#and on the truckers who tip terribly

[keeksandgigz]

lavender syrup (part one of lessons in alchemy)

barista!eddie munson x fem!barista!reader AU

summary: Eddie is the owner of the most popular cafe in his small town, "The Mad Alchemist," you are the owner of the rival cafe "Daily Drug". You obviously hate each other, but when a pipe bursts into your cafe that might take months to repair, your contractor assigns you and your coworkers to work with Eddie in order to keep your job, just until "Daily Drug" is ready to run again. Is tolerating him really that big of a feat?

cw: 4k words, swearing, modern setting, allusions to smut but nothing explicit (yet), Eddie calls reader a bitch a couple times and he's such a condescending asshole but in a hot way, i feel like the sexual tension needs its own tw, Steve is also in this <3

a/n: pls like and reblog and feedback is always so very much appreciated!! my requests are always open if u wanna chat <3

divider by @benkeibear

Eddie Munson wasn’t the type to want much from life. He was content in his little town, managing the coffee shop that kept it alive. From the early morning crew of truckers, farmers, nurses and cops to the 9 am rushes of the corporate job workers from one town over to the yoga moms, the high schoolers after the ring of the last bell. Eddie Munson did not have any big plans for his life. The little coffee shop made him enough money that he was able to take care of his uncle, now retired, and live by himself in a small apartment with his roommate, Steve. 

He got an associate’s degree in business, and after that he opened “The Mad Alchemist Cafe,” a DnD themed rustic coffee shop filled with beakers, lights and plants. The exposed brick the “interior designer” (it really was just a friend who had a good eye) begged him to paint over was instead littered with posters of announcements. He would host poetry slams, band performances, most importantly DnD campaigns he'd have to close down the cafe for in the evenings. For a few years he had also been hosting Christmas and Thanksgiving dinners for those who didn’t have a family to go home to for the holidays. 

He hired his roommate and closest friend, Steve to be the baker. Straight out of cooking school, Steve Harrington took care of the sweet and savory. The thousand- layer croissants that would melt once slightly placed on the tip of the tongue. Airy, buttery pastry that made Eddie's customers sigh with every bite, as they lingered on the wooden bar, conversing with the baristas. The lunch hour crew, asking for meatball sandwiches and messy pasta bowls. He’d make turkeys for the dinners at the cafe, during the holiday season, along with insurmountable potato dishes and stuffing. 

Eddie's life was littered with small sprinkles of joy. Everyone knew him as the kid from the cafe, with his long hair, sticking out of the messy bun he would wear to work. It started off as a joke in middle school, when Eddie's hair was buzzed due to a lice epidemic. Steve had miserably beat him at the arcade. He had grown fond of the long hair though, and added to the mystique of his coffee shop. It was also metal as fuck.

He felt like he was the main accessory to his lovely brick building; there would not have been  “The Mad Alchemist Cafe” without Eddie Munson, something that both staff and customers knew. The cafe would also not have been the cafe without the three years long rivalry with the only other cafe on their side of town, “Daily Drug” that opened a year after Eddie’s. The brand new establishment that started taking customers from him, claiming that their chai lattes and breakfast sandwiches were to die for.

Eddie had not interacted much with you, the owner of the cafe. Your bossy, stuck up and overall terrible attitude were a house trade mark there. He had been in the cafe though, and understood why “Daily Drug” was such an incredible contender to his establishment. The ambiance was different, like a Pinterest board had come to life. The pink and blue tile that decorated the walls as well as the ironic bitchy posters that ranged from a snarky “What are you looking at?” to a direct and curt “don’t be an asshole” decorated the walls. 

It was nothing like the cafe Eddie had imagined, the colorful palette contrasting with the caricaturistic mean and sarcastic ways of the staff, whose bitterness might have actually improved the taste of their coffee, as their lavender lattes tasted way sweeter, the syrup not overpowering the taste of the coffee, perfectly blended with the best milk for the beverage, which he found was almond.

You could have easily spat in his cup, but you serve him with feigned kindness as you make sure to make him hear a soundly “UGH could he be any more annoying?” to a blonde haired coworker, whose name he finds out later is Colette. Colette erupts in laughter as she serves his lavender latte with an egg and sausage burrito with a side of aggressive side eye. You had definitely spat in his drink. 

A fifteen- minute car ride later, Eddie enters his cafe begrudged by his inability to master a lavender latte. The taste of his in- house lavender syrup is too artificial, while “Daily Drug”’s try as he might is a flavor that he had never encountered.

The lavender provides a sweet flavor to the drink that pairs perfectly with the bitter coffee and the creamy taste of the almond milk without the artificial aftertaste. He beelines to the back of the building, to the room he called his lab, setting down his bag on a stool next to him as he takes a bored bite out of the egg and sausage burrito. Hm. Steve's is better. 

He jots down some notes in his journal. Try lemon for lavender syrup. Fennel seed in the sausage. Paprika maybe? Definitely garlic. He should have listened to his uncle and he should have gone to cooking school before he had opened the restaurant. He knew that he had the talent for it, Steve had even asked him to apply together, but he felt like it was not his true calling. 

“Your true calling is bossing everyone around, Ed” said his uncle with a laugh, one of the many sleepless nights he had spent mulling over the cafe during its early days. A knock startles him from his reverie. It's Steve. 

“Hey, didn’t see you come in. Are you still stressing over that lavender syrup thing?” he leans on the doorframe, half smiling at Eddie. He came in too early. Him and Steve were kind of the same in that regard, once haunted by an idea, they would not rest until it was executed. 

“What was it this morning? Strawberry frosting on matcha rolls?” says Eddie taking another bite out of his stale burrito.

"Nah, it's for the Halloween special, I'm trying to figure out the menu. We need to remember to add more nutmeg to the pumpkin spice syrup this year" Steve says, crossing his arms.

"Shit, yeah, I almost forgot. Also, this" Eddie shakes his burrito towards his friend "does not compare to yours by, like, miles. The sausage is too dry and the egg too cooked" Steve shrugs and fixes his glasses with a smug smile.

"Knew it." Eddie laughs at that, then proceeds to scribble in his leather bound notebook. Then the phone rings.

"Hey Steve, do you mind getting that?" Eddie says, not moving his head from the notebook.

"You got it boss" Steve heads towards the phone in Eddie's office.

"'Mad Alchemist Cafe' Steve speaking...Mhm...yeah, Eddie's in...oh shit" at that, Eddie turns his head.

"What is it, what's wrong Steve?" his tone alarmed as he paces towards the phone.

"Yeah no he's here you can talk to him, Jim" Steve passes the phone, making a face, the corners of his mouth pulled as if he were in trouble. "It's Jim" his contractor. Fuck.

Eddie presses the phone to his ear "Hey Jim, what's up?" his tone tense and cautious.

"Hey, kid, I don't know how to tell you this, but a pipe burst at 'Daily Drug'" Jim sounds scared, but Eddie is still struggling to figure out what that had to do with him, other than the fact that he would finally get back his traitorous customers who had gone to the dark side when “Daily Drug” opened.

"Yeah, ok, and that's my problem because?" he's annoyed at the ominous way Jim called at 8 in the morning concerned for his rival cafe's burst pipes.

"Are you sitting down, kid?" Ed rolls his eyes, he's getting seriously pissed off at this whole mystery thing his contractor's getting at.

"Yeah, Jim. Fuck sake just spit it out"

"Alright, alright no need to get aggressive" Jim takes a deep breath in "In order for the girls at 'Daily Drug' to keep their jobs you need to hire them, at least until the shop is up and running again." Oh shit indeed. Jim trails off, waiting for a reaction.

"How long Jim?" Eddie's fuming.

"It could take up to six months, really, the pipe fucked up the whole kitchen so they need to redo the back and stuff, hell it might take a year knowing how slow these fuckers operate" Jim exhales, he's probably shaking. Eddie did not make his contempt for “Daily Drug” unknown.

“Jesus Christ Jim you can’t do this to me. You know how much that- that bitch hates me. Everytime I go there I'm pretty sure she spits in my coffee. I'm actually convinced they all do, Jim" he's spiraling.

"C'mon kid, don't be stupid. That would violate an incredibly long amount of regulations and they would need to close down if it were true. Which I don't think it is" Jim sounds like he's finding this amusing now.

"This is not funny. And- and then what? The owner just comes in here and she starts actin' like she owns the place? We start sharing responsibilities? That's real cute, Jim, y'know that? Incredibly cute." Only then Eddie had notices how hard he had been gripping the phone. And the armrest of his chair.

"Eddie, you're throwing a tantrum. The owner doesn't hate you, they're hired under the agency and I just pulled some strings because I know you and these girls- these girls have families to support and I didn't want to scatter them all across town. I know they will be in good hands, they're not your employees, Eddie. Get it in that thick skull or I'm closing your shit down" Fuck. He's backed up into a corner.

"Alright. When do they start?" He grabs a pen and a piece of paper and scribbles Daily Drug start dates.

"Okay, so we have eight employees. Four of them are going across town, I have that cafe there. The rest are going to you- Virginia, Colette, Chrissy and the owner are all going to your cafe. They start tomorrow at 9 am. Better brush up on those training books, kid." Jim snickers.

"You're hilarious, Jim y'know that?" he quickly jots down the names and the time, stopping at your name for a second, before putting an angry face next to it.

"Aw, come on, kid. Maybe it might be a great way for you all to bond and put this stupid rivalry behind"

"Yeah- yeah no, and then we're gonna ride on the rainbow towards a pot of gold and do a little jig. Of course, Jim. I am healed already. Listen, I'll call you tomorrow after everything- if that bitch doesn't put a knife at my throat, speaking of, I should hide them" he seethes.

"Don't stress Ed. You'll be okay, what matters is that-" Jim never gets to finish that sentence, blocked by the violent slam of Eddie's phone back into its socket.

"FUCKING SHIT" he yells, kicking the bottom of his desk.

"I take it wasn't good news?" Steve leans on the threshold of Eddie's office.

"Steve- God I want to punch something. The owner of 'Daily Drug' in here. She's gonna kill me. Hide the knives"

"If I didn't know you like the back of my hand I'd say you're a little scared of her, Ed."

"Have you seen her? She's terrifying. So mean. I'd be turned on if she wasn't my archenemy" and he does have eyes, he thinks you're attractive. He's fantasized about putting you in your place, sometimes. About shutting your mouth up, see how witty you were after he'd make you go dumb from a few rounds.

He shakes his head. He has to stop.

"Well, maybe you can be nice to her so we can steal her lavender syrup recipe" Steve suggests. And as morally wrong as that sounds, you've spit in his drink before, so what's a bit of foul play compared to an FDA violation?

"Steven you might be onto something, but for now let's just worry about surviving tomorrow- God I know it's gonna be awful" Eddie says. As he said that, one of his employees, Jeff, comes knocking at his office.

"Eddie, the owner of the other cafe is here, she's asking for you." Eddie's eyes widen. The fuck is she doing here?

"The fuck- Okay thank you, Jeff. Send her back here." He dismisses his barista and Steve follows him back into the kitchen.

There is no hiding you're angry. Starting a job at a place where you knew everyone hated you seemed a bit of a cunt move from Jim, and there you are. Heading towards Eddie Munson's office, walking like you own the damn place.

"You look a little too sure of yourself for someone who lost their cafe, sweetheart. What is it, hm? What are you doing here?"

His condescending tone only stokes your anger more.

"I just came here to see the place, see if I have to dumb myself down. Maybe you guys don't know what cortados are" Feigned pity in your face.

"If you've come here to be a bitch you can go right home. One call to Jim and I can end this arrangement as quickly as it started, let's not get like that, m'kay?" his smile is devilish and god it's so hard to not find him attractive even when you want to rip him to shreds for threatening you.

"I didn't come here to bitch. I wanted to pick up our aprons? You guys have cute aprons. At least you have good taste in something" you scoff, and he shoots you a look. Fucking brat.

"Yeah- um" Eddie stands up from his desk and reaches for a box in the corner of his office "I'll give you two each. Try to keep 'em clean, I don't like dirty aprons. I've seen how messy you guys are at the cafe, that won't fly here 'kay? We really value cleanliness and order here"

"How clean can a cafe run by a man really be, huh? that's probably why your lights are so dim" he wants to kill you, but also pin you against the wall and shove his tongue down your throat so you can stop talking.

"You've had a long morning, sweetheart. Why don't you go home and sleep it off? I'm afraid you're letting off all this negative energy here and we don't want that. Not here" his tone's more stern rather than joking "I'll see ya bright an' early tomorrow morning at nine. Please don't come late, yeah?" he winks at you, cueing you to leave.

As you cross the threshold of the cafe you cannot possibly fathom what was it that left you so flustered and with an insatiable hunger between your thighs.

You pick up your coworker Colette on the way to work the morning after, presenting her with a bagel and all your rage directed towards Eddie. 

“No, Col, you don’t understand. He threatened to call Jim for a little remark. You know how insane that is? He’s gonna use whatever sick power he thinks he has over me to make me stay in line. Nope, no sir not with me” you say, turning into the parking lot of the cafe. 

“This Eddie guy really is an asshole, huh?” Colette remarks, getting out of the car. 

“You have no idea, it’s like he thinks he’s the shit or something just because the whole town loves him” 

“Everyone does love me, sweetheart. Good morning ladies, I’d recommend getting in, you have five minutes.” Eddie's right behind you, closing the trunk of his van, wearing one of his dumb satanic shirts. It's black, arms covered by a ratty black leather jacket. His hair is down and a messenger bag littered with button pins is slung over his shoulder, resting on his hip. All it takes is one snide remark and then he's gone inside the shop. 

You don't realize you're staring until Colette pinches the back of your arm, you reach for the affected area. “Babes, not him. Literally anyone but him, you have literally spent the whole car ride talking about how much of an asshole he is” 

“I have eyes, Col. He’s hot, and as much as I’d love to sleep with him, my hatred for this asshole is a bit too strong. I’d probably punch him mid- act anyway” you snicker and follow Eddie inside the store. Virginia and Chrissy are already inside, you shoot them a comforting look and a light touch to Virginia’s arm, who seriously lookes like she's about to cry.

“You okay, Gin?” you ask, lightly elbowing her arm. 

“No, I- I’m okay. Just nervous, also a bit scared. The boss seems mean” she trembles. She's only seventeen, after all. She's been working since she had been able to, if not before. Taking babysitting jobs until she turned fifteen, then just started taking customer service jobs, until she stumbled inside “Daily Drug,” with the extensive resume she had, she had been easy to hire. 

“He’s an asshole, but don’t let him intimidate you. He can’t do anything without Jim’s approval, just remember that, hun” you squeeze her arm as Eddie enters, having shed his jacket, putting his hair up, and tying the purple apron around his waist. A small, golden tag says his name on the right side of his chest. 

“Good morning, ladies. My name is Eddie, the owner of this fine establishment” he bows, smirking. “The crew at “Mad Alchemist” is deeply sorry about what happened at your cafe. We will do everything in our power to make you guys feel welcome for your short stay here” at the mention of “short” his eyes dart at you. You’re not the only one who hopes this bullshit will be short, dickhead.

You step forward, putting your best polite face on. “Thanks, Eddie. We’re extremely grateful for the opportunity to keep working, and we hope to learn from our time here” you say through gritted teeth. Even being that nice to him feels like nails on a chalkboard on your brain. “These are my baristas- Virginia, Chrissy, and Colette, my baker” you point at each of your girls. 

“Oh Colette, you’re gonna want to meet with Steve, then- He’s my baker and pastry chef. I’m sure you both have a lot of things to talk about, and a lot of work to do since our Halloween special will be dropping in a week from today” a taut smile appears on his lips. 

The guy in the back with the gorgeous head of hair and round glasses whom you assume is Steve waves his hand and Colette shoots you an assuring look before she runs to him, disappearing in the back, where you assume the pastry shop is. 

No one to run to now.

"Perfect, shall we begin?" Eddie's voice feels muffled in your ears as he assigns each one of his baristas to one of yours for training. The cafe has just passed its early morning peak time, meaning that in a couple hours you will have a lunch rush. Everything feels like it's moving too fast.

The noises around you become clear again when Eddie grazes the bare skin of your arm. You shiver. Unbeknownst to you, his hand flexes at his side.

"Scared, sweetheart? You look like you've seen a ghost..." his mouth is moving, but you can't understand anything of whatever he's saying. You're unconsciously rubbing the area Eddie had touched, his fingers warm yet rough, from all the times he's had to wash his hands throughout the day.

You haven't noticed until now how thick his fingers are. Suddenly, the feeling of a phantom limb reaching out, wrapping a hand around your throat, gently feeling its way down your neck, your shoulders, your clavicle, down your stomach and into-

"You wanna follow me to my office or what? I have a couple questions for you" Eddie breaks you out of your sick reverie, leaving you a bit flushed in the face, afraid to look at him in the eye.

"Yeah-uh sorry. Lead the way" you say, and suddenly the floor becomes very interesting to look at.

Quickly, everyone gets to work. The girls being taught the house drinks by the guys at the bar, whilst you follow Eddie in his office. 

“I just need to know if there’s any schedule preferences from the girls, just in case there’s any conflict. I was thinking, since the Halloween special will be dropping, one of these days you might need to sit in here with me and I’ll give you a proper training of what that entails. Y’know tastings and such.” His demeanor has switched from snarky to utterly professional, for which you thank whatever entity in the sky, allowing you a break from his abrasive behavior. 

He sits down at his desk and pulls out a notepad and a pen. He looks at you with waiting eyes.

“Yeah, um, Virginia has school during the week and can’t work until after three and she can only work four hours on weekdays, three days a week and usually a full shift during the weekend. Chrissy and Colette can work whenever, but please don’t schedule Col at the early hours of the mornings, she actually cannot function. She’s more useful to you awake” you let out a breathy laugh, remembering Colette putting salt instead of sugar in a batch of banana bread muffins. 

In the meantime, Eddie scribbles on his notepad. You feel uneasy in a room with him without the loud tensions of an argument looming, the blood booming in your ears. 

“And you?” he raises an eyebrow, lifting his face from the notepad. 

“Oh, I’ll just come in whenever you need me. I really don’t mind, I just need a good amount of hours. I um- I have my dad to take at the hospital on Saturday mornings, but I can come after” you say, your face tinging a bright red. 

 He scribbles that down, embarrassment visible on your face as the tension in the room becomes suffocating. 

“Alright, I’ll have those schedules ready by the end of the day. I need you to come in tomorrow through Wednesday. Opening shift Monday and Tuesday, you’ll close with me and Chrissy on Wednesday. Sounds good?” he keeps writing down in his notepad, you nod. He tuts “I need words, I can’t see you nodding or shaking your head if I’m writing, can I?” 

“Y-yeah, that sounds good. Sorry” You feel even more embarrassed, the tops of your ears tinging red. 

“Don’t apologize. Just do better next time” Eddie thrums a ringed hand on the edge of his desk. He's never seen you this docile and it puts him off. He was hoping for some snide remark, but you're looking around nervously, playing with the laces of your apron, which he finds enhances the curves and features of your body. Wondering what you’d look like in nothing but that apron, all the exposed skin of your back, shoulders and– 

“Are we done here?” there she is. The snarky question makes him jump, thanking the desk for covering the lower half of his body. 

“Yeah, I can go train you now, just gimme a sec, I’ll meet you outside” I need to get rid of that boner is what he means, but you don't budge. 

“Fuck no, you’re not training me. Gimme someone else” you remark, crossing your arms. 

“God there I thought you weren’t gonna be a bitch today.” He exhales. “How many people do you see in the staff, huh? It's Steve, Gareth, Jeff and I. Not much of a merry group. You either let me train you or the door is that way.” you can tell he’s had enough of you, which only stokes your fire even more.

“Literally anyone but you. You can train Virginia, I’m sure you have a bit of heart to not be a dick to a literal child. Not that she even needs training, she has more knowledge and better work ethics than you assholes” you spit, and you’re sure Eddie wants to kill you. 

“I don’t tolerate this kind of language in my store. I’m sure that’s what attracted all my customers to your store, but you can shut that filthy mouth in here. Now, you’re gonna go out and wait for me to train you, understood?” he's seething. 

