.”

“I get it,” You said. “No harm in asking, though.”

“I’ve got you a target set up,” He said, pointing down the range at a paper figure. “What distance you want?”

“Gimme… twenty feet?” You said.

“Ooh, advanced, I like it,” He said, pressing a button that sent the target farther down the range. You didn’t have much ammunition, but it was important to keep your skills sharp. You could buy more when you started work.

“Protection on before you draw your weapon, please,” He said, and you donned the goggles and earmuffs. Once you were ready, he stepped back to your right, so that you could see him but so he wasn’t in the way, and gave you the signal to shoot when ready.

You shot ten rounds, a few seconds apart, at the target at the end of the range, and then three rapid-fire. You put your weapon down on the shelf and took off the earmuffs. Shahan pulled the target in so you could inspect it. All headshots.

“Damn!” He said with admiration. “You’re a better shot than me! You should join the police!”

You snorted. “Pass, but thanks for the offer.”

“Want to go again?” He asked.

“No,” You said. “That’s enough.”

“Really?” He said, sounding kind of disappointed. “That’s it?”

“Yeah, I just wanted to make sure I’m still sharp,” You told him. “Thanks, Shahan.”

“My pleasure,” He replied, holding out a hand to shake it. “Let me know next time you’re wanting to shoot.”

“I will,” You said, then headed home, waving at Saul as you passed him.

That night, you were sitting on your futon, which you’d placed in the living room with the travel trunk, watching videos on your phone. You were having a hard time sleeping, when you heard a loud THUMP in your backyard. Immediately you reached for your pistol and flashlight, holding them like the self defense teacher had showed you.

Carefully, you opened the back door a crack and called out, “I’m armed! Show yourself!”

Nothing.

You reached back and flipped on the back porch light, and there, in your yard, was a dead, bloody deer.

“What the fuck?” You breathed, lowering your flashlight and turning it off, but keeping your gun up and staying alert. How the hell had this thing gotten over the fence? While dead? Either it got over and then immediately died or something threw it over, and you weren’t sure which was more unsettling.

Going inside and reaching into your travel trunk, you pulled out a tarp and went back outside, rolling the poor thing into it and dragging it to the garage, which had a door to the backyard. You put the deer in the back of your van and started it up, backing out and heading out of town.

About ten minutes out, when you were surrounded by trees, you took the deer out of the van and dragged it several hundred yards beyond the treeline. Unwrapping it and rolling the tarp up with the intention of rinsing it off with the hose tomorrow morning, you left the poor thing there for the forest creatures to eat.

The next morning, after a bad night’s sleep, you cleaned the tarp and laid it out in the sun to dry. You were just thinking about breakfast when you heard a knock on the door. Standing there was a man with olive skin and greyish salt and pepper hair. He was wearing an apron.

“Morning!” He said brightly. “I’m Harun, I work at the butcher’s shop. I heard something about a deer?”

You frowned. “From who? I didn’t call anyone.”

“Your neighbors mentioned it,” He said, still maintaining a friendly smile.

You rolled your eyes and huffed. “Well, then, they need to mind their own business. I figure it got hurt and confused and jumped my fence. I’ve already taken care of it. I put it back in the woods, where it belongs.”

“Oh,” He replied, his smile faltering a bit. “Well, good job. But, just so you know, this kind of thing happens pretty frequently in this town. Next time, call us, okay? We donate unwanted meat to soup kitchens and shelters. Lots of hungry mouths that would appreciate the meal, you know?”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” You said. “But I’m hoping it doesn’t happen again.”

“Right,” He replied, laughing a little nervously. “Well, have a good day, ma’am.”

“Yep,” You said, shutting the door with a snap.

As the day wore on, you got a call from the grocery store telling you you could start in a few days. You celebrated by sleeping. You always slept better during the day.

That evening, you stayed awake, camped out on your back porch. You were feeling on edge. You didn’t really think the deer had somehow vaulted over the ten foot fence. Someone put it there. You’d had… anonymous gifts before, and you could go the rest of your life without more.

Eventually your eyelids began to droop and you weren’t going to fall asleep outside and exposed, so you went in, made sure everything was locked up tight, and fell asleep.

That morning, you walked out of your house, and three deer lay on your front lawn, each larger than the first one you’d found. Your body went cold your heart dropped down to your toes. You felt an steel band squeezing your chest and were having trouble breathing. You fought hard to keep the tears in check, but they were falling despite your best efforts. You took out your phone and called Billy.

He answered after one ring. “Hello?”

“Billy?” You said, sniffling. “I’m sorry, but I won’t need to be renting your property anymore. I’ll pay for the full month if you want, but I need to leave.”

“Why? What’s going on?” He asked, his gruff voice instantly alert and intense.

“I have to leave,” You sobbed into the phone. “I”m not safe.”

“Stay there!” He ordered you, his voice like iron. “I’ll be there soon. Don’t go anywhere.”

The line went dead, and you fell to your knees in the grass.

“Hey, are you okay?” You heard a voice ask. Shahan had just pulled up in his police car, likely to start his shift, and saw you kneeling there. You were sobbing too hard to say anything. He jogged over and knelt with you, patting your back as you wept.

A few minutes passed, and Billy’s truck skidded to a stop in front of your house.

“What is it?” He asked, squatting down. “What happened? Is it the deer? That happens all the time here, it’s nothing.”

“No!” You moaned. “You don’t understand!”

Shahan sits you on the porch as the butcher’s truck pulls up. Great, more eyes to watch you have a meltdown. Wonderful. It’s the same butcher from yesterday, Harun, striding up quickly in concern.

“What’s happened, are you alright?”

“Would you guys just give me a second to catch my breath!” You blurt out. You’re tired of them asking you questions. You just want them to shut up for a minute.

Shahan went to his car and grabbed you a water while Billy and Harun waited for you to calm down. You drained the bottle in seconds and wiped your face on your hoodie sleeve.

“I have a stalker,” You admitted eventually.

“A stalker?” Shahan said.

“Why didn’t you mention this?” Billy asked gruffly.

“Because people have refused to rent to me before, that’s why,” You snapped.

“What makes you think it’s this stalker of yours?”

“He used to send me dead animals in the mail to scare me. That’s how I know this is him. Who else could it be? What kind of sick freak leaves dead animals on a person’s front lawn?”

The three men shared a grim, meaningful look between them.

“Look,” Billy said. “Don’t leave town yet, okay? There’s someone you need to talk to before you make that decision.”

“Who?”

Billy looked up at the butcher. “Harun, would you…?” Billy said, a question in his voice.

“Yeah, I’m on it,” He said, pulling out his cell phone.

Your hand was shaking as you pushed your hair out of your face and tried to stand. “I have to pack up.”

“Just wait,” Billy said. “Shahan and I will stay with you until they get here.”

“They who?” You asked.

“The town leaders,” He said. “They’ll have some things they want to discuss with you. For now, let’s get you inside.”

Shahan and Billy follow you into the house as Harun loaded the deer into his truck. Billy looked at the futon and trunk and frowned.

“Is this all you have?” Billy asked.

“This is all I need,” You replied flatly. “When you have to move quick, it helps not to have too much shit to haul around.”

After a few minutes of terse silence, there was a knock on the door. You tensed as Billy opened it.

Inside came a very old woman, a few men including another police officer, and the young woman from the hardware store. A youngish man with very curly blonde hair came in after everyone else. He looked at you and came forward, his hand extended, a kind smile on his attractive angel face. He seemed to have a weird glow about him that you couldn’t explain.

“I’m Adam,” He said, shaking your hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He turned to introduce the people who had come with him. “This is Mrs. Locklear, Delaynie, Beau, Canvas, Angelo, and Kamilla, whom you’ve met.” He laid a hand on your shoulder and squeezed gently. “I think we need to talk.”

“Okay,” You said suspiciously. “I know you told me your name, but that doesn’t actually tell me who you are.”

“For all intents and purposes, I guess you could say I’m… the mayor? Insomuch as this town needs a mayor,” Adam replied.

“Awful young to be a mayor,” You said, eyeing him up and down. “I’m guessing you didn’t win any sort of election.”

He tilted his head in acknowledgement. “Not as such. You’re pretty perceptive.”

“I’ve had to be.” You pulled your hoodie around you more tightly. “Being sharp has kept me alive.”

“Yes, about that,” The tall, dark man called Delaynie said. He looked an awful lot like Billy, but thinner and less tall. “We were given a very brief summary, but can you elaborate on this situation of yours?”

“Why does it matter?” You asked, feeling exhausted and exasperated.

“We may be able to protect you, but we need to know more about it,” Canvas said. “There’s a lot of families and kids in this town, and we need to make sure everyone is protected.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” You said, rubbing your eyes. “I’m sorry I brought this here.”

Adam stopped you by raising his hand. “That’s not what he meant,” He said. “He means we aren’t strangers to defending this town and its people against threats. We just need to know what we could be dealing with.”

After a moment’s hesitation, you went to your trunk and pulled out a file, handing it to Adam.

“His name is Richard Gish,” You said. “He’s in his late forties and has got a history of stalking, starting from early high school. I’m just his latest fixation.”

“Is this a police file?” The other officer, Angelo, asked, looking over Adam’s shoulder. “How did you get this?”

“Is that really a question you want answered?” You asked flatly. “You have it. It’s easier than making an inquiry, isn’t it?”

“When did this start?” Shahan asked.

“Three years ago. I started getting letters in the mail. They were creepy and odd, love letters from a guy I’d never met. When I didn’t respond, they became aggressive. I tried to ignore it, but I started getting pictures with the letters. Pictures of me taken from a long way off. Pictures of me coming out of my job, going into my gym, outside my house. He was following me.”

“Did you report it to the police?” Angelo asked, still reading the file.

“Of course I did, but they said they couldn’t do anything unless he actually tried to hurt me. So I moved. And he followed.” You sniffled and rubbed your face with both hands. “He finally came up to me on a crowded street and introduced himself, and I slapped him and told him to leave me alone. After that, he went from professing his love for me to threatening to kill me and my family. I went into hiding about two years ago.”

“How serious has it gotten? Has he done more than letters and threats?” Shahan asked.

“Half a year ago, he broke into my apartment and attacked me with a knife. I shot him, but he disappeared. I’ve been on the move ever since, sleeping in my van in between towns. But he’s always managed to track me down. I’ve only been here three days and he’s found me again.”

“You’re talking about the deer, right?” The rather tall old woman named Mrs. Locklear asked. She had a presence about her as well, but it was different from Adam’s.

“Yeah,” You said.

“There’s another explanation for that,” Adam replied.

“Which would be?”

He smiled almost apologetically. “This isn’t a normal town.”

“I gathered that,” You said sardonically.

“I’m sure you have,” He said. “The deer are gifts from someone in town who admires you.”

You squinted in confusion. “What kind of people leave dead animals as gifts?”

“Werewolves.”

He said this without a trace of mirth or mockery. You blinked slowly. “Look, I don’t have time for whatever bullshit cult nonsense this town is into--”

“Beau,” Adam said, turning to a large man with an incredible amount of scars on his face and arms.

Beau stepped forward and said, “Don’t be scared, okay?” And suddenly he began to grow and change, fur sprouting from his skin and his bones rearranging themselves into a new shape. His sudden growth stretched his already tight t-shirt. He didn’t shift completely; he was still standing on his back two paws and his front paws were still functional as hands, but they had paw pads and claws.

They were all looking at you like they expected you to scream or freak out, but you had no reaction, you simply stared at Beau in his new form. You came closer and inspected him, even circling him once, appraising his strength in this body, satisfied with what you could see.

“It ain’t you, is it?” You asked him suspiciously. “The deer?”

“Oh, god, no,” He said, his voice more rough in this form. “No offense, but I’m married.”

“Fair enough,” You replied, and he shifted back into his human form.

“You’re taking this a lot better than I expected,” Adam said.

“I’ve seen scarier things,” You said blackly. “So, this isn’t Gish, but some rando werewolf in your town who saw me and thought I was cute or something?”

“There’s a bit more to it than that,” Adam said. Behind him, his people were passing the file around and studying the picture of Gish in it. “Werewolves know their mates upon seeing them, and once they recognize them, they begin a ritual. It starts with the animals. Hunting is our way of showing a potential mate that we can provide for them. After the gifts, they introduce themselves in their wolf forms, allowing you to gauge their worthiness. Once you accept them, they scent you, so that other weres know your off the market, so to speak. Then the final part of the mating ritual is… well… mating. You usually don’t know who it is until after the ritual is over, unless you’ve managed to guess beforehand.”

You had your arms folded during this explanation and took a moment to absorb it all. “No offense to your whole town dynamic or anything,” you began slowly. “But that’s the creepiest shit I’ve ever heard.”

“I can see how it might look to an outsider, certainly--” Adam said, but you stopped him this time.

“No, you really don’t,” You replied, going back to the trunk and pulling out a piece of paper. “Read the first paragraph of that.”

“What is it?” Adam asked, frowning.

“It’s the first letter he sent me.”

Adam, brow furrowed, began to read aloud. “’You don’t know me, but I have seen you many times. I don’t have the words to describe how beautiful you are. The moment I saw you, I’…” Adam paused, a grimace on his face. “’I knew you were my soulmate. We were meant for each other. And I won’t stop until I prove it to you.’”

