#OLD PALM GOLF CLUB

[incorrectbatfam]

Headcanons about Damian drawing his family members?

He has two sketchbooks

The first is his main one, which has:

Dick covering his ears with his feet

Cass lumbering around the halls wrapped in a king-sized duvet

Duke sneaking out the window after he told Bruce he'll be studying in his room

Steph's selfie double chin

Cyberpunk Babs and her souped-up wheelchair

Harper and Cullen teaming up in paintball

Jason falling asleep with a snot bubble in his nose

Tim biting his golf club after missing the easiest putt

Alfred mending Jon's cape

Carrie eating a dandelion

Selina after she got her wisdom teeth removed

Bruce eating mini M&Ms out of his own palm like a horse

He doesn't mind sharing them if people ask

The second is his secret wish fulfillment one that he'll take to his next grave, which includes:

12-year-old Jason smashing cake into 7-year-old Tim's face

5-year-old Duke making his own toilet paper mummy costume… in July

Bruce carrying 1-year-old Cass in a baby carrier while they wear matching Disneyland ears

Selina helping Dick get ready for his first day of kindergarten

4-year-old Steph doodling all over herself and the walls in lipstick

6-year-old Carrie losing her first tooth

8-year-old Cullen in a Barbie jeep and 9-year-old Harper pushing him around the yard

Alfred and 14-year-old Babs decorating cookies

He hides these, but Bruce finds them anyway and mistakes them for actual family photos

[https-florals]

you said, baby, no attachments - r.c.

part one || part two

word count: 2k

summary: after a very stupid, very impulsive night with rafe, you make a lot of  questionable decisions.

warnings: mentions of sex, suggestive!!! friends-with-benefits but without the friends, mentions of drinking, cursing, little angst, little fluff.

a/n:  FIRST EVER RAFE FIC!!!!! i have such a massive crush on drew starkey and tbh i’m shocked ive waited this long to write my bae rafe. anywayssss if this doesnt flop lol there may or may not be a pt 2 im working on!!! my plan is for this to have four parts, but that could change and i might condense it. this is based on casual by chappell roan!!

Stupid things have good outcomes all the time. JJ lives by that phrase, and after hearing it for years, it’s rubbed off on you. But apparently, that’s not a good excuse in an argument with him, and here you are, palms sweaty and slipping off your bike handles, repeating the words over and over and over like you’re trying to convince yourself they’re true.

Today’s stupid thing? Responding to a text from none other than Rafe Cameron. Okay, that’s been your stupid thing for about a month.

You had a little thing going with Rafe. It started at a party, a drunk hookup, neither participant quite realizing who the other was until they woke up in bed together. You had practically run from Tannyhill like the house was on fire, only after both of you fought a little, fucked a little more, and then promised never to speak of it again. You had thought that this pact also entailed speaking to each other, but about a week later Rafe caught you at work, smiled at you, and hit you with some stupid line you couldn’t quite remember. Something about being the prettiest girl in the room, which wasn’t exactly hard, considering you were indeed the only girl in the room as you worked the counter at the country club��s pro shop. When he slipped back his signed receipt to you, there were 10 digits scrawled across the bottom below his signature. 

“Rafe, what is this?” you had to ask, tone a mix between a laugh and a sigh. 

He shrugged, and attempted to grab his bag and run out, but you slid the fancy paper bag away from him. “I thought that we said we weren’t gonna talk to each other anymore,” you had stated softly, smiling at the way his cheeks tinted a little pink.

“Nah, I said I didn’t wanna talk about it,” he stressed, “But talking to you is way different.”

You just rolled your eyes and pushed the bag back to him, and he waved you goodbye as he left.

You can count on one hand all the interactions you’ve had with that boy, and that had to be the oddest. Well, maybe not as odd as having sex with him.

A week passed before you texted him. It wasn’t for anything really important, a scolding, if anything. All you did was remind him that again, he can’t just randomly take his shirt off while golfing. It’s a sophisticated establishment, the old ladies complain, blah, blah, blah. His response?

rafe c. - so you’re saying i distract you?

Yes, unfortunately, that is exactly what you’re saying.

The situations just get weirder, when the first time the two of you hang out is when you call him for a ride to the grocery store. No one’s at the Chateau, you’re out of gas, and every form of transportation you could possibly steal for a bit is with their respective owners. You doubt you could’ve balanced on JJ’s bike anyways.

The ride is a little awkward, but by the end you feel.. Comfortable. At peace, almost, in the Kook prince’s passenger seat with his hand ghosting over your knee. In the grocery store, it’s painfully obvious Rafe has never been shopping for food in The Cut. He’s wrinkling his nose at the cheap prepackaged salmon you buy, with generic bread crumbs. But then he helps you comb through the bell peppers to find decent ones, and carries your groceries to his truck. He even lets you play whatever you want over the aux.

You’re waking up with him in your bed the next morning, pushing him out the window so no one sees him.

And that’s how it starts, and how it continues- brief text convos, long hangouts, good sex and fake nonchalance. He stays true to what he said, and you don’t talk about it. To anybody. That was the whole thing- it was understood that it was a secret. No strings attached, forbidden kind of kook and pogue relations that would have your friends livid.

So why are you so nervous on this particular evening? Maybe it’s because Rafe let it slip to Sarah that you’re hooking up. Maybe cause Sarah just had to say something to John B, who then told JJ, who then fought with you in front of the entire group. Everyone knows, and everyone is telling you you’re crazy. It’s not something you can handle, so when you see that Rafe asked you to come over, you’re hopping on your bike and speeding to Tannyhill. 

When you get there, you automatically rush into Rafe’s room, a sweaty mess.

He’s laying on his bed, in just boxers as he scrolls on his phone. He jumps when you walk in, setting his phone down quick and standing up like you’re the queen or something.

Your gaze tracks to a bottle of lotion and a box of tissues on his nightstand, and you groan and fake gag as you flop facedown onto the mattress. 

There’s an almost soundless little intake of air, but you do hear it, and cut Rafe off before he can even speak. 

“I’m not helping you get off!” you declare loudly, and the boy visibly deflates.

“Come on,” he whines, like a little kid not getting his way. “You came in at the perfect time.”

You roll over so he’s in your peripheral vision, and huff. “I’m mad at you.”

He sticks his bottom lip out, a little mocking as he crawls onto the bed beside you. “Awe, what’d I do now?” Rafe lays on his side, head propped up on his hand as he watches you. He likes to watch the way his lamp reflects in your eyes, and how you roll your eyes everytime you catch him staring at you. His fingers creep up your side, but you push him off. Oh. You really are mad, he thinks.

“Why would you tell Sarah?” you ask, voice quiet as you stare him down. The apples of his cheeks turn a little pink, and his eyes widen.

“Uh, what did I tell her?” Rafe lies, because he remembers exactly what he said to Sarah, and the way her jaw dropped after he spoke.

“I just- I really like her, Sarah. Forget about the sex and all that shit. When I’m talking to her, it feels like…” He’s stumbling over his words, not quite able to say what he wants. “She’s fresh air, and I feel like I’ve been stuck in a room without windows, or some shit.” 

He was never much of a poet. He also remembers the vise-like grip she had on his arm as she told him she would kill him if he ever hurt you. Rafe promised he could never.

But right now he lies, lies and tries to level his voice. He’s a little shocked that you believe him, or at least don’t press the topic further.

“You told her we were sleeping together!” You hiss, lightly smacking him on the side of his head.

He winces, but internally he’s heaving a sigh of relief. He makes a mental note to never get drunk with his sister ever again as you continue to rant. It’s something about the Pogues wanting to kill him (nothing new), along with a couple of jabs about how he’s just the worst, and that he's annoying, and blah, blah, blah. Rafe isn’t really listening, rather just thinking about his stupid decisions. One of which is looking real pretty as she yells at him. Pretty enough to fall in love with. He absentmindedly tucks your hair behind your ear and you instantly exhale, losing your train of thought altogether in record time. It’s like you have the attention span of a damn goldfish around him.

You just groan again, and murmur, “I can’t stand you,” right before you press your lips to his.

Rafe laughs against you, pulling you on top of him in one smooth motion. “Good thing you’re sitting on top of me then.”

His hands slip under your shirt, and your fingers push through his hair. The calluses on his hands scrape against the soft skin of your stomach and catch on the lace of your bra. Hard hands for daddy’s money, you think. Your fingers tuck against his jawline, cradling his face while his tongue slips against yours, his lips curling up when you make any little noise.

You pull back to catch your breath, and Rafe just stares up at you, kind of punchdrunk.

“Rafe?”

“Mhm?” He reaches up to brush his thumb over your lips.

You’re silent for a second as you think about what you’re about to say. ‘What- What are we doing?”

Rafe’s mouth is parted, and you can’t quite decipher his expression as you watch his eyes flick over your face. He swallows, and says, “Whatever you want.”

You don’t really hear him, and blurt out, “I need this to be casual.”

“Casual?” he repeats.

“Strictly like, sex. No strings attached.”

He sits up, pulling you with him so you’re still on his lap but he’s eye level to you. He’s hard underneath you, but you ignore it as you continue to speak. 

“Okay, just sex. Why?”

It’s actually very hard to ignore, literally and figuratively. Rafe is thinking the same thing when you clear your throat and move a little on him, subconsciously. 

You shrug. “Listen, I don’t have the time for anything more than that. Plus, we know we couldn’t date, like ever.”

He nods, fake-stretching as a means to buck up against you. “And why couldn’t we date?” When you give him an incredulous look, he continues, “Just to play devil’s advocate. Not that I don’t agree with you, cause I totally do. I just wanna know what you’re like, thinking, if we’re on the same wavelength, or whatever…” He trails off, knowing he’s babbling and should stop.

You laugh a little nervously. “Okay, Cameron.” You take a deep breath, and hope that what you’re about to say makes sense. “I have an itch to scratch, and the only thing I want to do is scratch that itch.” You pause to think. “Itch that scratch?”

“You had it right the first time,” Rafe laughs, but the lilt of it is a little annoyed.

“Okay, whatever. Anyway, you’re good at scratching that itch.”

He grins with pride, bottom lip tucked between his teeth, and just the way he’s looking at you makes you squirm.

“Really good at scratching that itch,” you exhale a little shaky. “But y’know, I don’t really like you as a person.”

His eyebrows shoot up, eyes wide. “The fuck? Thanks a lot.”

“You’re an asshole, Rafe. Plain and simple. I’m not trying to be a bitch, but come on.” You’re thinking of all the times he’s been an absolute dick to your friends.

He’s thinking about all the things he’d lay down for you. “Not to you.”

Your words evidently sting him a bit, and you go red. You hadn’t really meant to hurt him.

You groan. “You know what I mean. My friends hate you. We just couldn’t work.”

Rafe doesn’t really know what to say. This isn’t really the way he thought this would go, but then again, what did he really expect? Everything is jumbled in his head, and all he wants to do is get high and forget about the conversation. But, even though you basically just told him that he's unlikable, you’re still regrettably pretty, and still on top of him. He grips your hips hard, holding you in place as he rolls against you. “So fuck buddies, but we can’t stand each other?” One hand snakes underneath your shirt to unclip your bra, and he does it faster than you can blink.

“Exactly,” you say somewhere in between both of your shirts coming off. “Just stress relief.”

His hands are hot all over you. There’s a hardness in his gaze that’s so different from the softness of his touch.

“We have to have rules,” you manage to state when you’re shimmying out of your shorts, breathing hard while Rafe toys with the little pink bow on your panties.

“Whatever you want, pretty girl.”

It’s a filler phrase, you think. He must desperate for you to shut up and fuck him, so he’s saying anything. 

He’s still thinking about how he’d do anything for you. Anything.

You still for a second to catch your breath, and say, “No feelings. No staying overnight. And we can’t go anywhere together that we would be seen.”

“Why not?” Rafe groans as your clothed heat slips over him.

“Rafe! People will talk. They’ll think…”

He presses a finger to your lips, effectively shushing you. “That we’re fucking? Well, hate to break it to ya, baby, but we kinda already are.”

“And no calling me baby.”

Rafe ignores you and slips his hand between your legs, and you forget that you’re supposed to hate him.

likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

[thewritingofspencerrose]

New Years Eve

George Russell x Alonso!Reader

camilaalonso_ bringing in the new year with those i love most 🤍

tagged georgerussell, fernandoalo_oficial, and amelierose

merc1fan love that we get a mercedes x aston crossover purely because alonso's daughter called george hot in one interview and he ran with it

lando norizz so, how is spending new years with your in-law georgie?

alex albono yeah, this is what? year two that you've spent with alonso right?

russell george we don't even know how this keeps happening cami and i just looked up and he was there he didn't even know we'd be at this party

sharl lechair i thought you were going to propose tonight?

russell george ...

alex albono she didn't say no did she??

lando norizz she wouldn't say no, she's been in love with him since we joined the grid

"Something on your mind Georgie?" I can't help but ask, noticing how he's been fiddling all night, now with his phone, even before we realized Papa was here.

"No, no, everything is okay, why do you ask?" is his question, eyes wide as they meet my own. "The boys were just asking how I always end up spending new years with your father," He jokes before I can even offer and answer.

And I can't help but laugh. How do we always end up with my father on this holiday?

"My father is a teenager in a 42 year old's body," is the explanation I can offer, him laughing and wrapping me in his arms, kissing the top of my head while the party continues around us.

"Can we step outside? Away from the chaos?" His whispers reach my ears, his breath hot against the side of my head.

"Yeah, of course, are you sure you're okay, mi coraźon? You look a little red?"

I reach up to feel his forehead, but he catches my hand, kissing my palm before linking our hands, his body creating the path for us as I follow.

It's cold outside, the snow on the ground emphasizing the time of year that we find ourselves in as the clock ticks closer to midnight.

15 minutes, that's all that stands between us and the new year.

I can't help but shiver, it's my favorite time of year yet my body will never adjust to the temperatures after living in Monaco for a couple years.

"Here," Georgie prompts, shrugging off his suit jacket and draping it over my shoulders. "Can't have you starting the new year with a cold, now can we Love?"

"Thank you," Is my whispered response, pulling him to lean over the railing, eyes set on the snowy expanse of the country club, what is golf greens in the summer now just a blanket.

I can feel George moving away and I miss the heat he offered by just being beside me, my personal furnace for the last three years.

"Cami?"

Turning around at my name, every thought is leaves my mind at the sight in front of me.

"Camila Jade Alonso," George begins again, down on one knee with a box in one hand, his other reaching out for my own. "You have allowed me to be by your side for three years, four if you count the year I spent trying to convince your father to let me be with you," He reminisces, the both of us chuckling at the memory of a 2021 George trying everything in his power to get 'the great Fernando Alonso' to even acknowledge him outside the track, let alone date his daughter.