“Or what? You can’t do shit Eddie. I’m not your little employee, you can’t fucking threaten me” you're winded, this argument is stupid and you want to punch him. 

“Alright” Eddie stands up abruptly and stalks towards you. “train yourself then.”

His tone is calm and collected, which makes you tremble. He's close. Really close.

“I wanna watch you crash and burn and struggle to make a dragon’s breath latte. You don’t want me to train you? Fine. Perfect. The less time I have to spend away from your bitch mouth the better my day will be. Recipe cards are on the counter. Have fun” he taps his hand on your shoulder and gives you a pulled smile, then walks back to his desk. 

He's fucking brutal.

[soyforramen]

I keep reading posts about the biblical plaques and my brain keeps trying to force it into biblical plagues. So either the writers have dyslexia or they’re referencing the Saint Jaime Luna bible.

[scared-aquarius]

signs as haunted places in Texas

(This post is part of a series where I assign haunted places from each state to the signs)

Aries: Highway 281, between Johnson City and Blanco TX- On August 24, 1885 in Blanco County, Al Lackey went on a murderous rampage, killing six of his family members including his mother, father, brother, daughter, niece and sister-in-law with a shotgun. After slaying these six, he went home and attempted to murder his wife and baby with a knife, however, the wife ran and after his attempt to chase her down failed, he cut his own throat. This did not kill him, however, and he wrapped his wound with a bandana. On horseback, he rode towards town, finding his neighbor who, unaware of the murders just committed, rode alongside him. He noticed the red bandana and thought it was simply red in color, not blood-soaked. During the ride, Lackey lunged at the man, cutting him several times but he, too, managed to escape. The sheriff eventually caught Lackey and after being tended to by physicians was brought to jail. On August 26, two days after his rampage, a mob of 50-60 people marched down to the jail and broke him out, demanding he pay for his crimes. They rode until they found a tree at a halfway-point between Blanco and Johnson City, which supposedly runs parallel to the current Highway 281, and hanged Lackey. The rope they used was thinner than rope normally used for hangings which prolonged the strangulation. The rope also dug deep into the laceration that was already present in his throat which caused him to bleed heavily onto his shirt. The sheriff found the body the next day and, with none of his surviving family members willing to claim him, he was buried in a pauper’s grave somewhere in Blanco. To this day, people report seeing a man with a red bandana and bearing Lackey’s physical description hitchhiking between Johnson City and Blanco, especially at late hours. Those who have stopped to help him claim he was holding a knife. Truckers and locals claim to not like driving down the road at night and they know not to pick up any hitchhikers on that stretch between Johnson City and Blanco. And now you do, too.

Taurus: Spaghetti Warehouse, Houston TX- Built around the turn of the 20th century, the building, originally called the Desel-Boettcher warehouse, started out housing fur pelts and then some years later it was owned by a pharmaceutical company. It was not until 1973 that it became the Spaghetti Warehouse. A former employee of the pharmacy involved in a freak accident as well as his wife are said to haunt the restaurant. The employee was said to be very busy one night and grabbed a stack of paperwork off his desk as he was rushing to get home. As he headed back to the elevator, he was not paying attention and walked into what he thought was the elevator but was actually an open elevator shaft. Having not returned home, his wife hurried to the warehouse looking for him only to find his body crumpled at the bottom of the elevator shaft. Traumatized and brokenhearted, she too tragically passed away only one year later. Today, their spirits are said to occupy the second floor of the warehouse. The restaurant is riddled with activity according to staff members, particularly during late-night hours, including full-bodied apparitions, bottles of wine inexplicably falling off shelves, disembodied voices calling employees’ names, guest’s hair being tugged on and shoulders being tapped. The wife is also said to rearrange furniture and make a mess of organized dishes and silverware. Guests have reported feeling ill or tingly as soon as reaching the second floor. Another spirit said to haunt the building is a former frequent guest. A man in his mid-fifties who was struck by a car outside the restaurant can sometimes be seen by employees, seated in the restaurant one moment and then gone the next.

Gemini: Miss Molly’s Hotel, Fort Worth TX- The building itself was built in 1910, serving as a hotel called The Palace Rooms for those who traveled by the new railroad. During Prohibition, it’s named changed to the Oasis and served as a speakeasy. By the 1940s, it was called The Gayette Hotel and acted as a bordello that mostly served cowboys and locals. This was a dark period for the building as many ill-spoken deeds and rumors of some of the prostitutes meeting unfortunate ends circulated. Eventually, under new management, the building stopped serving as a bordello and was split with the first floor serving as the Star Cafe and the second floor serving as a hotel- Miss Molly’s Hotel. Many of the ghosts who haunt the hotel are thought to be those who were present during its time as a bordello. Full-bodied apparitions have been seen, for example, that of a young girl around the age of nine has been seen in the former owner’s rooms. No one knows exactly who she is but she is believed to be a former tenant. One hotel guest claimed to wake up in the middle of the night with a pale blonde woman sitting at the edge of his bed. She is believed to be the ghost of a former working girl. There is also a tipping ghost who is said to leave coins in recently cleaned rooms. One cleaning lady even quit because she was frightened by this entity and did not want to risk having it attach itself to her. Throughout the hotel, unexplainable shadows and cold spots are frequently encountered. Strange smells are also present, with some being described as toilet water while others are described as smelling like women's perfume, perhaps from the hotel’s time as a bordello. Some of the hotel’s mischievous entities are also known to move guest’s belongings, play with their lights at night and make loud bangs in their room.

Cancer: Littlefield House, Austin TX- Located on the campus of the University of Texas, the Victorian-style home was built for Civil War veteran and businessman George Littlefield and his wife, Alice, in 1893. Throughout their life, they donated a lot of their money to the school and therefore became special figures for the college. It is said that for a long period of time, Alice had been locked in the attic to keep her safe from Union soldiers during the war. Because of this, Alice developed a severe mental illness and was constantly afraid she would be kidnapped or murdered. She was prone to nervous fits of hysteria, sometimes having to be restrained. Despite being told she should be admitted to a sanatorium, her husband instead kept her home and hired three nurses. After George’s death in 1920, Alice was devastated, but over time her mental state improved. She was able to become more social again and would host parties at the home but was rarely ever seen outside again. When Alice died in 1935, she left the house to the university where it is now used to hold classes on the first floor and house offices on the second. However, some believed that Alice never left and is trying to reclaim her home. Shortly after her death, full-bodied apparitions were seen throughout the house, colds spots were frequently felt and sounds of running, screams of fright and other eerie noises could be heard coming from the second floor and staircase nightly. Things are also said to be misplaced often as if Alice is trying to put her home back to the way it was before her death. Many students claim to hear her play the piano in her upstairs bedroom and her face can sometimes be seen peering out the window. While it may seem unsettling, many students refer to her as Aunt Alice and see her as a comforting and benevolent spirit.

Leo: Hotel Galvez, Galveston TX- The Galvez Hotel opened its doors in 1911 and is still in operation today. During WWII, however, the building was occupied by the US Coast Guard and no rooms were rented out to visitors. Over the years, many famous people had been guests there, including Jimmy Stewart, Howard Hughes, Frank Sinatra, and Franklin D. Roosevelt. In the mid-50s is when tragedy struck at the hotel. A woman in her mid-20s named Audra was planning on getting married to her fiancé, a mariner who sailed in and out of the Port of Galveston. She stayed in room 505 while she waited for his return back from sea. One day, after a terrible storm, his ship did not arrive when it was due in port. Audra heard that the ship had gone down and that there were no survivors. Stricken with grief, she hung herself. Not even a week had passed when her fiancé came back, having survived the sinking of the ship, only to find that she had taken her own life. Staff and guests alike have reported hearing Audra running up and down the hallways looking for her husband-to-be as well as hearing crying and doors slamming shut in the middle of the night. Strange smells and visions of orbs are also reported throughout the hotel. Staff have also reported seeing a young girl bouncing a ball in the lower level of the hotel and the housekeeping staff say that there is the ghost of a man who stands in the corner of the laundry room. There are also reports in the lobby and restaurant such as candles blowing out on their own and dishes moving and breaking. Heavy breathing and children’s laughter are said to be heard in some of the hotel bathrooms. After Hurricane Ike in 2008, some staff had to stay at the hotel while their homes were being repaired and many claimed to see a woman in an old maid’s uniform accompanied by a man walk through a guest room and disappear. 

Virgo: El Paso High School, El Paso TX- This high school has been in use since it’s opening in 1916. In 1922-23, its name was changed to Sam Houston High School at the bidding of a local chapter of the KKK but was quickly changed back after community outrage. During both World Wars, the basement of the school worked as an overflow morgue, taking in bodies of soldiers as well as Spanish Flu victims. Throughout the years, students and faculty exploring the basement have discovered classrooms from the early 20th century in seemingly untouched condition yet blocked off, with no reason given by the school administration for the hasty remodeling. There are also reports of slamming doors and “spectral pep rallies and games” occurring in the gym, only to discover the gym is empty upon further inspection. A teacher at the high school once reported seeing a girl in an old blue dress at the end of a hallway one night and instructed her to go home as it was late. He claims that when approaching her, she turned around, gave him a sorrowful look and then slowly vanished before his eyes. Another ghost girl is also said to be seen throughout the school, her identity being tied to that of a student from the 80s who slit her wrists and then jumped off a balcony which is now walled off along with the hallway and stairwell leading to it. Despite this, multiple people have claimed to still see a girl standing on that balcony. A famous class picture of the 1985 graduating class may capture this ghost girl as her face is considerably more blurry than the rest and no one can seem to identify her.

Libra: The White Sanitarium, Wichita Falls TX- Built in 1926, this sanitarium was made for those who were mentally insane. The founder, Frank S. White, wanted to create a place where instead of being locked in cells, the patients were free to roam and live a non-institutional lifestyle. He wanted it to be a home, not a prison. He only operated the sanitarium for about 5 years, though, as he himself had fallen ill. By the 1950s, the building was flooded and badly damaged so it was abandoned and sat vacant for another 50 years. It is believed that some patients never left, perhaps due to the now-banned medical practices on the mentally ill of the past which left patients permanently injured or worse. Those who have visited the site since it’s foreclosure have claimed to see glowing ends of cigarettes as well as full-bodied apparitions of patients in hospital gowns. There is also said to be a lady in white who roams the halls and looks out the windows of the abandoned building. Reports of children’s voices are heard and lights are said to sometimes be seen coming from the sanitarium even though there is no running electricity there. There is also a group of men who are known to be seen on the property playing a game of poker every now and then. Visitors have said they feel strange cold spots and feel a general “heaviness” in the air. People who claim to be skeptics have said their beliefs are shaken after visiting there as they cannot explain their experiences. Today, the building has been remodeled and transformed into apartment units.

Scorpio: The Jefferson Hotel, Jefferson TX- In 1851, the building was built originally as a warehouse to support the booming cotton industry. It is unclear whether the building became a hotel, with some speculating it was during the 1870s and others saying it was as late as 1900. As a hotel, it also served as a brothel as well as a speakeasy during the prohibition era under the name “The Crystal Palace”. The ghostly activity in the building is so frequent that the staff keeps a “book of the dead” at the front desk, with years of recorded activity and experiences within it and new encounters being written by guests to this day. There are at least five different known entities within the hotel’s walls. The first is a tall man wearing boots and a long coat who can frequently be seen by both staff and guests. The identity of the man is unknown. While he has never proven to be malevolent, guests find him incredibly unsettling as many times he can be seen sitting or standing in their rooms at night. The apparition is so solid and recurrent, some guests have claimed they had followed him down hallways thinking he was another guest only to turn a corner and see him vanish. The second known entity is a beautiful woman nicknamed Libby. Her exact identity is unknown, however, staff can agree that she is either the spirit of a woman named Elizabeth or Lydia. Both women were pregnant and stood up on their wedding day and subsequently both hung themselves from the hotel bed’s tall headboard. These suicides happened 50 years apart. Libby’s appearance is what points to either of these women being the spirit as she is said to wear a bridal gown and have golden blonde hair. She seems to appear in front of male guests traveling alone most frequently. While she doesn’t haunt a specific room, she seems to be attached to a bed which has moved to different rooms over the years, specifically room 12,14 and 19. Room 19 also houses another ghost, that of a teenage girl who was stabbed to death by a client during the hotel’s brothel years and left in the bathtub. She is said to appear in the mist when people are showering and writes messages, pleas for help and sometimes warmings, on the bathroom mirror. She is known as Judy as the name has been seen among her scribbles. The last two known entities are those of a young boy and girl around age 7 in 19th century period clothing who can frequently be seen chasing each other and can be heard laughing. They are thought to be casualties of the cotton warehouse. Despite their laborious lives and sad deaths, they are known to have fun by pulling pranks on guests by moving small items and turning lights on and off.

Sagittarius: USS Lexington, Corpus Christi TX- Nicknamed “The Blue Ghost”, the USS Lexington is an aircraft carrier built for the US Navy during WW2 in 1942. The ship got the nickname “The Blue Ghost” because of her tendency to reappear after reportedly being sunk, as well as her dark blue color for camouflage purposes. It was decommissioned in 1991 and is now docked, serving as a naval museum. Many spirits of soldiers are said to roam the decks of the ship. During WW2, a Japanese plane struck the ship near the engine room, killing many. Some employees of the museum claim to see figures frantically running as if trying to get to position to defend and maintain their ship. A security guard says that running footsteps can be heard frequently, especially in the early hours of the morning. Disembodied voices and screams are also heard and both staff and guests report being touched. A known ghost on the ship is a man in a sailor uniform who helps guests find their way back to the deck. Another who resides in the engine room is said to give lectures on how the turbines work before vanishing into thin air. Charles Reustle, a director at the museum who has worked on the ship for 26 years, is a skeptic but has had his own fair share of strange experiences. He claims that over a course of a few weeks, he kept losing his pen cap. After the sixth time, he turned his room over but still could not find it. The next morning, he found all six caps lined up on his desk. He believes a spirit may have been playing a prank on him. With the museum receiving hundreds of reports of supernatural activity a year, the executive director of the museum, Steve Banta, says that there are too many accounts that “there has to be something to it”.

Capricorn: Yorktown Memorial Hospital, Yorktown TX- This hospital opened its doors in 1951 and was run by the Felician Sisters, a group of nuns who kept the hospital open until 1986. The building was named in honor of those lost their lives in WWII. Under the care of the nuns, 500 patients died within the first 6 years the hospital was open. It reopened as a drug rehabilitation center but then closed again for good in 1992. Roughly 2000 people have died within the walls of the hospital and is known to be one of the most haunted hospitals in Texas. One employee by the name of Dr. Leon Norweirski was responsible for multiple deaths- he became known for his fatal mistakes during operations. In one patient’s case, he accidentally cut a patient’s throat while operating on his thyroid. This doctor’s mistakes may be a reason why the hospital is so active. There is a ghost of an eight-year-old girl named Stacy known to roam her old room on the first floor, basement hallways, and sometimes is seen in the library. Her favorite book to read during her life was “The Poky Little Puppy” which supposedly was given to her by none other than Dr. Leon Norweirski. She is known to be a playful spirit and supposedly will roll a ball if you ask her to. A few nuns seem to have stuck around as well, although some of them are known to be violent. Visitors have claimed to be scratched, choked, rushed at, and people with tattoos, piercings or other body modifications seem to be especially targeted. Another spirit is that of a man named Doug Richards. He was a heavy equipment mechanic who died there in 1973 and not much is known of his ghost but people say you know it’s him by his tall appearance and his white t-shirt and blue jeans outfit. During its time as a rehab center, a man who some call TJ came during late hours seeking help. When he rang the back-door bell, no one answered- whether the doorbell stopped working or the nurse on duty had fallen asleep, TJ didn’t get help fast enough and his body was found on the steps the next morning. His apparition can be seen today wandering the hall near the back door. Lastly, blood is still visible on the walls of the boiler room from a double murder that occurred after a stabbing due to a love triangle between a female employee, a co-worker and a patient. The hospital is also home to other less well-known entities and strange anomalies such as shadow people, full bodied-apparitions and top-notch EVPS. It is also said that disembodied voices and screams can be heard coming from the delivery ward.

Aquarius: Six Flags Over Texas, Arlington TX- After a trip to Disneyland in 1959, real estate developer Angus G. Wynne Jr. decided he wanted to build a rival theme park in his own state. Opening in 1961, the park was a huge success. By the 1970s, Six Flags Over Texas had expanded and added new rides and phased out old ones and by the 80s it was operating almost year-round. It had become one of the nation’s fastest-growing theme parks. However, despite its years of success, it still has its fair share of dark times and mishaps. On August 8, 1968, the park experienced its first ride-related death. Ride Operator John Raymond Nelson was only a high school senior when he accidentally lost his balance while unloading passengers on the El Sombrero. He fell into the pit beneath the ride and was rushed to Arlington Memorial Hospital where he was pronounced dead. In 1999, a 29-year-old woman drowned on a river rafting ride after her raft unexpectedly deflated and flipped. She was trapped underneath and drowned in 2-3 feet of water. A 64-year-old woman also drowned in 2011 after being found unresponsive in the lazy river. She was taken to the hospital and pronounced dead. Lastly, in 2013, a 52-year-old woman fell to her death while riding the New Texas Giant roller coaster after her seat restraint malfunctioned. Because of its history of death, it’s unsurprising that the park is known to be haunted. Ghost sightings have been reported all throughout the park as well as cold spots and sensations of being touched. While most paranormal activity is sporadic, there is one ghost known as Annie who is said to haunt a yellow house by the New Giant Texas roller coaster entrance as well as a candy store within the park. Believed to have passed in the early 1900s after drowning in nearby Johnson’s Creek, her spirit is said to be friendly and a bit mischievous. Lights in the yellow house are known to turn off and on with no one around, curtains open and close and doors slam shut unexpectedly. According to employees, doors also seem to not remain locked. She can also sometimes be seen by guests walking along the tracks in the Mine Train attraction.

Pisces: Frio River, Rio Frio TX- In the early 1900s, a woman named Maria Juanez was murdered by her brother-in-law, Gregorio, on the banks of the Frio River. Gregorio had fallen in love with her and after confessing this to her, she rejected him- she was already in love with a man named Anselmo. Often, Maria and Anselmo would meet down by the river bank at night. On one of these nights, while waiting for Anselmo, Gregorio decided to confront Maria to profess his love. After the rejection, he shot her with a pistol out of rage. Upon realizing what he had done, he hid underneath a large pile of hay in a barn until the next morning when he was found by angry townsfolk. Gregorio was tried for the murder of Maria Juanez and was found guilty, spending the rest of his life in prison. Maria had always dreamed of marrying Anselmo and having children of her own as she had loved caring for her sister’s children, however, that dream never became a reality. Instead, she was buried in a wedding dress along the Frio River, where some say she still roams to this day. She is said to be a very kind spirit, helping lost children, comforting them, or sitting at the edge of their bed at night to protect them. People who claim to have seen her say she is dressed in all white, being nicknamed “The White Lady”, and sometimes she is seen walking down the middle of the river in a mist or fog-like form. One man who cannot swim even claims that Maria saved him from falling into the river. He reported that as he fell back after slipping on a rock, he felt an unseen force push him back to an upright position.

New Jersey

Pennsylvania

Let me know what state I should research next...)

[deadbiwrites]

PROMPTS!! I want a pumpkin picking date with Kara pouting a lot bec Lena said they can’t just casually take the 800lbs pumpkin home. Bonus points if Lena caves and ends up paying some guy enough money to buy it and supergirl flies it back to their apartment to carve it. Maybe it can’t fit through the door?? I’m not sure.

(Oh my WORD, it took forever and a day to get this to post but I did it, dammit! @valkyrieskwad , this one's for you! Cross-posting it on Ao3!!)

"You want to what?"

Kara grins and bounces in place, totally unperturbed by Lena's decided lack of enthusiasm. "Pumpkin picking! There's a patch, like, an hour away. It's so cute, I follow them on Instagram, and everyone looks like they're having so much fun in the pictures! It's almost Halloween, too, so we need to go soon or all the good ones will be gone."

"The good ones…?"

"Pumpkins,  Lena! Pumpkins! C'mon, please?"

"Isn't this exactly the sort of thing Alex makes fun of people for? Being basic?"