There was a discontented murmur through his group. You were sure it was strange to them to see their own ritual turn on its head into something sinister and threatening.

“Do you get it now?” You asked Adam.

“I believe I do, yes,” He said, handing the paper back.

“So, you’re offering protection,” You said, folding the paper up and putting it in your pocket. “I’m guessing you’re all--”

“Ah, let me stop you there,” Adam said. “I am the Alpha werewolf in town. That much you’re allowed to know. But we have rules. Rule number one, you can’t ask who is a werewolf and who isn’t. Two, you can’t guess out loud or gossip about it with other people. Three, if you know someone who is a werewolf, you can’t tell anyone.”

“That seems highly impractical.”

“Perhaps so,” Adam admitted with a smile. “But it’s kept this town and its residents safe and free from scrutiny from the outside, and that’s very important to us. I’m sure that’s a sentiment you can understand.”

You nodded and shrugged. “Yeah, I get it. So I can’t ask if you know who’s been leaving me these… offerings, then.”

He shook his head, his blonde curls bouncing around his face. “I’m afraid not.”

“Fine,” You assented. “But could you pass along the message that I’m not interested?”

“I can,” He said. “Now, if you want to leave, we won’t stop you. But you’re tired; I can see it in your face. We can offer you protection, if you’re willing to stay. Living here makes you one of us, and we look after our own. You have my promise on that.”

You sighed. “I’ll give it a shot,” You said, shrugging noncommittally. “But one more dead thing, and I’m out of here.”

He held up his hands in placation. “I completely understand. I hope we can make you feel safe.”

“Me, too,” You said.

“We’ll leave you, then,” Adam said, nodding at his generals, and they began to file out of the house. “Please let us know if you have any trouble. We’ll do what what can to help.” He held out his hand again.

You took it. “I appreciate that.”

He nodded in farewell and followed the others out. Billy was the only one left. He folded his arms across his chest and regarded you with a fierce expression.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were in trouble, kid?” He grumbled, sounding angry.

“I told you why,” You said. “Like I said, people have refused to rent to me before. I’ve been fired from jobs. One town sheriff literally told me to leave and that he’d arrest me if I ever came back.”

“Well, we ain’t like that,” Billy said. “I hope we’ve managed to drill that into your thick skull.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” You said, swatting at him. “Now get out of my house, old man.”

He snorted, the corner of his lip turning up. “No wonder you’ve outrun this asshole so long. Made of stone, you are.”

You nodded in acknowledgement, shrugging one shoulder.

“Take care, kid,” He said, and let himself out.

That night, you went to take the trash to the bin and stopped in your tracks. There, at the end of the walkway that led from the front door to the sidewalk, sat a wolf. It had a golden coat with black fur running from between his ears, down his back, to the tip of his tail. It was large and tall, but unlike Beau, who was solid and broad, this one was slim, with skinny legs and a short coat, almost like a coyote. From the way it was sitting, you could tell it was male. His ears were flat against his head, and he whimpered slightly.

“Am I assuming you’ve come here to apologize?”

He gave a weak bark, trying not to make too much noise, laying down on the pathway and not attempting to come closer. You threw the trash bag into the bin that was next to the house, and sat down on the porch, resting your elbows on your knees.

“You know, you remind me of a mutt I had when I was a kid. You’re lucky I loved that dog.” You waved him up. “Come on.”

He immediately got up and joined you on the porch.

“Stay a wolf,” You said warningly. “I’m tired of dealing with people, even wolf people.”

He bobbed his head once, which you took as agreement.

You looked out, able to see the main street of the town from where you sat. It was late, so the town was quiet.

“It’s pretty here,” You mused, talking to yourself, really, but out loud so that he could hear, too. “I wouldn’t mind staying. Though… I really wish I could go home.”

He lay down next to you with his front paws dangling from the step, looking up at you as you spoke, quiet and attentive.

“I haven’t seen my mother in two years,” You said, still looking at the town but no longer seeing it. “I have two brothers, one older and one younger. My older one was having a baby with his wife. My younger brother was in highschool. They don’t even know what’s happened to me, you know. I told them about the stalker, but when it got serious, I just… left. I didn’t call them or leave a note.”

You sighed. “Maybe they think he kidnapped me and I’m dead. Maybe they’ve mourned me and moved on. Maybe, if I ever go back, they won’t want to see me.”

You didn’t realize you were crying until the wolf licked your cheeks. You let yourself break down. He put his head on your shoulder and licked your ears, and you put your arm around him and stroked his fur. God, you missed that dog.

You sat there for hours, talking to yourself and the wolf sitting next to you. You’d spent the last two years keeping everything about yourself quiet, so actually letting it out was extremely cathartic. You talked until your throat was dry, cried until you had no tears left, and pet the wolf the entire time. He never spoke, just let you get everything out and listened.

“God, I’m tired,” You said eventually, rubbing your eyelids. You looked at the wolf sitting next to you, narrowing your eyes a little. “If you stay a wolf, you can come in. Unless you’ve got wolf stuff to do.”

He jumped up and smiled that cute doggy smile, tongue sticking out and everything. You rolled your eyes and got up, opening the door and going inside with him on your heels. While standing, he came up above your hip.

You sat on your futon, taking off your hoodie to get ready for bed. You took your self defense items out and laid them in their usual place on the bed. He sat on the outside of the futon, bowing his head and whimpering.

You sighed. “Don’t shed on my futon.”

He barked and bound onto the mattress, laying down next to you. The warmth of his large body was welcome, and you fell asleep much more quickly than normal.

When you woke, he was gone. There was a note on the pillow next to you. Pushing down your natural paranoia, you opened it.

         I had to go to work, but I’ll come back tonight, if that’s okay. And I promise, no more dead animals. How about some take out instead? Do you like Chinese?

                 --S

You smirked. Damn it, he was smooth. It was hard to push him away, especially as a wolf. The silent presence and warmth of him close by last night was… comforting. Comfort was something that had been in short supply over the last couple of years. You were suddenly thinking that maybe you should get a dog.

Now that you realized he wasn’t like Gish, you were starting to wonder who he really was. You still weren’t interested in a romance, not yet, but the mystery was intriguing, only made more so by the fact that you couldn’t ask anyone about it.

After breakfast, you walked up to the grocery store to finish up the new hire paperwork, and saw Shahan as you came out.

“Oh, hey!” He said. “I wanted to check on you after yesterday. I was going to make a house call, but you weren’t home. How are you holding up?”

“I’m okay,” You said, surprising yourself by finding you actually did feel okay. “Honestly, the… special qualities of this town have me feeling a little safer. And the fact that you guys didn’t throw me out when you learned about my problem is nice. Having it out in the open is nice. Keeping it a secret is… really tiring.”

“I know exactly what you mean,” He said with a chuckle.

“I can’t ask you…” You started, and he shook his head.

“Sorry,” He replied regretfully.

You shrugged. “It’s okay. I always liked a good mystery.”

He smiled warmly. “Well, I’m glad you’re in better spirits. You had us worried yesterday.”

“Sorry about that,” You said, wincing. “It was just scared and overwhelmed.”

He held his hands up. “No, I totally understand. If I were in your shoes, I’d have freaked out, too. We’re stepping up security around the town, just in case. Adam has also ordered his most trusted to do rounds in the woods around the town. If he comes anywhere near here, we’ll catch him.”

You took a big breath and released it. “That’s a huge relief. This is the first time in a long time I’ve felt… hope.”

“Good,” He said, his smile very warm, his golden-green eyes sparkling in the sunlight. “I’m very glad.”

You felt warm under his gaze, and thought you might be blushing. “I… uh… I’m kinda tired. I think I’m going to go home and rest.”

“I think that’s a good idea,” He said, briefly touching your arm. You had to suppress a shiver. “Take care of yourself, okay? And remember, we’re right next door if you need us, so don’t be a stranger.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” You said, a real smile on your face for the first time in months.

That night, you waited on your front porch for the wolf. He showed up at half-past eight with a bag in his mouth.

“Stay a wolf,” You told him, and again he bobbed his head in understanding. “Come on up.”

He headed up the walkway and passed the bag to you. As promised, there was honey chicken, fried rice, and some eggrolls. You were so happy. You hadn’t had a meal that wasn’t a quick burger or a peanut butter sandwich in ages. You opened his take out box for him, and he wolfed his food down happily. You wondered if he found eating like this demeaning, but he didn’t seem to mind.

After you finished eating, you sat with him on the porch, watching the fireflies in the trees and listening to the sounds of the evening. His head lay in your lap and you stroked his ears absentmindedly. It was the most comfortable you’d been in a while.

“Listen,” You said quietly. He didn’t get up, but his ears quirked to listen to you better. “I know you think you’re in love with me, and maybe you are, but… I’m scared. I’m scared of being in another situation I can’t control. You understand that, don’t you?”

He gave a grumbling sort of whine, which you took to mean yes.

“I can’t get into a relationship. Not just with you, with anyone. Not until Gish is out of my life for good. So, for now… I can’t know who you are. It would make this whole thing weird for me. I’d feel like you were only interacting with me because of some biological imperative that really doesn’t have anything to do with me. I didn’t choose this, you know?”

Another grumble.

“But… I do like your company. It’s nice to have someone I can talk to. Maybe it’s because as a full wolf, you can’t talk back, but it feels like I can tell you anything and you won’t pass judgment on me.”

You sighed, and paused in your petting. He lifted his head from your lap and sat up, looking at you with earnest eyes.

“If you want to keep seeing me as a wolf, that’d be okay with me. But only if it’s okay with you. And don’t base the decision on this magical connection we’re supposed to have. Really think about it seriously. If it would be difficult or painful or offensive to you to keep coming here as a wolf and not a man, I get that. It’s up to you. We should both have a choice.”

He took a moment to consider, then he lay back down, putting his head in your lap again, sighing contentedly.

You smiled down at him and resumed the pets. “I guess I have my answer.”

Since my work is no longer searchable, please do me a favor and reblog this story if you enjoyed it. Help me reach a wider audience! To help me continue creating, please consider buying me a Kofi or donating directly to my PayPal!

Thanks for reading!

My Masterlist

The Exophilia Creator’s Masterlist

[coffeeandcalligraphy]

Bad Vegetarian | Feeding Habits #1

Hey People of Earth!

As you can see from the title, not only do we have a new series of writing updates, we have a new series of writing updates for a whole new novel that was! not! supposed! to! happen!

For any of my friends who miss Moth Work (aka myself), guess who started writing a sequel literally no one asked. :)

I’ve had ideas for spinoff stories for Moth Work (as if MW wasn’t enough of a spinoff) and was peer pressured into starting this novel by @sarahkelsiwrites​ and I’m really happy about it! I have yet to come up with a title, but the moment I do, shall inform you, but for now, we’re calling this MW2!

This book (if it even ends up being a book) starts with chapter one, Bad Vegetarian. Unlike MW, MW2 starts in Lonan’s POV (not sure I’ll switch but I’m sure it’ll be inevitable), and I’m here for it!

I’ve been wanting to explore Lonan and Eliza’s relationship in more detail since having them come together in MW by complete fluke, and oh! is the tea piping!

This chapter really illustrates how truly dysfunctional this relationship is on both sides. Here’s a break down by scene:

Scene A:

Lonan is paint shopping with Eliza who has just gone vegetarian (which is the def the most normal thing she’s spontaneously done lately). Eliza feels like celebrating by painting their entire kitchen red.

Lonan particularly is drawn to blues, but since this ain’t what Eliza wants, they go with a brilliant red.

Scene B:

Lonan lines the kitchen with painter’s tape as Eliza bothers their neighbours for paint rollers, while trying to convince himself this relationship is still somewhat okay.

While doing this, he gets his weekly call from Unknown Woman who he’s been in contact with for the last few weeks. What for? We don’t know! They talk in code, and he realizes Unknown Woman’s situation is getting worse, and impromptu, tries to do something about it.

Scene C:

Lonan and Eliza bump into each other as he’s exiting the apartment and she’s entering, and have a short, strained conversation about why he’s leaving (she’s not aware of top secret phone calls that make this book feel lowkey like the old dystopians!)

Scene D:

Lonan attempts to drive to Unknown Woman but only knows she lives in Arizona (not great for directions lol). While in the car, he realizes it’s essentially impossible to get there without knowing where he’s going, and eventually gives up and heads home.

Scene E:

TW: blood

Lonan re-enters the apartment only to find Eliza “bleeding” in the kitchen. She’s actually just being wild and this “blood” is wall paint.

Scene F:

If we haven’t already seen the dysfunction, oh does it get worse! As Lonan and Eliza try to have a *moment* Eliza has a conversation by herself and gets a lil gaslighty.

Halfway through this, Lonan gets a phone call from Unknown Woman who we finally find out is his ex-girlfriend Glenne. Sounds like tea but he’s genuinely only helping her out of her toxic situation (which will be clarified later) though Eliza’s skeptical.

This chapter was a lot of fun to write! I wrote a majority of it today, and am really happy to have a *chill* project. While I love my other books (the three I am apparently now working on at once), it’s nice to have a place to dump my ideas with characters I know very well in situations I’m comfortable in whenever I feel like writing but don’t have tons of time/ideas/energy.