"From the moment I met you, I knew you would be the most important person in my life, and I can say one thing with certainty. Amor, eres el amor de mi vida y quiero seguir amándote hasta el día de mi muerte. ¿Quieres casarte conmigo? (Love, you are the love of my life and I want to continue loving you until the day I die. Will you marry me?)"

I've been nodding for the last minute, tears rolling down my cheeks as I hold a hand over my mouth to stop my cries from interrupting his sweet words.

Georgie stands, thumb coming up to brush the tears from my face with a smile brighter than the nights fireworks.

"So would that be a yes?"

"En cada vida diría sí a ser tu esposa (in every lifetime i would say yes to being your wife)."

"Cami, my knowledge of Spanish extends enough to only cover the words in my proposal and the curse words your father calls me from time to time," He reminds with a laugh, although you can tell my lack of a verbal answer is making him anxious.

"George William Russell," I begin again, running my hand through his hair. "In every lifetime I would say yes to being your wife."

"I was hoping that was your answer," He whispers, taking my hand to place the ring on, both of us smiling brightly as he looks back up to my face, bringing me into a kiss.

"I love you George Russell."

"Te quiero mas Camila pronto a ser Russell (I love you more Camila soon-to-be Russell)."

russell george she didn't say no, i hadn't asked her yet you're talking to a newly engaged man, boys

[writerseclipse1]

rewarded [joel m.]

inspo: somewhere only we know (keane)

summary: does death look you in the eye before you die? or does life flash your memories in your mind? aka: joel's on death's doorstep; he reminisces your time together

warnings: angst (flashback fluff), canon-typical violence, blood and gore, dialogue follows joel's death scene, vivid descriptions of joel's death, major character death, flashbacks, abby (if u hate her ig), guns, knives, and a golf club as a weapon, crying ellie, cursing, no use of y/n. pls tell me if i missed anything!

word count: 2.7k

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ a/n: am so excited to be back into writing! ik i promised a 505-inspired fic w joel but i couldn't help it!

“Joel Miller.” The sadistic sneer in her voice is what causes him to look up at her, groaning in pain as his leg throbs. He can feel the bullet she lodged into his skin.

“Why don’t you say whatever speech you’ve got rehearsed and get this over with.” He said, annoyance evident in his tone, anger flooded his veins as he stared at her with a look that made it clear he was in no mood to mess around. Neither was Abby and she made that clear, especially when she barked out orders to tourniquet Joel’s leg.

He groaned, eyes shutting tight and tilting his head back. He cursed under his breath, leg pulsing and hurting like a bitch. “God damn it!” He started seeing spots of black in his vision, the figures in the room turning into dull, blurry colors.

His chest heaved, trying to regain control of his breathing and his entire being, seeing Abby flip the handle of her weapon in her hands, his blood ran cold, colder than the metal of the golf club she raised in the air.

Her chuckle was a deep rumble in her chest, the corner of her lip twitching upwards as she murmured. “You don’t get to rush this old man.”

Whack.

“Hey!” The plastic material of the frisbee dug into his palms slightly as he caught it. Jackie, one of the bigger kids in town, inched carefully to Joel and he handed the disc back, but not without a pointed look. “Watch where you’re throwin’ next time.” She uttered out a meek apology, all but running back toward her friends and almost instantly resumed their game.

Snow crunched under his boots as he walked, his feets leaving tracks in the snow. The sound of children laughing and birds chirping filled his ears, a beautiful memory he had come to love. The wind whipped at his face as the chilly air bit his skin but he paid it no mind. Not when she was right there, full of warmth even in just the palm of her hand.

His hand reached out to grasp hers once more as they continued walking, his grip a slight squeeze but if she noticed anything, she said nothing. His eyes were restless, occasionally sneaking a glance to get a glimpse of her, in all her glory. The way her eyes rivaled the stars in the clear night sky, the way she graced passersby with her smile, the way her presence warmed up his heart, the heart he once thought was trapped under all these layers of ice, only to be melted by an unexpected yet welcome gift.

His train of thought derailed once he was pulled back, almost colliding with a child who looked no older than seven. After muttering out an apology and a small ‘I told them to watch it”, his eyes rolled and glared at her playfully when he heard her get engulfed in a fit of giggles that she tried hard to control.

“Think that’s funny, do ya?” He pretended to be offended, turning around to poke her in the ribs and smirking as she let out a squeal.

“Joel!” He laughed as she tried to chase him down the street, his longer legs taking him further and her voice getting distant. It wasn’t until his legs slowed down to a step that she caught up, wrapping an arm around his waist as she saw his somber expression. Following his gaze, you saw Ellie on Dina’s front porch, the two focused on each other. Ellie had her arms wrapped around Dina, her head atop the girl while Dina’s nose brushed the skin of Ellie’s neck, her sniffles being muffled by the material of Ellie’s sweater.

From the corner of his eye, he could see your lips spread out into a grin, closing his eyes with a sigh when he felt your lips brush his cheek, muttering a small “Thank you.”

“For what? You got nothin’ to thank me for, darlin’.” Eyes now on the woman beside him, he noticed your focus stray from the two girls back to him, your walking only slowing down but not stopping.

“For being a lover,” you whispered back, pulling back to look up at him. “Maybe your fighter days are over.”

He shook his head as they passed Ellie and Dina yet his eyes never left her once. “I ain’t stoppin’ my fightin’ days, baby. ‘Cause I fight for you everyday.” His eyes wrinkled at the corners as he smiled when he heard you laugh, not noticing that the attention of the two girls moved to you and him, watching as you walked further away.

Good thing Dina buried her head in Ellie’s shoulder just in time for you to look back and send Ellie a wink, a soft pink hue spreading on her cheeks as yours and Joel’s footfalls started to fade.

Thud, thud, thud.

It was all that echoed in his ears as his heart pounded in his chest, his ribs taking the damage Abby’s boot was inflicting on his body, all while he lay helplessly on the floor. He felt bile crawl up his throat and out his mouth when the girl kicked his stomach. His eyes widened slightly when he realized that it wasn’t bile, but blood.

Abby let out a huff, pacing in front of his body and if Joel could let out a sigh of relief, he would, but it hurt to even breathe. He choked on his own blood, his head lolling to the side as he spat out blood, the red liquid coating his lips and dripping to the floor. She looked at him with a mixture of anger and disgust, the former more evident as she readied her weapon again.

Yet her intentions were the farthest thing from his thoughts, feeling a familiar warmth spread across his body as his mind brought him back to a time of safety, of care, of arms wrapped around him and lips pressed to his skin.

Before he could feel the shattering impact of the metal club, he closed his eyes and thought—

“This is stupid,” he muttered and you only shook your head. The two stood on the front porch, in front of the wooden column on the right. Digging your hand into your pocket, you flipped open your pocket knife and he watched you flip it in your hands. He still remembers the time you first held it in your palm.

There was nothing to your relationship at first, with the exemption of watching each other’s backs during patrols outside the walls. He took the reins during missions and when he first saw it, untouched and sitting pretty in a gardener’s shed they passed by, his first thought was to give it to you to make sure you had a weapon that “didn’t let you shoot your goddamn ass off.”

Never would he expect that the same sharp blade that has sliced a man’s throat and lodged itself in an infected’s chest would be the same blade that would carve your initials on his front porch.

“Come on, Joel, stop being such an old grump,” you pouted, taking his hand and wrapping it around the hilt before your own came up to rest on his. He let out a chuckle when you guided his hand, from the curve of the J to the lines of your own initial. Both of you stepped back slightly to admire your work but he tilted his head at you when he heard you hum.

“Something’s missing,” you murmured, eyes casting downward as you thought. He always admired you when you were deep in the recesses of your mind, how your eyebrows pinched together and how your lips pursed. He fought the urge to kiss your lips until you were giggling against his. “Aha!”

He watched you move forward, your body covering most of the carving as you added a detail. When you stepped back, he couldn’t contain his chuckle. You had added two hearts that sat beside each other, one bigger than the other. Your eyebrows furrowed again, this time not in thought but in mock indignation. “And why are you laughing?”

“Nothin’ honey, it’s cute!” He reasoned but you only huffed, facing the opposite way. He let out an audible scoff but he licked his lips, a mischievous smile taking over his expression. Wrapping his arms around you, he carried you into the house, ignoring your protests and your wriggling motions as he laid you down on the couch, kissing you deeply.

It shut you up for the rest of the afternoon.

“What? Cat got your tongue now?” Abby scoffed, hitting him again and again without abandon. Joel didn’t speak, every inch of his face covered in blood. He felt like he was drowning, swimming in a pool of his own blood with each drop of the weapon.

BANG!

At first he thought it was the club, striking his head hard that his skull cracked open but when he opened his eyes, he saw Ellie, a hand wrapped around her gun tightly as she tried to shoot but to no avail. Pinned down, the girl could only watch as Joel struggled to breathe, his chest rising and falling with every shaky breath.

A man who was certainly younger than him started talking, barking out orders to people in the room but Joel couldn’t hear a single thing with the ringing in his ears and the pounding in his head. But he could guess what it was when Abby snarled down at him, her hands wrapping tightly around the club as she raised it. And just as quickly as it rose, it fell.

“JOEL!

“Joel!” He turned his head, closing his eyes as he tried to gain his composure, breathing in like how he was taught by his momma when he got mad. Slowly in, slowly out. In through the nose, out through the—

“Joel Miller! Don’t you dare walk away from this conversation!” So much for composure.

“And what? Huh? I’ll let you go out there on a stupid horse with a stupid partner Tommy paired you up with and then what? What if you get hurt, what then? What’ll I do? Beat ‘ em up for not keepin’ an eye on you? It wouldn’t be his fault, wouldn’t it? No it wouldn’t, because you,” he pressed his finger against your chest, “Didn’t listen to me!”

“Why are you already assuming I’ll get hurt? Do you think I’m that helpless?” Your jaw ticked and from the corner of his eye, your hand twitched and balled itself into a fist. Everything was going so well for him but he had to hit a bump in the road somewhere. “I asked you a question.” His thoughts were out of order but Joel was a patient man to the right people, he didn’t want to say the wrong thing.

“No! No I don’t but—”

“Then why are you so—”

“Because if something happened to you, I dunno what I’d do with myself!” He yelled and his heart froze when you stepped back, surely taken aback from what he did. He didn’t mean to do that, he didn’t mean to yell.

“I know.” His eyes locked with yours, scanning your expression. He didn’t mean to say that out loud. Seeing the guilt in your unshed tears he sighed, shaking his head. His fists unclenched and he stretched his fingers as he took in a breath, closing his eyes. In through the nose, out through the mouth. In through the nose, out through the—

Arms snaked around him, like vines creeping around an abandoned brick house that has definitely seen better days, fingers interlocking behind him so that he couldn’t escape. Like I want to leave in the first place, he thought as he felt your cheek fall against his chest and your ear press against his heart.

When Joel would encounter danger and violence, his heart wouldn’t beat like a sinner’s caught in church, fast and swift, no. His heart followed a rhythm. Du dum, du dum, du dum, always steady and strong. It reflects how he is, always biding his time, saving his energy until he’s ready to strike. 

He could practically feel your shoulders slump as you heard his heart beating, steady and strong. Du dum, du dum, du dum.

“I’m sorry,” you choked out and he only realized the tears that dripped like water from a broken faucet; dripping one-by-one yet loud and clear. His body moved on autopilot, arms wrapping around you before he could even clear his head and rubbing his hand up and down your back, resting his chin on the top of your head. “I didn’t mean to make you feel like—”

“I know.” He smothered kisses into your hair and he felt your shoulders lighten and your chest rumble with a sniffle before a chuckle. He could feel your pout through the thin material of his button-up, putting a hand on your cheek and tilting your head up, staring into your soul like it was a window without blinds. “I only want you to be safe. You’re the reason why I wake up in the morning, why I sit on the porch and wave to people I barely give a damn about, why I water the flowers outside our house because you love it when the house looks so lively even from the outside. You’re the reason why I care about the little things. I don’t want you, my reason to come back home, not come back home.”

He felt you sniffle into his chest, nodding as you pulled slightly back. “I get it. I just…”

“Hey, let’s talk about it in the morning, yeah? We got plenty’a time,” he whispered, brushing back a strand of hair wet from your tears, giving you a kiss on the forehead. “We got plenty’a time.”

For the first time in Joel’s life, he lied to you that night. He just didn’t know it yet. 

He was sorry.

He’ll always be sorry.

Even after his dying breath, he knew that sorry can’t reverse his mistakes. That was like trying to put a bandaid on a porcelain plate. He was an idiot.

A Stupid. Fucking. Idiot.

He thought it was safe.

It was winter, it shouldn’t’ve even been there. It should have been freezing in one of the fucking rivers or something.

It was his fault.

All of it.

“Baby?” His breath caught in his throat as he watched your body, his figure as unmoving as you were. He inched closer, crouching down to you, looking away from the infected he killed with its mouth open and brains splattered everywhere. He saw red, maybe it was the blood on his shirt. Whose was it? He didn’t want to know.

“Baby?” His voice echoed, asking again and foolishly enough, he expected an answer. He only saw your eyes staring back at him, distant, unwavering, unmoving.

Gone.

He shook his head and shut his eyes, unwilling to see, unwilling to believe. “Baby? You–you gotta wake up for me, honey. No, no, you can’t—” He choked, covering his mouth with the palm of his hand as his eyes filled with tears. Tears you’ll never get to wipe with the pad of your thumb. He cradled your face gently, like you were still sleeping but with your eyes open, like you didn’t see the infected coming at you and he didn’t see it too, like you were lying in a pool of your own blood, like he was the cause of it.

Like he didn’t know what he was going to do.

His chest was engulfed in wracking sobs, sobs that would make the merciless merciful, sobs that would make the follower the leader, sobs that would make the dead live.

He prayed that was the case. It wasn’t.

And it never will be.

Not even when Ellie cried at his chest, her eyes screwed tight and muttering apologies, recounting old memories, anything to get Joel back, yet even the man knew he himself was already gone. Ellie was wrapped up in her anguish and her pain to notice the distant but hopeful look in Joel’s eyes, shaking his body like it would shock him back to life. But life rewarded the patient, not the vengeful.

Joel had been a patient man all his life and he knew it.

And when he saw you, surrounded by a circle of light and an arm outstretched, he knew he had been rewarded.

[layce2015]

Supernatural (Dean Winchester x Female!Reader)

The Curious Case Of Dean Winchester

Masterlist pt 1

Masterlist pt 2

"You expect me to believe you're CDC?" The doctor asked us after the boys and I showed him our CDC badges. "Excuse me?" I said, confused. "It's just that you're a day early. First time in history I haven't sat on my ass waiting for you people." the doctor said. "New administration. A change you can believe in." Dean said. "Right." the doctor said before she leads us to the morgue.