"Alex doesn't know what fun is if there aren't guns involved, so who cares? Please, babe? Be basic with me!"

Lena arches a brow at her, already caving under the weight of her girlfriend's boundless enthusiasm and the rare (and doubtlessly strategic) use of 'babe'. "Is it a muddy field?" she asks suspiciously. 

"Uh… wear boots?" Kara tries, still smiling. "We can take the baby. He'd love it, and we need to work on socializing him, right?"

Lena turns her attention to the little white puppy snoozing on her lap, running a hand over his back absently. "I mean, yes, we do, but a farm?"

Kara's affronted, or at least playing at it. "Uh, I halfway grew up on a farm, thank you."

"And look what's happened because of it."

Kara laughs, shaking her head, somehow charmed even though Lena knows that she's being a brat about this whole thing. "Why do you hate pumpkin picking?"

"I don't like doing things unless I'm already good at them."

Kara scoffs at this. "You can't be bad at picking pumpkins, Lena. It's just like when you were a kid."

The long stretch of silence at this is telling. 

"Lena," Kara says slowly, "have- have you ever been to a pumpkin patch?"

"I buy pumpkin at the store in a can, like a regular person. Half the work, half the price."

"But you can't carve a can of pumpkin puree!"

More silence. Krypto wakes up, shakes his whole roly-poly little body, and lays back down for another nap, snuffling as Lena rubs between his ears.

"Lena. Please tell me you've carved a pumpkin."

"I- I've seen people do it, so-"

"Oh my GOD."

"Kara-"

"What- what did you do at Halloween? No pumpkins! That's like half the fun, aside from all the candy and costumes, and…" Horror spreads across her face almost as fast as a creeping red flush spreads over Lena's. "Honey. Sweetie. Baby. Please, please tell me that your childhood included just one iteration of a normal American Halloween…?"

"Define normal..."

Kara jumps up from the couch, fuming. "I'm gonna punch your mom in the boob. Is it Tuesday?  They do visits at the prison on Tuesdays, right? Because, like, I know she's in prison, repaying her debt to society,  or whatever, but I'm still gonna go punch her in the boob."

Lena grabs Kara's hand, tugging her to a halt. "Alright, first of all, I appreciate and share the sentiment. Second, please never put your hands anywhere near my mother's boobs. Third, we're gonna stop talking about my mother's boobs, forever. Starting now."

"That's just… why does she suck so bad. Like, so, so badly, she sucks as a person. So bad. Badly sucks."

"Okay, yeah, you're doing that thing where you're so mad you make word puzzles, so I need you to sit down and hold this puppy." Lena lifts Krypto (who growls his fiercest growl and bites her fingers for disrupting his 18th nap of the day) and pushes him into Kara's arms, gratified when she instantly melts, just a little. "Better?"

"Yeah." She heaves a sigh and drops onto the couch beside Lena once more. "Look, if you really don't want to, we don't have to. But it is fun, and it is a disgustingly cute couple-y thing to do, which I know you love even if you pretend you don't."

Lena scoffs. "Prove it."

"You drag me into every photobooth you see and have a collection of all the photos in your desk at work."

Lena flushes a little more, knowing that she's been caught. "It's fun?" she asks quietly, spinning her chunky silver ring around and around on her finger.

"So fun. And it's a good excuse to get out of the city for the day." Kara scoots close, tipping her head so it knocks lightly against Lena's. "Instead of beating up your mom, what if we just make sure you get to do all the stuff you missed, like pumpkin patches and carving Jack-o-lanterns, and all that jazz?"

Lena considers this. "So, we're doing this at least partly to spite my mother?"

Kara beams at her. "Yep! You're gonna get all muddy doing something frivolous just because it's fun. She'd hate it."

"When are we going?"

It's a few days later that they're piled into a borrowed pick-up truck and coasting out of the city in the early morning. Lena has relented the wheel, for once, conceding that she hates driving outside the city and she has no idea where they're going. At least Kara was right about one thing- Krypto is already having a blast, trying his best to stick his entire upper body out the window, and yipping in annoyance when Lena continuously pulls him back into the cab.

One benefit, though, is Kara in what she calls her 'farm clothes', a heretofore undiscovered genre that involves a sturdy and well-loved pair of leather boots, what is clearly a men's flannel shirt tucked into a pair of faded jeans secured with a heavy leather belt, and a goddamn trucker hat.

Lena's really annoyed at how much this look is working for Kara.

Totally annoyed. No other emotion. Or like, squirmy feelings about it in general.

None at all.

"... and of course we'll get some breakfast- hot cider and doughnuts sound good to you?"

Lena blinks, realizes that Kara's been chattering this whole time. "What was that?"

"I asked how you feel about getting some breakfast. You okay? You're kinda spacey today."

"Says the girl from space," Lena snarks.

Kara rolls her eyes, amused. "That joke was only funny the first hundred times."

"Still makes me laugh."

"Fine, fine. But you're good? 'Cause I can hear you thinking, over there."

"I'm good, I just… is it stupid that I'm nervous?"

Kara takes her hand and gives it a squeeze. "Not at all. But you don't need to be nervous or anxious, because it's fun. Okay?"

Lena nods. "Okay." She shifts a bit on the old-school bench seat in the truck. "Why did we borrow this thing, again? My cars are a lot more comfortable."

"Well, Frank would yell at me if I got mud all over one of your cars." 

Lena snorts. "He would not, he loves you."

"And, this way, we can get a big one." There's an almost manic gleam in Kara's eyes that's distinctly disturbing. 

Lena chooses not to ask questions. 

It is not a muddy field. 

The dirt road they pull onto doesn't look all that promising at first, but the pumpkin patch itself is pretty, in a rustic, outdoorsy sort of way. Even early in the day there's a decent crowd here, and Kara grins at the sight of the picturesque red barn a ways away cheerfully advertising cider and doughnuts inside. "Nice! I hoped they'd still be doing the cider and stuff!" She hops out of the truck and rounds the front to help Lena down- whoever this behemoth belongs to had installed a lift-kit to it, and it's a fair few feet to the ground.

"I thought this was a pumpkin patch?"

"Well, yeah, but there's an orchard next door or something, so they have apples and pumpkins. And pears, apparently. Ha! A-PEAR-ently! I'm funny," Kara cackles, settling her hands on Lena's hips.

"You're lucky you're so cute," Lena snorts and scoops Krypto up, bracing a hand on Kara's shoulder as she's lifted easily out of the truck and onto the ground. "But you being able to just pick me up like that? Always a turn-on."

Kara laughs, loud and surprised as a flush creeps up her neck. "Good to know."

Lena smirks and sets Krypto onto the ground, and their day begins.

"So," Lena drawls, chewing an admittedly delicious cinnamon cider doughnut, "what constitutes a good pumpkin?"

"Well, obviously,  you don't want a squishy one."

"Obviously."

"Tiny ones are cute, but it's really hard to carve them."

"Noted."

"Other than that, it's all personal preference. I say go big or go home, Alex likes the really round ones, Eliza likes hers to be smooth, and Jeremiah loved ugly pumpkins."

"Ugly pumpkins...?"

"Oh, yeah, like, the weirder and bumpier the better. He was really good at carving them, so he could do, like, super cool faces and stuff. He made a witch one time that was really creepy."

Lena pushes up onto her toes to plant a kiss on Kara's cheek. "He sounds like a fun dad."

Kara smiles a little sadly. "He was." 

Sensing a rapid downshift in mood, Lena resolves to perk the fuck up. "So! We did doughnuts for breakfast- which I strongly suspect was your real motivation for this little venture…"

Kara's mouth drops open in shock,  but her eyes are sparkling with humor. "I would never!"

"Sure. So, as long as the pumpkin isn't soft, it's fair game?"

"Yup! Go nuts! I couldn't get a pumpkin last year, because of that guy from Yavin IV, I'm gonna get a big one this year to make up for it."

Lena fixes her with a look. "Not too big, though, right?"

Kara smiles innocently, letting Krypto tug her a pace or two ahead. "Of course not."

Lena sighs. 

Kara really is a terrible liar.

"Lena."

Upon seeing what's caught her attention,  Lena nearly drops her own perfectly round pumpkin. "No. Under no circumstances are we getting that one."

Kara's starry-eyed as she stares up at the truly gargantuan squash before her. "It's beautiful."

Lena strongly disagrees- this pumpkin is decidedly ugly, misshapen and lumpy and a shade that's not quite orange or green, but a rather sickly combination of both.

But what it lacks in general aesthetic appeal, it more than makes up for in sheer size. It's wider than Lena is tall, likely taller than she is, too, and is, in general, what Winn would call 'a threateningly large vegetable'. It's on a little platform, a plaque proudly boasting that it'd won some award or other at the state fair a week or so ago. And also its weight:

One thousand two hundred eighteen pounds. 

Lena tries for reason. "Kara. Darling. Love of my life. This… thing won a prize. They bred it especially to be giant. There is absolutely no way they're going to sell it to two city-slickers."

And then it happens. After almost a year of dating, and several years of friendship, Lena is well aware of Kara's pout, and especially aware of her own susceptibility to it. She can almost sense when it's about to happen, these days, and she senses it coming now, tries to steal herself against it.

But it's no use. Kara, she could maybe handle. Maybe. But when she bends and scoops up their three-month old puppy to help her pout, Lena is powerless against the assault.

"Alright, that was unnecessary," she complains. "No using our son like that. He doesn't even know why he's pouting."

"But is it working?" Kara asks, hiding her face behind Krypto's and talking in the goofy voice she reserves for narrating his thoughts.

Lena groans, because yes, of course it's fucking working. "No. Kara, they worked hard to make that... gourd. Can't you get another one?"

"I mean, I can," she agrees, peeking over Krypto's head so just her eyes show. "But think about how awesome that's gonna look when I carve it."

Lena sighs. "Kara,  they're using it as a draw to get people to come here."

"They're making it like a display in a zoo. People just come and point at it! We can give it a loving home!"

Lena arches a brow. "You literally just said that you want to cut it open, scoop out its insides, and carve it.."

"Well, yeah, but like, lovingly."

Lena snorts, knowing she's lost. "Fine! Fine, we can go ask."

Kara cheers, hopping a bit in excitement and darting forward to press her lips to Lena's in a silly, smiley kiss.

As predicted, the farmer is initially reluctant to sell his prize pumpkin. "It's not the money," he clarifies hastily when Lena doubles her offer for the damn stupid pumpkin. "I need the seeds, to plant next year. I won big at the fair this year, and with those I'd have a hell of an advantage next season. You understand?"

"What if we save the seeds and bring them to you?" Kara offers earnestly. "I can drive them out whenever."

The farmer looks skeptical at this, but Kara's offer doesn't waver under his glare, and he sighs, reaching out to shake Lena's hand and seal the deal. "Fine. Only because your girl is cute."

Lena huffs out a laugh, and Kara positively beams at him. "Thanks so much!"

"But Jake has the tractor out in the maze right now, won't be back for an hour or so to move it for ya."

Kara's grin only widens. "Don't worry, I called a friend for help moving it."

The farmer shrugs, and Lena groans, knowing that one spectacle at the pumpkin patch is about to be replaced by another. 

Lena hands the farmer his due for his prize pumpkin, and he turns away before she calls out, catching his attention.

"Sorry, I almost forgot, how much for this one?"

He eyes the normal-sized, perfect pumpkin in Lena's arms and his mouth quirks up in a grin. "For you? On the house."

Supergirl makes a very showy entrance, to the delight of most in attendance (the exceptions being a 74-year old man who thinks anyone who flies should have to get a license,  and her girlfriend who is rolling her eyes fondly and wrestling to keep their puppy from revealing her secret identity), landing with a flourish. She smiles brightly at the crowd waving and laughing, high-fiving anyone who offers before shouldering the massive gourd. "Sorry, guys, I'm on a very important mission. Support local farms!" 

Lena snorts, loudly, and Supergirl takes off into the air as her ears turn a little pink. 

The farmer sidles up to Lena at the back of the crowd, looking a little star-struck. "Wow."

Lena grins, dropping a kiss to Krypto's nose and blowing in his face when he nips at her chin. "Yeah," she agrees. "Wow about sums it up."

The truck rides notably lower on the trip back, the massive pumpkin weighing down the truck bed probably more than is entirely safe.

"So, how was your first trip to the pumpkin patch?" Kara asks with a grin.

"I hated it," Lena deadpans, cradling Krypto in one arm and her pumpkin in the other. On the seat between them are three dozen doughnuts,  four gallons of cider, and three bottles of hard cider the farmer's wife had slipped into their bags with a wink.

Overall, it's been a very pleasant experience. 

"Oh yeah?"

"Absolutely awful. Hated everything."

"What was the worst part?"

Lena reaches over, grabbing Kara's hand and threading their fingers together. "Spending it with you."

Kara clicks her tongue, shakes her head. "Yeah, that sounds awful. I'm a pain in the butt."

"Yeah. You're kinda cute, though, so I guess it's fine."

Kara chuckles, brings their clasped hands to her mouth and kisses Lena's knuckles. "Good news for me."

Lena smiles, turning her attention back to the window and watching as fields fairly fly by, the low sound of Kara singing in the background making this almost unbearably perfect. 

Almost.

"Um… so, funny story…"

Lena arches a brow expectantly, and Kara scuffs her red boots on the floor. "Oh?"

"Yeah. So, the thing is, I tried everything, with the pumpkin, and… it won't fit through the door. None of the doors. Or any of the windows…"

Lena bonds at the waist and laughs until she cries.

That year starts a long-running and much beloved tradition, wherein a truly massive and skillfully-carved pumpkin appears in L-Corp's opulent lobby the first weekend of every October. It later years, it's joined by other, smaller ones, dozens, carved by the children of employees, including those of the CEO herself. 

It's a family tradition, after all.

[bensroger]

A Night to Remember - Ben Hardy! Roger Taylor

Summary: Based off of a Star is Born, Roger is captivated when he first lays eyes on Y/N, performing on the stage at open mic night. He takes a chance and asks out, and they end up spending the rest of the night together.

Word Count: 3278

Warnings: Just a little swearing

A/N: Sorry for the repost, tumblr is shit and it didn’t show up under the tags. This is only my second fic, and I didn’t proofread. It’s not exactly like A Star is Born but heavily inspired by it. Idk how I feel about it to be honest, I said smile/laugh sooo much. I tried to not make it super cliche, but I still hope you really like this! I still didn’t proofread so excuse any errors please!

He was exhausted of the flashy parties with girls crowding around him, each out-flirting the last. Roger couldn’t complain—he loved the parties and the endless line of girls, but he was just simply tired of loud and crazy parties. He only wanted a break for one night.

So while his band-mates went off to another party after their concert in Seattle, Roger decided to just go to a mellow, and quiet bar. Walking around the dim streets, he’d only find bars full of annoying college kids or full of people drowning their sorrows. He was about to head back to the hotel until he was drawn to a specific bar. A blue neon sign so bright that it hurt to look at, read “Blue Moon Bar,” and had flashes of stars around it. It was beyond freezing at this point, and nearly pouring rain, so Roger decided it’d be best to at least try this bar out. At least it had an intriguing name…

When he stepped in, it was dead silent, and everyone’s eyes were drawn to an older women singing on the stage. Great, he thought, It’s open mic night… Roger figured he could at least order a beer or two, maybe it’d actually be fun to see people fail at sing.

After a few good singers and definitely a lot of bad ones, there was only one singer left. The host, a young girl who herself sang terribly earlier, stepped on the stage to announce the last song. “And now, everyone’s favorite, our very own Y/N!” Roger almost laughed to himself thinking about how awful the other singers were… How good could this Y/N really be?

A girl with shining, curled, y/h/c hair stepped on the stage, standing out even though the lights were dim. She was wearing a slim fit, black dress, with white gloves that went above her elbows. Roger couldn’t lie, he was struck by her appearance… Nonetheless, he still believed her singing was going to be absolute shit.

“Well hello again Blue Moon Bar, I’m so glad to be here again.” Y/N smiled into the mic, her eyes full of excitement. “So I’ve sang this song before, but it was a long time ago. Now, I’m taking you back, but adding something new… I’ll be seeing this song in French!”

Roger took another sip of his beer and nearly rolled his eyes at this annoyingly cheery Y/N. The lights dimmed, and the music began playing. “Des yeux qui font baisser les miens…” She sang, her eyes closed, and intently focusing on the music. “Un rire qui se perd sur sa bouche” Her voice was amazing and angelic, and Roger’s jaw nearly hit the floor. He was awestruck…

She walked across the stage gracefully, continuing to sing smoothly. The crowd would cheer every time she’d wink or a blow a kiss. She’d often smile and nearly laugh, but still managed to sing perfectly. Roger smiled to himself, admiring the way she confidently carried herself on stage. She knew she was good. He turned around to face the bartender as she was still singing.

“So… Tell me more about this Y/N…” Roger said, sneaking in a glance at you.

The bartender glanced up from pouring glasses at Roger. “Well, as you can see she’s amazing at singing… Her name is Y/N Y/L/N. She always finishes up the night, we can never get enough of her.”

“Has she ever thought of pursuing a career in singing? Has she tried?”

“Not that I know of, we’ve all tried to get her too. She’s just scared I think, but we all know she’d go places. Instead, she just works at some restaurant across the street.”

Roger turned back around to look at you, and realized you had finished the song. “Thanks for coming everyone, I’ll see you next week.” You said with a small wave.

You smiled to yourself as you felt you had the best performance yet. You were honestly really worried about how you’d do with the French version of La Vie En Rose, with only taking three years of it in high school. You walked into the makeshift backstage area and all the other weekly singers ran up to hug you.

“Y/N, you did so good, I’m so proud!” Said Lizzie, the host of the open mic night. She sang earlier too. “It was all so perfect and angelic… The outfit, the song, your voice…”

You laughed. “Thanks Lizzie, but we both know it was just a good performance. I have room for improvement.” Lizzie rolled her eyes.

You changed out of your dress into something more comfortable, just jeans and a floral shirt, with white tennis shoes. “Honestly Liz, the cold weather is killing me, I can hardly—“ You were interrupted by a tap on your shoulder. You turned around to be met with the face of a blonde man you vaguely recognized. It wasn’t a bad face though, you thought to yourself, His face was actually pretty nice…

Before you could say anything he introduced himself. “Hey. I’m Roger.” He said, giving you a charming smile.

“Oh um I’m Y/N!” You said, with a hint of awkwardness. “I don’t mean to be rude, but should you really be back here? It’s just—“

“No worries, I asked someone if I could come back here. I wanted to know if you’d like to get out of here with me.” You were a little concerned about this Roger guy. You knew his face from somewhere… And he was just so forward…

“Well I have to work tomorrow and it’s already late—“ You began, but were cut off by a scoff from Lizzie.

“She’d love to go! Between you and me, she really need unwind.”

“Holy shit Lizzie you—“ You whispered to her, only to be cut off again, but this time by Roger.

“Great! We can leave whenever you’re ready.” He said, and then abruptly left the room.

“Liz what hell! You can’t just force me on dates with random guys!”

“God Y/N, sometimes you’re so thick… Do you know who he is?” She rolled her eyes.

“Yeah, he just introduced himself as Roger!”

“As in Roger Taylor, the drummer of Queen?”

You paused for a moment, thinking about it. You listened to Queen quite often, how did you not realize he was the drummer? You sighed to yourself, and pinched the bridge of your nose in frustration.

“Well what the fuck am I supposed to do now Liz? He’s part of an internationally known band, probably has dated so many girls better than me, and I’m just—“

She put a hand on you reassuringly, “Y/N, you’re gonna be fine.”

You took a deep breath and grabbed your jacket. “You’re right, I just need to get through the night and not embarrass myself.”

You somewhat confidently walked out of the room, and entered the now almost empty bar. There were two girls at a table loudly laughing, the bartender, Drew, and then him. You weren’t as nervous before, but he sat there chatting up the bartender with a charming smile. You hated to admit how good he looked. You approached them with a nervous smile on your face, and gave them a little wave. “Hi Roger, so where are we gonna go then?”

Roger turned around to face you, and gave you a smile, “I don’t know it’s up to you really.” He said, not breaking eye contact with you, “But I was thinking we could go to another bar that’s open or back to the party and you can meet the rest of the band.”