Excerpts:

Here are the opening three paragraphs! The first sentence sets up the POV a little weirdly, but I think it works with a later sentence that sort of mimics this “reminder” kind of style:

There are no rules, just remember, Eliza is vegetarian. She’s into earth tones, neutral tones, leafy greens, root vegetables. It’s all new. The day she announced her diet change, she also announced a desire to repaint the kitchen, to fit the new aura, to fit the new ethics, but she wants to paint the kitchen blood red, and Lonan is still a meat-eater. He reminds himself: there are no rules, just remember, Eliza is vegetarian.

In the hardware store he thumbs paint chips. They’re set up in an array, almost like checkers, dissolving in a gradient from reds to purples. Eliza wants red, “Not necessarily earthy, but the root of organism, of life,” so Lonan looks at the blues. They’re all a variant of a seaside theme—Sea Breeze, a cloud-like blue, Beach Umbrella, a wispy aqua, Seafoam Serenade, muted like the soft side of a turquoise. Repainting the kitchen matters little to him, and so do the blues, but the red section, devilish, makes him shuffle his blue deck faster.

Radio from the store’s intercom tins through the speakers, dampened by the hustle of carts, the thud of bodies against the concrete flooring. He holds many cards up to the light, Secret Getaway and Parisian Summer almost the exact shade, but still he flicks through, until half the pile is indistinguishable, and the other half are blues he likes and not reds, like Eliza’s asked.

The next excerpt sort of highlights the last six months of Lonan’s life as he’s been on this whirlwind of keeping up with all the things Eliza has tried. I have added kudzu pudding and other kudzu food just for my pals @sarahkelsiwrites​ and @shaelinwrites​ (rlly want kudzu pudding):

Her sudden vegetarianism is not confusing to him. Eliza tries new things all the time, something he’s learned after living with her for half a year. One time, she brought home four different kinds of dried beans to make into tea, and together they drank it atop the balcony, the Vegas strip across them somehow tasting better. One time, they ate a variety of kudzu foods for a week because Eliza said invasive species had to be killed somehow, and so they spooned kudzu pudding into their mouths, kudzu root powder into their water, kudzu salads with salted almonds. One time, she put them on a warmth ban, and they ate only frozen peas, potatoes, raspberries, turned the thermostat down until every surface crackled. She liked the feeling of subtle frost on the countertops, how it jolted her when she touched it accidentally in the morning. He found her many mornings awake before him, transfixed to the table with both palms soldered to its surface, like she’d forgotten she wasn’t a part of it. One time, she paid to have the furniture in the house rearranged, not good enough for her spirit, and then reverted it two days later. “The couch doesn’t like being so close to the refrigerator,” and he could’ve asked “did you ask it?” but said, “Understandable. It shouldn’t be forced to catch a draft.” So her vegetarianism is normal. Already, she’s switched their meat supply to beetroots, chickpeas, tofu she rips apart bare-handed. For the last three mornings, they’ve both taken a shot of spinach and gingerroot, a liquid that burns to make you feel alive, as if you weren’t already.

The next excerpts kind of surprised me with their amount of humour! Not something I expect from Lonan, but I’m glad he has some sass back lol (CW: some upsetting animal imagery):

There is nothing wrong in this relationship. Everything is Eliza’s new favourite adjective—stunning. Everything is scrubbed with kitchen bleach, glittering like a plasticky pool float in the shallow end, stunning. Everything is planned, put in a calendar, a notebook, a flitter of receipts, but always planned, stunning. Everything is better, even better than better, a better that can only be described as stunning.

Lonan uses this word frequently now, rolling out a strip of blue painter’s tape and trying to find different ways it stuns. Sticks when he sticks, peels when he peels, keeps its edge when it needs to keep its edge, so it’s stunning. The bubble television is turned onto a channel about sheep, and as he lines the baseboards, outlets, catches glances of a sheer buzzing against skin, sometimes a hunting knife slicing until there’s blood. 

Eliza is asking a neighbour for paint rollers because they bought four cans of wall paint, two paint trays, a box of garbage bags, three rolls of painter’s tape, and a small paintbrush each for both of them but forgot the rollers. Stunning.

The following excerpt highlights that Lonan has a cellphone! Is Fostered just a bizarre alternate reality of a time period that doesn’t exist? Perhaps! (CW: some upsetting animal imagery):

Today, they’ll prime the cabinets, the walls, and tomorrow, scroll a coat of red onto both. The kitchen will look more like the inside of an anatomical heart, the sinks and drawers like ventricles, but this is Eliza’s vision—her tastes come alive.

The sheep are being herded by a collie. As Lonan rips another strip of tape with his teeth, he stares at the screen mounted in the corner, at the almost-naked sheep dashing across a field. How many will be slaughtered, he doesn’t know. The narrator must’ve said that, but there is no plan, really, for death. Even for sheep.

He kneels toward the kitchen vent, the tape roll linked around his wrist, and smooths a line of tape down. Eliza doesn’t want to paint the vent—it wouldn’t complete her vision—and so it will remain the original wall colour, a square of cream so worn, it’s almost grey.

Here we have some hints at Eliza’s weirdness:

He straightens and looks at her. She’s bundled in her fur coat even though she has always insisted she’s good at even Vegas’ warm winter. Since going vegetarian, she’s insisted it’s fake, even though he’s read the lining tag—100% mink. He doesn’t know why she’s needed her coat when she’s only walked up a few flights of stairs but doesn’t care to ask.

She approaches him with her thumb out, and when that thumb presses into his eye socket, he flinches.

“What happened here?” she smooths the dip of his under eyes, her fingertips cold. He smells her perfume, different today, always different, a smell like cloves and lavender. “Are you sleeping?” She presses onto her toes, examines the other side, and her frown deepens. “This doesn’t look like eight hours.”

“I’m sleeping,” he says, though they both know this is a lie. It’s taken her two weeks to notice.

“I can run to the pharmacy,” she says. “If you need a refill.”

“I’m sleeping.”

“I didn’t notice this morning—I would’ve given you another energy shot.”

Here’s a line I like because of a) skin and b) sun:

Lonan goes nowhere. This is not his plan. Asphalt whips under the skin of each tire, the setting sun wringing him blind. 

Fully sharing this for the verb zags (and also because I accidentally roast cities tho I love them I am one of these blink-less people):

He doesn’t know where he’s going. Arizona is the only thing he knows about her, doesn’t know if she lives in an apartment, a duplex, a house—fully detached, semi-detached. As he pulls into a residential neighbourhood somewhere along the vague line he’s drawn on the map from Las Vegas to Arizona, he watches for all these options. In the distance, a jogger zags across the street with her golden retriever, children play basketball on a driveway, still in their school uniforms, another woman clips the wilted stems off a magnolia bush. 

It’s when he gets closer to the apartments that the sameness is noticeable. High-rises with pearlescent windows that go pinkish in the sunset—all of them identical. Each building evenly spaced, more like a board game than a place to live. Even the space around each building is the same—the same rose hedges, the same iron fence, the same people bustling in and out, all wearing some variation of the same pantsuit, all holding some other hand—child, partner, lover. The same haircuts, smiles, eyes like marbles, as if there’s a store somewhere that sells copies, a catalogue for eyes that don’t blink. He’s been looking into the sun for too long, there must be a difference, but the longer he looks, the more indistinguishable they become.

To get out of explaining where he wants to go when he and Eliza bump into each other, Lonan says he’s visiting his sister (Reeve), and because she’s iconic and must make an appearance, here’s a line ft. our queen:

He could make the lie true. Reeve is somewhere in the country, he imagines, dancing in a faceless city, living in a motel room, tipping everyone well. 

(^^ all true)

Here we have Lonan identifying with the animals more than anything else for the second time in one chapter (TW for more blood imagery):

Lonan hooks the car keys onto the lanyard by the front door and slings his coat across the couch. The television is set to the same channel as before, though the program has switched from sheep slaughter to birdwatching. On screen, a heron perches by a riverbed, opalescent in the sunshine.

“Did you hurt yourself?” he asks, the heron now frisking up the white bark of a tree. He glances at the fluorescent red dripping between her fingers, pattering against the tile.

“I was opening the paint cans.”

“With a kitchen knife?”

He gestures to the blade on the counter, blood-free, newly sharpened.

“It’s all I had on hand.” She pulls her wrist closer to her, runs her index finger along the injured area.

“It’s clean.”

“I washed it, Lonan.”

This next one has some blood imagery so TW for that!

The heron has moved closer to the riverbed. It watches the water knowingly, its subtle simmer of movement, and after a moment of watching, strikes its beak down so it spears a trout. He misses the part where it eats. Eliza’s clicked off the TV from behind him.

She slams the remote onto the counter so hard, its back clatters off and onto the tile. “I cut my arm with a kitchen knife while opening paint cans. It happens.”

“I don’t see a cut.”

“Why would I make that up?”

“I don’t see a cut.”

She walks toward him. He expects her to shove her wrist in his face, but she doesn’t. She just holds it, some of the blood fluorescing pink, splashes onto her toes.

“You got to see your sister?” she asks.

“She cancelled.”

Eliza clucks her tongue, examining her wrist, and then she extends her arm, revealing the full patch of pale skin gone red.

Lonan takes it, and with his fingernail carves a line through the red to reveal the healthy patch of skin, painted, uncut.

And finally, here’s the last line of this excerpt that essentially explains where the title comes from ft. predator VS prey symbolism:

He’s reminded once more of the heron, how it plunged into the riverbed with ease, and the trout dangling in its beak, its commitment to life most fervent the moment before being consumed. 

So that’s going to be it for this update! I don’t know how frequently I’ll be writing this, but it’s been a lot of fun so far. I’m excited to explore more relationships I haven’t turned over in a while as a little side project while I do other things! Hope y’all enjoyed!

--Rachel

[julietookoff]

Elvis, Storage Wars and Pandemics - An Update from Las Vegas

Things are good here.  We pay a little extra for a bigger ex-house trailer lot with room to park the van.  We've got a little shade, too.

We watched the weather impatiently and finally arrived at King's Row in early October.  The plan WAS to head north in the spring.  We were going to a buffet once or twice a week and enjoying the huge selection of fast food restaurants (compared to Las Vegas, NM).  Our favorite buffets are at Sam's Town and the Orleans casinos, where we gamble $5 each and get free lunch buffets.  It didn't take long to find the Pink Box donuts, but they are across town and a little pricey.  We got Cox cable set up at our lot, which we sooo much appreciated during the Wuhan virus months.  While in NM I had gotten hooked on dumpster-diving and storage auction videos on YouTube.  I found out dumpster-diving is illegal in Las Vegas, so we started going to storage auctions.  My best finds were three 925 silver rings, each in a different unit.  And the cash.  I found a $20 bill in a BDU top and tons of spare change.  A neighbor who was moving gave us a 10x10 canopy for shade while sorting.

You get tons of household stuff for just a few bucks.  We can't handle mattresses and big furniture with just the little Jeep.  Although the bulk of stuff goes to GoodWill,  I have made over a thousand dollars on eBay and FB Marketplace.  One week I went to the post office four out of five days.  Some Mondays I go twice a day.  We've sold TVs, game systems, games, a Kindle Oasis, a webcam, sets of high-end clothes and Nike/Jordans, Navy BDUs and uniforms, sets of books, lots of bikes, cell phones, IKEA end tables and lots of misc.  At one unit I paid $35 and another bidder immediately bought two folding tables for $40.  

Some of the more odd finds were a Nissan Leaf charger, some HVAC baffles, digital surveying tools, a 4' long aquarium, a digital darkroom timer, a 1972 signed Munich Olympics print (I still haven't sold this), 7 sets of barn door hardware, horse tack, meth,  morphine, narcan, Rx pills (some the same that we take), tons of driver's licenses, Clark County jail IDs and some giant grow lights.  We bought about 25 units until the Pandemic shut them down.  They ranged in price from $5 to $85.  I plan to continue when we settle down in Florida, where we'll have at least three good flea markets where we can sell stuff (last I checked).  Then whatever is left will go to GoodWill.  We were thinking about getting a cargo trailer here, but the BMV is closed and they won't even answer eMails about out-of-staters getting tags for trailers.

I finally gave up my flip phone for a "Smart" phone.  I use it for as little as possible to avoid swearing like a drunk sailor.

Corny went to four Penn & Teller "Fool Us" tapings at the Rio casino.  They will start to air on June 22.

Our Wuhan Virus Experience:

January 25th we went to the Ethel M chocolate factory in Henderson to redeem a "Tasting" groupon.  We pulled into the lot and there was a tour bus parked out front.  Chinese people, most of them wearing masks, were coming and going.  We were aware of the virus at that time and that it was spreading from China.  One of the masked women asked me to take her picture in the cactus garden - I made a rude face and waved her away.  I wasn't going to touch her germy phone.

I signed up at Planet Fitness February 25.  They closed a couple weeks later.

March 9th we went to the last storage auction before the Stay-at-Home season.

We started loading up on TP and food before it was popular.  Before masks, every time I went to Wally's I loaded up on this n' that.  When the shelves started going bare (around March 15th here), we were all set.  I had three boxes of gloves, two from storage units, and a total of seven N-95 masks.  The first Clark County Wuhan virus death was on March 16th.  I found out why our Wal-Mart is so crazy busy all the time.  While I was sitting in the Jeep waiting for Corny to buy and install a new battery, I watched a continuous parade of bus people filing back and forth from the store to the bus stop.  We started going to a less germy Wally's a bit farther from home.