Once there, the doctor pulls the corpse of Mr Xavier out of a freezer, who  looks like a dead eighty-year-old. "Meet Xavier. Date of birth, April third, nineteen eighty-four." she said and the boys and I exchange confused glances with her.

"I know. I ran the DNA twice. That's definitely him." She said, as if reading our thoughts. "Well, he wasn't big on the sunscreen, huh?" Dean jokes. "So, what's your theory?" Sam asked. "All I know is, decedent's male, twenty-five years old and he died of old age." the doctor said before she walks away.

"You were right about this one. It's definitely a job." I said to Bobby in my phone as we leave the hospital. "Thought so. Any other stiffs in town?" Bobby asked me. "Just the one body." I said. "Anything else?" Bobby asked. "Couple missing persons, but usual for a town this size." I said. "Well, check 'em out." Bobby said.

"You think they're connected?" I asked him as we get to the Impala. "Call it a hunch." Bobby said. "You got it. And, by the way, how you doing?" I asked him. "Doing?" Bobby asked, confused. "Yeah. You know, just...in general?" I said. "Oh, you mean my legs. Well, I'm just weepin' in my Haagen-Dazs. Idjit." Bobby said, with harsh sarcasm, before he hangs up. I roll my eyes and put my phone away.

Dean sits on an ottoman, looking at a framed photo of an old man, Cliff Whitlow, while Sam and I sit in a couple of armchairs and Mrs. Whitlow sits on the sofa. "That's the most recent." she tells us as Dean hands the photo to Sam and I look at the picture over his shoulder.

The photo is of Cliff as a golf tournament champion, Miami Palms June 2009, holding a golf club and trophy. A USMC tattoo is visible on his right arm. "How long has he been missing?" I asked her. "Oh, I knew right away when he didn't come home Tuesday night." Mrs Whitlow said.

"Is there someplace he likes to go after work, maybe? A favorite bar?" Dean asked and she laughs. "No. Tuesdays, he always works a bit late, but he always comes straight home." She tells us. "May I use your facilities, ma'am?" I asked, getting an idea.

I enters the office, looking back over my shoulder, and head over the desk. I scoop up a pile of papers off the desk and rifle the rest of the desk and the pockets of Cliff's coat.

I pull out a receipt and look at it: it's for Madame Liu's Golden Palace and totals over $250. "Working late my ass." I grumble. 

That night, the boys and I walk along the corridor of the Golden Palace. "Well, at least he's consistent. Same room every Tuesday, hourly rates." Sam said. "Hope I got that kind of kick when I'm his age." Dean said and I shake my head. "Yeah, like either of us will live that long." I said. "True." Dean said and he and I share a look.

"So...what do you think's in there?" Sam asked. "A wrinkly, gooey corpse." Dean said as we stop outside room 44. Sam pulls out his lockpick kit and selects two while Dean and I keep watch. A man starts shouting inside the room. "Oh, God! Oh, God! Oh! Oh, God!"

The boys and I look at each other and slam the door open. "Hey! What the—" the man exclaimed. He is bed, naked, with a woman who is barely dressed.

"Oh." Sam said. 

"God." Dean mutters as another woman comes out from under the covers.

"Awkward." I mutteres. "It's gooey." Sam said as both women flee the bed. "Sorry. Uh, got the wrong room." Dean said. "Close the door!" the man shouts and we start to leave but Sam stops and stares at the man.

"Hey." He said and I turn and notice that the man has a USMC tattoo that looks exactly like Cliff Whitlow's. "Nice tattoo." Sam said as he goes back into the room. "Happen to know anybody named Cliff Whitlow?" Sam asked the man. He shakes his head. "Never heard of him." the man said.

"Well, that's weird." Sam said and he pulls an ID out of the wallet that was apparently in the man's pants. "'Cause you're carrying his wallet." Sam said as Dean goes over to the bed and yanks up the covers to look underneath. "Huh." Dean said as he drops the sheets. "Your wife told us about your, uh, birthmark there. That's nice. Well, you look great. Cliff. Did you get some work done?" Dean asked and Cliff shakes his head and sighs.

"Could you give us some privacy?" Cliff asked the two women, who are now robed. Cliff goes to put on a robe and hands them some money and they leave. "Please don't tell my wife." Cliff pleads to us as he shuts the door. "Slow down." I said to him. "I'm begging you. As far as she knows, I'm dead. For the love of God, let's keep it that way." he pleads to us. 

"How can you possibly be Cliff Whitlow?" Dean asked him. "I can't tell you." Cliff said. "Well, either you tell us or we tell the missus." I said, folding my arms across my chest. "Okay! Okay! It was a game." Cliff said, panicked. "Like...XBox?" Sam asked, confused. "What's XBox? No. Poker. High stakes. Instead of cash, you play for years." Cliff said.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Dean asked. "Look, I know it sounds crazy. Guy comes up to me at a bar, invites me to play. Gives me twenty-five of these weirdo poker chips, right? Chants some mumbo humbo over them, says now they're twenty-five years. I'm laughing, but then I come out up. And look at me." Cliff said. "What was he chanting?" Sam asked and Cliff laughs.

"How should I know? All I know is, my bad hip's good, I threw away my glasses. One of those ladies was here for free! Man's some kind of miracle worker." Cliff said. "What does this miracle worker look like?" I asked. "Just a guy. Maybe thirty-five, brown hair. Irish accent. His name was Patrick." Cliff said.

"All right, all right. Where's this game at?" Dean asked him. "He said he likes to keep moving. Never stays in one bar long. And he finds you." Cliff said. "Thank you, Cliff." Dean said and we head for the door but Dean stops and turns to Cliff. "Oh, and, uh...stay classy." he said and we leave.

"It sounds crazy, right?" Dean said to Bobby over the phone as we get into the Impala, phone was on speaker so Sam and I could hear. "No. There's lore on it. Goes back centuries. Traveling card player pops into town. You beat him, you get your best years back. 'Course, most folks lose." Bobby said. "Well, that would explain the crunchy corpse." Dean said.

"Supposedly, this player's a hell of a card shark. Got a lot of years in the bank. You find the bar he's working in yet?" Bobby asked. "There's a lot of dives in this town. We're gonna have to split up." Dean said. "Well, why you still talking to me?" Bobby growls and he hangs up and Dean shuts his phone.

After looking around at some bars and not finding anything, Sam and I met up and I call Dean. "Find anything?" I asked him once he answered. "Yeah, a whole bunch of squat. You?" he asked me. "No, not a thing. Sam also didn't come up with anything." I said. 

"All right. Well, you come up dry, circle back to the motel in two. Your turn to grab dinner." Dean said and I laugh, lightly. "Let me guess, your usual with extra bacon?" I said and Dean chuckles. "You know me so well." Dean said and I smile before I hang up.

I turn to Sam. "Hungry?" I asked him and he smiles. "Starving." He said and I gesture for him to follow me and we go to a nearby fast food place. 

We got into the restaurant, ordered our food and waited for it. As we waited, Sam was looking over at the little play place this restaurant had for young kids. The sounds of kids screaming, talking and running around as they climb into the jungle gym or slide down the slide.

"You know, I kinda miss having that innocence." Sam said and I nod. "Yeah, having not a care in the world and not worry about monsters and demons..." I said. "Or the end of the world." Sam said and I nod. "Especially, that." I said. "All you worried about was homework and what the next new toy was gonna be." I said.

"Then it gets crazy as teenagers." Sam said and I giggle and nod. "Oh, God, yeah. Hormones are the worse. So confusing when your body was changing. And getting interested in dating." I said and Sam laughs. "Yeah, I remember getting so nervous around girls and kissing." Sam said and I give him a playful look. "What? You weren't nervous when you kissed me." I said and Sam groans.

"Oh, God, you had to bring that up. We were kids!" He said and I laugh. "I still remember when you asked me. You were like I just...want to see what's it like." I said, doing a high pitch voice mimicking Sam. "Hey, you were the only person I trusted and I remember you were just as curious." Sam said and I laugh. "Oh, I'm not denying it. But it is funny to kinda look back on. Especially after we shared that kiss and both of us agreed that it was weird." I said.

"Yeah..." he said and I stare at him and he has the oh, crap look on his face. "I-I-I mean, you weren't bad, it was just....weird kissing you...I mean..." Sam stammers, in a panic, and I laugh. "Sam, it's okay. I get it." I said as I pat his arm, he lets out a soft chuckle and we share a smile. "Besides, I get to say I've gotten to kiss both the Winchester Brothers." I said and Sam shakes his head. "Yeah, I'll bet." He laughs. "It's on my resume. Hard-working, Always on time, got to kiss the Winchester Brothers." I said and we laugh.

"But we both agree to never tell Dean." Sam said. "Oh yeah, definitely." I said just as our order number was called out.

Later, we make it to the motel and Sam opens it and we enter, Sam was carrying the sodas as I carried the bag of food and we put it on the table. "Hey, Dean? You find anything?" Sam called out. "Uh, you might say." an unfamiliar raspy voice replied.

Startled, Sam and I turn and draw our guns, aiming at this old man in a bathrobe. He had short white hair and he looked about maybe sixty or seventy years old. "Who the hell are you!?" I asked the old man as he raised his hands. "Guys, relax. It's me." he said and I furrow my brow while Sam lowers his gun.

"Dean?" Sam said, confused, and I look over at him then over at the old man, confused. "Hi." Dean said and my jaw drops as I lower my gun. "What the hell happened?" I asked him, shocked. "I, you know...found the game." Dean replied as he heads for the food and picks up a burger.

"You f—I thought you said you were g-good at poker." Sam exclaimed. "I am. Shut up." Dean grumbles then he gestures to us. "So, you two were just gonna shoot some old guy? Is that it?" Dean asked and I make a noise of disbelief. "We didn't know what you were. I mean, have you seen you? You look like—" I said, shocked.

"The old chick in Titanic. I know. Shut up." Dean said, his mouth full of the burger. "I was gonna say the Crypt Keeper." I said and Dean glares at me. "I would've said Emperor Palpatine." Sam said as a door thuds open and Bobby rolls in.

"I see you two met John McCain there." Bobby said, nodding towards Dean. "Yeah. Either of you want to tell us what happened?" Sam asked, still just as shocked as me. "Bobby's an idiot. That's what happened." Dean said. "Hey, nobody asked you to play." Bobby yells then the two began to argue.

"Right. I should have just let you die." Dean said. "And for damn sure, nobody asked you to lose!" Bobby said and Sam looks over at me and smiles. "It's like Grumpy Old Men." he said and I stifle a laugh just as both Bobby and Dean turn to him. "Shut up, Sam." they said, in unison, then they turn to each other and continue to argue.

"What the hell were you thinking? He's a witch. He's been playing poker since guys wore tights." Dean said to Bobby. "You just don't get it." Bobby growls. "Yeah, I get it, Bobby. You saw a chance to turn the hands of the clock back and get out of that damn chair. Pretty tempting. I can imagine." said Dean. "No, you can't." Bobby growls. "You got me. I never been paralyzed. But I tell you something—I've been to hell, and there's an archangel there wanting me to drop the soap. Look at me! My junk's rustier than yours! You hear me bellyaching? Huh?" Dean yells at him. "Uh, actually, yeah." I said then Dean places a hand on his chest.

"Oh!" Dean groans and he sits down, still holding his burger. "I'm having a heart attack." he said and Sam looks worried while I go over to Dean. "No, you're not." Bobby said. "What is it?" Dean asked as I kneel next to his seat and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Acid reflux. Guys your age can't digest certain foods. You're gonna need to put down that cheeseburger." Bobby said. Dean sighs and puts down the burger.

"So, you want to keep emoting, or you want to talk about solving this little issue of yours? It's got to be about the chips." Bobby said. "I slid 'em across, Patrick did his little witchy number, and you prettied up in a hurry." Dean said. "I mean, what are you all thinking? Some kind of magic chips or something?" Sam asked. "Definitely." Bobby said as Sam sits down.

"You remember what he chanted?" Dean asked Bobby.  "Yep—every word." Bobby said. "All right, then let's find out where he stashes his chips." I said. "And steal me fifty. Benjamin Button me back into burger shape. What do you think?" Dean asked and I look at the bathrobe he was wearing. "I think you ought to put some clothes on." I said to him.

Later, there was a knock at the door and Dean, who now is fully dressed, goes to answer the door. A young maid, with a cart and an armful of towels, standing at the door. "Ready for housekeeping, sir?" she asked. "Yes, ma'am." Dean said as Sam and I walk up next to Dean.

"You ready?" I asked him and the housekeeper smiled at us. "It's so nice to see you and your boyfriend take your grandpa out on the town." She said, nodding at me and Sam, and Dean looks at her, offended, while I hold back a laugh. "Oh, yeah, it's great." Sam said, trying not to laugh as well. "But watch out, he'll try to flirt with you." I said to her as I pat Dean's arm and she laughs.

"Oh, that's like my grandfather. He hits on anything that moves, too." she said as she heads past us and Dean glares at me and Sam while we stifle our laugh. "Yeah, he's a handful." I said and the housekeeper giggles and I look at Bobby, who was smiling as well, then I look back at Dean. "Can we just go?" He asked us, annoyed. 

Bobby, Dean, Sam and I sit in Bobby's van and watch people go by. The witch guy, Patrick, comes out of a building then he checks his watch and crosses the street without looking, noticing too late that a car is coming: it slams right into him. The driver gets out and checks his injuries then he runs over to a construction crew nearby.

"Guys, get some help! He came out of nowhere! Right out in front of me!" he yells and the boys and I all stare at this when another car drives by, Patrick in the driver's seat. The driver and the construction workers look between him and where Patrick got hit by the driver's car.

Dean laughs. "I got to say, I kind of like the guy." he said. 

We followed Patrick to an apartment building then we watch him leave the building, get in his car, and drive off. The boys and I exchange looks, none of us could believe our luck and we get out of the truck. We get to the building and Dean holds the door open while Sam rolls Bobby inside, I follow close behind. Sam then let Bobby roll himself until he stops and sighs.

"Well, I'm out." Bobby said and I look over and see a sign on the elevator that reads ELEVATOR OUT OF ORDER SORRY FOR THE INCONVENIENCE. Sam and I look at it, then at Bobby, and both of us sigh.

Minutes later, Sam and I jog up a flight of stairs with no difficulty. We stop at the landing to see Dean walking up one step at a time. "Dean." Sam said as he points to a sign with a large 2. Dean sighs and Sam and I continue up the stairs.