You thought for a moment but decided you didn’t want to be partying right now. You were never a party person, always more reserved and avoided large crowds… “Not that that doesn’t sound fun… But I was thinking we could just go to Tiffany’s Diner down the road and get some milkshakes? They really do have the best milkshakes in the state of Washington, if not the west coast…”

“Best milkshakes in the state you say? Sounds tempting…” He thought, as you looked at him expectedly. “Alright, but I’m going to hold your words against you if you’re wrong…”

You grinned, and grabbed his hand, guiding him out of the bar.

The diner was practically empty, except for a trucker and two teenagers. It’s neon lights lit up the room, and the odd smell of grease filled the diner. You sat across from Roger in a booth, and talked as you waited for your milkshakes and fries. “So,” you said leaning closer on the table, “what do you think of Seattle so far?” You asked.

“It’s very umm…” He furrowed his brows, unsure of how to answer the question. “Wet.”

You laughed and shook your head. “That’s one way to describe it. I love it here though, I’ve grown up here and I don’t see myself ever leaving.” You said with a gentle smile on your face.

“What do you do for work?”

“Well… Right now I’m just a waitress at this high end restaurant… It’s no life-long career, but it pays the bills and the tips are big, so I really can’t complain.” You fiddled with the zipper of your bag. “A little birdie told me you’re a drummer in a world famous band then?”

“Yeah I am, have you heard our songs?”

“A few. They’re okay… Room for improvement.” You said jokingly with a grin on your face.

“Hey wipe that grin off of you face! We’re internationally known, I’ll have you know.What about you? Have you ever thought of pursuing a musical career? Your voice is bloody amazing.” Roger said looking at you.

You tucked your hair behind your ear, a nervous habit of yours. “Thanks but I don’t think I will. I’m not going to chase after a dream that will likely never come true. My mom taught be to realistic.” You were started to feel less nervous now, but it was intimidating to be alone with someone so good-looking and so famous. “You met my friend back at the bar, Lizzie, and she always tries to get me to sing at other places… But I’m happy where I’m at.”

There was silence for a second, but it was quickly interrupted by the waitress bringing your food. “Hey Y/N, another performance at the Blue Moon tonight, I assume. Replacing Liz I see, who’s this?”

“This is Roger, my new best friend, Lizzie got to be too annoying.” You chuckled.

“A strawberry milkshake, a chocolate milkshake, and fries. You kids enjoy!” She said.

“Thanks Carol!” You called after her. Roger was looking at you with a puzzling look. “What?” You frowned.

“Are you friends with just about everyone then?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Just with the people around here, I suppose.”

“I’m not sure if I believe that.” He looked at the chocolate milkshake in front of him. “Now, we’re going to see if you’re a liar or not. The best milkshakes, huh?” Roger studied it for a moment before taking a sip. He shook his head not saying anything.

“Well? What’s the verdict?”

Roger grinned. “That’s a pretty damn good milkshake, Y/N.”

“See I told you! The strawberry is even better!” You said taking a sip of your own. “Try it!” You said pushing your own milkshake towards him.

After trying your strawberry milkshake he exclaimed, “Why didn’t you tell me before we ordered to get strawberry?”

“Your first experience with the best milkshakes needs to be decided by you!” You beamed, and he rolled his eyes.“You know, some people like to dip their fries in the their milkshake. Liz does that, it’s disgusting.” You said, nearly laughing remembering the time with Lizzie.

“That sounds… Aggressively American…” Roger said, a shocked yet disgusted look upon his face.

You and Roger drank your milkshakes and ate the fries (not at the same time, of course), while chatting and laughing at the same time. You don’t know why he made you laugh so much and how he made you comfortable in such little time. It was weird to think how famous he was, yet here he was, enjoying a milkshake with you in a small diner. Against your wishes, he paid for your little meal and left a hefty tip for the waitress, Carol.

You looked at the clock above the diner counter. “Holy crap, it’s 1 AM. I really should be getting home, I have work at 8 AM…” You sighed, putting your face in your hands.

Roger took your hands in his. “You should come with me to my next show, it’ll be great! I could even ask Freddie if you could sing a song!” He looked at you with an excited look on his face.

“Rog, that’s sweet but I could never. Performing in a bar full of people you know is one thing, but in front of thousands I don’t know? That’s crazy. The open mic nights are just a bit of fun, that’s all… I’ll have to see you perform some other night, but right now I’m up for a promotion at work and I really can’t miss my shift.”

“I get it…” Roger said, leaning on his arm. “How far do you live from here?”

You frowned at the odd question, but answered nonetheless. “About two miles, why?”

He stood up from the table, and stretched his hand out to you. “Cause I’m going to walk you home, that’s why. Lead the way, love.”

“Roger it’s pouring you can’t honestly think we’re going to-”

“Come on, then I still have an excuse to be around you.” You blushed a bit, grinning as you took his hand and stood up.

The rain had let up, but you figured you still be drenched by the time you made it home. As you walked outside, you could see the moon slightly peeking out behind the storm clouds. You walked down the damp streets of Seattle, arm in arm. It was cold enough to see your breaths when you spoke, but that just gave you more of a reason to stay close to Roger.

Right now, Roger was telling you about how crazy tour could get, all the parties, all the fans, and all the shows… It was really intimidating, and talking about the topic made you nervous… When Roger looked down at you, he saw the look on your face, and that said it all. He could tell you were kind of freaking out.

“What’re you thinking about right now?” He smiled at you as you walked. “You kind of have a funny look on your face…”

You took a deep breath in… “I just… I don’t know… Why me? I’m just some girl from Seattle nothing special or different-”

“I knew you were special from the moment I saw you on stage in that black dress. The way you carried yourself on stage… The way you interact with people and have all these friends… I’ve shamefully met a lot of girls on this tour, and none of them have been like you.”

You bursted out laughing, despite your attempts to keep it in. “What’s so funny?”

“I’m sorry everything you said is super sweet, and I appreciate it, I really do, but it’s just so sappy and cheesy.” You giggled.

“Hey! Don’t make fun of me, I meant what I said!” Roger said, slightly laughing himself. “Okay… Yeah… It was a little cheesy.”

“Rog…” You stopped walking. “You aren’t gonna just forget me like all of those other girls right?”

“Of course not, I never intended to.” He frowned.

You tried to hide your smile but you couldn’t. After one night, you sort of fell for this stupid boy with messy blonde hair. It was hard not to. You continued your walk, telling him the story of Lizzie shamelessly mentioning to everyone how well you could sing. You told him a lot of stories, too, and in turn Roger told a few tour stories and about his band.

“They really seem like fun, and they all sound lovely. I’d love to meet them sometime.” You said, beaming up at him.

Roger shook his head. “‘Lovely’ isn’t exactly how I’d describe them but… I’m sure they’d love to meet you, too.”

You stopped in front of your apartment building, both of you drenched, the hair sticking to both of your faces. “This is me, right here.” You gestured toward the building.

“I’ll be sure to take note of your address, send you some letters.”

“That’s sweet and all but wouldn’t it be easier if I just gave you my number?” You questioned, and he just nodded. You took a pen out and wrote your phone number down. “Be sure not to wash that off.”

You stood in front of your apartment building’s door. “I have to admit, I didn’t think I’d enjoy this night as much as I did. Thank you, Rog.”

“The pleasure was all mine.” He gave you a small wave.

The rain was starting to fall harder, and the street was dark except for a dim light. You waved, and took one last look at him before you pushed the door open and walked inside. You tried to shake the water out, and realized how could you were now. You were almost at the stairs when you heard a knock on the door, and you turned around to see Roger.

“Now what is it?” You said playfully, as you opened the door and stepped out in the rain to meet him.

“You forgot something” Roger said leaning close to you. He was a lot closer to you now, you could feel your heart beating in your chest, and your face burned. Luckily for you, your blushing was hidden by the darkness of the night.

You frowned trying to think what you forgot. “No, I don’t think so I got my purse right h-”

He interrupted you by grabbing your face, and resting your forehead against his. He kissed you softly, and the world fell away. It was slow and soft, comforting in ways that words never would be. His hand rested below your ear, his thumb caressing her cheek as their breaths mingled. You wrapped your arms around his neck, and he pulled you closer until there was no space left between them. You could feel the beating of his heart against your own chest.

You both slowly pulled away, both resting your forehead against one another’s. “Be sure to call me, okay?” You whispered, and he nodded. You gently kissed his cheek once more before breaking apart, still holding his hand as you walked toward the door. When you got far enough, your hands also broke apart, and he allowed it to fall to his side. You opened the door and finally went up to your apartment.

The clock on your nightstand read 2:38 AM, and you shook your head over how much time Roger had taken up. You had to wake up in five hours, but you were pretty sure you’d have trouble falling asleep. As you now laid in your bed, thinking about the night you met and spent with Roger, recounting every conversation, every smile, and every laugh… You knew that this was a night to remember forever.

[knifeshoeoreofight]

@sidgenophotochallenge

“So, people come? Look?” The stranger prods at one of the little UFOs embedded in the resin bar top with an expression of private amusement.

Sid laughs ruefully and keeps muddling mint for the mojito he’s working on. “Oh, for sure. Tourists are pretty much our lifeblood.” He tactfully doesn’t elaborate on how… out there...most of them seem, or how nuts their theories are.

The stranger doesn’t look like one of those tinfoil hat tourists, though. He’s well-groomed, his clothes are sleek and very expensive looking, and he wears an air of calm confidence that is, frankly, a little irresistible.

He’s something a little beyond just good-looking, or even handsome: he’s magnetic. Everything from his deep voice to his commanding height to his huge hands, gently swirling the ice in the tumbler of top-shelf whiskey he’d ordered. Everything about him whispers, I’m not from around here.

It’s a quiet Tuesday night, and usually Sid only sees locals at the bar on nights like this.

“So if it isn’t alien hunting, what brings you to Roswell, then?” Sid asks, his normally effortless tip-earning charm a little rattled by the man. “Business or pleasure?”

The man’s already sleepy eyes go even darker and more heavy-lidded at the word, “pleasure.”

“Maybe both, if I’m lucky,” he says, and his eyes rake over Sid, slow and hot.

“Oh?” Sid says faintly, busying himself with finishing the mojito and handing it off to the woman who ordered it. He tells himself he’s not going to linger at the end of the bar where the stranger is sitting, but damn it, he can’t stop himself from drifting back after pouring a round of beers for a group of long-haul truckers.

The man smiles at him, and Sid’s knees feel a little weak. Fuck, it’s been a long time since anyone made him feel like this. Wanted. Flushed with desire.

“So this your bar?” the man asks.

Sid shakes his head. “No, I’m just the bartender.”

“Hard work,” the man says. “Late nights.”

“I’m uh, I’m a writer by day, actually,” Sid confesses. “I do this to help make ends meet and because I enjoy it, but. Yeah.”

“Really?” the man leans forward, eyes glittering with interest. “Writer? Beautiful and smart.”

Sid’s face is flushed, and his whole body feels hot and feverish. “It’s just genre fiction. Sci-fi, mostly. Not the next Pulitzer Prize winner, that’s for sure.”

“Hm, I don’t know,” the man says. “Think I’m probably like to read anyway. Have feeling you’re pretty good.”

“So where are you from, anyway?” Sid blurts, desperate to change the subject.

The man traces the ring of moisture his glass left on the bartop and smiles to himself, a private, knowing smile. “Oh, far. Very far.” He doesn’t elaborate. “How about you?”

“I’m from Canada,” Sid says, and the stranger hums in acknowledgement.

“And what your name, beautiful man from Canada?” the man asks, and it’s a terrible line that shouldn’t be hot, but it is, and Sid feels heat pool low in his belly.

His answer comes out a lot lower and huskier than he intended, and the man smiles at him like he wants to devour him.

“Sid,” the man echoes back, the word an accented purr that makes Sid shiver. “You can call me...Geno.”

Sid swallows, and can only nod. He’s called away by some of his regulars then, and he serves them while feeling like he’s shaking off a hazy dream.

He slides Geno a napkin with his phone number on it a while later, and murmurs “I get off at 1:30.”

Geno’s gaze is a hot, melting promise. “See you then, Sid.”

***

Sid takes him home.

It may be stupid to do this with a total stranger, but Sid can’t find it in himself to care, as Geno takes him apart with his hands and his mouth. He lights Sid’s body on fire, worships it like Sid’s never had a lover do to him before.

“So beautiful,” Geno groans into his skin, before pressing searing kisses down Sid’s chest, interspersed with reverent, murmured words in a language Sid doesn’t recognize.

Sid wants to make Geno feel good, wants to make this as breathtaking for him as it is for Sid, but he’s lost, incandescent, everything mindless passion and overwhelming waves of heat.

“Geno!” he gasps, and it’s a prayer on his lips.

Geno is everywhere all at once, and when he moves inside him, Sid sees stars.

When Sid finally, finally shatters apart, he sees galaxies.

***

Sid isn’t sure what wakes him. The room is filled with the faintest first trace of dawn. He can hear Geno speaking to someone in that strange language of his. When Sid blearily lifts his head, he can see that Geno is pulling on his clothing and is speaking into a... phone? It’s phone-like, anyhow. Whatever it is casts a cool, blue light on Geno’s face, making it look unfamiliar. Alien.

“Wha’ kinda phone’s ‘at?” Sid slurs sleepily, and Geno startles. The blue light disappears and he comes over, and gently cards a hand through Sid’s hair.

“Shh,” he croons. “Is so early. Go back to sleep, beautiful.”

“Come back,” Sid murmurs into his pillow, even as his eyes fall closed.

“I will,” Geno says, fingers brushing gently down Sid’s cheek. “I’m promise I’m come back. Just need to wait little bit for me, okay?”

“Mmm...kay,” Sid sighs, and sleep takes him back under.

***

When he finally fully awakens, the late-morning sun is streaming in. He sits bolt upright, and scrambles out of bed.

Sid lives a fifteen-minute drive out of town. There’s nothing around but desert and scrub. Geno rode to Sid’s house in Sid’s car. There’s no sign of him anywhere, no footprints in the dirt and sand around the house, no fresh tire tracks on the road. The only thing Sid can think of is that he must have called a friend to come pick him up, and that the wind must have covered up the signs.

He returns to the house, feeling unsettled and a little hollow. Last night had been the best sex of his life. And beyond the sex, he’d just really, really liked Geno.

He chides himself for getting so attached to quickly to someone just passing through. What, is he going to just drop everything and be with Sid? Is a wealthy businessman going to want a long-distance relationship with a hack science fiction writer slash bartender in the middle of nowhere, New Mexico?

Suddenly miserable, Sid goes back inside, slamming his front door. He supposes he might as well drag himself to the kitchen and make some coffee, try to get a few more thousand words written for his next novel, and try not to think about tall strangers and their sweet words.

He stops short when he sees that there’s something lying on his kitchen table. It looks like a rough hewn stone, about four inches long. There’s a soft blue glow emanating from deep within it.

Sid edges closer, and sees that it’s holding down a sheet of paper.

Dear Sid, it reads.

I’m so sorry I have to leave you so soon. Last night was perfect. I promise you, I will be back as soon as I can. I hope it’s okay, but I take one of your books with me. I see you have extra copies. I will read it, and when I come back I can tell you how much I liked it. Already know I will. Please keep this in return, it’s how I’ll find you again.

Be well, Sid, and see you soon.

Love, Geno

Sid picks up the stone. It’s warm in his hand, and it has a soft hum about it, just barely audible but clearly felt.

Like a sleepwalker, Sid moves to the window and looks up. The sky is a clear, New Mexico blue, dotted with brilliant white clouds. Empty except for a buzzard riding a thermal, high, high above.

“Soon,” Sid whispers, and doesn’t know what he’s feeling, fear, or wonder, or longing. Maybe a little of all three.

Soon.

[timeoutforthee]

More Guardian Angel!Remy

“So be mean and get drunk? That’s what you my guardian angel is encouraging?”

“Yes. Be mean, get drunk, punch homophobes.”

Taglist: @scrapbookofsketches, @thekeytohappiness-is-you, @khadij-al-kubra, @beautifully-terribly

TW: one homophobic slur, slight violence, and drinking

Disclaimer: I don’t really know what I’m doing, but this story just keeps getting longer. So. Also this chapter was inspired by this amazing post by @awkward-turtle-patton

“You did what?”

“Oh my God, it’s totally not a big deal. The kid wanted proof. I lowered my sunglasses. Big deal.”

“Yes big deal! Very big deal!” Nate sighs and rubs his temples, “Remy, why are you like this?”

“Um, better question, why are you such a buzzkill?”

“Because I take my job seriously, Remy, unlike you-”

“Oh, just because I want my charges to work for their success instead of rearranging everything around them so that everything falls into their lap-”

“I don’t want my charges to suffer, Remy!”

“So instead you’ve just created waves and waves of self-entitled dickheads-”

“I should have gotten Virgil-”

“For fuck’s sake, it’s been 22 years, let it go-”

“If I had, he would have been a respected intern in an office right now-”

“He would have given up art, Nate!”

“So?!”

“If you would get your head out of your own ass-”

“Well at least my ass has wings!”

And, okay, rude. He definitely didn’t have to go there. Remy purses his lips, and even with the sunglasses, Nate can feel the glare behind them.

A guardian got their wings when they significantly changed the outcome of their charge’s life. Nate had made it his mission, as a guardian angel, to rearrange their lives until they had the most power possible. Remy was more focused on happiness, and honestly, who knew their own happiness better than the human? That’s why he stayed back and let them have most of the control. It’s also why he still didn’t have his wings yet.

Which he wasn’t bitter about. At all.

“Fine,” he said, “I’ll go back and check on Virgil.”

^

Virgil was going to be okay.

That was a mantra he had repeated to himself since day one, and now he had a guardian angel to confirm it. Which should, in theory, be comforting. Except he had found out that his guardian angel was kind of a mess, which was fitting, really, and Virgil couldn’t really judge. Still, maybe he should, like, pray or something and request a switch. Could he do that? He really should have asked more questions. Did it even matter who it was? How could he trust that a random guy could have his destiny all planned out?

Remy told him to trust fate. Until yesterday, he didn’t even believe in fate. He believed in choices and consequences. He made the wrong choice by studying art, and he was suffering as his consequence.

He gripped his beer a little tighter. He didn’t know why his co-workers had asked him to come out tonight. He didn’t particularly like any of them, and he had a feeling they didn’t really like him, either. But his choices for the night were either sulking in the bar or sulking at home. And he was getting really tired of his mother fluttering around him like he was a directionless teenager again. He was a directionless twenty two year old, thank you very much.

He tipped his bottle back and tried to change his line of thinking.

I’ve come a long way. Just to end up in the same place- I have friends. Who haven’t called- I have professors on my side, professors who believe in me. Too bad you’re disappointing them-

The bartender sat a glass filled with dark brown liquid in front of him. He furrowed his eyebrows.

“What’s this?”

“Black Russian,” the bartender replied, then he pointed, “From that guy.”

Virgil turned. There, lounging on a chair across from the bar, was Remy. His glasses were still in place, but his Starbucks cup was replaced with a wine glass.

He looked back at the bar. He needed some stupid angel magic to get him out of this mess. He needed to know why destiny put him back here. He needed something.

Remy didn’t offer him anything, except for this. A very, very human way to forget.

What the hell?

Virgil twisted in his seat, raising the glass. Remy raised his in response.

“Here’s to you, Remy,” then he downed it.

^

Oooooh, he was dead. Nate was absolutely going to kill him.

But, like, honestly? Worth it.

Virgil did not get drunk often. He was always so carefully guarded, and having all those walls come crumbling down in the blink of an eye was not something he actually wanted to do. Most of the time.

“It’s bullshit, if another entitled angry white man comes into the God damn store and asks me why ‘is card isn’ working I’mma scream. Sir, I am paid to take your money, my degree is in art how the everlovin’ fuck should I know the inner workin’s of a GAS PUMP?!” Virgil slurred as he stood on top of the bar.

The patrons were starting to become uncomfortable. Mainly because they were entitled, angry white men who definitely have told off someone in customer service at least once. The bartenders, however, seemed to be entertained, and were hesitant to yank him down.

Okay, also Remy had, like, a little bit of influence.