Corny got a second Shingles vaccine at Sam's Club.  I was off wandering around shopping.  Later when he wasn't feeling well I asked him what his temperature had been at Sam's.  They hadn't taken it!  I couldn't believe it.  It's kinda standard you make sure someone isn't sick before you innoculate them!

We each got our $1200 Wuhan checks on the first round.  I donated mine to Chase Bank.  Corny donated his to CitiBank.

There were no casinos, buffets or auctions during "quarantine".  Other than a little boredom, basically we just took our laziness to a higher level.  We were used to laziness.  I feel for the people with kids - and the poor kids.  Geocaching Headquarters cancelled all events and the big August Geo-gatherings in Seattle and British Columbia.  Corny was sad because he couldn't take the van to see State Parks, museums and such.  He finally made it out west and everything was closed!  He wants to stay here through the summer and take van trips to cooler places, instead of moving the bigass RV up north.  I would like to head home to Florida in the fall and see about buying some land and settling down.  Corny will have to use the van for extended trips out west.

Corny took the top of the engine off the Jeep to change the spark plugs.  Turns out one of the cylinder heads may be bad.  If so, it is a $4000 fix.  Or not fix.  We've gotten used to the check engine light.  

Geocaching-wise, we've been to several local events.  At one we donated about a dozen ready-to-go spray painted/repurposed Sam's Club-sized M&M/cashew containers.  I've taken several big solo Jeep trips to complete the NV Delorme challenge.  I found a nice Challenge Row just north of St. George, UT.  All six of us took a nice little van trip on Route 66 (first picture, above) from Kingman, AZ to Seligman to use up the old gas in the tank.  After spending 1/2 hour wiping down everything in a few germy hotel rooms, I started sleeping in the Jeep every other night.  I have a pizza-shaped pool float that fits perfectly.  I was almost done planning a big UT van trip when the auctions started back up.  

Now when I go on a trip, I have to end 60-70 eBay listings.  If I were willing to pay eBay about $5/month I could do it with one click, but I feel like I give eBay/PayPal way more than enough money already.  Certainly more than they deserve.  They charge auctioneer prices because they can, but in reality all they are is a listing service like Craig's List, FB MarketPlace and Offer Up, which are all free.  We do all the hard work.  FeeBay just sits ontheirass and sucks money.  Do I sound cynical?

I've saved geocaching for last because I've got lots of pix.  Here ya' go.

^St. George, UT

New Harmony, UT

Just inside CA from Pahrump, NV

^Donner Party camp

^Lake Tahoe, CA side

^Pyramid Lake, NV

Salt Flats - lots of motorcycles speeding across here.

^Picked up a handsome Travel Bug

Filthy Jeep

^I left a mud ring in the parking lot of Flying J after it rained

^I did a little boulder jumping

^I had a little talk with this sweet lil’ quail in Gerlach, NV

Life is Godd!  We fit out.

[scenes-in-between]

4-D (Part 1)

“Let me get some plates.” “Plates! For crying out loud, who eats Polish sausage with plates?”

His cell phone trills in his pocket, and he digs it out, swallowing quickly before answering. 

“John Doggett.”

“Where are you?” Brad Follmer barks in his ear.

“Sir?”

“We followed you to the alley, but you’re not here. Where did you go? Do you still have eyes on Lukesh?”

“Sir, I’m… afraid you mighta dialed the wrong number. This is Agent Doggett. I’m not on duty today.”

“Damn it, John, going vigilante isn’t going to solve anything. We will make him pay for what he did to her, but we have to do it the right way. Now tell me where you are!”

“I’m…” He flounders, walking toward the kitchen. Maybe Monica will have some idea what on God’s green earth Follmer is talking about?

The kitchen is empty. The hell? There’s only one doorway in and out, and he definitely saw her go in there.

“Monica?” he says, turning in a circle. 

He only realizes he’s lowered the hand holding his phone once he registers the sound of Follmer yelling through the tinny speaker somewhere near his hip. He quickly brings the phone back to his ear.

“...isn’t going to bring her back! Do you hear me?! I am ordering you to stand down!”

“Sir, with all due respect, I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about. I’m at Agent Reyes’s apartment right now. The one she’s just moved into. If I can… she was here just a second ago.” Leaving the kitchen, he walks back into the front room, holding the phone away again briefly while he shouts. “Monica! Where’d you go?”

“How did you… Her new place in Georgetown? You expect me to believe you got all the way over to Georgetown on foot in five minutes?”

“I’m telling you, I don’t know where you think I was supposed to be this morning, but I’m not--”

He gets to the front door, which is not only closed now but locked, with the deadbolt engaged. He knows for a fact it was standing wide open when he got here.

“I’m… not…”

“Agent Doggett, listen to me. I think you might be in shock. Just tell me where you really are, and I’ll send someone to come get you.”

“Yeah, sir, I’m gonna have to call you back.”

“Wait! Joh--”

He hangs up the phone and hits the speed dial for Monica’s cell number. “Come on, come on, pick up,” he mutters as it rings, ignoring the interrupting beeps as Follmer tries to call him back, then cursing when it goes to voicemail. He hangs up again, and when his phone rings almost immediately -- still Follmer -- he shuts it off entirely, scowling.

The apartment is nice, but it isn’t huge, and he walks through every bit of it. She is nowhere to be found. On his second pass through the kitchen, he notices that the paper bag and the other sausage are both gone. None of this makes any sense. He was here the whole time, and he never saw her leave. It’s like she vanished into thin air, only that’s impossible.

Isn’t it?

***

He’d thought he was so clever, leaving his truck at the Hoover Building this morning and avoiding the nightmare that is Georgetown street parking on a Saturday; now he’s regretting that decision, big time, as he hoofs it the eight blocks to Agent Scully’s place. He hates to bother her on the weekend, but he honestly has no idea where else to go.

His jaw falls open when Mulder answers the door.

Bizarrely, Mulder looks equally surprised to see him. “Agent Doggett, I-- we just heard. Skinner called, and… I assumed you were at the hospital. Scully’s headed there now.”

Hospital? First he’s supposed to be in some alley with Follmer, and now a hospital? He holds up his hands.

“Look, I don’t know what in God’s name is going on here, but I haven’t understood one single word I’ve heard in the last half hour. First Follmer, and now you… and when the hell did you get back, anyway?”

Mulder frowns. "Back from where?"

"How the hell should I know? Agent Scully never said. Told me she had no idea where you went, either."

"And… when was that?"

"Come on, Mulder, cut the crap! You don’t get to just up and take off for five months and then play dumb about it!”

“No, I’m not-- Look, why don’t you come inside for a minute?” Mulder steps back, opening the door wider. “I’m not quite sure what’s going on here, but I’ll call Scully, and we can try to figure this out, all right?”

Doggett wants to argue, but it’s not like he’s got any better ideas at the moment. He walks past Mulder into the living room and immediately notices that it’s been rearranged since the last time he was here. Granted, that was a few weeks ago, but it looks really different, not just in terms of furniture placement but in the piles of papers on the coffee table and the second computer on the desk. It has the distinct look of cohabitation, and not just recent cohabitation, either.

“Wait, how long have you been back?” he asks, turning back toward Mulder. “I just talked to Agent Scully three days ago, and she never said one word about it. But from the looks of this place, I’d say you’ve been here at least a week. Maybe more.”

Mulder closes the front door and looks at him with concern. “You and Agent Reyes had dinner here last weekend. Are you saying you don’t remember that?”

“What are you talking about, dinner? I spent last weekend rebuilding my back deck. Only place I went was the hardware store.” 

“That… doesn’t make any sense.”

“You’re telling me! Either I’m dreaming or I’m losing my mind, but not a damned thing is making sense to me right now.” He doesn’t like the careful, almost pitying look Mulder gives him in response. “You think I am losing my mind. I’m telling you, I’m just as sane as I was when I woke up this morning. It’s the whole rest of the world that’s gone nuts.”

“I think,” Mulder says gently, “that we can’t always expect how trauma will affect us.” He walks over to the phone, picks up the handset and starts dialing. “And I also think that Scully will know what to do. Why don’t you sit down?”

Doggett has no desire to sit down, but Mulder walks away before he can argue, going into the bedroom and closing the door. So he paces, instead, trying to put the pieces together from everything that has transpired since Monica left the room to get plates. That was the point where everything went off the rails. 

Follmer said something about shock, and now Mulder’s talking about trauma, but it was a completely normal Saturday until Monica disappeared. Did he fall and hit his head? Is he lying unconscious on her floor right now with a brain aneurysm? Wouldn’t he remember something like that happening? 

“She’s on her way,” Mulder says, emerging from the bedroom. “She wants me to ask what you remember about this morning. What happened before you came here?”

“I got up, drove into the city, and left my truck at the Hoover Building. Took a cab over to M Street, picked up a couple of Polish sausages from Stachowski’s, and walked to Monica’s new place. We talked for a minute, she went into the kitchen, and that’s when everything went haywire.”

Mulder frowns. “According to Skinner, you and Agent Reyes were on a stakeout this morning with AD Follmer. You don’t remember anything about that?”

“Why in the hell would we be on a stakeout? It’s a Saturday, and even if it weren’t, we don’t have any active cases right now, anyway.”

“But you remember driving to work,” Mulder points out.

“Only because I didn’t want to deal with parking over on this side of town!” 

“All right.” Mulder holds up his hands. “So you said Agent Reyes went into the kitchen, and then everything went haywire. What do you mean by that?”

Doggett gives a frustrated sigh, then recounts the whole ridiculous series of events, between Follmer’s call and Monica’s disappearance and how the open front door was closed and deadbolted.

“And before you ask if maybe she went out a different way and I just didn’t see her leave, not a chance. There’s one doorway in and out of that kitchen, and I was standing in front of it the whole time.”

Hearing himself say everything out loud, he knows exactly how insane it all sounds. He’s beginning to have a healthy dose of sympathy for some of the people he’s dealt with during his time on the X-Files. To Mulder’s credit, he’s looking at him more thoughtfully than dismissively.

A faint cry from the other room causes both men to glance toward the bedroom door. Mulder looks at the clock on the wall and gives a wry smile, shaking his head.

“Right on schedule. Kid’s like a Swiss watch these days. Excuse me a minute.”

Resisting the urge to resume pacing, Doggett walks to the kitchen to get himself a glass of water. On the counter beside the coffee maker is a framed photo he’s never seen before; in it, Mulder is holding baby William, who looks to be a couple of months old. 

“What the hell?” Doggett murmurs, picking up the frame.

He flips it over and takes the frame apart to extract the photograph, looking for the date printed on the back.

11 Jul 2001

How is that possible? Mulder had been gone, what, six weeks by then? He’s pretty sure Agent Scully, fearful though she was for Mulder’s safety, still would have mentioned it if he’d swung back through town for a visit.

He’s still holding the photograph when Mulder walks into the kitchen with the baby in his arms.

“Explain to me how this is possible,” Doggett says quietly. “How is there a photo of you from July when I am pretty damned sure you were nowhere near here?”

Mulder sets about making a bottle of formula. “You keep talking about my being gone, but the fact is, I never went anywhere.”

Doggett narrows his eyes. “What are you saying, you were just hiding here the whole time? You expect me to believe that?”

“I don’t expect you to believe much of anything,” Mulder says dryly. “But I’m starting to think that whatever’s going on here is more than just trauma-induced memory loss.”

“You know, that’s the second time you’ve mentioned trauma, but I’ve still got no idea what you could possibly mean. This morning has been weird, no question, but unless all of this is one big hallucination because I fell and hit my head or something--”

The front door opens, and he looks up to see Agent Scully walking in, her eyes wide and worried. “John,” she says as her gaze finds his. “How did you get here?”

Things must really be bad if she’s calling me John. “I walked.”

“From Dillon Park?” she asks, brow creased in confusion.

“What? No. From Monica’s apartment.” Exasperation threatens to completely overwhelm him. “Would somebody please start talking sense here? AD Follmer says I’m supposed to be in some alley, Mulder says I’m supposed to be at the hospital, and now you’re talking about Dillon Park. What the hell is going on with everyone today?! How is it possible that my partner disappearing into thin air is not the most confusing thing that’s happened in the last hour?!”

“Disappearing…” Scully looks pained. “John, Monica’s dead. She was killed trying to apprehend a suspect this morning near Dillon Park. You and AD Follmer were watching from the surveillance van.”

“What are you talking about?!” he explodes, and William starts to cry. He shoots an apologetic look over at Mulder, who bounces the baby gently to settle him, and then lowers his voice to continue. “I don’t know who told you that, but not one word of it is true.”

Scully shakes her head sadly. “I’m so sorry, but--”

“I believe you,” Mulder interrupts.

Doggett and Scully both look at him in surprise. “What?”

“Too much doesn’t add up,” he says. “How you got all the way across town so fast. Why you think I’ve been gone for five months.” He glances at Scully as he says this, and her eyes widen; Doggett watches an entire silent conversation pass between them in the course of a few seconds before Mulder turns his attention back to him. “What do you know about the theory of parallel dimensions?”