Sam and I leave the stairwell but I stop and wait for a few minutes as Dean, eventually, makes it up the stairs, breathing hard. "C'mon, you old fart." I teased and he glares at me again. "Don't give me that look, this is your fault." I said. "Technically...it's..Bobby's." Dean said, in between breathes. "Good point, both of you were being stupid." I scolded and I turn and walk down the hallway.

We come up to the door of room 3701 and Sam sorts through his lockpicks. He then picks the lock and opens it, the three of us enter. We look around the nice room until Dean said. "Guys?"

Sam and I go over to see that he had opened an armoire with a false back, where there was a safe. "Dime-store model. Piece of cake." Dean said and he turns the dial, squinting and leans in and out, obviously  the numbers are too blurred for him to read.

"It's like Mission: Pathetic. Watch out." Sam said and he pushes Dean out of the way and turns the dial: it opens quickly. There are quite a few poker chips in the safe. "I could have done that." Dean grumbles. "Honey, by the time you would've gotten to it, Sam and I would have reached old age as well." I said as Sam starts to grab handfuls of chips.

"What are you doing?" A female voice asked and we turn around to see a dark blonde haired woman, wearing a black dress and a large silver locket. "Aren't you the chick from the bar?" Dean asked her. "I'm a lot more than that." she said and she throws up a hand, clenches a fist, and twists. Dean doubles over. "Dean!" I said, worried, as Patrick hurries up and puts a hand on the girl's arm.

"It's all right, sweetheart. It's all right. They're harmless." He said to her and the girl lets Dean go while Patrick steps forward to us. "You three want chips? Take 'em. They're just chips, Einsteins. It's showmanship. This may come as a shock, but the magic does not lie in a pile of crappy plywood or in any phony abracadabra. It's in the nine-hundred-year-old witch. You three want years? Score 'em the old-fashioned way. Texas hold 'em." He explains as he chews on his toothpick.

"Fine. Let's do it." Dean demands and Patrick pulls a card out of a pocket. It's the eight of hearts. "What card am I holding up?" he asked and Dean squints at it and doesn't answer. "That's what I thought. If your eyesight's that bad, what about your memory? I'm not a murderer. You two, on the other hand..." Patrick said as he looks at me and Sam, Dean turns to us.

"No, guys." Dean said, in a warning tone.

"Dean." Sam and I said, exasperated.

"What, these two not much of a player? Okay, well, happy trails, Dean. Enjoy the twilight of your life. Should have taken better care of that ticker, though." Patrick said and he opens the door. "You're free to go." he said and Dean leaves, Sam and I follow.

"Oh, but, you two..." Patrick said and we turn as he points at me and Sam. "Your brother's situation—that's punishment enough, but I can't let you leave without a small parting gift." He said then he claps three times.

"What are you doing?" I asked him, confused. "You two'll find out soon enough." Patrick said. "Let's get out of here, guys." Dean said and we leave, he-witch closes the door behind us.

We head for the outside door when I noticed Sam scratching the inside of his thighs. At that moment, I felt a painful feeling in my lower stomach area, a pretty familiar feeling that I experience once a month. 

I place my hand over my lower stomach as Sam opens the door for us and he scratches some more. "Dude..." Dean said to Sam, who turns to him. "I believe that he-witch gave you the clap." Dean said and Sam goes stiff at this then marches off.

Dean laughs and he turns to me, noticing me clutching my lower stomach. "What did he give you, princess?" Dean asked and I glare at him. "Cramps. Really bad one. So, if you want to live long enough to de-age, I'd suggest you shut up." I growled at him and I walk away.

The next day, the boys and I head towards the motel. "Little help here?" Bobby asked, annoyed, and I forgot...to get to the motel we have to go up an incline. So I go and push Bobby up. "You know, I still think Sam or I should play." I said. "No, no, no. Neither of you are good enough. I'm better. Bobby's way better. We both lost." Dean said. "Exactly." Bobby said.

"So, what? So (y/n) and I don't get a say in this?" Sam asked, annoyed. "Sammy, when you get to be our age—" Dean said and I give a look of disbelief at Dean. "You're thirty, Dean!" I shouted, annoyed. "Look, I've watched you hustle plenty of poker—" I started to say but Bobby talks over me.

"Knowing the game is not enough, (y/n). It's not about playing the cards." He said. "It's about playing the other guy. I know that." I said. "Well, hooray for you. All I'm saying is, I played this guy. I know his style. I can take him." Bobby said. "No, Bobby. You don't have enough years in the bank." Dean said. "I got enough." Bobby mumbles. "No, you'll die if you lose, Bobby." Sam said.

"So what if I do, huh? What exactly am I living for, huh? The damn apocalypse? Watching men die bloody while I sit in this chair, can't take a step to help 'em?" Bobby asked, angrily. "Bobby—" Dean said, exasperated. "No, no. It's the facts. I'm old...and broke down...and I can't..." Bobby stops to take a moment to breathe. "I ain't a hunter no more. I'm useless. And if I wasn't such a coward, I'd have stuck a gun in my mouth day I got home from the hospital." Bobby admits and all of us fall silent.

"Bobby, you are not playing again. I'm not letting you do that. There's another way out of this. There's got to be. And I'm gonna find it." I said and I walk pass the boys, angrily. 

*3rd Person POV*

Dean opens the door so Bobby can roll in, then Sam and Dean walk in as Bobby looks up and stops abruptly. Lia, Patrick's assistant, is sitting on the bed, holding up a piece of paper. "Take it. It'll help you." she said and Bobby rolls closer and takes it.

"What is this?" he asked. "The most powerful reversal spell you've ever laid your eyes on." she replied. "And it reverses what?" Sam asked. "Patrick's work—all of it." Lia replied. "You—you saying I could be normal again?" Dean asked. "You and everyone else he's ever played. Who's still alive." Lia said, correcting herself at that last part.

"Why the hell should we trust you?" Dean asked her. "Trust me, don't trust me. I don't care. The spell is real." she said and she gets up and heads for the door. "If it zaps everyone, don't that include your man?" Bobby asked her. "And me, too. I look good for my age." she said.

"Lady, this don't add up for squat. Why would you want that?" Bobby asked her, suspiciously. "I have my reasons." Lia replied then she looks at her silver locket. "Do it quick. We leave town tomorrow." she said and she leaves. Dean, Sam and Bobby watch her go, then look at each other.

Meanwhile, under the bar, Patrick chews on a toothpick, a glass of whiskey in front of him. On the table are five cards in a row, the eight of spades, five and four of clubs, king of diamonds, and jack of hearts, and a pile of poker chips, about three dozen. His opponent, an old man named Hesh, clinks his poker chips against each other (he has at most ten), looking at his two face-down cards.

Patrick looks at his own cards: the kings of hearts and spades, for three of a kind. Hesh has the nines of clubs and diamonds for one pair and he throws a few chips on the pile. "Bet." Hesh said and Patrick takes out his toothpick.

"I sense you've got me by the jewels on this one, Hesh. I fold." Be said and Hesh collects his chips. "What are you up—like thirteen years there, Hesh? What do you say we call it a day?" Patrick said and Hesh chuckles. "Thanks, Patrick." he said and Patrick looks up.

"Hesh here is gonna live to see his granddaughter's bat mitzvah." Patrick said and Hesh turns around to see who he was talking to. It is (y/n). "Isn't that right, Hesh?" Patrick asked Hesh, who turns back to him. "Thanks again, Patrick." Hesh said. "Shalom, my friend. Shalom." Patrick said and Hesh gets up and leaves.

Patrick then shuffles the cards. "That was nice of you." (y/n) said. "I'm a nice guy. What can I do you for, miss?" he asked as he keeps shuffling then (y/n) sits down. "Deal." she said and Patrick smirks at her. "And your name?" He asked her. "(Y/n)." She replied.

At the cemetery, Bobby sits at the foot of a grave while Dean and Sam dig. "Jawbone of a murderer. Great." Dean grumbles as he sticks the shovel in the dirt, breathing hard. "You know, this really sucks. How do we even know her spell's gonna work?" Dean asked. "We don't. But we ain't got a Plan B. Now, less flappin' and more diggin'." Bobby yells and Dean goes to move another scoop of dirt while Sam keeps going.

Then something cracks. "Oh, God!" Dean moans and Bobby rolls his eyes while Sam shakes his head and continues to dig. "My elbows! I'm all creaky." Dean moans. "Hurry up, you crybaby." Bobby spat at him. "Pound it up your ass, Ironsides." Dean growls.

"One little grave. And you got your brother helping you." Bobby said. "Then you do it." Dean said. "Fine. I'll hop right in." Bobby said, sarcastically. "Guys." Sam said, exasperated, but Dean and Bobby continue to argue. "Well, least your legs are numb." Dean sneers. "Shut up and dig, Grandma." Bobby spat and Dean goes back to digging.

"Oh! Now it's my back!" Dean groans,m as he leans forward and Sam sighs, annoyed. "Can you straighten up?" Bobby asked him. "Yeah, but a little sympathy wouldn't hurt." Dean said. "Butt cheek tingling?" Bobby asked Dean and he turns to him. "Well, that's kind of personal." Dean said.

"So yeah?" Bobby said, questioning, and Dean looks up. "It's sciatica. You'll live. Keep digging." Bobby said, not caring, and Dean glares at him. "You know, Bobby, killing you is officially on my bucket list." Dean said and Sam looks over at him. "Dean, can we just hurry and get this done. I don't know how much longer (y/n) can keep him distracted." Sam said as he continues to dig.

"I still don't like that (y/n) is playing that game." Dean grumbles as he goes back to digging. “She insisted.” Sam said. “That woman can be real stubborn sometimes.” Dean grumbled. “I wonder where she gets that from.” Sam teased and Dean shoots him a dirty look.

"Anyway, I trust her. Between the two of us, I think (y/n) has a better chance with him." Sam said. “Geez, why don’t you marry her?” Dean said, sarcastically. “Not her type. She seems to be into 70 year old men.” Sam joked and Dean glares at him again. “Cut that chitchat, boys, and keep digging.” Bobby ordered.

Patrick chews on his toothpick, he has a glass of whiskey on the table, two cards in his hand, and several stacks of chips. Several chips are piled in the middle of the table next to the four of diamonds, a red court card, a black seven, the three of hearts, and a black two. He takes the toothpick out.

"I like you, (y/n). I do. You're smart, and your heart's clearly in the right place." He said but (y/n) doesn't respond. Then Patrick throws down his toothpick and drinks his whiskey. "I can tell a lot about a person by looking." He said. "You mean you're psychic." (y/n) said and Patrick snorts a laugh. "No. That'd be cheating. I'm talking about good old-fashioned intuition." he said and (y/n) nods. 

"Right. Let's just play." she said as Patrick drinks more whiskey. "We are playing." he said and he puts the glass down next to the toothpick. "Does your boyfriend know you're here?" Patrick asked her, suspiciously. "Bet five." (y/n) said as she drops a stack of five chips on the pile. She has a lot fewer chips left than Patrick. "Didn't think so." Patrick said, smiling.

He puts one stack of five on another and adds that stack to the pile. "I raise. Here you are, right? Trying to clean up their mess, and they still want to sit you at the kiddie table." Patrick said and (y/n) looks down. 

"You're not a little girl anymore, (y/n)." Patrick tells her as he toys with a few chips. (Y/n) looks up at him as he continues. "Then again, maybe you are. You're in over your head here, (y/n). I mean, you can keep making these moves—you know, playing it cautious, playing the percentages. But I'm still gonna kick your ass into the nursing home." Patrick taunts. 

"Does this armchair-psychology routine usually work for you?" (Y/n) asked and Patrick laughs. "You tell me. You're the one who's losing." Patrick said as he chews his toothpick.

A little later, Patrick shuffles the cards, chewing his toothpick. He has thirty or thirty-five chips and (y/n) fifteen or twenty. She plays with a few of her chips while Lia walks in. Patrick puts down the toothpick and Lia leans down to kiss Patrick. Patrick looks at (y/n) and winks. "Little break?" he asked and (y/n) nods.

(Y/n) bursts out of doors that reads EMMIT'S PUB DELIVERY RING. She looks around and spots Dean. "How's it going in there?" he asked her and she scoffs. "How do you think it's going? What about you? You have everything you need?" (y/n) asked him and he nods. "We still need a little he-witch DNA." Dean said and (y/n) holds up a toothpick

"He was chewing it." she said as Dean takes it. "Hurry up, Dean. Please." She pleads and Dean grins a bit. "You know, I love it when you beg." He said and (y/n) rolls her eyes. "Oh, God." She groans. "Yeah, just like that!" Dean teased and (y/n) glares at him. "Shut up!" She said.

“You know, if we weren’t so pressed for time I would suggested a quickie behind that dumpster.” Dean said, pointing the toothpick towards a nearby dumpster. “Get out of here, you pig!” (Y/n) commanded and she turns to walk back towards the door. "Besides, your old ass couldn't keep up with me." She teased, looking over her shoulder and winking at Dean, before heading back inside and leaving Dean standing there, stunned and a little turned on.

Oh, when I get back to normal, she's gonna get it... Dean thought as he turned then started rubbing his sore arm from all the digging he had to do. 

(Y/n) plays with her chips when Patrick sits back down. Lia stands behind Patrick, who pushes the deck of cards across the table.

"Airmidh mi air maponus, dia na hogalachd. Gairmidh mi air sucellus, dia na time." Bobby recites, reading from Lia's paper while Sam and Dean stand at the bowl full of burning things. Dean throws a handful of an item in the flames, which flare up blue.

"Till an-dràsda obair uile gu bheilair a bhith deànta. Mar sin bitheadh." Bobby said then he looks up at Dean. "Drop it in." he tells Dean, who looks at the toothpick and adds it to the fire. 

"Well? How do I look?" Dean asked after a moment of silence but Bobby and Sam don't reply. The truthful answer is eighty years old.

Back at the bar, Patrick looks at (y/n). "Question." Patrick said and he holds up a toothpick. "Is this what you meant to give your boyfriend?" Patrick asked her but (y/n) doesn't let her expression change. Lia flicks a glance at the toothpick.

"The one you gave him never passed my lips. Won't do a scrap of good." Patrick growls and he throws the toothpick across the table. "I don't like cheating, (y/n)." Patrick said, in a threatening tone, then he stretches out his hand and clenches a fist. (y/n) stiffens, gasping for breath, while Lia watches. (y/n) puts a hand to her throat.

"Stop it!" Lia shouts as she grabs Patrick's wrist. "Patrick, let her go!" Lia shouts. "She tried to kill us!" Patrick yells. "I did it! I gave her the spell!" Lia shouts at him. Patrick, shocked, releases (y/n) and looks up at Lia as (y/n) gasps in air.