“And you know what else I hate?”

“Virgil, maybe you should-”

“Shhh!” Virgil said, raising a finger to his lips to cut off a co-worker, “I hate when pregnant mothers come in and buy cigarettes. Like, it’s 2018, are we still doing this? And like, fine, I guess you do you, but fucking secondhand smoke issa thing.”

Virgil trailed off as he stared in wonder at the ceiling. Remy noticed that the song in the background was changing. “I LOVE this song!”

Virgil slowly started swaying to the music. Remy clapped a hand over his mouth. He was so, so dead, but his human was having fun, and didn’t he deserve that?

However, it was brought to a halt when someone shouted “Fag!” at him from across the bar.

Virgil stopped and narrowed his eyes. He scanned the crowd until he landed on the guy, some rando with a trucker hat. He jumped off, with far more grace than he really should have, and stalked over to him.

As he got closer, the guy started to second guess if that was exactly a good idea. Virgil may have been lanky, but he was currently towering over him with a fire burning behind his eyes. They stared at each other for brief moment before Virgil swung and decked him. Between the punch and the surprise, the guy fell off the stool he was sitting on.

“Yes!” Remy cried, standing up. He technically should be against violence, but honestly? He was against homophobia more. Punch more homophobes, 2k18.

The bartenders headed over to kick Virgil out, but he just waved them off with a slurred “‘m goin’, ‘m goin’.”

His guardian angel followed him out, finding him sprawled on a patch of grass.

“V, honey? You good?”

“Mmmmhmmm. I’m stargazing,” he said, pronouncing his words carefully. Remy glanced up. Whoa. He had never really been on Earth at night time. He didn’t know the stars looked this beautiful. Pausing briefly, he laid down next to his human.

“Remy?”

“Hm?”

“I’m gonna regret this tomorrow, aren’t I?”

“Oh, honey, I don’t need to look into the future to see that.”

“D’you look into my future a lot?”

Remy sighs, “Kinda. I have a few charges, and they all have multiple outcomes based on life choices that they make everyday. I can’t look into every choice or option you have, especially since I know I probably won’t step in. But I always look at the major ones.”

“Thas a lotta big words fer you,” Virgil says, still staring at the sky.

“I’ve been around for centuries, doll, I can speak as fancy as I want to. I just don’t want to.”

“Why not?”

“Oh my God, you sound like my coworkers. Like honestly? It’s not that deep. I talk like this because I want to. I drink Starbucks because I want to. I wear these sunglasses because I want to,” he pauses, “I may be an angel, but I’m not above enjoying humanity.”

“Y’know, I bet if I was sober, that’d be real deep.”

“I literally said it wasn’t that deep-”

“Shhhhh,” Virgil says, bringing a finger to Remy’s lips.

Okay. Maybe he should have cut Virgil off a little bit earlier.

Suddenly Virgil is moving his arms so that he’s hugging Remy to him. He lays his head on his shoulder.

“V? You good?”

“I don’ get hugs anymore, leave me ‘lone,” Virgil says, “So, how does the angel thing...work?”

“Okay, first, you have to be more specific. Second, work is boring and I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“D’you like it?”

Remy pauses, let’s silence hang in the air for a bit.

“Yes,” because he does. He doesn’t like some of his coworkers’ snide remarks or judginess. But he likes seeing humans rise to the occasion, likes seeing all the twists and turns their life could take, likes to see where they ultimately choose to go.

Virgil nods, his cheek rubbing against Remy’s shoulder. Actually, now that they’re cuddling, Remy can’t remember the last time someone hugged him. He reaches over and brushes a few purple locks off of Virgil’s forehead.

“Don’t do that, I’ll fall asleep…”

“Honey, I’ve seen your sleeping habits. You need it.”

“Ruuuuuuuuude,” Virgil says, then, “Why’re you here?”

“My boss was worried you wouldn’t be able to handle seeing an angel. It’s a lot for humans, sometimes.”

“Tell your boss I am a-ok.”

Remy laughs, “Considering the circumstances, I think he’ll have some other things to say.”

“Whaaaaat? You mean you’re not supposed to get drunk with your clients?”

“Okay, the only one drunk here is you, I was kicked out before the party started-”

“Wait, wait, wait-d’you make my coworkers invite me out tonight?”

“Nope, that was all them. I know you’ll find this shocking, but people like you, Virgil.”

“But I do not like them,” Virgil blinks, “Do they have tragic backstories? Should I be nicer?”

“You’re already nice-”

“Thanks, I have anxiety.”

“Uh, yeah, I’ve noticed. But honestly, you should try and get a liiiiittle bit meaner. Like, your comebacks are iconic, and it’s truly tragic I’m the only one that’s heard them.”

“So be mean and get drunk? That’s what you my guardian angel is encouraging?”

“Yes. Be mean, get drunk, punch homophobes.”

Virgil laughs.

“And, like, for realsies? Your co-workers have been through some stuff, but mostly, they’re just a result of living in this place. Call it a small town curse.”

Virgil nods, then quietly says, “Remy?”

“Yeah?”

“Am I gonna end up like them?”

“I already told you, V, there are bigger things in store for you.”

“I know,” Virgil yawns, “But I don’t believe you.”

“I’m not surprised,” Remy says. He glances down. Virgil is resting his head on his shoulder with his eyes closed. Remy sighs. He needs to give the kid some tiny spark of hope, enough to encourage him but minor enough that he doesn’t change the outcome of his life.

No pressure.

[thepartyresponsible]

another fill! this one is for @plantgrapes, who asked for a bodyguard and rockstar au with clint and jason. i got a little carried away, so i’m just posting a snippet of it now. i’ll post the rest of it on ao3 later.

“No, come on,” Clint says, horrorstruck, betrayed. “Coulson, please. Come on.”

“You have your assignment.” Coulson doesn’t even blink as he pushes the folder another inch or two across the desk. “I’d focus on packing, Barton. Your flight leaves in an hour.”

Clint hunches forward in his chair, buries his head in the hand that’s not currently wrapped in a brace. Beside him, he can hear Natasha doing that thing she does, where she politely clears her throat instead of laughing in his face.

“Too bad, Barton,” she says. “Maybe you should stop jumping off buildings.”

“Yeah,” Clint mumbles, “or maybe I should aim for the sidewalk instead of the dumpster.”

“We’re all very sorry,” Natasha says, not quite rolling her eyes, “that you have to spend the next four weeks hanging out with rock stars instead of hunting war criminals in Somalia.”

Coulson drops another file on the desk. “Don’t be too sorry,” he says. “You’re going too.”

The smile evaporates from Natasha’s face. “What,” she says, flat, disbelieving. For that one, beautiful moment, this whole clusterfuck is almost worth it, and then Clint remembers: rock stars, tour buses, bodyguard duty, and it’s not worth it at all.

Clint skims the file, but reading while flying always gives him a headache, so he decides, as usual, to let Nat take care of all the complicated interpersonal bullshit. He knows all he needs to know. Someone with money is trying to kill at least two members of The Outlaws, and SHIELD’s involved because someone, somewhere, called in a favor.

Or maybe because someone, somewhere, is holding a grudge. It’s difficult to tell if their primary objective is supposed to be protecting the band or eliminating the hitman. Even Coulson hedged, when Clint asked.

“Well, here’s something redemptive,” Natasha tells him, as Clint fusses with the tray table and considers faking a heart attack. “They’re French history scholars.”

“No,” Clint says, “stop it.”

“Their latest single,” she continues, holding up her phone, “is about guillotines.”

Clint squints at the cover art on the screen. “Is that the president?” he asks. “Is that the president’s head in a basket?”

She nods, mouth curling up. “It’s called ‘Let Them Eat Debt.’”

Clint considers that for a long moment and then nods. “Listen,” he says, “about our suicide pact.”

“We don’t have one,” she says, as she reaches into his hoodie pocket to steal his headphones.

“Yeah,” he says, “that’s what we need to talk about.”

She shakes her head, still smiling, and hands him one of the earbuds. “Calm down,” she advises. “They’re not that terrible.”

“Nat,” he says, as she starts the first track, “I can already tell this is shit. You can’t dance to this.”

“You can’t dance at all,” she reminds him, because she’s cruel, and merciless, and can dance to anything, at any time, no matter how much vodka she’s had or how much blood she’s lost. “Now, stop whining, and listen.”

They aren’t terrible. They’re just young, and pissed off, and loud about it, and Clint has no patience for that kind of thing.

“I was right,” he says, when the song ends. “You can’t dance to that.”

“You can’t,” Natasha repeats, as she scrolls through the available albums. “I’m going to play this the next time we get a raid. The only thing it’s missing is gunfire. And arterial spray.”

Clint is assigned to the lead singer. Nat gets the drummer, a nervy combat vet who voluntarily goes by “Bucky,” has a prototype prosthetic, suspiciously nice hair, and PTSD.

“Can we switch?” the singer asks, hand in the air like they’re in high school. He’s Jason Todd, and, as far as Clint could tell from his file, his hobbies are limited to playing music, being unfairly attractive, and getting into fights with anyone who holds still long enough.

“Depends,” Natasha says, with a shrug. “Why?”

“For symmetry.” He jerks a thumb over his shoulder, toward Barnes, and then nods toward Clint. “They’d look great together. I mean, they even fucked up the same arm.”

“Jesus,” Barnes says, closing his eyes. “Jason, come on.”

“He might as well look good,” Jason says, shrugging. “Because he’s sure as fuck not needed for anything else.”

“Hell, Nat,” Clint says, shoving his good hand in the pocket of his jeans so he won’t be tempted to throttle this guy where he sits. “It’s almost like we’re not wanted here.”

“We were hired to do a job.” Natasha smiles at the singer, flashing teeth. “We are going to do that job,” she says, “and you are going to survive until the end of our contract.”

“You can both look after Bucky,” Jason says. “I’m fine on my own.”

“Jason,” Bucky says, quiet. He’s got that exposed nerve look to him, the listlessness that comes from being burned out, hyperaware for too long. He presses his lips together, gives Jason a look that’s a little too raw, edging toward pleading.

Jason stares back for a long moment. Clint reflects on how it’s going to be a real bitch, explaining to Coulson that he beat up Jason Todd for being mean to his own bandmate. And then Jason sighs, deflates, and runs a hand through his hair.

“Alright,” he says, narrowing his eyes at Clint. “But if you fall in love with me, I’m not singing you any Goddamn Whitney Houston songs.”

“Yeah,” Clint says, rolling his eyes. “That’s really not going to be a problem.”

Jason, somehow, gets to introduce them to the band. Allegedly, they’re undercover because there’s a chance some member of the crew is responsible for the murder attempts. Clint thinks it probably has more to do with Jason not being ready to admit that he can’t fight the whole world by himself.

“This is Natalie,” Jason says, pointing at Nat. “She’s a photojournalist. She’s working with Bucky. And Artemis, for the record, I already asked, and she’s in a committed relationship, so we’re preemptively enforcing the three-foot rule.”

Artemis looks up from her laptop. She eyes Natasha thoughtfully for a moment and then refocuses on her screen. “The three-foot rule is only for Harper,” she says. “About you.”

“Bullshit,” the last bandmate says, dragging himself off the couch. He’s Roy Harper, redheaded, gangly, and allegedly in recovery, although Clint hasn’t seen a sober man wear a backwards trucker hat since the early 2000s. “Jay loves it when I get handsy with him. The three-foot rule was about you and the paparazzi. And also those girls who followed Bucky into a bathroom once.”

“Into a bathroom?” Clint tips his head, feigns contemplation. “It sounds like you guys need some kind of security team.”

“What for?” Roy asks, blinking. “We’ve got Jay.”

Jason gives Clint an absolutely insufferable smirk and then says, “This is Clint. He’s, I dunno. My assistant, I guess.”

Roy assesses Clint, and his eyes stall out on the brace around his wrist. “Shit, what happened to your hand?”

What happened is Clint broke his wrist after he dropped from a three-story building and had a disagreement with the fire escape on the way down. What happened is Natasha was in the street, vulnerable, and he drew fire from two separate helicopters armed with machine guns.

What happened is classified.

Clint opens his mouth to give some kind of bland, believable lie, and then Jason starts talking.

“He’s, just.” Jason waves his hand, dismissive at first and then oddly graphic at the end of it. “He’s really bad at jerking off.”

There’s a long, pregnant pause. Clint spends most of it fantasizing about punching Jason in the back of the head. Bucky levels a glare Jason’s direction that suggests he’s having similar thoughts.

“Wow,” Roy whispers, staring at Clint. A curious, considering look crosses his face, and then he runs his tongue over his lip and gives him a weird little wave. “Well,” he says, “if you need any coaching--”

“Three-foot rule,” Jason says, immediately. “Jesus Christ, Roy.”

“I can just talk him through it,” Roy says, wide-eyed and earnest. He looks at Clint, and, somehow, he’s just sincere enough that it’s impossible to take offense. “From however many feet away you want,” he says. “Whatever you’re comfortable with.”

“Thanks,” Clint says, nonplussed.

“Don’t give up on your dreams,” Roy tells him.

“Okay,” Jason says. “We’re done.”

“I’m sorry about Roy,” Jason tells him, later, in a tone that implies he’s sure as hell not sorry about Roy, and, also, Clint can go fuck himself if he has a problem. “He’s not always—it’s been awhile since he had to talk to strangers when he wasn’t high out of his fucking mind, so. He’s not great at it. Sometimes.”

Clint’s faintly surprised that Jason made it all the way through that explanation. He’s seen people spit out teeth with more grace and good cheer. “Honestly,” he says, “Harper’s fine. You’re a bit of an asshole, but I don’t have a problem with Roy.”

“Good,” Jason says. He squints at him, chin ducked, jaw tight. Clint keeps his hands open and relaxed at his sides, can’t for the life of him figure out if this guy wants to fight him or not. “He’s my best friend,” Jason says. “I mean, there’s Bucky and Artemis. Who are also my best friends.”

“Sure,” Clint says. “Look, I just told you. I don’t have a problem with any of them. You’re the only one who’s pissing me off.”

Jason stares at him for a beat, and then another, and then, finally, he relaxes. “Fine,” he says. “I don’t give a fuck what you think about me.”

The fact that he cares what Clint thinks about the others is the first thing about Jason Todd that Clint’s actually liked. Other than his jawline, and how tight he wears his jeans.

“Good talk,” Clint says. “Now let’s talk about those unlicensed firearms I found in your tour bus.”

“Yeah, don’t worry about those. They won’t trace back to any of us.” Jason raises his eyebrows at Clint’s expression and seems to think further explanation is required. “I stole them,” he says, “from a bunch of drug dealers in Gotham.”

Usually, when Clint accuses someone of illegal activity, they have the decency to deny it once or twice. He’s caught, wrong-footed, because he hadn’t actually found any guns, hasn’t had any opportunity to search the tour bus, and what the hell did he mean he stole from them drug dealers in Gotham.

“Shit,” Jason says, narrowing his eyes. “You aren’t law enforcement, are you?”

“You know,” Clint says, philosophically, “the hardest part of being a bodyguard is protecting the client from themselves.”

“Oh, suck it up, Costner,” Jason says, rolling his eyes. “At least you didn’t work for any of those dealers.”

[beautytipsfor]

We Need to Talk about Joe Biden

There are two possible explanations of Joe Biden’s inability to tell the truth about things: One is that his mind is failing him, the other is that his honor is. In neither case is Biden fit to hold the office of president of the United States of America, and Democrats would discredit themselves and endanger the nation to nominate him.Yes, yes, go ahead — “But, Trump!” etc. — and continue when you’ve completed the ritual of equivocation, and don’t think too hard about how far and in what direction that line of moral self-justification has carried the Republican party.Joe Biden is a plagiarist and a liar, among other things. In the most recent example, detailed by the Washington Post, Biden made up a story in which he as vice president displayed personal courage and heroism in traveling to a dangerous war zone in order to recognize the service of an American soldier who had distinguished himself in a particularly dramatic way. It was a moving story. “This is the God’s truth,” he concluded. “My word as a Biden.”But his word as a Biden isn’t worth squat, as the Post showed, reporting that “Biden got the time period, the location, the heroic act, the type of medal, the military branch and the rank of the recipient wrong, as well as his own role in the ceremony.” Which is a nice way of saying: Biden lied about an act of military heroism in order to aggrandize his own role in the story.Like Hillary Rodham Clinton under fictitious sniper fire, Biden highlighted his own supposed courage in the face of physical danger: “We can lose a vice president. We can’t lose many more of these kids.”If Biden here is lying with malice aforethought, then he ought to be considered morally disqualified for the office. If he is senescent, then he obviously is unable to perform the duties associated with the presidency, and asking him to do so would be indecent, dangerous, and unpatriotic.The evidence points more toward moral disability than mental disability, inasmuch as Biden has a long career of lying about precisely this sort of thing.The most dramatic instance of that is Biden’s continued insistence on lying about the circumstances surrounding the horrifying deaths of his wife and daughter in a terrible car accident. It is not the case, as Biden has said on many occasions, that they were killed by a drunk driver, an irresponsible trucker who “drank his lunch,” as Biden put it. That is a pure fabrication, and a slander on the man who was behind the wheel of that truck and who was haunted by the episode until the end of his days. Imagine yourself in the position of that man's family, whose natural sympathy for Biden’s loss must be complicated by outrage at his persistent lying about the relevant events.Why would Biden lie about the death of his wife and daughter? Why would he lie about the already-heroic efforts of American soldiers? In both cases, to make the story more dramatic, to give himself a bigger and more impressive narrative arc. That he would subordinate other people — real people, living and dead — to his own political ambition in such a callous and demeaning way counsels strongly against entrusting him with any more political power than that which he already has wielded.Biden lies about matters great and small. He lies about his trip to Afghanistan. He lies about the death of his wife and daughter. He is wildly dishonest about his role in the Iraq War and the 1994 crime bill, landmark moments in his legislative career that later became political liabilities. And whatever the state of his brain today, he was not senile back in 1987, when he plagiarized the words of Margaret Thatcher and Neil Kinnock for his own speeches. Like his lies, his plagiarism is part of a lifelong habit: As recently as this year, he was filling out his policy papers with uncredited — stolen — material from advocacy groups.The United States has become an empire of lies. We are governed by liars chosen on the basis of lies, and the worst partisans have begun openly to admire the lies, so long as they are skillfully constructed and delivered. The lowest among us enjoy being lied to and celebrate it. Entire political careers are based on lies — and policy initiatives, too.But if not the serial liar Joe Biden, then whom will the Democrats choose? Elizabeth Warren, who has misrepresented her supposed Native American ancestry? Kamala Harris, who has lied about murder in order to serve her own political ends? Robert Francis O’Rourke, who cannot tell the truth for five minutes about basic and fundamental questions of public policy?The Democrats are ready to go into November with nothing better to say for themselves than, “Our liar is better than their liar!” It is doubtful they will even be morally conflicted about that. But the nation will be worse off for it, inasmuch as democratic assumptions built on a foundation of lies must necessarily be unstable.Joe Biden has exhausted whatever presumption of goodwill or benefit of the doubt we might have extended to him for the past 46 years. He has had his chance to show that he is a man capable of honor, integrity, and honesty — and he has failed that test at every turn. If there ever was a time for him, that time has passed. The last thing this country needs is another pathological liar in its highest office. He is unfit for the presidency in every way, and Democrats owe the country better than to nominate him in the pursuit of their own selfish partisan interests.

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[gyrlversion]

Eurostar chaos enters a THIRD day as customers face two hour delays

Chaos is set to hit Eurostar customers travelling from France today as the service is set to experience delays of up to two hours as French customs officials continue to strike.

As it enters its third day of delays, the company this morning said it would be experiencing delays on departures from Paris Gare du Nord today due to industrial action by French Customs, meaning that bag checks would be taking longer than usual.

Eurostar was urging customers this morning to still arrive at the ticket gates at their scheduled departure time and stated that arriving later could risk passengers missing their trains.

Already today the 7:31 train from London to Paris had been cancelled, with other planned cancellations throughout the day including the 17:01 service from London. 