[banditthewriter]

Next Door Neighbors - Stephen Holder

Prompt: how about a little one shot where the reader and Holder are neighbours and casually hook up. when she sees Linden often coming out of Holders flat she gets really jealous because she doesn't know that linden is his colleague and he is very amused how much she cares. Prompter: Anonymous

My first try at writing Holder. Not sure how I did, but hey, I tried. Also I miss that mess of a man. Might have to rewatch that show soon!

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*gif not mine*

Enjoy!

*****

The first time you met Stephen Holder, you hadn't really noticed him. He'd been going down the stairs while you were going up them. He leaned against the wall so that you wouldn't smack him with the box you were carrying.

“You know there's an elevator, right?” There was amusement in his voice when he asked.

“A kid threw up in it. I figured I'd take my chances on the stairs. Need the workout.”

His eyes had done a quick sweep of your body, his mouth turning up in a bit of a smirk.

“Alright. See ya.”

And then he was gone.

You didn't think anything of it. In fact by the end of your thirteen trips up and down the stairs to bring up the rest of your stuff, you'd forgotten everything except for how good it felt to soak in a bathtub.

It was a few days later that you remembered the attractive stranger in the stairwell. Your memory was jogged by running into him outside of your apartment door.

He was coming out of his apartment at around six in the morning at the same time as you were going back into yours. He'd given a little nod until he caught your eye and recognized you.

“Well hello neighbor,” he said with a little more attentiveness. “Late night?”

“The firm I work for just acquired some clients on the other side of the world so they decided the newbie should be their new babysitter. All part of paying your dues, right?”

He laughed a bit, hesitating as if he didn't want to leave just yet. You helped him make the decision by holding up your hand to cover your mouth as you yawned.

“I'm going to bed,” you mumbled as you peered at him through bleary eyes. “Have a nice day.”

“Holder,” he said in a rush, offering his hand. “Stephen Holder.”

“I'm Y/N Y/L/N,” you added with a smile as you shook his hand. “Have a nice day Stephen Holder.”

“And have a nice sleep, Y/N Y/L/N.”

------

You brushed a hand over your face as you sleepily made your way down the hall. This overnight schedule was killing you. You'd just gotten to your door when you saw that it was open. It didn't look like someone had kicked it in but you knew you had locked it.

“What's the matter?”

You looked over at Stephen and frowned as you pointed at the door.

“That was shut and locked when I left last night.”

Stephen looked between you and the door. Then he pulled a gun out of his holster, stepping up to the door and pushing it open.

“What the shit,” you whispered as you followed him, “you got a permit for that?”

He moved his jacket out of the way in time for you to see a shield on his waistband. A cop. Good to know who your neighbors were.

The two of you made your way through the apartment but nothing looked out of place. Your TV and stereo was still there, your laptop on your desk. You had a basket of laundry on your bed but other than that, your place was spotless.

“They break in and clean or something?”

You rolled your eyes as you dropped your purse onto the sofa.

“I'm a neat freak. It's a curse,” you joked. Then you turned around to face him with a grateful smile. “Thank you Stephen, really. I know that I locked the door so I don't know why it was open.”

He put the gun back in the holster and looked you over.

“Yeah. You gonna call the cops? Or the landlord?”

You shook your head.

“I think I'll change clothes and run down to the local hardware store to get a new lock. Doubt I'll be able to sleep until I've done that much at least.”

He hesitated from a moment before he pulled something out of his pocket. Then he held up a set of keys in your direction.

“You look like you're about to fall. You can crash at my place and then go to the hardware store? It's not as clean as your place, but I got five locks on my door.”

You laughed as you contemplated it. You barely knew this man but for some reason you trusted him. With that in mind, you approached him to take the keys.

“If there's anything I can do to repay you, let me know,” you said in a tone you hoped wasn't too flirty.

You didn't want to cheapen the moment.

“I'm sure I can think I something,” he said as his eyes raked over your body. Then he grinned. “Just leave the keys in the potted plant in the hallway. Don't wanna have to wake you up when I get off tonight.”

You shrugged a shoulder, your heart racing.

“I don't have to work tonight. I'll need to be awake to try to stay on this schedule anyways. Go ahead and knock.”

There it was, that smile that made your stomach flip.

“I'll keep that in mind. But I gotta go before my partner tears me a new one.” He turned to leave your apartment and hesitated for a moment before he met your gaze once more. “See you tonight.”

You smiled back at him and raised his keys in a silent thanks.

Well. He was gonna get you into his bed and he wasn't even going to be there to appreciate it. Maybe next time though.

------

When Stephen got there, you both acted like this was normal. He brought food, asked questions about your job. You leaned a little about him during that time too.

You noticed the clock on the wall showing that it was getting late.

“You probably want to go home and rest after a long day,” you said as you grabbed his keys to return to him. “Thanks again.”

He accepted the keys but didn't immediately leave.

“You uh, you gotta make sure not to disrupt your sleep schedule right now, right?” At your confused nod, he leaned in a little closer to you. “Need help with that?”

You almost felt bad for him. The next morning he left your place bleary eyed and fucked out, laughing about having to go to the department on no sleep.

And you? You got better sleep than you'd had in a long time. Good sex would do that to you.

------

“I was into drugs,” he said from the other side of the bed, the sheet pooled around both of your waists. “For a while, actually. Took my undercover work a little too seriously I guess.”

You rolled over and propped your chin up on his chest.

“You didn't have to tell me that,” you said simply, your hand resting on his stomach.

“Yeah but we’re spending more time together and I wanted you to know. It's my choice, you know. I go to the meetings, do the whole spiel, but it's all about choice in the end.”

With a smile, you leaned in to give him a kiss. He rolled you underneath him, his lips trailing down your neck.

“Promise I'm not one of those junkies that's gonna rob you in your sleep,” he joked as he pressed kiss after kiss into your skin.

“Better not,” you said with a laugh, “I know where you work. And live.”

------

Finally, after almost six months of being a nocturnal human, you had finally gotten the pay off. Your bosses were so pleased with your work that they gave you your own account. And the account was based in the states so you could have a normal sleep schedule finally.

You were excited. Not just because what it meant for work. No, you were also excited because it meant you could have some semblance of a normal relationship with Stephen.

Well, calling it a relationship might have been a leap. The two of you didn't spend much time together outside of your apartments, but you blamed your schedule. Now there was a chance at least.

You got to your floor with the intention of meeting up with Stephen to tell him the news, but you froze. A smaller woman slipped from his apartment, tugging the hem of her sweater down.

“Put your pants on,” she called into the apartment with a smile on her face.

You changed your direction and went to your apartment door. The woman was checking her phone but you thought she might also be observing you. Quickly you let yourself into your apartment, shutting the door with a soft click.

Through the peephole you watched as Stephen finally emerged. He glanced at your door before he went up to the woman, draping his arm around her shoulders. She laughed and shoved at him, but she didn't dislodge his arm.

It felt like being kicked in the gut. Yeah you never talked about being exclusive, but you still thought…

You dropped your bag on the couch. Maybe you should find someone else to celebrate with.

------

Three more times you saw the blonde woman at Stephen's door. Each time they looked at ease with each other in a way that almost physically hurt.

You only saw them because you stared through your peephole until they left. Your hours had changed so you had time in the morning before you had to rush out. It meant he left first every morning.

He'd reached out a few times but you weren't able to meet up with him. You weren't trying to ignore him, but it just worked out that way.

You waited until past the time when he'd be gone before you got dressed. No work today but you were going to run and grab some muffins for breakfast. You were just locking your apartment door when his door opened.

Crap. You hadn't spied today, just assumed he had left at his usual time. Your shoulders tensed when he called your name.

“Haven't seen you in a while,” he said as he sidled up beside you, his hand coming to rest on your hip. “Thought you got tired of me.”

“No, just busy with work,” you said as you subtly pulled away, locking your door. “I'm just out to run some errands. It was good to see you.”

You barely took a step away before a hand found yours and tugged you back.

“Hey, what's going on? You're usually asleep by now.”

Not to mention you had never been so rude to him before, but he probably didn't even notice that.

“I got my own account so I'm no longer working at night,” you explained as you met his eyes. “Been on this schedule for about a week now.”

His eyes grew wide as he smiled.

“Well shit, that's awesome. You should’ve told me and we could’ve celebrated.”

“I was going to,” you admitted, your body sagging a bit as you realized you were going to do this. “I didn't want to interrupt.”

“Interrupt what?”

You leaned forward and plucked a long blonde hair off of his shoulder that you had noticed. You let it dangle between the two of you for a second before you dropped it.

“Blonde, big smile, smokes like a freight train. Seems just your type,” you added as you started to turn away again.

And once again you were tugged back. The confused look he had given you before had melted into a smirk that made you want to slap him. Or kiss him. Or both.

“Shit. That's why you've been ghosting me? Linden?” He said it incredulously, a grin growing on his lips. “Damn, can't wait to tell her you were jealous of her. She'll piss herself on that one.”

You started to say something but then the name clicked. Linden; his partner. You'd heard the name a hundred times but you'd never given much thought to the woman besides the fact that she drove Stephen crazy.

But he trusted her. He liked working with her. And he'd helped her and her kid out once or twice.

“She's been on my ass because this case. Lots of potential triggers and she's being a good friend. Being a bitch about it, actually, but for good reason.”

That drew you up short.

“I didn't know,” you said quietly as you stepped closer to him.

“Yeah well I would've told you if you weren't ignoring me. Thinking I'm sleeping with Linden, pfft.”

He smirked as his hands went to your hips. You slowly wound your arms around his neck.

“I'm not sleeping with anyone else,” he explained as he tugged you in closer. “I kinda figured that was mutual.”

You didn't bother, just pulled him in for a kiss. He smiled against your lips but returned the kiss happily.

When he pulled back, he was grinning.

“You wanna hit pause on those errands? I'm off today and I really missed you.”

His hips pressed against yours proved it. With one hand on the collar of his shirt, you dragged him over to your door.

You'd missed him too.

X

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[imamotherfuckingstar-lord]

What We Did, pt. 16

Summary:  After finding out you were pregnant, Bucky agrees to help you leave the hero life. The two of you go to Seattle, and hamper down for six months until you start dreaming of a certain someone. Convinced the dreams are a sign, you and Bucky go back to New York. Will everyone be happy to see the pair of you? What questions will they have? And will the lie Bucky and you made up finally resurface? 

A/N: This chapter is dedicated to my main bitch @childishhoebinoo again.

Warnings: //cheating//pregnancy//ADULT STUFF//

masterlist

Chapter Sixteen: Quartz

It was almost noon as you walked among the row of booths at the weekly farmers market, waiting for Bucky’s lunch at 12:30. You were going to surprise him for lunch, so you bought some fruit and a few random items, including a cute crochet beanie for the baby, as you waited for the time to arrive.  The weather was a bit chilling, but it was nice to be out of the house. Two weeks had passed by since Laura came to the house and you were more than shaken – yeah, you played it off for Bucky’s sake, but it took it’s tow on your emotions and you knew it wasn’t good for the baby. So, you tried to keep busy with finishing up the nursery and just staying around the home, getting things ready while Bucky worked and came home with dinner most nights. It was nice, the domestic life and the two of you just wanted to get to the finish line.

Strolling on, you noticed a booth with an older woman; she was selling crystal quartz necklaces and your inquisitiveness got the best of you. Walking over to the table, you smiled at the woman and looked through the bunch, noticing two small vintage key necklaces. Each had a crystal quartz about the same length of the key, attached with gold wiring to keep them together.

“Those are for serenity, to keep things calm in your life,” the woman explained. “A little bit of luck too.”

You nodded, admiring them both. Picking one up, you touched the key and thought you could use a bit of calmness in your life. Asking how much for the two, she said forty and you thought it was a good price for some luck. Buying one for Bucky and yourself, you paid and watched as she wrapped one of them, the other you placed around your neck. Thanking her, you tucked the other away to give to Bucky just as your cell rang.

Taking it out, you saw that it was Tony.

“Hey, Grandpa.”

“Very funny,” he muttered, asking how you were. “I called the other night, you didn’t return my call.”

“Sorry about that,” you apologized, stepping away from the booth. “I’ve been keeping busy and meant to return you call.”

“Well, just so you know, I tried to dig some information on how Laura knew where you lived and nothing. How are you so sure Clint didn’t tell her?”

“Because he’s not that stupid.”

Tony laughed. “Well, he did knock up a woman who wasn’t his wife.”

“Touché,” you remarked, again pressing that it wasn’t Clint. “I know him, he would have warned me.”

A long pause came from Tony’s end until he asked how the house was coming along. “It’s good. We’re good. Thank you, Tony.”

“No thanks necessary. Is Barnes with you?”

Checking your watch, you saw that it was nearly time to go see Bucky. “No, but I’m on my way to see him for his lunch. Need me to pass along a message?”

“You guys are really cosplaying this whole civilian thing, huh?”

Rolling your eyes, you said yes, explaining that it was for real. “Plus, we can’t live off Grandpa Tony for the rest of our lives, we don’t want the kid to develop a complex.”

“Or a drinking problem.”

“That too.”

The two of you laughed and Tony just asked for you to give Bucky a heads up, Steve was planning on calling him to discuss a come back to the team. “Just in case we really need him. Personally, I think we’re better without him, but whatever.”