"What?" he asked her as he stands up and touches Lia's face. "Why...why would you do that?" he asked her, upset. "You know why." Lia said then she touches her silver locket. "You know." she whispers and Patrick looks away for a moment, then sits down.

"Keep. Playing." Patrick mutters and Lia looks away while (y/n) glances at her.

Bobby is driving his van while Dean is sitting next to him and Sam in the backseat. "Everything we put in that spell was kosher." Bobby said. "Yeah, everything except the damn toothpick." Dean said. "You two got to go get a speck of DNA. Strap on your track shoes." Bobby said as he looks at Dean, who rolls his eyes. "Oh, goody. More stairs." Dean mutters, sarcastically.

More than a dozen chips are piled next to the eight of hearts, the queens of clubs and diamonds, and the two of diamonds. Patrick discards a card and deals the ace of clubs, (y/n) has her hands folded against her mouth.

"It's too damn clean in here. First witch I ever heard of didn't spew bodily fluids all over the place." Dean said to Bobby over the phone as he and Sam look around Patrick's apartment. "Toothbrush, comb—anything." Bobby said as Sam and Dean continue to search.

(Y/n) stacks five chips next to another five next to the pile. "Well, look at you—the percentage player betting the farm. Awful transparent of you, (y/n). I mean, if I had a monster hand like you have, I'd trap you. But you get so excited, you bet yourself right out of a big pot." Patrick said then he sniffs and picks up his face-down cards. "I fold." he said as he discards his cards.

"Set of ladies, I'm guessing." Patrick said as (y/n) collects a couple dozen chips and turns over her cards: the three of clubs and five of diamonds, for one pair of queens. "Nice bluff. If we had time, I could make a real player out of you." Patrick said as (y/n) stacks her chips. "I got time." she said, sternly, and Patrick grins.

"Maybe. But I can't say the same for Dean. Your boyfriend's gonna be dead soon." Patrick taunts and (y/n) looks up at him. "And when I say soon..." Patrick said then he leans forward. "I mean minutes." He informs her and (y/n)'s expression changes, fearful, and she stands up.

Patrkck extends a fist to yank her back down with witchcraft. "The game's not over till I say it is. Blinds." Patrick growls and he slaps down two chips and (y/n) one.

Dean spots a wine glass on a table, still with a little wine left undrunk. But then he starts toward it and stops. "(Y/n)..." he whispers and starts slumping on the floor, groaning. "Dean!" Sam exclaimed as he runs to his brother.

Patrick deals two face-down cards apiece. (y/n) glances at hers and adds another chip to the pot. "So." Patrick mutters as he slaps down three cards and spreads them out: the ace of spades and fours of hearts and clubs. (y/n) eyes the cards.

"When it's about your boyfriend, you get so emotional, your brain just flies right out the window." He said, illustrating with a hand gesture. "Good to know." He said, smiling. "Go to hell." (y/n) spat at him, viciously, then she shoves all her chips into the middle. "I'm all in." she said and Lia glances at her. 

Patrick sighs as he checks his cards. "Don't do that, (y/n)." He said. "I can't leave until it's over? Fine. It's over. Now, where's Dean?" (Y/n) asked him, angrily. "Look, there's poker and then there's suicide." Patrick warns her. "Just play the hand." (Y/n) said.

"Sam? Dean? Boys, you there?" Bobby asked through the phone while Dean gasps, weakly. "C'mon, Dean!" Sam said, worried. "Boys?!" Bobby calls out and Sam runs to the phone. "Bobby!" Sam exclaimed once the phone gets to his ear. "What's going on?" Bobby asked as Dean starts to go still. "DEAN!" Sam screams, fearfully.

Patrick adds all his chips to the pot. "Fine." he said and he discards a card and deals the seven of diamonds and the nine of spades. (Y/n) and Patrick stare each other down, (y/n) worried, Patrick smug, Lia nervous.

Patrick turns over his face-down cards: aces of clubs and diamonds. "I'm sorry, kid. Aces full." Patrick said as (y/n) looks at the cards. Then she lets out a breath then glances at Lia. "You're crying." she said, questioning, while Lia sniffles, looking away.

"For a witch, you're so nice, it's actually kind of creepy. It's okay." (y/n) said then she looks at Patrick. "It was a great hand." she said and Patrick moves to collect the chips: the only hands that can beat a full house with three aces are a four of a kind and a straight flush. The flop cards are three different suits, so he knows (y/n) cannot possibly have a straight flush, and he knows the odds are very slim that (y/n) has the remaining two fours.

"Just—" (y/n) started to say then Patrick looks up. "—not as great as—" (y/n) said and she turns over her face-down cards, the fours of diamonds and spades. She knew she had a four of a kind from the moment the flop cards were dealt; the only way to beat a four of a kind is with a straight flush, which she knew Patrick could not possibly have.

"—as four fours." she finished and Patrick glances up at her, then down at the cards. (y/n) takes a deep breath and lets it out while Patrick leans back. "Well played. You know, that whole...going-out-of-your-head bit—very method." Patrick said and (y/n) smirk.

"Well, there's more to you than meets the eye." Patrick said as he raises his glass, (y/n) nods. "Cash these in for Dean, please." she said and Patrick nods and sets down the glass. "With pleasure." he said, smiling.

"Boys, you hear me? Damn it, boys!" Bobby shouts then he spots something inside the building and turns to look. Someone comes out the door: it's Sam then he steps aside, revealing Dean now thirty again. He holds out his arms, grinning, and does a little dance as he approaches the van.

Bobby stares as Dean jumps up, clicking his heels in the air, while Sam shakes his head. "Idjits." Bobby mumbles under his breath.

*(y/n)'s POV*

I was sitting at the motel when the door to the room opens. I look up and see Sam pushing Bobby in the room, and following him is Dean now looking his normal self. "Dean!" I said, happily, and he goes over to me, pulls me into him and kisses me.

"Well...you're welcome." I said after we break the kiss. "So...No tricks—you actually beat the guy?" Bobby asked me and I pull out of Dean's embrace and spread my arms. "How the hell?" Sam asked me as Dean grabs a burger. "Luck and...a few tricks I learned from my dad." I said, smirking, and the boys give me an impressed look. "That's my girl!" Dean said and I smile.

"Hey. I'll see y'all guys later." Sam said as he grabs his jacket. "Where you going?" Dean asked him. "Uh...mm, nowhere." Sam said and we all look at him. "A booster shot. Don't say it." Sam said and he leaves. 

"Well, I guess we can get the van loaded." Bobby groans while Dean sets his burger down. He holds up a finger and clears his throat. "I shouldn't have called you an idiot." Dean said to him. "Which time?" Bobby asked him.

"I'm sorry. I mean, I actually—I, I—I get it. Getting old ain't a bachelor party. And dealing with the crap you got to deal with—" Dean said and Bobby rolls his eyes. "Don't you go on pity patrol." Bobby grumbles. "I'm not. I'm not. I'm just...I'm saying, you know, if I was in your shoes..." Dean said. "You'd never stop complaining." Bobby said and Dean stares for a moment.

"Fair enough. You're not useless, Bobby." Dean said. "Okay. Good talk." Bobby said and he goes to roll away but Dean steps in his path. "No, wait a minute. Listen to me." He said and he sits down next to me on the bed and sighs.

"You don't stop being a soldier 'cause you got wounded in battle. Okay? No matter what shape you're in, bottom line is, you're family. I don't know if you've noticed, but me, (y/n) and Sam, we don't have much left. I can't do this without you. I can't. So don't you dare think about checking out. I don't want to hear that again." Dean said to him and there was a long silence as I look between the two men, my heart was actually breaking for Bobby. I know it must be devastating and hard without having the ability to walk.

"Okay." Bobby said. "Okay. Good." Dean said. "Thanks. Now, we done feeling our feelings? 'Cause I'd like to get out of this room before we both start growing lady parts." Bobby said and I snort out a chuckle. "Yeah, we're done." Dean said then he and I get up.

I grab my bag as Dean picks up his burger, looks at it, and puts it back down then picks up his bag. "Let's go, Ironsides." Dean said as he slings his bag over his shoulder and heads for the door. "Oh, that one's sticking, huh?" Bobby asked and Dean looks back, smiling, and he takes my hand and we leave the room.

@rach5ive @kitsun369 @itzabbyxx @cevans-winchester @ellie-andthemachine

[idontknowreallywhy]

Estera Ch 35 - Ten

What went before

It’s been a while! Ironic that in March of the OCs I have throughly neglected my dear OC but I shall try to make up for it! This one fought me (while I’ve written tens of thousands of words for further down the line 🙄) because I wanted one chapter to achieve too many different things and I rather lost confidence in myself to make it work or even to continue with it at all. (Every scrap of credit goes to @sofasurf for giving me a metaphorical shake and waving snippets of her excellent future chapters to bribe me).

The end result is… again… I have broken one event down into more than one chapter. Hoping there is the right balance of fluff and angst to suit those still reading (thank you xx)

Here we ponder whether one can be homesick for somewhere that is no longer your home, there is an addition to the gallery, Scott has a wobble and the giant floof introduces us to his favourite Thunderbird…

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Bez stood guard at the front door, clearly determined to give the earliest possible warning of their visitor’s approach. It had been five minutes since Estera had heard the unmistakeable sound of VTOL engines through the open window which told her he’d decided to leave the jet somewhere nearby, maybe at the fancy golf club where such things didn’t stand out as so unusual. That was 15 mins walk away on normal-human-length legs, so she could probably expect him fairly imminently.

She gave up on the article she was staring at in a futile attempt to stop herself thinking too much and dumped the tablet on the coffee table with a little more force than intended before getting up to pace around the room. Maybe moving would help? Bez glanced over before returning his serious gaze to the door handle.

The intensity of his expression was offset rather by the little blue polka dot bow tie she had attached to his collar to mark the occasion. It had been 5 years to the day since she collected a tiny ball of puppy floof from the breeder and finally made her apartment feel like a home. Because on that particular day it had been exactly 5 years since she’d seen the last place that felt that way.

And thus today, dziesięć. Ten.

Ten years since she’d opened the back door in the morning to stand barefoot in the grass. Ten years since she’d taken a deep, rejuvenating breath of the air rolling off the Tatra mountains.

Ten years since she’d sat on the back porch with a cup of coffee, stealing a few moments to listen to the excitable call of the woodlark, one of the few privileges the militia hadn’t managed to take from them. The yellow-painted structure had been plagued by woodworm even then… it was probably long gone now. In fact, she didn’t even know if the house was still there. That felt wrong. Even if she knew she could never go back to it… surely she should know? But who could she call to ask? Nobody was there anymore…

Ten years since she’d held a meaningful conversation in her native tongue. Bez didn’t count.

Ten years since she‘d started to feel the constant need to justify her presence by being useful, by being an asset to her adopted country. Ten years since she felt like she truly belonged anywhere.

Ten years since she’d hugged her parents and promised to live.

She sighed and walked over to their photo on the wall for the third time that morning and pressed her palm against it. Then rested her forehead on the back of her hand. It felt as though she was fighting through the fuzzy layer that time was beginning to paint over her mental image of them, trying to fix the happy memories somewhere safe. Somewhere accessible. The memories before that day. Before the war and all the horrors that had brought.

Ten years too since she’d found and lost a hero within minutes and gained an imaginary soulmate.

Ten years since she should have died. Maybe in some ways the old her had. Ten years since her life had changed forever anyway.

Her gaze shifted to the new photo, framed in blue, that she had recently added to her gallery. Yes, and in the last few months… everything had suddenly changed again. But this time in an indisputably good way. Because the imaginary hero had somehow shed the imaginary bit and become her friend. The two of them grinned manically out of the hasty selfie - hair dishevelled, flushed with adrenaline and drenched in seawater but vividly, irrepressibly alive.

She couldn’t help smiling back. He was hero to lots of people, but friend was infinitely better.

Bez, who had quietly padded over to sit close beside her whined quietly and rested his big head on her hip.

“Quite right, Niebieski, enough introspection.”

He huffed a non-committal response before an ear twitched and he flung himself towards the door, his claws skittering on the tiles, and resumed his supervision of the door handle.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Lift was out again, Scott noticed. He rolled his eyes and then took the stairs at a run… just because. He found himself counting them in groups of ten. Ten ten ten ten ten ten ten… and… hmph, two more. If she’d only lived on the 5th floor that would have been far more satisfying. He took a moment to calculate how much height each individual stair would need to have added to fix this… would that make the rise too steep? Maybe if they could reduce each by 20% and add four more to each flight?

Huh, he was clearly more on edge than he realised if he was compulsively doing math. He recalled frantically focusing on trying to disprove Goldbach’s Conjecture while refusing to visibly react to the agony of…

No. Stop it. He was here so that he didn’t need to lose himself in thinking about it. So that neither of them did.

He looked over at her door. He was technically a few minutes early, did that matter? He decided not and braced himself to withstand 60 kilos of furry, drooling enthusiasm. Bez, the big, fluffy, friendly dog who was most definitely not a half-starved killer. He was a different creature in every way and Scott was definitely getting better at forgetting the nightmare dogs. Much better actually.

It was all good. Even the bark he was about to hear was different - deep and booming and safe. Not snarling and howling. All good.

Scott raised a hand to knock but froze as an unexpected noise reached him… the scratching of claws on stone. They prowled relentlessly outside, waiting... Daring him to even try… He gasped out loud as his lower back slammed painfully into the bannister at the top of the stairs and he grabbed it tight, trying to ground himself. His vision blurred.

A voice drifted through the fog, the same sibilant quality of speech that haunted his nightmares and he was nearly overwhelmed by nausea before he heard a joyful laugh and knew… with a rush he knew… that it wasn’t there it was… here. It was her language, her’s and the dog’s, not… not theirs.

He gripped the bannister hard as the door opened and his friend looked up at him, the smile sliding off her face and her hand slipping from the dog’s collar as it surged towards him and… and skidded to a halt a metre away, ears raised, head tilted.

“Niebieski, Noga!

Scott? What’s wrong?”

The dog returned to heel immediately and sat down, looking up at him with that same questioning head tilt. Scott blinked the sweat from his stinging eyes, cursed himself for overreacting and was about to apologise when he realised Estera had gone… what? He shook his head in frustration and was about to call after her. Except she was already back and lugging a huge beanbag which she placed just to his left away from the top of the stairs. He rubbed his eyes with the back of a hand, it was passing he didn’t need to sit down. He was about to thank her for the thought but reassure her it was unnecessary when his knees decided for him and he sank into the thing, vaguely noticing the loud scrunching noise of the filling reshaping around him. He leant forward to rest his forearms on his bent knees… scrunch again. The noise drowned out the whistling and the barking and he wriggled a little to make it happen a third time. Then all was quiet.