Pictured: The chaos in Paris this week as travellers on cross-Channel services prepare for another day of delays 

Major delays hit travellers on Thursday as they tried to make their way between France and England on the Eurostar

Queues on the French side yesterday were photographed by delayed travellers at the station

Passengers waited in queues after French customs officers staged a ‘Brexit-style’ security operation in Paris

However Eurostar said that these delays had nothing to do with the customs problems in France and were scheduled time table changes which had been in place for a while.

This is while trains from Gard du Nord were running with significant delays from as early as 8:37am with that service running with a 23 minute delay.

The 9:03am service was also delayed. It was scheduled to arrive into London for 10:39 but its arrival was estimated for 11:28.

Both the 10:06am and the 11:04am service are also set to be delayed but no guidance has yet been issued to how much they will run behind. 

Pictured: lorries queuing on the A16, around 15 miles from Calais on Wednesday 

Passengers faced waits which were ten times longer than usual as customs officials subjected them to intense checking

In a statement to MailOnline Eurostar said: ‘We are expecting delays for travellers from Paris Gare du Nord today, because the French border authorities are working to rule. This industrial action means that security checks are taking longer than usual.’ 

As militant French trade unions continue a ‘Brexit-style’ checking system, travel chaos could continue into the weekend.  

Ferry firm DFDS announced on Twitter yesterday that they were experiencing delays of up to 60 minutes on its Dover to Dunkirk service.  

One frustrated driver in Calais yesterday shared a video online as he drove past parked trucks for more than four minutes in what is believed to be a 15-mile tailback. 

Delays continue at the Channel Tunnel (pictured, Dover) as trade unionists strike for better resources and pay in light of Brexit 

Calais (pictured yesterday) was also affected as trucks stacked up while customs officials employed what they claimed was a ‘work-to-rule’ protest 

As the protests enter their second day, lorries are jammed as traffic mounts in Calais (pictured, this morning) 

Christopher Mason, 45, who has been driving for 26 years yesterday said the queues are the worst he has ever seen in Calais.

He told MailOnline: ‘What you are seeing here is just the tip of the iceberg. Calais has two massive lorry compounds which will be full.

‘Nothing has changed, we are going through exactly the same checks and the same processes. I feel as though this is being done to cause chaos. They are just refusing to let trucks go through. As we are sitting in the queues out driving time is going up – which means the other day I had to stay – in the morning I was told it was my own problem and I had to wait for the other trucks to go through first. It’s madness.’ 

Ferry firm DFDS tweeted this at about 8.30 this morning but has been suffering delays of up to 60 minutes since 6am 

Delays are being caused by uniformed French customs officials at the Gare du Nord interrogating all passengers once their luggage had cleared X-ray machines. 

‘They’re asking us where we live, what our jobs are, and whether we have any money or drugs on us,’ said Iain Kelly, a businessman travelling to an early morning meeting.

‘This never normally happens, and it’s pretty intimidating. Once your luggage clears you are normally good to go.

‘The customs officials are being extremely aggressive, and causing massive delays. They’re treating everybody as it they’re a problem.’ 

Waits of up to two hours were reported on Wednesday, during the first day of the Gare du Nord protest.

Five French trade unions are behind the protests, and are demanding more staff and better pay to cope what they will argue will be more difficult checks after Brexit, which will technically happen at the end of this month.

David-Olivier Caron, of the CFDT union, said: ‘Customs officers are strictly applying the rules and reinforcing controls.’

And Philippe Bollengier, from the CGT union, added: ‘There will be stronger controls. Today you have a demonstration of what is going to happen’ after Brexit.

One of his uniformed colleagues dealing with passengers waiting for the 3.03pm service from Paris to London on Wednesday – which was delayed by almost two hours – was more forthright, saying: ‘Brexit will be terrible for all of us.

‘We simply do not have the manpower or resources to deal with the new demands on us.’

Despite this, the officer could not explain what would change, particularly as French customs currently deal with thousands of non-EU passport holders every day.

Instead he spent a minimum of three minutes interrogating every passenger whose luggage had already been cleared by passing through a detector.

While pedestrian passengers were caught in massive queues in London and Paris, truckers had to wait for hours at Dover and Calais

Trade unions regularly bring transport to a halt in France as they campaign for better pay and conditions.

As thousands waited for documents to be checked, Vincent Thomazo, of France’s UNSA trade union said: ‘We are making sure controls are very strict.’ 

The border guards carried out thorough checks on all paperwork in a work-to-rule action which slowed progress of passengers 

Eurostar rubbished the claims trade unionists are making, with a statement on its website reading: ‘We expect to maintain services on the existing basis, timetable and terms and conditions following Brexit.

‘We are working closely with our station partners, Governments and border authorities on both sides of the Channel to ensure that robust plans are in place for us to continue to operate in either a deal or ‘no-deal’ scenario.’

French customs said the work to rule was aimed at improving pay and staff numbers ahead of the UK’s departure from the European Union on March 29th. 

A French police car drives next to trucks parked on a highway in the direction of Calais, near Saint-Folquin yesterday

Passengers at the Paris station were asked where they lived, what they did for a living – far beyond their usual procedures

The RHA said it was ‘extremely worried’ the queues will put ‘the lives and livelihoods of truckers at risk’.

Chief executive Richard Burnett said: ‘Since Brexit discussions began, we have been voicing our concerns that the number of customs agents currently employed will be insufficient to tackle the new procedures.

‘The French union officials’ claim that the action is aimed at ‘showing what will happen after Brexit’ is totally unacceptable.

‘Many of our members caught up in the queues are bearing the brunt of this action.

‘They will be stuck with no facilities and will inevitably suffer financial losses as a result of delayed deliveries – particularly those carrying perishable goods.

Lorries were turned the roads around Calais into a car park as cars are being diverted round them to reach their ferries (red markings on the road show severe delays are widespread)

Lorry drivers will be fearful these scenes could repeat themselves as the French customs officials warn of a return to the 1970s

A French police vehicle monitors traffic as rain lashes down on the northern French coast on Wednesday

‘The head of French customs has insisted that France will be ready for Brexit on 29 March, and that such queues would not form.

‘But with only 17 working days left until the UK leaves the EU, I do not share his optimism.

‘This is an intolerable situation and if not resolved, there’s a real danger that it could be the shape of things to come.

‘We continue our call for clarity over border crossing procedures but still nothing is forthcoming.’  

Lorries bringing continental exports and deliveries to the United Kingdom experienced heavy traffic

Hundreds of lorries were caught up in the intense customs checks as officials made a point to their employers over their Brexit fears

Emmanuel Macron’s condemnation of the Brexit ‘trap’ in full:

Citizens of Europe,

If I am taking the liberty of addressing you directly, it is not only in the name of the history and values that unite us. It is because time is of the essence. In a few weeks’ time, the European elections will be decisive for the future of our continent.

Never, since the Second World War, has Europe been as essential. Yet never has Europe been in so much danger.

Brexit stands as the symbol of that. It symbolises the crisis of Europe, which has failed to respond to its peoples’ needs for protection from the major shocks of the modern world. It also symbolises the European trap. The trap is not being part of the European Union. The trap is in the lie and the irresponsibility that can destroy it. Who told the British people the truth about their post-Brexit future? Who spoke to them about losing access to the European market? Who mentioned the risks to peace in Ireland of restoring the former border? Nationalist retrenchment offers nothing; it is rejection without an alternative. And this trap threatens the whole of Europe: the anger mongers, backed by fake news, promise anything and everything.

We have to stand firm, proud and lucid, in the face of this manipulation and say first of all what Europe is. It is a historic success: the reconciliation of a devastated continent in an unprecedented project of peace, prosperity and freedom. We should never forget that. And this project continues to protect us today. What country can act on its own in the face of aggressive strategies by the major powers? Who can claim to be sovereign, on their own, in the face of the digital giants? How would we resist the crises of financial capitalism without the euro, which is a force for the entire European Union? Europe is also those thousands of projects daily that have changed the face of our regions: the school refurbished, the road built, and the long-awaited arrival of high-speed Internet access. This struggle is a daily commitment, because Europe, like peace, can never be taken for granted. I tirelessly pursue it in the name of France to take Europe forward and defend its model. We have shown that what we were told was unattainable, the creation of a European defence capability and the protection of social rights, was in fact possible.

Yet we need to do more and sooner, because there is the other trap: the trap of the status quo and resignation. Faced with the major crises in the world, citizens so often ask us, ‘Where is Europe? What is Europe doing?’ It has become a soulless market in their eyes. Yet Europe is not just a market. It is a project. A market is useful, but it should not detract from the need for borders that protect and values that unite. The nationalists are misguided when they claim to defend our identity by withdrawing from Europe, because it is the European civilisation that unites, frees and protects us. But those who would change nothing are also misguided, because they deny the fears felt by our peoples, the doubts that undermine our democracies. We are at a pivotal moment for our continent, a moment when together we need to politically and culturally reinvent the shape of our civilisation in a changing world. It is the moment for European renewal. Hence, resisting the temptation of isolation and divisions, I propose we build this renewal together around three ambitions: freedom, protection and progress.

Emmanuel Macron (pictured) has taken aim at Brexit in an open letter

The European model is based on the freedom of man and the diversity of opinions and creation. Our first freedom is democratic freedom: the freedom to choose our leaders as foreign powers seek to influence our vote at each election. I propose creating a European Agency for the Protection of Democracies, which will provide each Member State with European experts to protect their election process against cyber attacks and manipulation. In this same spirit of independence, we should also ban the funding of European political parties by foreign powers. We should have European rules banish all incitements to hate and violence from the Internet, since respect for the individual is the bedrock of our civilisation of dignity.

Founded on internal reconciliation, the European Union has forgotten to look at the realities of the world. Yet no community can create a sense of belonging if it does not have bounds that it protects. The boundary is freedom in security. We therefore need to rethink the Schengen area: all those who want to be part of it should comply with obligations of responsibility (stringent border controls) and solidarity (one asylum policy with the same acceptance and refusal rules). We will need a common border force and a European asylum office, strict control obligations and European solidarity to which each country will contribute under the authority of a European Council for Internal Security. On the issue of migration, I believe in a Europe that protects both its values and its borders.

The same standards should apply to defence. Substantial progress has been made in the last two years, but we need to set a clear course: a treaty on defence and security should define our fundamental obligations in association with NATO and our European allies: increased defence spending, a truly operational mutual defence clause, and the European Security Council with the United Kingdom on board to prepare our collective decisions.

Our borders also need to guarantee fair competition. What power in the world would accept continued trade with those who respect none of their rules? We cannot suffer in silence. We need to reform our competition policy and reshape our trade policy with penalties or a ban in Europe on businesses that compromise our strategic interests and fundamental values such as environmental standards, data protection and fair payment of taxes; and the adoption of European preference in strategic industries and our public procurement, as our American and Chinese competitors do.

Europe is not a second-rank power. Europe in its entirety is a vanguard: it has always defined the standards of progress. In this, it needs to drive forward a project of convergence rather than competition: Europe, where social security was created, needs to introduce a social shield for all workers, east to west and north to south, guaranteeing the same pay in the same workplace, and a minimum European wage appropriate to each country and discussed collectively every year.

Getting back on track with progress also concerns spearheading the ecological cause. Will we be able to look our children in the eye if we do not also clear our climate debt? The European Union needs to set its target – zero carbon by 2050 and pesticides halved by 2025 – and adapt its policies accordingly with such measures as a European Climate Bank to finance the ecological transition, a European food safety force to improve our food controls and, to counter the lobby threat, independent scientific assessment of substances hazardous to the environment and health. This imperative needs to guide all our action: from the Central Bank to the European Commission, from the European budget to the Investment Plan for Europe, all our institutions need to have the climate as their mandate.

Emmanuel Macron and Theresa May at a summit in Canada in June 2018 

Progress and freedom are about being able to live from your work: Europe needs to look ahead to create jobs. This is why it needs not only to regulate the digital giants by putting in place European supervision of the major platforms (prompt penalties for unfair competition, transparent algorithms, etc.), but also to finance innovation by giving the new European Innovation Council a budget on a par with the United States in order to spearhead new technological breakthroughs such as artificial intelligence.

A world-oriented Europe needs to look towards Africa, with which we should enter into a covenant for the future, taking the same road and ambitiously and non-defensively supporting African development with such measures as investment, academic partnerships and education for girls.

Freedom, protection and progress. We need to build European renewal on these pillars. We cannot let nationalists without solutions exploit the people’s anger. We cannot sleepwalk through a diminished Europe. We cannot become ensconced in business as usual and wishful thinking. European humanism demands action. And everywhere, the people are standing up to be part of that change. So by the end of the year, let’s set up, with the representatives of the European institutions and the Member States, a Conference for Europe in order to propose all the changes our political project needs, with an open mind, even to amending the treaties. This conference will need to engage with citizens’ panels and hear academics, business and labour representatives, and religious and spiritual leaders. It will define a roadmap for the European Union that translates these key priorities into concrete actions. There will be disagreement, but is it better to have a static Europe or a Europe that advances, sometimes at different paces, and that is open to all?

In this Europe, the peoples will really take back control of their future. In this Europe, the United Kingdom, I am sure, will find its true place.

Citizens of Europe, the Brexit impasse is a lesson for us all. We need to escape this trap and make the upcoming elections and our project meaningful. It is for you to decide whether Europe and the values of progress that it embodies are to be more than just a passing episode in history. This is the choice I propose: to chart together the road to European renewal.

Emmanuel Macron 

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[momscookingthebooks]

Chapter Reveal ~ Pre-Order Links ~ Giveaway

Title: Trigger

Series: Devil’s Reach Book 1

Author: JL Drake

Genre: MC/Romance

Release Date: May 16, 2017

Cover Designer: Deranged Doctor Designed

Publisher: Limitless Publishing

#ChapterReveal #PreOrder #LimitlessPublishing

Add to Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/34857170-trigger

Blurb:

I was raised by the Devil himself.

Formed into a man that was unreachable.

I went from the boy with bruises to the man with a trigger.

Killing is the only thing the calms the itch.

The demons inside were a constant battle.

…until she changed everything.

When you spend most of your time

in the dark, is it smart to step into the light?

Pre-Order Links:

Amazon: http://amzn.to/2qK1ote

Amazon CA: http://amzn.to/2qJJB5o

Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/2qK6zcv

Amazon AU: http://amzn.to/2qJFdU2

Chapter 1:

Trigger

Click! Click! Click!

“Shit!” I turned back around, barely missing the bumper of a semi-truck. His horn blew as we drew up along both sides. Two more bullets skimmed by my head and took out the mirror above me. The trucker screamed at us as he tried to keep his vehicle straight.

Jamming my empty clip into my boot, I reached to grab my spare as another truck flashed his lights and hit the horn to alert us we were in his lane. The cliffs were too close to the edge of the road to spare us any room, and the others were gaining on us.

I pointed my empty gun at the trucker to my left. “Slow down!” When he didn’t react right away, I moved the gun to his tire. His hand went up and he nodded repeatedly.

He eased off the gas and allowed Cooper and me to slip in front. Cooper’s wheel bumped off mine, and I reached out and used my momentum to grab his shoulder to stabilize him. The roar of our bikes ripped through the mountains, alerting my men we were coming.

“Brick!” I held up my hand, and he tossed me a clip. I quickly clicked it in place with my thigh.

The minute I saw them appear in my mirror, I signaled for my men to get ready. With one quick movement, our black van skidded to the shoulder of the road in front of us. The back doors swung open, and the four of us spread apart as my two prospects popped out with their semi- automatics. It was a beautiful sight. Orange lit the dawn sky while bullets flew into their chests, blood shot across the pavement, and three more Stripe Backs lay mangled for their crew to clean up. They had taken our bait, and our plan worked perfectly. Though we wouldn’t go down for the kill, we still made our point. Don’t fuck with my club.

I smirked at Brick as we each tossed our Cabo Wabo Anejo tequila bottles off to the side.

We picked up speed and made good time well before any cops would be called.

Once we hit the city limits, my phone buzzed. The phone’s screen attached to my handlebars popped into view.

Cray: Ready in the morning.

Good. Better to let the fear of what’s to come marinate. Then to end it quickly.

I signaled to the men it was time. I decided to take the side streets so we’d be more visible and, as hard as it was, I slowed our speed to show we were in no rush.

It worked. A few local shop owners gave us a wave before they pulled their steel doors down for the night. Mud, the local surf shop owner, was out for his nightly ride and gave us a nod.

Rail and Cooper split off, while Brick and I rounded the back of our clubhouse and got to work.

***

“Ahhhh.” Spit jumped from his lips, but most of it pooled in the corners of his mouth. He looked like a wild dog. His pupils dilated when they focused on the tiny eyedropper that hovered above. “Please, no! I’ll do anything!”

Brick glanced at me and shook his head. I agreed; it was tiring. As much as I’d have liked to slap that comment right out of his head, I couldn’t fault human reactions. It was in their DNA to beg for their lives. I always promised myself that when my day came, I would take it like a man. Silently.

The heat from the hanging lamps plastered my hair to my neck like a second layer of skin. We really needed to turn on the AC.

The slaughter room, as I named it, had tiled walls up to the ceiling, easy for cleaning, and a huge industrial drain in the middle for the larger pieces we needed to wash away in a hurry. No windows, no cameras, just lots of equipment to work with.

Brick brushed the hair out of the bastard’s sweaty face so he could see me better. I licked my lips as I lowered myself to his level, and my men stiffened at this action. I never lowered myself to anyone’s level unless I was about to make a point. His eyes met mine, searching for some trace of a soul. Unfortunately, I was not born with one.

I leaned down so he could see for himself the emptiness that lived inside me. Once he focused in and got a glimpse behind the curtain and I saw this realization, I spoke quietly. “Everyone dies sometime. We all have choices, and you made yours.” I motioned for Brick to move into position and spread his eyelid open. The bright pink flesh fought to go back in its place, but it was no match for Brick’s fingers. The man shook and kicked, but my expression told him to remain quiet.

Holding the dropper above his eye, I squeezed the rubber and let the tiny drop of bleach fall and coat the pupil. His screams deafened me momentarily, but I welcomed the sound. That was fate’s way of thanking me for doing the devil’s work.

He kicked and bucked as the minute drop burned its way through his cornea, blinding and eating as it traveled into his brain. His chest heaved and sweat pooled along his collarbone as his neck strained against the pain.

The high I got off his terror made me hard, and my heartbeat raced. I swallowed hard in an attempt to lubricate my parched throat as I continued to blind his left eye. This was what I was made for. It was what separated me from other motorcycle gangs around me. I showed no mercy and punished those who needed it through their greatest fears. I knew it was only when you had nothing that you couldn’t be touched.

“Brick.” I held out my hand, and he passed me a hunting knife. Walking around the steel table, I took a deep breath.

“You saw too much,” I whispered as he fought to see where I was with his clouded eyes. “You heard too much.” I grabbed his right ear, pulled it out, and sliced the outer part off. His face twitched, his mouth opened, and his wound quickly drained of blood, but he still stayed mute. “You stole from me.” Holding his hand down, I sliced his finger off at the second knuckle. Tossing it out of the way, I pressed on his open palm and stopped the flow of blood, just to fuck with his body.

He jerked to the side and vomited in a silent cry. His mind must be spinning. Too much pain coming from too many directions could throw you off.

“You were part of this family and chose to defy me. Never again will you disobey me.” I raised the blade above my head and drove it straight into his shoulder, hoping this would be the last tip to his sanity. “Just in case you think revenge is the answer…” Brick tossed me a switchblade, while Rail grabbed his head and yanked out his tongue. The blade drove through the center.

Silence. Nothing but the hum of the lights.

“See you below.”

The voice in my head returned, so I waved at Brick, grabbed my shit, and left.

I waved at Morgan, who was on the phone on a smoke break, then fastened my helmet and wiped my hands clean. Revving the engine, I turned into the sun and drove out onto the smoldering road. The guys could handle the rest.

The engine was hot, and without realizing, I let my mind go there…

The burning poker skimmed my calf, and I jolted back with a scream. Tears streamed down my dirty cheeks as I hugged my knees to my chest. The heat burned the surface then traveled down to the muscle where it spread in a blanket of pure pain.

“Stop!” I cried out, desperate for him to get bored and move on to something else. I was four years old, and this was the fifth time he had done this.

“Come here, boy!” His huge hand swiped at me, but I pressed my back flat to the wall under the table, becoming as small I could.