“And what about me? I’m no longer desired?”

Sensing your teasing, Tony chuckled. “At the risk of sounding like a misogynist, I have to say I’m sure motherhood is your new calling.”

Unoffended, you agreed. “Steve should know better, Bucky will set him straight. Anyway, I better get going. I’ll remember to return your calls for now on and thank you for looking into the whole Laura thing. We’re…we’re trying to just think only about getting the kid here, everything else can wait.”

“I get it, Pepper and I are 100% with you guys. Just a call away,” he assured you, making you feel lucky to have the pair. “And just so you know, I pushed to have you back instead of Barnes.”

Sighing contently, you smiled as you walked away from the farmers market. You would always miss the fighting days and having the team around always, but life in Seattle? That was the endgame.

“Thank you, Tony.”

….

Bucky was behind the counter, hair tucked behind his ears and green smock covering his front – he looked cute and you were completely smitten when he looked up when the door chimed as you walked in. His whole face lit up as he finished ringing up a customer, handing over their bag and motioning for you to come over. Doing your little pregnancy waddle, you asked if he was ready for lunch.

“Right on time,” he smirked, asking you to wait for as he gathered his things from the back and punched out. It took him only two minutes to rush back to you, greeting you with a warm hug and soft kiss. He held your hand and led you outside, only letting go to zip up his jacket.

“The market any good?”

Holding up the bag of goods, you grinned. “Got a few things and this cute beanie for the kid. What do you want for lunch?”

Bucky took the bag and reached down for your hand, the two of you settling for a sandwich from the deli down the corner. You listened to him rattle on about work and you couldn’t help but feel content; he was living a normal life like he always wanted and there was nothing more that you wanted, beside the kid, then to have Bucky happy.

“Oh, I talked to Tony today.”

“Did he figure out the whole Laura thing?”

You shook your head and watched as Bucky opened the door to the deli for you. The two of you walked in and stepped in line behind the customer at the counter. Bucky pulled you into his side, his arm hanging over your shoulder, and kissed you on the forehead.

“Don’t worry about it, babe.”

“I’m fine. Anyway, he told me that your boy’s going to call to try to recruit you back to the team.”

Bucky’s body stilled, and he leaned his head back to look at you. “I’m going to kill the punk.”

You cleared your throat and gave a slight shrug. “I mean, do you want to go back…”

“Baby,” he exhaled, shaking his head. “That’s the last thing I want. What about you?”

“Nope,” you declared, eyes widening when you remember the necklace. “I got you something!”

He watched with amusement as you pulled out the little bag, handing it over shyly. “I know it might be weird and maybe it’s weird…I mean…not everyone believes in..” you voice trailed off as he pulled out the necklace, holding it up to the light.

The quartz shined in the light and the key looked lovely next to it, Bucky’s eyes softened, and he gave you a goofy smile. “I love it.”

Relieved, you went on to explained it was meant to bring peace to your life. “And luck,” you added, watching as he brought the necklace down around his neck, tucking it under his shirt for safe keeping.

Bucky grinned from ear to ear, leaning forward to kiss you on the lips. “I think we could use a little of both.”

“That’s what I said,” you exclaimed, giggling as he playfully ran his hand up and down your swollen belly. His hand was gentle, and you watched as his face light up, just as it did back at the hardware store. It brought warmth to your heart, to your soul and you knew, even though things had sprouted from a drunken mistake, it didn’t mean things couldn’t end up good.

Yes, you were aware that more hurt was coming, it was inevitable, but the end of the line was going to be worth it – you were going to make it worth it.

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[dantediscoversfic]

Chapter 40: The Crap Cave

“Dante! You found us!” Clio said as I hovered awkwardly in the doorway of the art room that first day of school during lunch period.

She bounded over and grabbed my elbow to draw me into the oddly dark classroom. The overhead lights were all off, the window shades partially drawn down and gloomy pop music I vaguely recognized as The Cure droned from a cassette player. About ten kids were sprawled out around the room, most of them sporting various degrees of punk/goth/New Waver style. Two corset-clad girls in billowy skirts drew intricate designs on each other’s arms in black pen; a couple dressed in “normal” clothes was making out with gusto in the corner by the potter wheels; a boy wearing all black continually skimmed his pointer finger over the top of a Bic lighter flame; and the rest were eating lunch, chatting, scribbling in notepads or singing along to the music. Clio flicked the overhead lights a few times to get everyone’s attention, eliciting a few winces and hisses and boos from the group.

“Everyone, listen up, this is Dante. He’s new. He’s from Texas, but try not to hold that against him. He’s a brilliant artist. Dante, this is everyone. That’s Raija, Jane, Sachi, Fletch and Kelly back there sucking face, Joseph, Ann, Dave, Forest and Vee.”

I was greeted with a few head nods and finger waves, except for the couple making out who kept at it with sloppy yet admirable enthusiasm. Everyone went back to their conversations as Clio led me closer to the girls she’d pointed out as being named Jane and Sachi.

“So, Dante from Texas, welcome to 'The Crap Cave’”, Clio said using air quotes. “We have lit mag meetings here and also make our own ‘zines and stuff. Raija’s mom Ms. B is the art teacher—she just stepped out for a minute—so she doesn’t care if we hang out here as long as we don’t you know, perform ritual animal sacrifices or set anything on fire. Again.” She coughed pointedly in the direction of the boy with the lighter seated a few desks down from us and the girls chuckled. Seeing my apparent confusion she said, “See, Joseph’s a bit of a pyro and went through a destruction of property phase last year, didn’t you, Jo-Jo?” The boy in question grinned slyly up at us. “But he’s got it under control now,” Clio continued. “He channels his urges into sculptures where he can use an actual blowtorch from woodshop.”

“Blowtorches rule,” he said and cast me one more glance before focusing all his attention back to his lighter and intrepid pointer finger. I couldn’t help but notice that all his fingernails were painted black and he was wearing eyeliner and dark lipstick like the girls.

I pulled my gaze away from him, not wanting to stare too hard and be rude. “What did you call this room? The ‘crap cave’?” I asked Clio. “Did I hear that right?”

“Oh yeah, you heard me right.”

“Do I even want to know?”

Clio laughed. “Don’t look so scared, we know how to use the bathrooms like everyone else. It’s a sort of long story. You ever hear of The Batcave?”

“You mean like from Bat Man comics?”

“No. Well yes, but no. Same but different. The Batcave is this famous club in London for people like us. Bauhaus, Robert Smith, Siouxie, Nick Cave, Specimen all hang out and play there. Jane actually got to go there this summer, that lucky bitch,” Clio knocked Jane’s shoulder with friendly admiration. “So we kind of started calling it that in homage to the club like a year ago. But then the school had this gross mouse problem and their little poops were, like, this constant presence in our lives, so somewhere along the line we started calling it ‘The Crap Cave’ instead. Because that's how we roll.”

“The mice were perfect and adorable, not gross,” Sachi said.

“Sachi, no. Just no. The mice themselves might have been cute but their poops definitely weren’t.”

The two girls bantered about whether the mice should have been saved and kept as pets or if they were indeed an icky health hazard while I took everyone in, trying not to gawk, and sat down to eat my packed lunch. I was fascinated by the group’s collective style: a motley assortment of teased and spiked dyed hair, leather jackets, ripped band t-shirts, corsets and lace, fishnets, heavy boots, winged eyeliner, black lipstick and nail polish, powdered white faces, spiky hardware chain jewelry mixed with rosaries, crosses and pentagram necklaces. Some of the boys were even wearing makeup, which was something you hardly ever saw in El Paso. Joseph, the pyro boy, was particularly fascinating to me. His raven hair was teased out as much as Clio’s and his dramatic eye makeup accentuated his blue eyes and delicate, almost pretty features. The flame from his Bic lighter cast a warm glow on his ghostly pale skin.

Clio must have caught me staring because she leaned in close to my ear and said, “Don’t worry, Dante, we might look at little scary but we don’t bite. At least most of us don’t. Forest over there is saving up to get his teeth filed, but it’s not for blood sucking purposes. It’s because it’ll look badass.”

“Wow. My old school in El Paso was a Catholic private school so we all had to wear uniforms. It’s so cool you can wear whatever you want here. And be whoever you want. Do you all make your own clothes? I love your corsets,” I said to Jane and Sachi.

The girls grinned at me with approval and Clio said, “I knew you were a good egg, Dante. Jane made the corsets. She’s an amazing designer and sewer. I think the rest of us get by with thrift stores, hot glue and a crapload of paperclips.”

“I’ve never really thought about my clothes before,” I said. “But now I feel so boring compared to you all.”

“Aw, there’s nothing wrong with being a normie,” Clio said and patted me on the back. “It doesn’t make you boring.”

“Well, if you want to try something new, let me know,” Jane said. “Jo-Jo’s my twin brother. I make stuff for him all the time. Cravats, vests, things like that. I’m sure he’d let you borrow something.”

“Wow, thanks. You think I’d look good?”

“Yeah, for sure. But don’t let us pressure you. We dress like this because it feels right, right? But it’s not for everyone.”

The girls nodded.

“How did you all know you wanted to get into goth stuff?” I asked.

Jane said, “Well, for me, growing up I loved making clothes and dressing up since forever. Halloween was my always my favorite holiday. I was obsessed, like obsessed. Like I’d start planning my costume and how to decorate the house six months in advance. And after it was over each year, the next day I’d get so sad and cry for days and beg my mom to keep the decorations up and let me keep wearing a cape or whatever to school every day. So when I figured out that I could dress however I wanted whenever I wanted and basically have Halloween all year round and have my clothes express how I feel inside all the time, it was like a big weight was lifted.”

“Do people make fun of you?”

“I mean, sure, dicks are dicks,” Jane said.

“We get all sorts of ignorant comments at school, on the street, wherever. Like…‘Hey Morticia, Halloween is over,’” Clio lowered her voice to a dopey male grumble.

“Or ‘Errr….Do you sleep in a coffin?’” Jane said.

“Or ‘You look pretty hot for a dead girl!’” Sachi said.

“Or my personal favorite, the classic ‘Going to a funeral?’” Clio said with an epic eyeroll. “Yeah, your funeral if you don’t shut up about it. Please. But there are lots of people who aren’t asshats and you can just ignore the losers.”

“Yeah,” Sachi said. “People say things like ‘Oh, you’d look so pretty if you didn’t dress like that’ but this is how I feel pretty and beautiful. I didn’t feel right before. Now I feel good. Right. Like myself.”

“Raija’s mom is super cool because she’s an old hippie and gets it,” Clio said. “But my mom is still waiting and praying for the day when I let her dress me all in pink pouffy dresses again. Sorry Anita, not gonna happen.” There was an edge to Clio’s voice when she talked about her mom that I hadn’t heard from her yet. It made me wonder what her home life was like.

Sachi said, “Yeah, my parents were all worried at first that I was depressed and wanting to kill myself. They tried to have an intervention with all my aunties and cousins. ‘We’re worried about you, Sachi.’ ‘This isn’t the real you.’ Um, first off, yes it is. And second off, I’m so much happier now than before when I felt like a fake.”

“Yeah, people think that we do this for attention or as a cry for help or because we’re suicidal or worship Satan or are in a cult, but that’s not true at all,” Jane said. “I started making clothes for myself when I was ten. This isn’t a ‘phase’. I’m not going to just grow out of it.”

“And finding people who are into the same bands and fashion and movies and everything makes putting up with all the weird looks and comments easier. We’re here for each other, ” Sachi said.

“And sure, we get attention,” Clio said, “because we stand out with our awesome amazingness. But it’s not like we do it for attention.”

“Yeah, I totally get it.” I said. “I think it’s great.”

The girls smiled at me and I wondered how it would feel to dress like them, if that would feel ‘right’ for me or not. I understood what Sachi had said about feeling like a fake, though, and not liking how that made me feel. I felt that way when I used to tell people my name was Dan and not Dante. I felt that way still, a little. Because I didn’t quite know what it meant to be totally free and open with myself and the world and the universe. Not when it came to the biggest secret I had. In El Paso, I felt like I already stood out by not looking Mexican enough, by liking art and poetry and books and astronomy too much. It was enough to blend in and not get teased or bullied for being a little strange. Now I wondered if I flipped the script and really tried to stand out—if I dressed all in black and put on makeup and spiked my hair and embraced my innate weirdness—if that would make me feel more like me. It might make me feel tough and cool and badass for a little while, but I doubted it would make me feel more like myself the way it did for this group. How did I know, though? I’d never tried it before.

I wondered what Ari would think of my new friends. I bet he’d like them. And then I wondered what Ari would look like in black nail polish and eyeliner. I bet he’d look like a dark glamorous rock star. The thought did funny things to my insides.

Then the art teacher, Ms. Baldwin a.k.a. Raija’s mom, came in. She had gray hair in a long braid all the way down her back and wore a long flowy dress and bangle bracelets. She turned the overhead lights on and said, “Hey darklings, the cruel daylight beckons. Gotta get ready for the next class. Lunch is over in five. And you two, yoo-hoo, Earth to Fletch and Kelly! Please rein in your raging hormones during lunch if at all humanly possible? I can’t have anyone getting pregnant on school grounds.” Everyone cracked up at that and Fletch and Kelly turned beet red but finally disentangled their entwined limbs (and tongues).