“I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be daft, Scott.”

“It’s so stupid.”

“No it’s not.”

“I’m sorry…”

“Just breathe for a minute, Blue.”

He did that. Precisely 60 seconds passed. 13 breaths, a couple more than would be usual. His comm pulsed quietly and he triple-tapped it to answer the enquiry in the affirmative. His head was much clearer now. He tried to relax his shoulders and looked around. Bez was nowhere to be seen. Estera was crouched next to him though, humming quietly. She smiled reassuringly as he looked at her and made to stand.

“I’ll just drop him round to George and Edith’s then we can go inside.”

“No! Don’t. Please.”

“It’s really not a problem at all.”

“No, it wasn’t his fault. I… something just took me by surprise. It’s not a problem.” Scott took a shaky breath and sat up straight. “I don’t want it to be a problem. I want to say hello.”

She frowned at him.

“I really do. Please bring him back.” Scott put as much confidence into the request as he could muster with the result it sounded more like a command than a request.

“Do Mnie!” She called quietly. He knew that one - Come! He focussed on practising the pronunciation in his head.

Bez poked his head out of the front door, his mouth full of some huge green cuddly toy. As Scott repeated the command the dog walked slowly forwards and placed the toy in front of him before lying quietly down next to his mistress.

Scott reached out cautiously and patted Bez on the head and murmured his thanks for the gift of… err… whatever the giant green drool-soaked plushie monster Bez had deposited at his feet was meant to be. Some kind of chunky lizard? A turtle with a zip on its belly? The dog looked at the toy and then back at Scott. Waiting for something?

Ah. He needed to physically accept the gift. Ugh… but he could literally see dog-spit-bubbles gleaming on the fuzzy surface. Shudder. Come on Tracy, you’ve dealt with grosser things in Gordon’s bedroom…

Acting with the kind of caution he’d exercise towards potentially explosive toxic waste, Scott picked the item up with a thumb and forefinger, and dangled it as far from his body as possible to inspect. It spun slowly in the air to reveal a very familiar yellow, red and white pattern on the top side and his jaw dropped in delighted surprise.

The shape, he could now see, was almost recognisable but it had been significantly squashed and white stuffing was poking out from several holes. Other sections had evidently been firmly re-stitched together which only emphasised how the rest of the original seams were on the point of bursting. The tail was hanging on by mere threads. Bez sat up tall on his hind legs and looked immensely proud of himself.

“Oh Bez… whatever would Virgil say?”

Now the adrenaline was dissipating Scott felt the overwhelming urge to giggle.

He cleared his throat to repress it and then bit his lip, not wanting to offend the giant animal by laughing in his face. His body shook a little as he shuffled forward and reverently placed the mutilated toy back down in front of its owner but he kept his cool. Said owner eyed him and then promptly picked up the toy and put it more decisively on top of Scott’s shoes.

“Goodness you are highly honoured Scott, he won’t let me near Thunderbird Chew! I’ve had to sneak her away while he sleeps to carry out routine maintenance in the dead of night and… err, Scott? Are you ok?”

Scott knew he was a lost cause even as he crammed a hand into his mouth to suppress the laughter. Bez looked at him with evident concern but it was Estera’s smug expression tipped him over the edge and he threw his head back and cackled.

Thunderbird Chew! He absolutely had to tell Virgil…

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

[raindrop-on-a-spiderweb]

Your characterization is so good, it honestly feels like I’ve known them for more than 18 pages. If you still want to, I would love to read more about them! No pressure, of course.

Thank you, I'm flattered you think so! I used more exposition and tell, rather than show--I was trying to ape a certain period of straightforward, gritty 70s-80s pulp novels. Here is another subsequent scene under the cut for you.

***

Randy was perversely happy when he saw the blonde girl's–Sarah Lee? Jenny Jane? No, it was Heidi Lou–belly resting against the slack fabric of her gray cardigan. She had stopped covering herself in thick wool blouses and dresses, and no longer cared that her bastard pregnancy was out in the open. Now as he took her wrist and led her up the steps to his apartment, she was wearing a modest white button-up shirt and knit cardigan, over a pair of jeans that had at one time ridden high on her hips, but now dipped low below her swollen belly.

She'd all done away with her swishy seductive lace dresses, and dressed like a proper woman now. But Randy still might make her wear those dresses in the bedroom. Yeah, even when her belly got too big from the kids and she started wearing those dowdy sloppy dresses old housewives like his mother wore. But he'd still make her wear lace when he had her bent over his bed and fucking her with her swollen stomach hanging beneath them and that little lace dress hiked up above her waist. That lace dress would always remind him of that fated day when he pinned her to the floor and fucked all his rage into her, and fucked every last remnant of superciliousness out of her. It would always remind him of her blue eyes staring blearily up at him, with her legs spread and his hatred leaking out of her.

It had taken a while to get to this point, but Randall was a patient man. A few times each week–"dates" he liked to call them to her face as she dissolved into sobs. Often it was under the bushes near his newest job site, with his hands pinning her arms to the ground as he hammered her from behind and muffled her screams with his arm.

Sometimes it was at night when he threatened his way into her bedroom, climbed into her window in the sea of faceless moonlit suburban houses, and forced her to run her soft fingers across his hard body as they laid beside each other and his prick jutted into her abdomen. He loved the way he could force her to take his length of cock in her trembling hands and guide it to her terrified clenching pussy.

Once or twice, he'd even snuck her into his rented room while his roommates were raucously partying next door. He'd fucked her against the wall then, warning her that each sound she made would lure them over to take their turn with her. He adored the way she tightened up inside with fear. She really was the perfect woman. He thought of his mother, that fucking fishwife with her dull, shiny hair tied up with a scarf and folds gathering on her waist, always nagging his father to throw his beer bottles away. Heidi was a real wife and mother, someone you could show off to your golf club, someone who kept a tiny waist and pert tits even after she'd birthed five kids.

After a month or two, the hatred he'd pumped into her had made a little tyke swell in that flat belly. Randy had been doing her from behind in his apartment bed when he noticed it. One of his arms had been scrabbling for her breasts and the other looking for purchase on her hips as the girl instinctively tried to buck him off from behind. His hand had gripped onto her stomach for a second to steady himself, and the small pooch below her navel fit perfectly into his palm. That was when he realized.

Randy stood still then, trapping her squirming body between his strong, tense legs with one hand sealed over her womb like a knight's iron greave. He was frozen as a statue, then started to fuck into her harder and harder. The thought that there was a baby inside her excited him immensely–a tiny thing that was half of her and him, the living proof of his final domination over her. A little Randall Puchalski junior that he could teach to fix cars and teach to ride a bike– something that his own father had never bothered with–and that he could send off to school with the brand new fire engine red lunchbox that he had always wanted. A kid he could teach to be a man, who could scrape the serial numbers off a gun and sweet-talk a woman and lie with a smile.

Randall fucked himself deeper and deeper into her twitching canal, his heart thudding spasmodically between her shoulderbones. He came longer and harder than he ever had before, so hard he gasped as every bit of energy sapped out of him into her womb–even if it was fruitless to release his seed in her now. When Heidi Lou rolled over sobbing on his moldy mattress, face flushed and hair messy, he batted away her flailing, pushing arms and pressed the side of his greasy black head into her tummy. He could detect only the slightest curve of her midriff as she laid flat on her back, but it was enough. 

You start moving around soon and kicking, son. You're gonna be a tough little guy. You'll give your Mom no end of trouble when you're inside her, just like your Dad.

"Heidi," he told her dispassionately, "you've got a bun in the oven."

The girl wept and wailed and went into hysterics about that, but a few punches to the face–not the belly–quieted her down immediately.

Heidi Lou sat with one arm around her folded leg, the other on her bruising face, staring blankly at the floor as Randall pulled his weathered jeans above his limp cock. "Go tell your parents about it. Right now. Get out of this apartment and march right into your daddy's law office–or wherever that rich cocksucker works–and tell him some dirty trainhopping tramp knocked you up."

"I don't–I can't–"

He slapped her open-palmed, feeling merciful enough not to punch her this time. Her face was constantly puffy with bruises, and he wondered how she kept explaining it away to her parents. Soon, she wouldn't even have to.

"Can't what?" Randy taunted. "Are you gonna flit around like the airheaded cunt you are and pretend everything is hunky dory until you're ready to pop? Denial is a river in Egypt. 'Oh, muddah and faddah, it was just a one-night stand'–but you don't have those. You're a GOOD girl. 'It was just my old boyfriend'–except you don't have a boyfriend either, because you're a GOOD girl. You only have me."

That sent her into another full-blown sobbing fit, and Heidi Lou wailed as she grasped and tore the sides of her ragged red hair. He helped her along by gripping the back of her scalp and yanking her face to meet his.

The black coins of his irises met her disintegrating, disbelieving blue eyes.

"I don't think your mom and pop are too big on bastards, especially when it comes out of their perfect golden child. So I think it would be better if you told them now you've found a man to shack up with. I don't give a shit how you explain it to them. Tell them I helped you look for your dog and we got busy in the bushes. Tell them you met me at the mechanic's and we did it in the back seat. Tell them I raped you on the floor of your house. I don't care. You're going to walk down the aisle anyway."

"I'll get rid of it," Heidi Lou hissed in a sudden display of defiance.

Her words made Randy freeze still. Heidi Lou's eyes had hardened into chips of ice, and she drew her legs back and tucked them under her to lean forward on her wrists and look him in the eye. "I'll get an abortion. It's gonna be legal soon anyway, with that woman's case making its way through the Supreme Court. I'm not going to have your disgusting child. You can shove your filthy cock as many times into me as you want, but I'll never birth whatever degenerated thing you force into me. I'll do whatever it takes to rip it out of me–it will be like squashing a tadpole underneath my heel, do you hear me?" He had never heard such hardness and cruelty in her voice before, and it shocked him into an uncomfortable silence.

Back in Chicago when his parents still dragged him to St. Stanislaus Church, he remembered the priest telling him something very clearly. Father Janek with the mole on his cheek, and his whispery voice that made the hair on his arms stand up, making him shift and fidget in the pews until his mother whispered he would be sorry when they got home. It was just after the little M's died, when he had approached the priest to ask if his little siblings were in heaven.

“Randall, I am sorry,” said the stern little man. “When babies die before they have a chance to receive God's eternal light, they cannot come to heaven, or know the light of God's love. You see, they have not been freed from original sin--they haven't been baptized. So they… they live in limbo. It's not a good place, or a bad place. They're not hurt–God would never do that to a baby–they just… exist.”

That stunned Randall and haunted him for weeks afterward, listening to his mother sobbing over his little brother and sister that had died before they were born. Their rooms had been right beside each other, and Randall had stayed awake for hours listening to his mother crying and praying. Why did little Mark and Mary go to limbo? He had wondered as his brother snored beside him. They're just little babies. Why can't they go to heaven?

Randy thought about a piece of him, a part of his body, his blood. He thought of his frown and lips and cheeks, floating forever in purgatory and crying alone into a vast dark space. Something that belonged to him; something that was she was predestined to carry inside her womb as a woman should. But this woman was spitting bile, denying her natural place in life and threatening to send his child–that part of him– to a thankless, godless place forever.

Randy didn't like that. He didn't like that at all.

He reached down beside his mattress, into the pocket of his green army jacket, and took out a rusted revolver. He leveled it against Heidi's sobbing crinkled forehead.

In a quiet voice, he said, "If you get the scrape, I'll fucking kill you for it. I'll put a bullet into your empty blond head and you'll go to hell for it. You'd go to hell for killing your baby."

"If I go to hell," Heidi said quietly, "Then I'll meet you there. And you'll never meet your child there either."

His words sent him into an internal spasm. He remembered the streets of Chicago, the Rican kid gurgling on his blood, the dago's face puffed and purple until it looked like a Halloween mask as he dealt the finishing blow to his neck with his boot, the lady at the shop who screamed as he pulled the trigger in the midst of a robbery, and the old black man crumpling facedown on the street when he took too long to get his wallet out, his blood spreading in a pool over the concrete. He thought of his baby torn so soon from Heidi's womb, those genes that were his, that belonged to him. Never being able to hold it in his arms.

This was his last chance, and he had no other choice.

In a roundabout way, Randall's cold, self-centered mind realized that this was his only chance at salvation and a normal life. Cheating and crime were second nature to him, and he would never take an honest way if there weren't a quicker and more illegal one. Ironically, that was the reason it made so much sense to him to do what he realized he would have to do. Becoming a hard-working man, contributing to his community and living an honest Christian life would ensure his survival. Fire and brimstone lit up in his mind again, like he was back in St. Stanislaus Church with Father Janek.

Neither did she.

He lovingly rubbed the barrel of the gun against her blond head. "Are you sure, honey? You sure you want to die? I've killed a lot of people. You would be just another tally on the board. Imagine… a little blond woman found in a flophouse with a hole in her head leaking blood over the floor and a cunt full of cum. What would such a good girl be doing there? Obviously she'd come to sample some working class dick and paid the price for it. The Sherriff would seal your file, especially if he knew your daddy. Everyone would quietly brush your life under the rug. Aunt Heidi? She died before you were born. My daughter? She died unexpectedly. You would be a black mark on your whole family."

Randy pressed the barrel harder into her crying face. "Would you rather die than have my kid?"

In a fraction of a second, he jerked the gun to the side and fired once. A bullet buried itself in the thin plywood an inch beside her head.

Heidi stopped crying abruptly, her high-pitched sobs ceasing with an eerie finality. She looked into his eyes with a dead understanding–the same look she had given him on the floor of her kitchen that one fateful day. She said nothing, but he knew her decision had been made.

He cupped her face between his calloused hands and kissed her gently on her pursing, twisting lips. His tongue slipped between her wet lips to lave softly at the inside of her spasming mouth. He tasted the salt of her tears, and it made blood pump through his dick.

"Go and let your parents know, and your preppy brother, and your pig uncle. You're gonna marry me and have my baby. And see if you can convince them soon enough so that you won't have a bowling ball for a belly as you walk down the aisle."

[hypnotisedfireflies]

What’s the funniest/dummest reason Tess or Joel knocked someone out. Like, did Tess ever really like someone’s shoes and Joel did her the favor ha.

Hahaha! Oh anon, you get a little ficlet. 🥰

You Haven't Seen Everything

Winter, 2021

"But getting out of Miami," Axel continued, placing another bag of cocoa on the scales, "that was something else. You ever seen infected on rollerblades? No? You haven't seen everything yet."