His brown eyes squinted as he drew back the poker. Dropping it on the floor, he cursed, grabbed a fresh beer from the fridge, banged it loudly on the table, and left.

My heart pounded until it hurt my chest.

If he had wanted to, he could easily have climbed under there. Allen was a fit man, muscles that attracted all the wrong kinds of women, a strong jaw, and defined, broad shoulders with a lean waist.

I tucked the fear away and turned into the cool wall with my cheek pressed to it, seeking some relief from the terrible heat in my leg. Closing my eyes, I stayed under the table until morning, where I knew it could all begin again.

Blinking to clear my head, I pulled off onto a dusty path and headed up into the hills.

The yellow trailer sat on cement bricks; the wheels had been removed years ago. The slider-style windows were open, and broken blinds bounced around in the breeze. The place was a dump, and I wasn’t sure why he insisted on keeping it, but that was his decision. He had earned that right many years ago.

Backing under a shady tree, I turned the engine off and unclipped my helmet, hanging it off the handle of my matte black Kawasaki Vulcan 900.

I turned and found a beer can flying in my direction. I caught it and opened it slowly so as not to get sprayed.

“Day?” his raspy voice croaked.

I settled into an old folding chair that dug into my legs. “Three Stripe Backs down, and one of my prospects gone.”

“Anyone hurt?”

“Nope.”

“Prospect stole? Or leaked?”

“Stole.”

“What you remove?”

“Fingers. Eyes. Shoulder. Ear. A little tongue.” I shifted so the bar didn’t cut into my hip. “This shit is old, Gus.”

“I’m old.” He passed off my comment, like always. “How much?”

Removing my hat, I swiped my long hair out of my face.

“A little over forty thousand.”

Gus shook his head and rubbed his knee. Three stab wounds to the same spot would screw anyone up. “Reason?”

“Does it matter?” I tossed my empty can in the trash before I reached for another. My dusty boots landed heavily on his wooden table.

“Where is he?”

“Thought the guys could have some fun.”

He nodded.

We sat in silence. I might not talk much, but I hated the quiet. My knee started to thump, and Gus took the cue. He leaned over and tapped his phone, and a moment later the band Disturbed filled the silence, and I let out a long breath as the guitar hit my ears and calmed me.

“Hungry?” he asked awkwardly as he got out of his chair. His battered body tilted to one side as he stood straighter. His head always hung to the right because of a bullet wound to the spine. Gus was sixty, but his soul was thirty.

“No.” I downed my beer and rose. “I should get back.”

He followed me to my bike. “Meeting tomorrow?”

“Yeah, eleven.” I buckled my helmet.

“New shipment?”

“Yeah.”

“Tomorrow,” he repeated with a small nod.

Raising two fingers, I waved a goodbye and kicked the engine over.

I weaved in between traffic. The bike was a part of me, and I’d been riding for as long as I could remember. Gus always joked that I drove before I learned how to walk. It was the closest thing I ever felt to freedom.

Two headlights flashed in my mirrors, a signal for me to pull over. I waited until I was sure who it was, but he always flashed lights to me the same way. One short, one long. Easing over to the other lane, I exited at the gas station and parked on the shoulder.

The Mustang came to a stop behind me, and Officer Doyle hauled himself out of the car. I chuckled as I sat on my bike and watched him take his sweet-ass time to get to me.

“Trigger, I thought that was you.” His voice was raised to give a show to the people watching. Everyone knew my bike, and everyone loved to see me lose my shit on punk cops like Doyle.

“You found me,” I said, playing along. “Now that you have, what can I do for you?”

Doyle kept his back to the spectators as he removed his sunglasses and cleaned them with the side of his oversized shirt. “I heard your boys got into a little trouble last night.”

“Not sure what you’re talking about.” I shrugged. “What happened?”

“Eli’s boys got hit.”

Huh. “Alive?”

“Two dead, one hanging on.”

“Wasn’t mine.”

He smirked and leaned closer. He smelled like cherry chew. “And if it was?”

I laughed at his act. I’d bet Doyle had never fired his gun other than training. “You got something to say, Doyle?”

He bent my mirror to straighten his tie, and my fingers twitched to break his. “Known you a long time, Trigger. I also know when you’re lying.”

Looking into the crowd who had nothing better to do than watch, I spoke very carefully, because I knew my switch was about to flick. “You have no idea who I really am. If you have a problem with my guys, you come to me with proof.”

“Your boys better have some strong alibis.”

“Do me a favor, Doyle. Give your sister a kiss for me.” Just as he went to flip me off, I skidded my bike, kicking up a dust storm before I raced down the ramp and onto the freeway.

Letting the engine sooth my nerves as I wove through the cars, it wasn’t long until I was back in my own territory and making my way down the street and into the abandoned movie theater I owned where I parked my bike. I took the elevator up to my place.

I needed some time to think.

“We are all moving forward, and my past’s catching up. Time’s a-running out, and my days are numbered. Too strong to run, too proud to hide, for this I’ll pay, for this I’ll die,” I sang, watching the lights flicker below me. I leaned my weight into the hot stone wall that overlooked Santa Monica, my guitar propped on my thigh, and plucked the strings to one of my own songs.

I could see for miles. This was my town, and this was my spot. Everyone knew when I was here to leave me the fuck alone. I stroked flint against metal and held the flickering flame to the end of the joint. With a deep drag, the smooth smoke traveled to the bottom of my lungs. I could feel it dancing around inside me. I squinted, tipped my head back, and made an O with my lips, letting a trail of white float up toward the stars.

The joint slipped further between my fingers, and I brushed the strings, sending blues rock into the warmth of the night.

My mind raced back to this morning when everything had changed. The possibility that the club may have more rats was making my neck tick. I would need to flush them out with whatever means possible. Then I’d deal with them personally.

I put my guitar down and ran my hands through my hair, letting it drop back down over my shoulders. I needed an outlet, so I stripped off my vest and hung it over an old chair so the devil could stare at me. Pulling my phone free, I swiped to hear The White Buffalo, turning the volume up and letting it cut through the silence. I hated silence; it brought too many memories. Of him.

I removed my t-shirt, flexing my neck back and forth, then pulled my arms over my head and leaned back. My fingers cracked as I laced them together and gave a good tug. I stared at the punching bag for a second then let loose.

My lips curled from the impact that pounded my muscles like a hammer. Pain was good. Pain was easy to control. Every other emotion was just a waste of time.

Twisting my torso, I did a roundhouse and kicked the black bag high in the air.

Punch, punch, punch, punch. I couldn’t get enough until my arms locked and my throat begged for water. I wiped my face clean and brushed my hair out of my face, holding it in place with my ball hat. Kicking open the cooler, I popped open a cold beer and leaned against the rail.

Finally, the voice was muted, but I knew it wouldn’t last long.

My phone vibrated next to me.

Brick: Prospect has been dropped off.

***

Tess

I poured myself another glass of wine from the bottle that sat on my night stand. With the lights down low, I looked around my room and was thankful I was alone tonight.

Picking up the heavy book, I settled back and pulled the duvet up to my chin. My eyes scanned for the place where I left off a moment ago.

“Please stay and let me protect you.” His face is inches from hers. He gently lifts the sheet and dries the corners of her eyes. “You have to trust me.”

I let the book fall forward onto my lap, my eyes closed. Damn, I had to keep reading. Where was I? Oh, right. “Did you spend the whole night with me?”

I let the book fall again. I’d never get this book read if I kept allowing myself to become her, but should I? I reached for my bag and dumped it out in front of me and grinned at the purple lipstick that just so happened to have a fresh new battery inside. Why the hell not?

Later, before turning out the light and settling in for the night, I got out from under the sheets and looked out the window. I loved the night sky; something about it was peaceful. A flash of movement caught my attention, and I turned the lamp off so I could see better. Oh, my. “Hello, Remington Tate.” I opened my window. I was totally creepin’, but come on…

It was about ninety degrees in Santa Monica, yet this guy was wearing a hoodie. He moved about like a dancer, his fists hitting the bag. I heard the bang, bang, bang as his fists made contact with it. It was fascinating to watch. The rooftop he was on was only slightly higher than my window and gave me a good view of him, backlit by the moon. It was quite a beautiful sight.

I grew tired in spite of myself and knew tomorrow would be a busy day, including more unpacking stuff that wasn’t even mine. I dragged my gaze away from the rooftop boxer and glanced around the room. It was much better than my old place. Well, anything was better than my old place. Closing my eyes to the memory, I tried to push his scent out of my mind, although I still felt the deep ache. Tears prickled my eyes, but I kept them away. I channeled the hurt into anger—something I was a pro at. Sadness never healed anyone.

I was to start a new job tomorrow at Helmond’s Bar. It might be only temporary until I found something else. I didn’t want to be serving drinks forever, but damn, it was money, and I needed that right now.

My phone lit up, and I smiled at the text.

Matt: T-minus eight hours.

Tess: You better be there when I arrive.

Matt: Have I ever let you down?

My heart warmed a little.

Tess: Never.

Holding up my beloved camera, I snapped a picture of my rooftop boxer, hoping I had captured the light just right. I knew it would be an image I would wouldn’t easily forget.

“Night,” I whispered before I crawled into bed and slipped the book under my pillow. I hoped it would bring me good dreams.

***

Nearly falling into one of the boxes, I dug for the black leather skirt and red tank that Matt told me to wear. Once dressed, I wiggled into my high heeled boots and glanced at myself in the mirror propped up against the wall. I leaned upside down and ran my fingers through my long blonde hair to give it a little more volume. Five bike chains wrapped my left wrist halfway up to my elbow, and my silver hoop earrings swung as I moved, giving me an extra pop of color.

I was never a girl who could wear cute sundresses and carry Prada bags. There was too much shit going on inside to ever wear something so cheerful.

Grabbing my bag, I downed a glass of OJ I’d bought from the gas station across the road, and then locked the door and ran downstairs and out to the sidewalk. I wasn’t far from the address of my new job, but Matt had made some comment about how I should be careful which streets I used. Trouble was, he never said which ones. He told me to use a cab, but that was ridiculous. I’d Googled the location and saw it was only a fifteen-minute walk. Sorry, Matt, but I will not call a cab for that. Money was not something I had a lot of at the moment.

Holding the scrap of paper, I headed east and let the warm morning air wake me. That was, until I felt my bag vibrate. Not recognizing the number, I answered it, tucking the Post-it in my boot.

“Hello.”

“You want to tell me where you are this time?”

My blood pressure dropped.

“What do you want?” I held up my hand to a car to let him know I was about to jaywalk. The driver whistled, and I flipped him the bird.

“Just want to know where you are. I have that right, Tessa.”

“No, you don’t.”

There was such a long pause I looked down at the phone to see if it was still connected. After a moment, the screen indicated the call had ended. So much drama was laced up with that woman. I hurried as fast as I could. I really should have done a practice run, but moving your life from one state to another was exhausting. A few more blocks and two turns, and I shielded my eyes to read the number on the wall.

Wait. I must have taken a wrong turn. Dammit.

Turning back around and getting completely confused, I saw a few guys staring me down. I felt a bit uncomfortable but tried to act normal. With my head up, attempting to show confidence, I hurried but tripped in my stupid boots and tumbled to my knees. My phone went flying, leaving me to wince as pain shot through my legs.

“Yeah, right where she should be,” one guy called out, making me blush from head to toe.

I scrambled to stand, when one of them reached for my arm and hauled me up like a child.

“As much as you looked good on your knees, that fall looked like it hurt. You okay?” My eyes met an elderly man, maybe in his sixties, a scary-ass lookin’ dude. A deep scar ran from his right eye down to the corner of his mouth. He reeked of beer, which literally took my breath away.

“I’m fine.” I pulled my arm out of his grip and somehow plastered on a smile to be nice. I caught sight of his biker vest. In fact, they all were wearing them. A skull with a devil and a snake coming out of its eye was patched on the back of them. Satan’s Serpents.

I should have been terrified, but all that ran through my head was I was going to be late on my first day. I can’t let my best friend down.

One of the guys handed me my phone, but when I reached for it, he pulled it away. He clicked on the screen and grinned at the picture of me and my friend Mags.

“Pretty dress.” He winked and handed it back to me. “Wear it on our date next week.” My face dropped further…if that was even possible. I’d lived with men like this, and it was tiring behavior.

He started to say something else, but a loud rumble from a pack of motorcycles deafened me as they drove by a cross street. A stillness spread through all the men.

Four guys on choppers slowed as they caught sight of us. Traffic didn’t seem to mind. Sunglasses covered their eyes, but I knew they saw us. I was frozen, waiting for something bad to happen. The tension was so thick it made it hard to breathe.

A few pulled their guns, but the old man with the scar shook his head, and they stood down.

Seriously, where the hell am I?

Again, the devil made its way into my vison, only their jackets had a skull resting in the Grim Reaper’s outstretched hand. Devil’s Reach was patched across their shoulders. I noticed both jackets had Santa Monica on them.

Sensing the men were preoccupied, I took advantage of the moment and darted down the street.

I fished around in my boot for the stupid Post-it that I had written Matt’s address on.

Fifteen minutes later, and I was finally there—5627 Dustin Street.

I stared up at the rundown building with painted black windows. It was huge and wide, but the few buildings around it were abandoned and had some broken windows. I really hoped I had the address wrong. I tugged on the handle, and to my disappointment, it opened, letting out a cloud of smoke. I coughed to catch my breath, and when my eyes stopped stinging, I took in my surroundings.

Holy fuck…

“You want somethin’?” a husky voice barked at me from behind the bar. I blinked to clear the haze and observed a tall man with a long beard that stopped at his belt. Tattoos ran around his shaved head like the rings on Saturn.

I shook my head and realized it might be wise to leave. “I think I might be in the wrong place.”

He poured a shot and slid it my way, nodding for me to take it. I stepped up to the bar and thought why the hell not? At that point, I was sure I’d lost the job anyway. I tossed it back while he watched. “Where are you supposed to be?”  

I waited for the burn of the whiskey to leave before I answered. “I’m looking for my friend Matt Montgomery. I think I wrote the address down wrong.”

He studied me a moment then his eyebrow ring twitched as his eyes narrowed in on me.

“Brick! Company!” he shouted over my head.

Seriously?

“No, I’m looking for a Matt.”

“Not anymore.”

Huh?

A moment later, a door flew open and out came my best friend, who I hadn’t seen in six years, wearing a Devil’s Reach vest.

Okay…

He flew toward me, scooped me up, and greeted me with a big bear hug.

Hold up!

“Tess!” He smiled down at me through a mass of long brown hair that touched the bottom of his ears. “You look amazing!”

“You expected less?” I joked to give me an extra moment to process the situation. “Um, not sure where to start here, so…what’s with the name Brick?”

His eyes flickered with something before he spoke. “Nickname.”

“Okay.” I noticed the words Vice President patched above his new name. What had I missed?

As bizarre as the situation was, I couldn’t deny how good it was to see him. It was like hugging your blanket when you were a child. Instant comfort.

I hugged him even tighter. “You look completely different.” I tugged on his long hair. “I love it!”

He rested me back on the ground, and I swatted his arm, nodding at the fucking motorcycle bar. “Thanks for the warning.”

A guilty grin spread across his face. “I didn’t want to run the risk of you not coming.”

“How well do you know me?” I shook my head, feeling better already. “Anything is better than the house.”

He reached for my hand and slid my bracelets up to check my wrists. His lips pressed together as his finger ran over the vertical scar on my left wrist.

“I know you better than anyone.”

I pulled my hand free and pushed the bracelets back in place.

“How are you?” Before I could answer, he gave me his look. “Without the bullshit, Tess.”

Stepping back, I noticed the bartender was listening to us with no shame.

“Fine. Like I said, happy to be away. You going to show me around?”

His shoulders sagged, but he didn’t push it. Instead, he looked over my shoulder at something.

“Yeah, I can do that.” He waved around the bar. “Helmond’s Bar. Which is the club’s bar.”

“Okay.” I saw their cut picture was painted onto the wall in black and gray, and there were three women who were high on something. Two of them were draped over a chair and a bench, and the other was butt naked, spread-eagle on the pool table.

“Nothing you haven’t seen before.” Brick shrugged.

A little boy, maybe six years old, came running out from behind the bar with what I hoped was a water gun and started to shoot the woman on the chair in the face. She squinted at him before she snatched it away and tossed it across the room.

“Go get ready for school.”

I shook my head before I saw Brick point. “That’s Gus’s old lady, and his son. You’ll meet him later.” I nodded, and he went on. “Through those double doors,” he pointed to the wall underneath the Devil’s Reach logo, “is the president’s office and the meeting room. Most of the time, the doors are open, but when there’s a meeting, they stay closed and the bar shuts down.” He beckoned for me to follow him past the bar and out through another set of huge, heavy doors. My guess was they would be bulletproof.

We headed to our left first. The hallways were wide and the floors were tile. The walls were painted a dark beige, and to my surprise, it didn’t look too rundown, not like the front of the building. After a few quick glances out the windows, I saw the building was formed into a horseshoe with a party place in the middle.

“These are the bedrooms for us main guys. Pres, Vice Pres, Sergeant-at-Arms, Treasurer, and so on. This is mine.” He pointed quickly before he turned me around and started back up the hallway again. Once we passed the huge doors, he opened another and let me step inside. Two women who looked to be my mother’s age, and one guy who was about the size of a house, glared at me.

“Kitchen. No need to tell you their names. They have zero personality, and even if they did, they never leave this room, so it’s pointless.”

“Hi.” I waved, and the guy snickered something in Spanish, so I shrugged. “Never knew an MC could live so well.”

“We are not like most MCs.” Brick laughed as he opened the door for me to leave the kitchen. “Down there are more bedrooms.”

“What about that door at the end?” I noticed the same type of doors we went through to get into the living corridors were also at the end of the hallway.

“Ah, that’s to go outdoors. They’re normally locked, so just use this one.” He tapped the door in front of me. “Okay, so, for the rules.” He led me outside, maybe away from ears. I didn’t know.

The courtyard was mostly concrete, with a lot of trees that shaded the actual building. There was a huge rectangular pool with a little changing house next to it that matched the look of the stone barbecue. Tables and lounge chairs were scattered around, and an old pickup truck was off to the side, hidden between some trees against the stone wall that ran along the perimeter. The place did give you the sense of safety, that was for sure.

“I get it, it’s a lot to take in.” Brick looked up at me with one eye closed. I sat so he didn’t have to squint.

“Not that bad.”

“When you’re not working, you can be out here. We normally are. The guys will have their families over for Friday night dinners. You’ll be working with Morgan. He’s good, doesn’t talk much, but he’ll teach you lots. You got a problem, talk to him.”

“Morgan have a family?”

“Nope. You saw Gus’s old lady on the chair. Her name is Vib. She’s a junkie, but she shouldn’t be too much of a problem. They have two kids, Den and Fin. They are little dicks, but they’re family, so we love them.”

Awesome. I wasn’t a huge kid person.

“Rail and Cooper are two more main guys who live here. Rail only thinks with his dick, so stay away. Cooper is…well, you can be friends with him. I’ll allow that.”

I smacked his arm.

“Don’t touch the drugs. There’s a lot kickin’ around. Us higher-up guys don’t touch it. Trigger, the president, wants us to stay clean. You can do pot, but not coke, okay?”

“Have you ever known me to stick a tube up my nose?”

“Been six years, Tess. A lot has changed.”

“Like your name.”

He laughed darkly. “Yeah, a few of us adopted a nickname after our first kill.”

“Thanks for that image.”

“Think about Rail’s.” He laughed then stood and offered me a hand. “Come on.” He held my hand tightly as we walked back inside. “You have any problems, you come to me. Promise?”

“I will.” I waited for him to close the door behind me, and I noticed the bar had gotten a lot busier. At least the naked chick on the pool table had closed her legs. “So, where am I working, exactly?”

He tipped his head toward the bar. “Morgan,” he called out to the bartender as we joined him. “This is Tess. She’s the new bartender.” Morgan didn’t blink an eye at me as he opened the wooden latch to let me in behind the bar top. “Hey.” Matt tugged me closer. “It’s Brick now, okay?”

“Yeah, that’s been burned into my head nicely.”