I had an art class with Ms. Baldwin later in the day so I introduced myself.

“Hi, I’m Dante Quintana, I’m in your painting class during sixth period.”

“Dante, it’s so nice to meet you. You’re new, yes? This lot showing you the ropes?”

“Yes, Clio invited me to eat lunch with her and be part of lit mag.”

“That would be lovely. I’m the advisor, so I’m sure I’ll be seeing a lot of you. How are you finding Chicago? Settling in all right?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Ma’am! Please, call me Ms. B. Where are you from?”

“El Paso.”

“Ah. I’ve only been there once. EPMA is a lovely museum. Have you been to the Art Institute yet?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“We’ll be doing a field trip later in the year, but if you are a lover of art you must go. It’s one of the prides of Chicago.”

“Thanks, Ms. B, I will.”

"Now if you’ll excuse me, Dante, I have to prep for next period. See you in a few hours!”

Ms. B went over to her daughter Raija, who had been sitting off to herself drawing in a sketchpad for most of lunch, and gave her a quick side hug before disappearing into a supply closet. Since everyone else was getting packed up I ate the rest of my lunch quickly and consulted my schedule to see where I was headed next.

“You’re in sixth period drawing?” I looked up and saw it was Joseph who had asked me the question. Standing up instead of hunched over the desk I saw how truly long and lanky he was. He was about a foot taller than me.

I nodded up at him and tried to smile but had a hard time keeping eye contact.

“Cool. Me too.”

He flicked his lighter a few times in his right hand and then grinned a lopsided grin at me before heading out into the hallway right as the bell rang.

This was shaping up to be a much different first day of school than I had expected.

[bethestaryouareradio]

Fall Harvest and Bulb Buying

“Tickle it with a hoe and it will laugh into a harvest.”  English Saying

 Every September I think about two major garden projects that transpire throughout the autumn season: harvesting and bulb buying.

 Fall boasts a spectacular bounty of pears, Asian pears, grapes, apples, tomatoes, tangerines, blackberries, walnuts, kiwis, and more. The last of the peaches and nectarines are being picked while festivals celebrating the end of the fruit and vegetable collections transpire throughout the next two months across the United States. 

 We also kick off fall by thinking about what bulbs we’ll want to plant for spring. Alliums, daffodils, tulips, crocus, hyacinths, iris, snowdrops, muscari, and fritillaria top the lists of many gardeners. 

 Let’s get started on this month’s workload! 

 Fruit and Vegetables

 What do we do with all the produce that is harvested? Besides eating your fruits and veggies fresh and raw, autumn is a plum time for canning, freezing, pickling, and drying the season’s extra yield to enjoy during the winter months when “fresh-picked” is not possible. Use a dehydrator to dry apples, peaches, tomatoes, and pears. Put grapes into an ice-cube tray, add water, and make grape cubes that are pretty and delicious in drinks. After cooling, freeze batches of various fruit sauces that have simmered in a pot with a dash of salt, sugar, honey, and/or vinegar. For canning and pickling, check online sources for simple recipes and make sure to follow the safety requirements. Making jams, jellies, pies, and chutneys is easy and fun, especially when you involve the kids. Next to Christmas, harvest time was always a favorite family experience when I was growing up.  

 Although my vegetable garden did not return the abundance I had anticipated for the year, my fruit trees overcompensated. I’ve been slicing crunchy apples into salads, sauces, compotes, soups, and making crumbles, pies, and crisps. Peaches or nectarines with fresh cream is one of my favorite breakfast treats. For a refreshing and invigorating weekend cocktail that I call Sunday Sensation, try this beautiful and delicious combination. It can be made with or without alcohol.

 Sunday Sensation

In a clear pitcher, muddle cut pieces of peach and nectarine. Add slices of an orange, tangerine, and Meyer lemon. Stir in a shot glass of Campari or Aperol for an alcohol infused drink, add ice cubes, and top with sparkling wine or Champagne. For a virgin sensation, use a cup of orange juice topped with sparkling water or apple cider. Garnish with sprigs of basil and mint leaves. 

Yummy!

 While you are enjoying your Sunday Sensation, it’s time to contemplate the bulbs and rhizomes you’ll plant this fall for a spring showcase. Bulbs can be planted mid to late fall in a sunny location with well-drained soil. Daffodils can be planted anytime and anywhere. They are especially great in areas where deer roam as the deer are repelled by them. There are so many varieties of tulips for early, mid-season, and late blooming that it may be best to peruse bulb catalogs to get an idea of the specimens that speak to you. All tulips will need six weeks of refrigeration before planting so it is doubly critical that you decide on what to buy now. For rock gardens and borders, you may be thrilled by Water Lily tulips that naturalize when left undisturbed. When you want exotic-looking tulips, consider the flamboyant Parrot or Peony flowering tulips. If you want to force flowering, single or double early tulips are the most well-known as well as Species and Triumph tulips.

 Forcing How-to:

Plant bulbs in well-draining pots in October, place them in the dark for 12-14 weeks while chilling at 35-45 degrees Fahrenheit. Gradually move pots to filtered sunlight to allow sprouting and acclimation. Water as needed. 

 Ponder the Pollinators:

Happy bees stay in our gardens helping nature thrive. By planting bulbs in colors most attractive to the bees­­­­––blue, purple, white, and yellow––fresh food is provided for them after winter when they need it most. The best bulbs for bees are allium, anemone, camassia, corydalis, crocus, fritillaria, Galanthus, hyacinths, muscari, tulips, and scilla. 

 Best Way to Plant Large Quantities:

Most people plant bulbs in groups of five to seven spaced six inches apart and buried four to five inches deep. However, if you want to create a bold and beautiful impact with large swatches of color, try trenching. You can mix bulbs or use one variety or one species.

 Dig a long five-inch deep (or whatever depth the bulb packaging indicates) trench wherever you want to make your floral statement. It can be straight or made into a circle or pattern. Add soil amendments if your ground is clay and hard. Arrange a minimum of a hundred bulbs with the pointy side up. Cover area with soil and mulch. Water, wait, and WOW!

 After blooms fade in the spring, cut the flower stalks to allow the bulbs to conserve energy for the next year while the foliage continues to flourish. 

 Hose Repair:

Every time I or my siblings telephoned my Mom during a summer or fall day, the first words out of her mouth were “I’m busy. I’m pulling hoses.”  That line became a code sentence for us whenever we were doing manual labor that others may not think was important, but what was critical to us. This past summer, to save water by not turning on my irrigation system, I found myself pulling actual hoses daily. By spot watering, I was able to water deeply and accurately, but it was arduous work pulling those heavy hoses. Several tore or broke during the process and I mended them, giving them new life. I have always repaired frayed or cut hoses and figured everyone repaired theirs when necessary. But then I saw a couple of hoses in the recycle bin area of a client’s yard with new hoses sitting next to the front faucets. They didn’t realize that hoses are easily repaired with inexpensive parts. If your hose is damaged, head to the hardware store to buy either a female or male coupling. If your hose is broken in the middle, you can buy a connector. Cut off the damaged hose part with a shear or sharp knife. Use a Philipps screwdriver to open the connector. Push the new female or male plug into the hose and tighten the connector with the screwdriver. Test the hose. It will be good as new. I tend to use more female couplings than males, so I always buy extras.

 Tickle your garden with a hoe and you’ll have a great harvest. Come visit me at the Pear and Wine Festival in Moraga at the Be the Star You Are!® charity booth on September 25th and pick up some free goodies. Laugh on!

 MARK YOUR CALENDARS!

Saturday, September 25th, Be the Star You Are!® will participate in the first live event at the Pear and Wine Festival with a booth sponsored by the Lamorinda Weekly(www.Lamorindaweekly.com) and MB Jessee painting (www.MBJessee.com). Wear your mask and visit us! Details at https://www.bethestaryouare.org/copy-of-events

  Happy Gardening. Happy Growing. 

Photos and more: https://www.lamorindaweekly.com/archive/issue1515/Digging-Deep-with-Goddess-Gardener-Cynthia-Brian.html

 Cynthia Brian, The Goddess Gardener, is available for hire to help you prepare for your spring garden. Raised in the vineyards of Napa County, Cynthia is a New York Times best-selling author, actor, radio personality, speaker, media and writing coach as well as the Founder and Executive Director of Be the Star You Are!® 501 c3. Tune into Cynthia’s StarStyle® Radio Broadcast at www.StarStyleRadio.com.

Buy copies of her books, including, Chicken Soup for the Gardener’s Soul, Growing with the Goddess Gardener, and Be the Star You Are! www.cynthiabrian.com/online-store. Receive a FREE inspirational music DVD and special savings.

Hire Cynthia for writing projects, garden consults, and inspirational lectures.

Cynthia@GoddessGardener.com

www.GoddessGardener.com

[importantwinnerfest]

1and1 Hosting - Raising the bar

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[agilenano]