"Great, can you just concentrate on the merchandise, please?" Tess gestured to the pile.

"Oh sure, sure. Don't worry, I do this all the time."

Axel, with his shaved skull and toxic green mohawk bristling down the centre, gamely nodded at the scales as he pulled off the Ziploc bag and added it to the pile. He was a new contact. It had been worth travelling to this middling little New Hampshire town to meet him, but Joel was starting to think it wasn't worth the noise.

He leaned up harder against the wall like he could burrow his spine into the plaster and disappear. They were dealing in an old art supplies store, turned over and trashed, the wasted materials swept up against the walls like snowdrifts. Axel had set up a table in the bare centre and was scooping cocoa powder from a massive tin into the little bags, weighing them one by one. Tess sat opposite. Joel could see the patience sapping out of her with every breath Axel took.

But cocoa was a hot, rare property right now. It was the first time it had surfaced in the Boston QZ in years. Certainly not in the eleven since they'd made it home.

"I was hiding out in this Olive Garden? It was right on Miami Beach. All these infected staggering by on wheels. I just know that we got wheeled clickers down there. Board shorts and bikinis. That's something, right? Yeah, I seen some shit down there. I was in this golf club? You know the little carts?"

He looked between a silent Tess and a silent Joel.

"You know the buggies?"

Silence.

"Yeah. So there's these little buggies. You drive around the course on them. Just enough room for you, your buddies, your clubs. Make the caddy walk, though! The caddy, he goes after your balls. Not your actual balls, like your hairy gonads, but your golf balls. They hand you your clubs."

Joel slowly filled up his lungs. Axel slowly filled up the bags and carefully weighed them, one by one.

"I was hiding in this golf club. Beautiful place. Big ocean views. And we went to war, not against the infected, but against the club across the way! You talk about your gang wars, you know, but these rich old guys went to war with each other riding buggies like white Arab chargers. You ever seen old guys in polos whacking each other with putters out the side of a buggy? No? You haven't seen everything yet."

Tess stood up. "That's our cut. You're done?"

"Huh? What? Oh."

Disappointed, Axel watched Tess load her backpack up with the precious bags of cocoa. The trade - FEDRA-grade antiseptic, water purification tablets and a bottle of lube - sat on the edge of the table. Tess reshouldered the pack.

"Thanks. You know the frequency. Buzz us if you get something else interesting."

"Sure, sure. Let me show you out. So after the gold club, I thought that was too much for me, I got on this Greyhound bus. You know all the urban legends about them, right?"

Axel led them down the back, cheerful tongue wagging to the very end. Joel's chest began to lock up and his palms tingled.

"You ever take a Greyhound bus back in the old days? Overnight? Those were wild. You ever see that movie, Midnight Cowboy? Anyway I got on this bus. And you know who was on it? The Army of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. You ever seen Mormons fighting the forces of Satan in sunny Tampa? No?"

Tess gave Joel a slight nod.

He grabbed Axel by the scruff of the neck and turned him ninety degrees. He banged his face against the wall, hard and just once. That was all it took. He let go and Axel's unconscious body slid bonelessly to the floor.

"You haven't seen everything yet," Joel muttered.

Tess lifted the bar on the door and they stepped outside into the crisp winter afternoon. They were going to have to book it if they'd make it back to their own Olive Garden before dark.

[stylesloveclub]

No ur so right I think it’s the facial hair but that’s d*ddy who’s gone golfing and you’re with him wearing a cute little skirt and he totally copped a feel and has been teasing you the entire time and tells you to be a good girl for him and wait until you guys get home cause he’s gonna destroy you <3

bestie…. like obviously u don't care about golf and u tease harry for going golfing so often bc it's such an old man sport but for some reason he goes all the time and u just go with him to be his cute little gf <3 u ride with him in the golf cart and sit in the shade while he plays and u make sure that he's hydrated and ur constantly trying to get him to wear more sunscreen bc ur a princess like that and he needs to develop more healthy habits !!!! and ofc ur dressed up all cute bc u like the cute golfing skirts w one those tight little tops and ur skirt is so flowy and short that ur cute ass is on display for him whenever u bend over !!! so ofc ofc he can't help but like … rest his hand on ur thigh when he's driving u guys around in the golf cart and sloooowly trace his fingers up and under ur skirt to feel u <3 and if he ever makes it in a hole he comes over and gets his little celebratory kiss and w his hand ur ass, his big palm groping u and feeling u up under ur little skirt :) and ofc…. d*ddy needs to show u how to play ! so he gives u one of his club and positions u in front of the tee and bends u forward into the right position so that ur ass is sticking out and gets behind u, and he's so close to u and his hands wrap around ur waist to help u hold the club the right way and he's whispering instructions into ur ear and he's ever so subtly pressing his cock against u :) and even tho he practically does all the work , like he positions u and even holds ur hands and swings the golf club for u ,, he still tells u how good u did and tells u that he'll give u a reward when u guys get home :-)

[odinsblog]

PALM BEACH, Fla. — For a time, Anna de Rothschild boasted of her family roots to the European banking dynasty, donning designer clothes, a Rolex watch, and driving a $170,000 black Mercedes-Benz SUV.

She talked about developing a sprawling luxury housing project on Emerald Bay in the Bahamas, a high-rise hotel in Monaco, and a Formula One race track in Miami, say people who knew her.

A pivotal moment for the woman who was fluent in several languages took place last year when she was invited to Mar-a-Lago, where she mingled with former President Donald Trump’s supporters and showed up the next day for a golf outing with Mr. Trump and Sen. Lindsey Graham among other political luminaries.

But the 33-year-old woman was not a member of the famous banking family, and is now a subject of a widening FBI investigation that has delved into her past financial activities and the events that led her to the former president’s home.

“It was the near-perfect ruse and she played the part,” said John LeFevre, a former investment banker who met her with other guests around a club pool.

Traitors

[naturecoaster]

Ozello Florida

Ozello Florida (or as the locals pronounce it Ozelluh) can be found between Crystal River and Homosassa by turning onto Highway 494 from U.S. 19. This winding two-lane blacktop is called “The Ozello Trail,” and it twists and turns through St. Martins Aquatic Preserve, a 23,000-acre wildlife preserve owned by the citizens of Florida and managed by the DNR. (There's a map at the end of this article.) As one snakes along the seemingly endless salt marsh flats, a building here and a building there lead to a tight-knit community of about 400 residents living on a chain of islands, inlets, and peninsulas that are a part of Florida’s Nature Coast. Watersports, such as fishing and kayaking, are popular. The perfect souvenir, an Ozello University Sleepin' Dogs T, is available at the local store. A university and a famed golf course are alluded to on the internet, but we couldn’t find them. There is a great seafood restaurant with magical views. A whole lot of natural beauty and “old Florida” lifestyle abounds here. Ozello Florida is the Nature Coast's Keys Ozello has a peaceful, natural vibe. It’s the kind of place where you can forget the hustle and bustle of a fast-paced society, kick up your heels, and enjoy the breeze on a hot summer’s day. Its residents appear to be both laid back and hardy. Ozello sunsets are to be savored... Residents have been enjoying Ozello Florida since the late 1800s. The Florida Department of Agriculture reports that Ozello’s population in 1880 was zero. By 1900, 49 people lived on the chain of islands that makes up this unincorporated piece of unspoiled Citrus County. The population included 4 black residents, Benjamin F. Early, a merchant from Pennsylvania and a widower; the Bryant Moody family, merchants including Bevious V. Burt, listed as a tie contractor; Edward Wheeler, James Jones, and Joseph Brown were three of the twenty farmers living in Ozello, along with four fishermen which included Dupree Wheeler and Joseph Wadington. Island School Boat The Ozello School Boat was constructed on a central island with the justification that a child that could not row a boat by the age of six was "beyond the hope of education." The school was built on an Indian mound on a small island in the middle of the river. This was agreeable because it was said that a child who could not row a boat by the time he was six years old was beyond the hope of education. At first, there was a log house with a palm-thatched roof that was used for the school, then later came a frame structure of about 20 by 30 feet. The Ozello schoolhouse gained world-wide recognition as “The Isle of Knowledge” when noted cartoonist Robert L. Ripley featured it in his syndicated newspaper feature, “Believe It or Not!” The Ozello School was built on an Indian mound. The building was destroyed in a storm, but the residents used its platform for roller skating for a time. Since 1943, when Mrs. Martin resigned as the teacher, Ozello's children have been transported by school boat and bus to Crystal River schools. School boats have been used in many Florida counties since schooling became mandatory in 1939. St. Martin's Aquatic Preserve St. Martins Aquatic Preserve comprises 23,000 acres of islands and natural habitat, protecting flora and fauna from development. Although many of the original cabins are gone due to the State’s creation of St. Martin’s Aquatic Preserve in 1990, requiring the elimination of residents’ and squatters’ cabins, the town of Ozello remains intact, with its water tower, volunteer fire department, Civic Club, and Baptist church. The End of the Road in Ozello is a Public Park When you reach the Ozello water tower, you've arrived! Pirates Cove was originally a restaurant and bar located at the end of the island – looking out onto the Gulf. It was quite a hopping place in the 1990s, but was destroyed by the no-name storm. Today a boat ramp and park are fine places for enjoying the sunset without disturbing the wildlife. When you see the water tower, you’ve arrived… "Ozello's unique location on the Gulf Coast allows for kayakers to have a breathtaking experience with Mother's Nature's majestic wildlife. This unusual, tight-knit community offers many opportunities for residents to visit and interact – both on and off the water. Peck’s Old Port Cove Peck’s Old Port Cove Restaurant began when Calvin Peck moved to Ozello from Ohio in the 1980s and bought the restaurant from Aunt Myrtle Clifton. It was Aunt Myrtle's house, but she had installed a few bar stools back in the '40s so she could serve beer to the servicemen who landed on the military airstrip down the street. The restaurant has been expanded and improved over the years. After 24 hairpin turns and 9.3 miles of “are we there yet,” Peck’s is always a welcome sight. Peck's Old Port Cove is a destination restaurant, with a blue crab farm on-premises. This iconic restaurant features one of the few blue crab farms in the U.S. The daily harvest of these delicacies brings people for miles. In fact, one time Galen Hall and his Florida Gators drove all the way here to try Peck’s fine seafood samplings! The Annual Ozello Craft Show and Chili Cookoff each February The Ozello Craft Show and Chili Cookoff helps to raise funds for the Civic Association. Each Spring, there is a new Chili Cook-off date. The purpose of the Ozello Civic Association is to preserve Ozello’s unique historic character, enhance the quality of life in Ozello, and promote a cohesive community of visitors, residents, businesses, and institutions. Every February, the Ozello Civic Association puts on its Chili Cookoff – an event that draws people from all over the area. Cash prizes for the top 3 chilis, crafts, a chili dinner, and the chance to win a kayak are the main draws. Ozello has been called "The Western Keys of Florida." Do you agree? This Chili Cookoff was started about 2005 as a small friendly competition between Civic members and it has grown exponentially throughout the years.  The last ten years have also featured local artists and craft vendors which add a lot to the festivities. It went so well that a fine arts show was added in the fall. Proceeds from these events support the Ozello Civic Association and 50 volunteers help make it happen! This fun event takes place at the “hub” of Ozello: on the grounds of the Civic Association and community Church. Island Life... Old Florida Style is found in Ozello Lloyd Debusk was born in Ozello, Florida, in 1938. His sisters attended school in the old Ozello island schoolhouse by rowing the family boat there, but John got to take the school boat to Homosassa for his education. The islands are full of remnants of pioneer homes and old landmarks. The buildings have changed quite a bit over the years, but the islands that make up this community endure and those who choose to reside in Ozello know how to get around and enjoy what the Lord has made. By working together, Ozello’s islanders have chosen to preserve a way of life that has all but faded away in many parts of Florida. Visiting Ozello is just a quick turn off U.S. 19 between Homosassa and Crystal River. The drive through St. Martin’s Aquatic Preserve up to Pirates Park is meandering and peaceful. The first residents were farmers and fishermen and there hasn’t been any large-scale development. Here is a video to help you enjoy the drive virtually: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3h1wTTrp1Cc Waterfowl and dolphins intermingle for their enjoyment, as well as ours. This waterfront community values the slower pace and neighborly traits of a time gone by. - And those who have the “right stuff” can call it home. Map of Ozello, courtesy of Ozello.net, who provided many of the images for this article. You can visit the site for more information on this unique place on Florida's Nature Coast. More information on Ozello can be found at Ozello.net Read the full article

[notsocheezy]

Brain Curd #11

Brain Curds are lightly edited flash fiction, posted daily and usually written with the intention of being terrible… in an endearing way. Please enjoy.

Millionaire Robert Green lined up his shot from the tee box. It was a par four, but a fairly straight shot. His score was lower than ever before, but a bogey on the eighteenth hole could erase all his achievements today.

He widened his stance and wiped the sweat of his palms onto his pants. This was his moment. He brought back the club, swung, and… it was a slice.

“Fuck!” He yelled, nearly involuntarily. He threw his driver to the ground.

Alex laughed from the drivers’ seat of the golf cart. Robert heard him.

“What the fuck are you laughing at, caddy?”

Alex's face straightened out immediately. “Nothing, sir.”

“That's what I thought.” Robert looked at his club on the ground. “Are you going to pick that up or not?”

Alex nodded and jogged over. He bent over, picked up the club, and placed it in Green's hand.

“And you didn't see a thing. Capisce?”

“Of course, sir.”

“Good.”

Calmed with the knowledge that he could get away with cheating, Robert found his next shot more satisfactory. He finished with a par on the hole.

Alex drove the cart back into the depot and plugged it into a charger cable hanging from the ceiling. The light didn't come on, so he banged his fist on it until it made a connection. He walked over to the caddy corner, sat on a stool next to Brian, and took out a joint.

“Got a light?” He asked Brian.

“No way, man. Put that thing away!” He looked out the garage door to make sure no one was around. “We're not supposed to smoke in here!”

“Ugh, fine.” He put the joint back in his pocket and pulled out a vape the size and shape of a deck of cards. He took a long pull and exhaled a massive cloud of vapor. “Guess who I just had to wait on for four hours?”

“Lindsey Pope?”

“No, worse.”

“Oh, shit. Green?”

Alex exhaled another puff. “Yeah, fucking Green. Man, did you see that cloud? That might be the biggest one I've ever done.”

“Did he ask you to ‘forget’ anything this time?”

“Every time. I almost thought he wouldn't today. He was playing really well until I used negative thinking to screw up his drive on eighteen.”

“I don't think that's how golf works.”

“That's how the universe works, dude! Did you watch that YouTube video I sent you? Frank knows his shit.”

“I'm not into conspiracies.”