“We only deal in cash.” Morgan started right in. “The guys with the skull patches on their collars drink for free. No one else, no exceptions.” I failed to mention that he just gave me a free drink. “We only serve beer and hard liquor.” He pointed to the bottles. “You clean?”

I glanced up at him, puzzled.

When I didn’t respond, he flipped my arms over and checked my skin for tracks. “Take off your shoes.”

“Pardon?”

“She’s clean,” Brick barked out as a warning. Morgan nodded once then went back to explaining things like he didn’t just ask if I shot heroin.

“You can drink, but don’t get drunk,” he mumbled and stroked his thin beard and twisted it around his finger as he thought. “Don’t call him Matt. His name is Brick. It’s disrespectful to the club. He earned that name.”

So I’ve heard, although Brick never used the word earned.

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answer to,” Morgan muttered, and Brick seemed to agree.

Shouting from a room off to the side drew my attention, followed by a loud crash. I looked at Brick, who just shook his head as if to ignore it.

Morgan handed me another shot. “Have you ever bartended before?”

“I have.”

“All you need to know is how to read the labels, pour a shot, and count.” He tapped his glass to mine and tossed the shot back, and I followed suit.

“Any tips you make are yours. As long as the till is even, you’re good. Make sure you wear something hot, give the guys a little somethin’ to look at.”

“Seems easy enough.”

Morgan glanced at Brick with a bored expression then back to me. “I give her to the end of the shift before she fucking quits.”

“Thanks.” I glanced over at Brick, who gave me a playful wink.

A door burst open and out tumbled a man with a face full of blood. He stumbled to the bar with one eye open and the other swollen shut. I noticed Morgan stood back to see how I’d handle the situation. It didn’t rattle me; not much did anymore. Brick’s comfort with the situation made it obvious the guy was on their shit list. I slammed a shot glass down, poured some whiskey, and when he reached for it, I slid it aside.

“Seven fifty.”

His watery, bloodshot eye stared at me. It took a second, but he realized I wasn’t screwing around, and his face scrunched up.

“Bitch, give me the drink.”

“Seven fifty.” My hip cocked out as I raised my chin to hold my own.

He reached for it again, but I moved it further away. He didn’t have the skull patch Morgan mentioned, and I wasn’t going to give it to him for free. The guy leaned forward, grabbed my arm hard, and pulled me close to his face. I had to choke back the smell of blood and sweat.

“Listen, you little cuntface. You want to know what it feels like to get a fist to the —” One moment he was threating, and the next his head was slammed onto the bar top by a very battered hand.

I jumped back to see a massive man with his nose just inches from the asshole’s face. His eyes were murderous as “Get the fuck out,” hissed from his lips. He then picked him up and dropped him to the floor like he hardly weighed anything. Moments later, the asshole was gone, and I was left staring at the big, lean man with one hell of a set of deep green eyes. I forgot how to breathe when they locked onto mine. His white shirt was stained with blood, his knuckles were raw, and his bottom lip was cracked. His dark hair curled slightly under around his collarbone.

I rubbed my arm, the pain slowly easing.

“He’s out,” the man grunted to Brick. Even though he continued to stare at me. “Take care of it.”

“Will do,” Brick answered from somewhere close. His fingers brushed over my shoulder. “You all right, Tess?”

“Yeah.”

“Trigger, this is Tessa.” Brick cleared his throat. “She’s the one I was tellin’ you about.”

Trigger? Oh, yes, the pres.

“Tess,” I corrected him.

Trigger didn’t say a word but held my gaze then looked down my front and back up again. His tattooed hand tugged on the bottom of his short beard. My skin heated, my chest burned, and my throat went dry. Mother of hell, his was gaze was intense. Though I knew men like this, and they were all the same.

Trigger leaned forward to reach behind the bar, his eyes still locked with mine. He removed the whiskey bottle and tossed the cap next to me. He downed about a quarter of it then finally broke his hold to focus on Brick.

“They’re gonna eat her alive.” His voice had a little rasp to it, but my annoyance got the better of me.

“Gotta love the encouragement here, boys.” I snickered and ignored his expression. Brick sucked in a sharp breath, and I guessed people didn’t talk to him like I just did, but I really didn’t care.

I worked a long shift and met everyone as they trickled in and out of the bar. I turned a deaf ear to all conversation that didn’t include me. I felt like everyone was testing me to try to trip me up. So I kept my mouth shut and did my job to make sure everyone paid. Brick stayed true to his word to hang around and make sure I was okay.

Morgan helped me a few times, but for the most part, I got it. At the end of my shift, I took a seat in a booth with Brick, and he ordered us a late dinner.

The place was busy, the smoke got thicker, and the music pounded.

“When did you join?” I asked right before I bit into my burger.

I was surprised it was good. Most bar food sucked. I wasn’t picky. I even ate from a stranger’s plate once, but I did know good food, and this was pretty damn good.

“Six years ago.” I looked up at him. “Right after you went back. I followed a lead that my father was part of the Devil’s Reach. He’s dead now, but I got accepted in and quickly climbed the ladder in the family.”

I examined his vest and saw the skull on the front and VP patch.

“Trigger is the president, I’m vice, and Rail, who I advise you stay away from, is below me. You’ll meet him tomorrow.”

I rolled my eyes. “Do you like this life?”

He stuffed in a handful of fries and chased it with his beer. “Yup, best life so far.” He eyed me as he thought. “Did they let you leave easily?”

“What’s the bloody guy’s story from this morning?”

Brick tapped his ring against his bottle. I could tell he was getting annoyed with me dodging his questions. “Stole from the club. Does your mom know you’re here?” I was about to change the subject again, but he gave me a warning by crossing his arms.

“She knows I’m not in Vegas.” I shook my head, remembering that morning. “I need to change my number.”

“I’ll get you a new one,” he added quickly. “Are you all right in that apartment? Sorry it’s not closer, but I’m working on that now.”

“No, don’t. It’s perfect. Thank you. As soon as I get some cash coming in, I’ll pay—”

“No, you won’t.” He cut me off and glanced across the bar at someone. “Just don’t leave this time. If you need anything, you come to me, and I’ll help you.” He looked back at me then down to my stomach. “When did you get the tat?”

I closed my eyes briefly and hated that he went there. Inching down my shirt, I shifted.

“Tess.”

“Two months…after you left.”

“How was the funeral?”

I huffed loudly and pressed the pain down. “No money, no funeral.”

His jaw locked in place before he spoke. “They never helped out?”

“You’re forgetting she broke a house rule, Brick,” I muttered darkly.

“Where is she?”

“With a friend.”

“She okay?”

I finally looked at him full in the eyes. “Would you be?”

I saw his chest rise and fall while he thought about it. “No. I wish you didn’t leave me when you did.”

“You know why I did. No sense looking back. It doesn’t—”

“Brick!” a larger man with thin gold glasses and a kind smile shouted in our direction.

“Shit, I gotta go.” He moved out from behind the table. “That’s Big Joe, Trigger’s muscle. If he calls on you, go. His bark isn’t nearly as big as his bite.” He winked as my stomach turned. “Stay. If you want my room, it’s the second door on the right. Take the bed. I have a sofa. If you’re going to leave, Morgan will walk you home.” He leaned over and gave me a quick kiss on the cheek and left.

After I polished off my burger and stole the rest of Brick’s fries, I grabbed my bag and headed out into the quiet street. I would rather get comfortable walking home than spend any more time within those walls.

I needed fresh air.

About a dozen bikes were parked out front, and I wondered which one was Brick’s. One was blacked out completely and looked like it cost more than a house. It was interesting, with thin gold lines that raced along the edges of the bike. If you looked closely, you could see faint drawings that faded as you walked by it. It was a bad-ass bike, for sure.

My heels pounded the pavement, and I enjoyed the cool breeze on my hot, sticky skin. I couldn’t wait for a shower.

Three blocks, then a right, six more blocks, then a…hmm…

I heard laughing up ahead and saw the guy from earlier who had my cell phone. Damn! I really needed to use my phone so I wouldn’t get lost anymore.

I slipped into an alley and hurried around the buildings. It was dark, but it was better than having to deal with those guys. I wished I knew where the border for the club’s territory was. I wasn’t stupid and knew borders meant everything when it came to motorcycle clubs.

A strong smell hit my nose, and Marilyn Manson’s Beautiful People caught my attention. Sweat, booze, and desperation swarmed in my head and brought some old comfort seeping to the surface. No windows, no sign, just the beat to the song. Pushing the heavy door open, I stepped inside. Neon purple tube lighting swirled down the hallway, escorting me deep into the Dirty Demons strip club.

The bouncer who stepped in front of me was about twice my width. He flicked his head at me to pass. No need for an ID, no weapons check, and no need for male company.

Interesting.

Three platforms had naked women in cages dancing to the beat. The main stage had two women spinning on poles, and another slid across the stage thrusting her hips in a man’s face. The customer tucked a twenty into her g-string before she winked and moved on.

It is a good living.

Slipping into a booth in the corner, I rested my tired feet and ordered a rum and Coke.

I let the music wash over me, and the hairs on my arms stood at attention as the goosebumps pushed them upward. I let my mind wander back to the good old days when things were so much easier.

Mags grabbed my arm as she stepped off the platform. “You’re not really going up there? She’ll kill you if she finds out.”

I tossed my top hat in the air and caught it on my head. “What else can she possibly take from me that she hasn’t already?”

“You’re asking for trouble.”

“Aren’t I always?” I winked and saw her devilish smile widen as she motioned for me to go on.

“There’s a military party in the front. They’re tippin’ hot tonight.”

“What about—?”

“He’s at the bar.”

I gave her a quick kiss on the cheek before I took a deep a breath and felt the rush as I stepped out and locked eyes with him.

“You here for amateur night?” The waitress pulled me from my memory and set my drink down on a black napkin.

I handed her a ten and shook my head when she reached out to make change.

“When is it?”

“Every Tuesday, at midnight.” I nodded, but she stared at me. “You wax?”

I nodded again.

“Real?” She pointed to my boobs.

“Yeah.”

“Impressive.” She looked over her shoulder at her boss, who was watching us carefully. “Well, I’d be happy to see you up there.”

“Thanks,” I muttered into my rum and Coke, avoiding her boss’s nasty stare.

Settling in, I watched the girls and how they moved. Some were better than others. A few of them asked me for a lap dance, but I wasn’t in the mood. Besides, it would only make the addiction stronger.

My hips shook as I dropped to the ground in a split. I swiveled to my stomach and ever so slowly pulled myself back into a sitting position. Rolling backward, I did a somersault and hooked my leg around the pole. Using my stomach muscles, I grabbed the pole with my hand and twisted into a spin. That was, until I saw her wrap her arm around his neck and look in my direction. Her look of hate ripped right through me.

As soon as the song ended, I rushed off the stage and burst through the doors and out into the stuffy night air. I rubbed my fingers over my wrist, over the spot that nearly took me away from this hell. I needed to get away from here.

I nursed my drink until I grew tired. Waving at the waitress, I found my way back outside. I stayed in the cover of darkness until I was at the back of my building then hurried to the front and let myself in.

Pressing eight on the elevator, I sank into the corner and waited for the floor to arrive. My pillow never felt so good.

Author Bio:

Bestselling author J. L. Drake was born and raised in Nova Scotia, Canada, later moving to Southern California where she lives with her husband and two children.

When she’s not writing, she loves to spend time with her family, travelling or just enjoying a night at home. One thing you might notice in her books is her love for the four seasons. Growing up on the east coast of Canada the change in the seasons is in her blood and is often mentioned in her writing.

An avid reader of James Patterson, J.L. Drake has often found herself inspired by his many stories of mystery and intrigue.

She hopes you will enjoy her stories as much as she has enjoyed writing them.

Social Media Links:

Facebook: www.facebook.com/jldrakeauthor

Website: www.authorjldrake.com

Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/jodildrake_j

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/j.l.drake/

Email: jodildrake@outlook.com    

Goodreads Link: www.goodreads.com/JLDrake    

Giveaways: Signed paperback of Trigger and an e-copy of Broken book one of my Broken Trilogy from where the story all began.

Direct link: http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/81aa78941299/

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New Post has been published on Bestnewsmag

New Post has been published on https://bestnewsmag.com/trump-100-days-that-shook-the-world-and-the-activists-fighting-back/

Trump: 100 days that shook the world – and the activists fighting back

Naomi Wolf, creator, political journalist and co-founder of DailyClout: ‘Trump didn’t try this. You did this. Your own state of being inactive brought us exactly right here’ The first 100 days of President Donald Trump: how have my lifestyles changed? First of all, there was the mourning length. Now not for me, but for my fellow citizens. I used to be just mad. And that I wasn’t even maddest at the Trump voters. I understood that the critical warfare lines now aren’t left versus proper, but the 1% neoliberal globalizers making off with all of the loot and disemboweling the middle elegance. So when I noticed the campaign, I knew that in the US, simply as within the Uk, a candidate who stated anything at all about humans forgotten in the neoliberal race might have a solid threat. Donald Trump’s first 100 days as president – day by day updates

Study greater No – I was mad at my personal leftwing tribe. All of January, people on the left would confront me with dazed, grief-stricken expressions, as though they’d simply emerged from a multi-vehicle pileup on a foggy highway. “How should this have occurred? What will we do?” I couldn’t even bear to take part in the one’s conversations. Eventually, I began explaining my rage to my closest buddies.

I was screaming approximately the opportunity of this very moment for eight years, on account that I published a chunk in the Father or mother titled “Fascist America in 10 Smooth Steps” and wrote an e-book based totally on it, called The End of us (2007). Underneath George Bush Jr, the left has been very receptive to the e-book’s message approximately how democracies are undermined via the conventional methods of might be authoritarians.

however, as soon as Obama turned into elected – “one of ours” – I had to spend the next eight years yelling like a haunted Cassandra, to a room the left had abandoned. I had yelled myself hoarse for eight years Underneath Obama about what it might imply for us to take a seat still whilst Obama dispatched drones in to take out US residents in extrajudicial killings; what it’d imply for us to sit nevertheless at the same time as he exceeded the 2012 Countrywide Defence Authorisation Act that permits any president to keep citizens forever without charge or trial; what it’d imply for us to sit down still even as he allowed NSA surveillance, allowed Guantánamo to live open and allowed hyped terrorism tales to hijack the charter and turn the USA into what Finally even Robert F Kennedy Jr become calling a National safety surveillance kingdom.

For eight years, Beneath Obama, my audiences were libertarian cowboys and crimson-kingdom truckers; contributors of the military and police forces, who were appalled by what they had been witnessing; and even conservatives, involved about our legacy of freedom. My usual audience, the buyers at Whole Foods and drivers of hybrid cars, the educated left, my people, sat smugly at home even as the very pillars of American democracy had been being systematically chipped away. They had been watching Downton Abbey and tending their heirloom tomato patches on weekends within the Hudson Valley, because everything changed into Adequate; yeah, he can also Ok drone moves, but they couldn’t be that terrible, on account that he become certainly one of “ours” – a handsome, eloquent African-American, a former network organiser – within the Oval Office. Seduced by way of the picture of a fascinating black man on Air Pressure One who talked about “alternate” – a white female in a pantsuit (although enormously paid by way of Goldman Sachs) talking about “that highest, toughest glass ceiling” – the left slumbered whilst US democracy changed into undone brick by means of brick through brick.

  Donald Trump’s world  Muslim Ban Is Each Irrational and Unsuitable fighting 

  Donald Trump did the unthinkable as he sat in the president’s chair. What became the concept of as mere rhetoric for the election has grown to become out to be a truth? Something that can’t be pushed aside. In one of his first acts, the president signed an executive order barring Muslims from 7 countries from journeying to the united states. It is a bewildering order and seems like an try and please his constituency. One is at a loss to recognize the purpose at the back of it. I have supported Trump all alongside however this government order defies sanity.

Many Individuals are glad as they’re not conscious that this ban in actual terms is incomprehensible. There is a lot of competition as properly. Donald says the ban on tour and access to the use is to store the yank people from the ravages of radical Islamists. Alas, analyzing between the strains shows this order is just a sop to his electorate. Not one of the 7 countries named has had any connection with any terror activity within the United states of America. That is the harsh fact. Any other factor to mull over is that the nationals of nations that had been involved in terror hobby against America like Saudi Arabia and Egypt do not discern inside the ban.

The Ban

There’s global outrage at the tour ban. Russia and China are the only 2 international locations who’ve no longer commented on it. The Muslim allies of us preventing shoulder to shoulder against the ISIS like in Iraq must be thinking how they may be singled out. Lots of Iraqi soldiers are preventing the ISIS and including them and leaving out international locations which have a hyperlink to nationals who dedicated terror acts towards the united states need to be bewildering to them. Why did Donald for all the macho photograph he wants to task not include those countries?

Business hobbies

The sad component is that Donald has a large Enterprise hobby in these international locations like Saudi Arabia and UAE and as he has Enterprise interests he has disregarded these nations. Saudi Arabia is an enigma as it’s far and best friend of America and perhaps Donald did no longer want to touch it as it would have ruffled the feathers and with all of the oil coming in from there he idea it higher to leave out the foremost sponsor of Islamic fundamentalism. How may want to Donald have omitted it? Are Enterprise pursuits extra essential than justice and fair play. I study unfortunately that an Iraq veteran who misplaced Both legs fighting with America army towards the ISIS turned into now not allowed inside the America for rehabilitation and restoration. What can be sadder than this?

Ultimate phrase

Donald’s govt order is simply a strive to show his supporters that he method Enterprise. He has forgotten There may be palpable anger in opposition to America in the Muslim international and only for this motives has made it risky for Individuals to travel to many elements of the globe. Donald must keep in mind that men who ride the tiger have the threat of being eaten by the beast. Who knows Donald may be gobbled by means of his very own movements. Loads will depend on the resilience of the American state.

  The arena’s Most Lovely Bridges

They’ll be small or They will be large, They’ll be timber or concrete- but bridges are something that can be located nearly everywhere in the global. However, this text specializes in the bridges that make our heads flip round. These bridges are architectural miracles that in reality have the potential to take our breaths away. So without similar ado, we bring to you a listing of bridges around The world that are simply the aspect you need to go to. (Also, here is a pro tour tip for you – make certain you look at British Airlines while you e-book your flights)

1. Brooklyn Bridge, Big apple: Featured heavily in many films inclusive of the famed Batman Trilogy, this bridge is a cable suspended bridge that paves the manner out of new York. It’s far thus far, one of the oldest and Maximum complex bridges of recent York. The towers giving stability to this bridge are in reality fabricated from granite, limestone, and cement. The Maximum outstanding thing is this bridge turned into constructed in 1833 and is still surviving until today.

2. Golden Gate Bridge: This Bridge, Also placed in United states of America of The united states, links the metropolis of San Francisco with Marin County and is a well-diagnosed symbol of California and even the complete of The USA. This bridge is also included inside the current day wonders of The world. Earlier than the bridge become built, the simplest manner to travel among the two edges became using a ship. This bridge became built in a time span of four years. This bridge has Additionally been featured in many films around the world.

3. Tower Bridge, London: This Bridge is likewise an icon and global consultant of the region in which it changed into made – London. This bridge took 8 years to construct and became constructed between 1886 and 1894. This bridge has two towers which were linked by way of two walkways and consist of sections which can be suspended on both sides of the tower. These sections than in turn stretch in the direction of the banks of the Thames. On the time of its construction, this bridge becomes the largest and Most sophisticated bridge in the world.

four. Sydney Harbor Bridge: This Bridge turned into opened for public use in 1932. This mixed with the Opera homes of Sydney are a first-rate cultural symbol for Australia throughout The world. This bridge is known to host the fine New Year Celebrations in Australia. This bridge holds the report for The sector’s largest metallic bridge. However, it isn’t considered to be the longest. It took 8 years to build this bridge with exertions of 1400 men.

Now which you recognize the satisfactory bridges that you have to visit, it’s time to % your baggage and takes a ride to these exquisite places. Additionally, ensure that on every occasion you are buying tickets, you inspect British Airlines to get the best in terms of tour and airfare.

Small and large bridges exist around The arena. We bring to you a list of the first-class which you should clearly visit. Take hold of a price ticket from British Airways and fly to peer These extraordinary bridges nowadays!!