Agilenano - News: Somebody to Love by Sharon Sala – Spotlight and Giveaway

Long and Short Reviews welcomes Sharon Sala who is celebrating the recent release of her newest book Somebody to Love, the 11th book in the Blessings, Georgia series. Enter the giveaway for a chance to win a copy of Once in a Blue Moon, book 10 in the series. Welcome to Blessings, Georgia! Whether you’ve lived here your whole life, you’re returning after years of being away, or you’re new in town, you’re sure to find the happy ending you’ve always been looking for. Fifteen years ago, a family member stole the money Hunt Knox had saved for college, while three of his siblings and his father hid the truth and told him to get over it. Betrayed by their lies and thievery, Hunt joined the army and wound up flying Apache helicopters in Iraq. Now, he’s a chopper pilot for an oil company in Houston, Texas, his father has been dead for six years, and he’s finally returning home to Blessings at his mother’s dying request. Ava Ridley, the little girl his mother used to babysit, has grown up and is a nurse at his mother’s bedside when he arrives. Ava is overjoyed to see him. She had a huge crush on him when she was young. And as the two spend more time together, Ava’s crush grows to be even more. Through secrets, lies, family betrayal, and difficult choices, Hunt’s not sure he and Ava can ever make a home together in Blessings. Or if life will once again lead them onto different paths…? Enjoy an Excerpt Hunt rode across town, past the park, and then west down Peach Street to the little house at the end of the block. He’d seen this house a million times in his dreams, but it hadn’t looked sad and run-down like this. A black pickup was parked beneath the carport, so he rolled up and parked beside it. He got the house key out of his pocket, but as he headed toward the back door, the hair stood up on the back of his neck. He didn’t believe in ghosts, but this house didn’t feel like it wanted him there. That was fair. He didn’t want to be here, either, but a promise was a promise. He unlocked the door and walked into the utility room just off the kitchen, turning on lights as he went. All of the furnishings were here. If it hadn’t been for the faint layer of dust all over everything, he could imagine his mom had just stepped out to run an errand and would be back soon. There was a low spot in the middle of the kitchen floor—probably floor joist issues. The old hardwood flooring was scarred and worn, and the furniture was threadbare. The sight of this neglect made Hunt angry. How could his brothers and sisters let this happen? They were all right here in the same town together. The year Hunt began high school, they’d remodeled the attic enough to call it a bedroom, and for the first time in his life, he’d had a room of his own. Curious to see what it looked like now, he went straight up the narrow stairwell at the end of the hall and opened the attic door. The single window was bare of curtains or shades, and the dust motes in the air stirred as he moved through the space now filled with boxes of old memories that should have been laid to rest years ago. The bed he’d slept in was gone. The closet door was missing, the closet empty. Even the rod where his clothes used to hang was gone. It was as if they’d wiped away all memories of him. If only he’d been able to do the same. He went back downstairs, glancing in his mother’s room and accepting it was the only one decent enough to sleep in, then began eyeing all of the things that needed repair. He went back to the kitchen to check out the appliances. The burners on the gas stove lit, the oven came on. The dishwasher was clean, and the single glass in the top rack told him it had recently been in use and was likely in working condition—something he’d find out later. The water pressure was good, and the washer and dryer appeared to be in working condition. The refrigerator was the newest appliance in the house, but nearly everything inside it needed to be thrown away. He didn’t know for sure how long his mother had been in the hospital, but the carton of milk was over a month out of date, and the single container of peach yogurt had long since expired. The ice in the bin beneath the icemaker had all frozen together, which meant the electricity must have been off at one time long enough to melt it. Then when the power returned, it froze back. So he took the bin out and dumped the ice in the sink, then put it back beneath the icemaker to start making fresh ice, then dumped everything that was in the freezer and refrigerator into the garbage. The central heat and air were still working, and they looked newer than he remembered, which was good. There was a big job ahead of him to do this right, but in the long run, it would make a huge difference in the sale of the house. However, this task was going to take tools as well as supplies, so he went out back to the toolshed to see what, if anything, was left. The light bulb was burned out in the shed, so he left the door open as he went in to look around, and it was just as he feared. There was nothing left in it but a couple of old hammers, a hand saw, and an old sack of roofing nails. Seeing the nails reminded him he needed to check on the condition of the roof as well. He could rent tools and hire help. It wasn’t the end of the world, but it was going to be a pain in the ass coping with his family while it happened. He found a set of car keys hanging on a hook in the kitchen and guessed it was to the truck. If it ran, it would be handy to use while he was hauling stuff to the house to make repairs, so he went out to check. The insurance verification in the glove box was in Marjorie’s name. He turned the key to see if it would start, and the engine turned over immediately. So he locked the house and drove to the bed-and-breakfast to pack up his things and check out. Bud was scanning Hunt’s card to pay for his room when Hunt thought about the locks he needed to change. “Hey, Bud, is there still a locksmith here in town?” “Yes, there sure is. Mills Locks, next door to Bloomer’s Hardware on Main Street. The owner’s name is Cecil, but everything is probably closed today.” “Okay…I remember him,” Hunt said. “Thanks, and thank you for your hospitality,” he said, then carried his bag out to the truck. Out of curiosity, he drove straight to the locksmith, saw the Open sign on the door, and went inside. The man at the counter looked up. “Welcome to Mills Locks. I’m Cecil Mills. How can I help you?” “I need a couple of new locks put on a house I’ll be remodeling. Would you be available to do that today?” “Yeah, sure. Here in town?” Cecil asked. “Yes, where Marjorie Knox lived. I’m her oldest son, Hunt. I’m going to fix it up some before it’s put up for sale.” “Lived?” Hunt nodded. “She passed away early this morning.” Cecil frowned. “I hadn’t heard. I’m real sorry about that. I’m waiting on a customer who’s on the way in from his farm, but I can get away around noon, if you don’t mind me coming at your lunch hour.” “I’m not on any schedule. You sure you’re okay working on New Year’s Day? It could wait until tomorrow,” Hunt said. Cecil shrugged. “I’ve already been called out twice today for emergencies, and my wife is home and sick with the flu. I’d just as soon be here.” “Then noon is fine. Do you know the address?” Hunt asked. “It’s the last house on the right at the end of Peach Street, right?” Hunt nodded. “Yeah. My Harley and her black pickup will be under the carport.” “Then I’ll see you at noon.” “Right,” Hunt said, and left the shop, then stopped by the grocery store. He was surprised to see that it was no longer a Piggly Wiggly, and had a new facade and a new name to go with it. The Crown. Nobody recognized him, which made shopping easy, until he got up front to pay. The cashier who was checking him out kept looking at him, and when he put his credit card in the reader, she finally spoke. “You sure do look familiar. Are you from around here?” she asked. Hunt nodded as he put his card back in his wallet. “I’m Hunt Knox. I used to sack groceries here back when it was still the Piggly Wiggly. You’re Millie, aren’t you?” “Yes! I’m Millie Garner! I knew you looked familiar. I just heard about your mother’s passing. My sympathies to the family,” she said. “Thanks,” he said, and began putting his bags back in the shopping cart. “Do you plan on staying here?” she asked. “Only long enough to fix up the family house so it can be sold at auction. I promised her I’d do that,” Hunt said, then walked out pushing the shopping cart. By the time he got back to the house and unloaded the groceries, it was getting close to noon. He took off his jacket, then began emptying the sacks and putting up the things he’d just bought. By the time he was through, Cecil Mills was knocking on his door. He let Cecil in, and then pointed out the locations where new locks were needed. “There’s just the front door, and then a back door in the kitchen.” Cecil nodded. “I’ll get those switched out for you and get both locks synced to open with one key. How many keys are you going to want? It comes two keys to a set, so you’ll have four.” “That’s plenty. I’ll be the only one using one here, but when it sells, then that will be handy for the new owners.” “Then I’ll get right to work,” Cecil said. “Call out if you need me,” Hunt said, then took a notepad and a pen and started in the kitchen, making a list of the things that needed to be fixed. *** Excerpted from Somebody to Love by Sharon Sala. © 2021 by Sharon Sala. Used with permission of the publisher, Sourcebooks Casablanca, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc. All rights reserved. About the Author: Sharon Sala has 127 books and novellas in print. First published in 1991, she’s a RITA finalist, winner of the Janet Dailey Award, RT Career Achievement winner, National Reader’s Choice Award, Colorado Romance Writer’s Award of Excellence, Heart of Excellence Award, the Booksellers Best Award, RWA’s Nora Roberts Lifetime Achievement Award and the Centennial Award for recognition of her 100th published novel. Her books are New York Times, USA Today,and Publishers Weekly bestsellers. She lives in Oklahoma. Facebook Buy the book at Amazon, Barnes and Noble, iBooks, Kobo, Bookshop, BAM, or Books2Read. a Rafflecopter giveaway #Giveaway #SharonSala #GuestBlogs #Romance

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Arplis - News: Somebody to Love by Sharon Sala – Spotlight and Giveaway

Long and Short Reviews welcomes Sharon Sala who is celebrating the recent release of her newest book Somebody to Love, the 11th book in the Blessings, Georgia series. Enter the giveaway for a chance to win a copy of Once in a Blue Moon, book 10 in the series. Welcome to Blessings, Georgia! Whether you’ve lived here your whole life, you’re returning after years of being away, or you’re new in town, you’re sure to find the happy ending you’ve always been looking for. Fifteen years ago, a family member stole the money Hunt Knox had saved for college, while three of his siblings and his father hid the truth and told him to get over it. Betrayed by their lies and thievery, Hunt joined the army and wound up flying Apache helicopters in Iraq. Now, he’s a chopper pilot for an oil company in Houston, Texas, his father has been dead for six years, and he’s finally returning home to Blessings at his mother’s dying request. Ava Ridley, the little girl his mother used to babysit, has grown up and is a nurse at his mother’s bedside when he arrives. Ava is overjoyed to see him. She had a huge crush on him when she was young. And as the two spend more time together, Ava’s crush grows to be even more. Through secrets, lies, family betrayal, and difficult choices, Hunt’s not sure he and Ava can ever make a home together in Blessings. Or if life will once again lead them onto different paths…? Enjoy an Excerpt Hunt rode across town, past the park, and then west down Peach Street to the little house at the end of the block. He’d seen this house a million times in his dreams, but it hadn’t looked sad and run-down like this. A black pickup was parked beneath the carport, so he rolled up and parked beside it. He got the house key out of his pocket, but as he headed toward the back door, the hair stood up on the back of his neck. He didn’t believe in ghosts, but this house didn’t feel like it wanted him there. That was fair. He didn’t want to be here, either, but a promise was a promise. He unlocked the door and walked into the utility room just off the kitchen, turning on lights as he went. All of the furnishings were here. If it hadn’t been for the faint layer of dust all over everything, he could imagine his mom had just stepped out to run an errand and would be back soon. There was a low spot in the middle of the kitchen floor—probably floor joist issues. The old hardwood flooring was scarred and worn, and the furniture was threadbare. The sight of this neglect made Hunt angry. How could his brothers and sisters let this happen? They were all right here in the same town together. The year Hunt began high school, they’d remodeled the attic enough to call it a bedroom, and for the first time in his life, he’d had a room of his own. Curious to see what it looked like now, he went straight up the narrow stairwell at the end of the hall and opened the attic door. The single window was bare of curtains or shades, and the dust motes in the air stirred as he moved through the space now filled with boxes of old memories that should have been laid to rest years ago. The bed he’d slept in was gone. The closet door was missing, the closet empty. Even the rod where his clothes used to hang was gone. It was as if they’d wiped away all memories of him. If only he’d been able to do the same. He went back downstairs, glancing in his mother’s room and accepting it was the only one decent enough to sleep in, then began eyeing all of the things that needed repair. He went back to the kitchen to check out the appliances. The burners on the gas stove lit, the oven came on. The dishwasher was clean, and the single glass in the top rack told him it had recently been in use and was likely in working condition—something he’d find out later. The water pressure was good, and the washer and dryer appeared to be in working condition. The refrigerator was the newest appliance in the house, but nearly everything inside it needed to be thrown away. He didn’t know for sure how long his mother had been in the hospital, but the carton of milk was over a month out of date, and the single container of peach yogurt had long since expired. The ice in the bin beneath the icemaker had all frozen together, which meant the electricity must have been off at one time long enough to melt it. Then when the power returned, it froze back. So he took the bin out and dumped the ice in the sink, then put it back beneath the icemaker to start making fresh ice, then dumped everything that was in the freezer and refrigerator into the garbage. The central heat and air were still working, and they looked newer than he remembered, which was good. There was a big job ahead of him to do this right, but in the long run, it would make a huge difference in the sale of the house. However, this task was going to take tools as well as supplies, so he went out back to the toolshed to see what, if anything, was left. The light bulb was burned out in the shed, so he left the door open as he went in to look around, and it was just as he feared. There was nothing left in it but a couple of old hammers, a hand saw, and an old sack of roofing nails. Seeing the nails reminded him he needed to check on the condition of the roof as well. He could rent tools and hire help. It wasn’t the end of the world, but it was going to be a pain in the ass coping with his family while it happened. He found a set of car keys hanging on a hook in the kitchen and guessed it was to the truck. If it ran, it would be handy to use while he was hauling stuff to the house to make repairs, so he went out to check. The insurance verification in the glove box was in Marjorie’s name. He turned the key to see if it would start, and the engine turned over immediately. So he locked the house and drove to the bed-and-breakfast to pack up his things and check out. Bud was scanning Hunt’s card to pay for his room when Hunt thought about the locks he needed to change. “Hey, Bud, is there still a locksmith here in town?” “Yes, there sure is. Mills Locks, next door to Bloomer’s Hardware on Main Street. The owner’s name is Cecil, but everything is probably closed today.” “Okay…I remember him,” Hunt said. “Thanks, and thank you for your hospitality,” he said, then carried his bag out to the truck. Out of curiosity, he drove straight to the locksmith, saw the Open sign on the door, and went inside. The man at the counter looked up. “Welcome to Mills Locks. I’m Cecil Mills. How can I help you?” “I need a couple of new locks put on a house I’ll be remodeling. Would you be available to do that today?” “Yeah, sure. Here in town?” Cecil asked. “Yes, where Marjorie Knox lived. I’m her oldest son, Hunt. I’m going to fix it up some before it’s put up for sale.” “Lived?” Hunt nodded. “She passed away early this morning.” Cecil frowned. “I hadn’t heard. I’m real sorry about that. I’m waiting on a customer who’s on the way in from his farm, but I can get away around noon, if you don’t mind me coming at your lunch hour.” “I’m not on any schedule. You sure you’re okay working on New Year’s Day? It could wait until tomorrow,” Hunt said. Cecil shrugged. “I’ve already been called out twice today for emergencies, and my wife is home and sick with the flu. I’d just as soon be here.” “Then noon is fine. Do you know the address?” Hunt asked. “It’s the last house on the right at the end of Peach Street, right?” Hunt nodded. “Yeah. My Harley and her black pickup will be under the carport.” “Then I’ll see you at noon.” “Right,” Hunt said, and left the shop, then stopped by the grocery store. He was surprised to see that it was no longer a Piggly Wiggly, and had a new facade and a new name to go with it. The Crown. Nobody recognized him, which made shopping easy, until he got up front to pay. The cashier who was checking him out kept looking at him, and when he put his credit card in the reader, she finally spoke. “You sure do look familiar. Are you from around here?” she asked. Hunt nodded as he put his card back in his wallet. “I’m Hunt Knox. I used to sack groceries here back when it was still the Piggly Wiggly. You’re Millie, aren’t you?” “Yes! I’m Millie Garner! I knew you looked familiar. I just heard about your mother’s passing. My sympathies to the family,” she said. “Thanks,” he said, and began putting his bags back in the shopping cart. “Do you plan on staying here?” she asked. “Only long enough to fix up the family house so it can be sold at auction. I promised her I’d do that,” Hunt said, then walked out pushing the shopping cart. By the time he got back to the house and unloaded the groceries, it was getting close to noon. He took off his jacket, then began emptying the sacks and putting up the things he’d just bought. By the time he was through, Cecil Mills was knocking on his door. He let Cecil in, and then pointed out the locations where new locks were needed. “There’s just the front door, and then a back door in the kitchen.” Cecil nodded. “I’ll get those switched out for you and get both locks synced to open with one key. How many keys are you going to want? It comes two keys to a set, so you’ll have four.” “That’s plenty. I’ll be the only one using one here, but when it sells, then that will be handy for the new owners.” “Then I’ll get right to work,” Cecil said. “Call out if you need me,” Hunt said, then took a notepad and a pen and started in the kitchen, making a list of the things that needed to be fixed. *** Excerpted from Somebody to Love by Sharon Sala. © 2021 by Sharon Sala. Used with permission of the publisher, Sourcebooks Casablanca, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc. All rights reserved. About the Author: Sharon Sala has 127 books and novellas in print. First published in 1991, she’s a RITA finalist, winner of the Janet Dailey Award, RT Career Achievement winner, National Reader’s Choice Award, Colorado Romance Writer’s Award of Excellence, Heart of Excellence Award, the Booksellers Best Award, RWA’s Nora Roberts Lifetime Achievement Award and the Centennial Award for recognition of her 100th published novel. Her books are New York Times, USA Today,and Publishers Weekly bestsellers. She lives in Oklahoma. Facebook Buy the book at Amazon, Barnes and Noble, iBooks, Kobo, Bookshop, BAM, or Books2Read. a Rafflecopter giveaway #Romance #Giveaway #GuestBlogs #SharonSala

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