“It's not a conspiracy theory, it's a proven fact!” Alex spit on the ground and wiped his mouth on his wrist. “You'd know that if you watched anything I sent you.”

“That shit was three hours, man.” Brian took a bite of a day-old danish. “Give me the SparkNotes.”

“Okay, okay, what's something you want?”

“A billion dollars.”

“Picture that in your head.”

“How the fuck am I supposed to picture a billion dollars in my head?”

“Think of what it'd be like. Babes, pools, yachts… playing on the course instead of working for it?”

“I don't care about that shit, man. Give me some Pringles and a couch and no more student debt and I'm good.”

“Whatever. Picture some fucking Pringles.”

“Okay. I'm picturing the Pringles. What flavor?”

“You're not taking any of this seriously.”

“No, no,” Brian patted Alex on the shoulder and closed his eyes. “I got it. Cheddar flavor. What next?”

“Don't waste my time, man. I went to Harvard.”

“Wow, I never knew that. You have never mentioned it.”

“Fuck you, dude.” Alex pulled from his vape for what seemed like a full thirty seconds. He released the button and began coughing up Froot Loops scented pseudo-steam like an asthmatic water dragon.

Brian opened his eyes and gasped sarcastically. He fumbled around in his bag and pulled out a small can of Cheddar Pringles. “It fucking worked, dude!” He popped off the lid and pulled off the paper seal.

Alex crossed his arms and slouched in his chair.

“Oh, come on man, I'm only playing.” Brian pulled a crisp from the can and waved it in front of Alex's face. “Want one?”

Alex begrudgingly took it and stuck it in his mouth, crunching down as angrily as he could. “I should own this fucking place. It'd be on the fucking moon by now.”

“Like Dogecoin?”

“Bro, no, not like Dogecoin. I mean for real. I'd kick out all the assholes like Bob Green and people would actually like coming here. But if it's gonna happen, it needs to happen fast. I've got a plan. Have you ever heard of drop shipping?”

“No.”

“Perfect, let me explain. Can I have another chip?”

[mccarrealestate03]

Beyond Luxury: Explore Ocean Club Homes Bahamas

Settled inside the amazing scenes of the Bahamas lies an unmatched safe house of extravagance residing - Ocean Club homes Bahamas. Prestigious as one of the best gated networks internationally, Sea Club Homes offers a way of life of richness, tastefulness, and tranquility. Flaunting a fashioner fairway, a lofty club house, top notch tennis offices, flawless finishing, and admittance to an eminent ocean side with impeccable perspectives, this territory is the exemplification of refined residing. With proprietor participation advantages and homes that ooze extravagance, Ocean Club homes Bahamas remains as the Hamptons of the Bahamas, welcoming you to encounter the apex of waterfront residing.

From the second you step foot intoOcean Club homes Bahamas, you're welcomed with a feel of refinement and quietness. The carefully planned fairway, organized by top draftsmen, offers a difficult game as well as dazzling perspectives on the encompassing heaven. Whether you're an old pro or a beginner golf player, each swing is a joy against the scenery of sky blue waters and rich vegetation.

The core of Sea Club Homes beats inside its esteemed club house, a center point of social movement and refined unwinding. Here, occupants accumulate to appreciate elite conveniences, from high end food encounters to restrictive occasions that encourage a feeling of local area among similar people. With customized administration and meticulousness, each second spent in the club house is a demonstration of the rich way of life Sea Club Homes offers.

For those enthusiastically for tennis, Sea Club Homes gives best in class offices that take special care of players, all things considered. Whether you're leveling up your abilities with a confidential mentor or participating in well disposed coordinates with neighbors, the tennis courts offer a unique space to remain dynamic while partaking in the tropical breeze and staggering vistas.

Past the flawless offices, Sea Club Homes values its faultless arranging, fastidiously kept up with to exhibit the normal excellence of the Bahamas. Lavish nurseries, influencing palm trees, and energetic verdure make a beautiful scenery for comfortable walks or calm snapshots of examination, drenching occupants in a peaceful desert spring of serenity.

As an individual from Sea Club Homes, you get sufficiently close to restrictive proprietor helps that raise your residing experience higher than ever. From need reservations at the club house to celebrity admittance to occasions and conveniences, each part of your visit is customized to meet your insightful preferences and inclinations.

Be that as it may, the genuine crown gem of Sea Club Homes lies in its rich homes, carefully created to encapsulate the exemplification of waterfront residing. Each house is a work of art of plan and craftsmanship, highlighting customized insides, sweeping residing spaces, and all encompassing perspectives on the sea or green. Whether you favor a contemporary manor or an immortal domain, each home inside Sea Club Homes is a demonstration of extravagance and complexity.

All in all, Ocean Club homes Bahamas rises above the conventional, offering a way of life of unrivaled extravagance, complexity, and serenity. With its elite conveniences, select proprietor benefits, and extravagant homes, Sea Club Homes remains as a signal of richness in the core of heaven. Come, experience the Hamptons of the Bahamas, where each second is imbued with the pith of waterfront residing.

[friendsaqua]

What are the most exciting parasailing and parasailing rides in Dubai to get the best sea view?

Dubai, known for its luxurious lifestyle, breathtaking skyline, and magnificent sandy beaches, offers many thrilling water activities in dubai marina for adventure seekers. Among the many water sports Dubai has to offer, parasailing stands out as one of the most exhilarating and awe-inspiring experiences available for those looking to enjoy panoramic city views from a bird's eye perspective. Parasailing is a popular water activity in Dubai, giving thrill-seekers the chance to soar high above the glistening waters of the Persian Gulf while taking in the stunning sights of the city's iconic landmarks. There are several locations in Dubai where you can enjoy this exciting activity, each offering a unique and unforgettable parasailing experience.

1. Jumeirah Beach:

Jumeirah Beach is one of the most popular destinations in Dubai for water sports enthusiasts. This pristine stretch of sandy shoreline is dotted with luxury hotels, resorts, and beach clubs offering a range of activities for visitors to enjoy. Parasailing at Jumeirah Beach provides an unparalleled opportunity to take in the stunning views of Dubai's famous landmarks, including the iconic Burj Al Arab hotel and the city's towering skyline. Feel the thrill as you are lifted into the air by a speedboat and soar high above the azure waters of the Arabian Gulf. The clear blue skies and warm sun create the perfect backdrop for an unforgettable parasailing experience at Jumeirah Beach.

2. Dubai Marina:

Dubai Marina is another popular hotspot for water sports and recreational activities in Dubai. Known for its stunning waterfront promenade, vibrant atmosphere, and stylish yachts, Dubai Marina offers a unique setting for parasailing enthusiasts seeking an adrenaline-pumping adventure. Parasailing at Dubai Marina allows you to take in panoramic views of the city's impressive skyline, futuristic architecture, and bustling marina filled with luxury boats and yachts. The thrill of being towed behind a powerful speedboat while floating high above the sparkling waters of the marina is an experience not to be missed.

3. The Palm Jumeirah:

The Palm Jumeirah, Dubai's iconic artificial island shaped like a palm tree, is a premier destination for luxury living, entertainment, and water sports activities. Parasailing at The Palm Jumeirah offers a truly unique and unforgettable experience, as you glide through the air with unbeatable views of the island's magnificent villas, hotels, and attractions. Marvel at the grandeur of Atlantis, The Palm resort from high above, and soak in the beauty of the clear blue waters surrounding this breathtaking man-madewonder. Parasailing at The Palm Jumeirah promises an exhilarating and memorable adventure that will leave you in awe of Dubai's architectural prowess and natural beauty.

4. Dubai Creek:

For a more traditional and cultural experience, parasailing at Dubai Creek provides a different perspective of the city, showcasing the contrast between old and new Dubai. As you soar high above the historic waterway, you can admire the traditional Arabic architecture of the old town, the bustling souks, and the serene Dubai Creek Golf & Yacht Club. Enjoy a peaceful and picturesque parasailing adventure while taking in the sights and sounds of this historic area, offering a unique glimpse into Dubai's rich heritage and modern development.

In conclusion, parasailing in Dubai is an exhilarating water activity that offers a thrilling way to experience the city's stunning sights and breathtaking views. Whether you choose to soar above the sparkling waters of Jumeirah Beach, Dubai Marina, The Palm Jumeirah, or Dubai Creek, each location offers a unique and unforgettable parasailing experience that will leave you with lasting memories of your time in this vibrant and dynamic city. So, pack your sense of adventure and prepare to take to the skies for an extraordinary parasailing ride that promises the best sea view of Dubai's iconic landmarks and beautiful surroundings. Experience the thrill of parasailing in Dubai and discover the city from a whole new perspective high above the sparkling waters of the Persian Gulf. Dubai sea activities are an exciting way to make the most of your time in this glamorous city, and parasailing is undoubtedly one of the most exhilarating and visually stunning water sports to try.

In addition to the exhilarating parasailing experiences in Dubai, visitors can also indulge in a wide range of other water sports and sea activities to make the most of their time in this dynamic city. From jet skiing and flyboarding to paddleboarding and deep-sea fishing, Dubai offers a plethora of options for water sports enthusiasts of all levels. Explore the vibrant underwater world with snorkeling and scuba diving excursions, or embark on a thrilling speedboat tour to discover Dubai's iconic landmarks from the water. water sports in dubai jumeirah beach are thrilling and a great way to cool off from the scorching sun and enjoy the refreshing waters of the Arabian Gulf.

For those seeking a unique and luxurious experience, consider booking a parasailing adventure at sunset to witness the dramatic transformation of Dubai's skyline as it lights up with a stunning display of colors. Parasailing at dusk offers a magical and romantic setting, perfect for couples enjoying a memorable and intimate experience high above the glittering waters. As the sun dips below the horizon and the city comes alive with twinkling lights, you'll be treated to a breathtaking aerial view that is truly unforgettable. Whether soaring high above the bustling marina or gliding along the golden shores of Jumeirah Beach, parasailing in Dubai at sunset promises a once-in-a-lifetime experience that captures the essence of this vibrant city in a truly spectacular way.

[tradedmiami]

SALE IMAGE: Chris L. Cline, Michael Young, Andrew Leibowitz & Michael Leibowitz DATE: 02/29/2024 ADDRESS: 12244 Tillinghast Circle MARKET: Palm Beach Gardens ASSET TYPE: Single Family BUYER: Candice Cline Kenan, Chris L. Cline & Alex T. Cline SELLER: Joseph & Julie Lashinger - Tillinghast Venture Holdings LLC BUYER'S REP: Michael Young - Dale Sorensen Real Estate (@DaleSorensenRealEstate) SELLER'S REP: Andrew Leibowitz & Michael Leibowitz - Leibowitz Realty Group (@LeibowitzRealty) SALE PRICE: $19,500,000 SF: 10,461 ~ PPSF: $1,864 NOTE: The family of late coal billionaire Chris Cline bought a $19.5 million spec mansion in Palm Beach Gardens’ Old Palm Golf Club from Joseph and Julie Lashinger’s Tillinghast Venture Holdings LLC. The 10,500-square-foot estate, boasting six bedrooms and a guest house, adds to the family's portfolio in the upscale gated community. #Miami #RealEstate #tradedmia #MIA #PalmBeachGardens #SingleFamily #AndrewLeibowitz #MichaelLeibowitz #LeibowitzRealtyGroup #MichaelYoung #DaleSorensenRealEstate #JosephLashinger #JulieLashinger #TillinghastVentureHoldingsLLC #CandiceClineKenan #ChrisLCline #AlexTCline

[yaoogui]

The axe is heavy in his hand, a sensation he will never get tired of. Making it sway and swing like a golf club : handling it with one hand at first to check on the weight, the balance, the pressure of his knuckles against the wood. He then manoeuvres it in sharp and controlled moves like a choregraphy, his other hand joined to the first in order to have a firm, good grip on it. A man who learned with blades then moved to axes as it was so much more fun. He strengthens then, not entirely satisfied, humming to himself. "Naaa..." He starts, not entirely displeased, not entirely pleased either, his lips pressed together and twisting, unconvinced. "I know you got better than that Maria Magdalena ( @sourwit ), don't hide your prettiest babies from me. " He says pointing at her with the axe he's holding, tilting his head to one side - not that he's threatening her, just simply holding that thing like he's holding a damn pen. He inhales deeply then, the palms of his hands open as if searching for the scent of something a little distant and divine, looking up to the ceiling, his torso hovering. "Mmmm see, I can small them, I can smell the iron and the wood. I can hear them you know, begging to slide into flesh and make daddy happy mmmm fuck." Dai then adds, cleching his fist with passion, this time closing his eyes, humming in pleasure to the thought of the perfect little axe in his hands, the One he's hoping to get his hand on his friday night plans. Maria Madgalena. He likes that little girl. A little girl to him as they are exactly 13 years apart but funnily he's barely 10 centimeters taller than her. Yes, Yamazaki Dai isn't much of a tall man. Their partnership is only at its birth as both yet have to conquer the Korean underground scene. Her, freshly carrying her father's business and him, advanced enough with the territory he gained in the country but Oh, he needs more. Her prices are fair and as a fresh successsor, he dms aren't crowling under rival gangs requesting special appointments to test the merchandise : he likes availability. Last but not least, she is a passionate, just like him. " I got a hot date tonight. With some adorable little MOTHERFUCKERS," the last word is spoken louder, articulated, a tense smile on his lips, his manic eyes widen open, as the simple thought of it all gives him rushes of anger, his index finger raised to make a point, the veins of his neck and forehead showing as the air is chased through his nostrils, like an animal, a bull. ", who thought it was Fun to try and cross me. WAAAW. ME??" Dai questions outloud, pointing at his own self as if now conversing with himself, looking to the side as if addressing to other people around, the skin of his face turning redder and redder, heat under his skull. "Come on no seriously, ME??!" Exclaims Dai out loud playing a whole pleading for an imaginary court, his voice turning deeper and deeper. "HAH.HAHAHAHAHAHA. You give a man ONE DEAL and they think it's okayyyyy to try and Fuck ME in the ass." He keeps on laughing this time, a deranged laughter that has nothing to do with Fun, obviously enjoying his little monologue, he is his best audience after all. The Matsushita clan, a smaller organization wanting to settle in Seoul who pretended an allianceship before trying to cut some deals that would go against Yamazaki Clan's business. Most of them have been killed by Dai's men already. Only three got away, the three top dogs and Oh, for these ones, Dai did not want to use no henchmen, no guns, no games no, he needed something close to his traditions, a good old axe and the promise of fractured knees, smashed skulls and their precious little limbs hanging in his slaughter house. Nobody betrays Yamazaki Dai. His eyes, back on Magdalena now. "Come on. Show me."⟶ Dai's permanant starter call