#source: the silence of the hams

[incorrectlooneytunesquotes]

Dr. Weisberg: Oh, I like you Ms.

Tweety: Mister.

Dr. Weisberg: Please call me Doctor.

[willalove75]

Rebecca x Reader - jealous sex

Hehehe yesss! Thank you for the request!💕💕

Warnings: Smut babyyyyy, also a little angst, a dash of fluff, denial, a pinch of praise kink, dom!Rebecca, idk what else

18+ Only Minors DNI

Gif source

Rebecca had been working overtime for the last two weeks and has barely been home, no less had time for you. It's not that you were incredibly clingy, but every time she came home you got a quick kiss, the two of you would eat dinner in near silence since she was exhausted and after a shower, Rebecca went to bed.

In all fairness, you expected this season to be more chaotic than the last. With Ted back in the US, Roy took over managing the team, Keeley had an idea for a women's league and there were hundreds of other things going on all at once. Rebecca was exhausted, and you understood that and tried to give her as much grace as possible, but when the second week rolled around, so did her attitude. Yes, she was burnt out and exhausted, her patience at work has worn down to almost nothing, but when she got home, you got the brunt of her frustrations.

Rebecca was apologetic when she caught herself or when you brought it up to her, and maybe it would have sat with you a little better but you've barely spoken, she's been a bitch and the two of you haven't sad sex in over two weeks. You tried to initiate a few times but she was either too tired or gave you an attitude so you stopped trying all together.

Finally, it was Friday, and with no plans or matches on Saturday or Sunday, you were finally hoping to spend some time with your love. Hoping that she can relax enough so she wasn't so overwhelmed. As much as you hated how she acted towards you, you also hated that she was always putting so much pressure on herself.

"So babe, what did you want to do tomorrow since you finally have some free time?" You ask over dinner.

Rebecca gives you a look and your heart sinks.

"What are you talking about? We have the benefit tomorrow night." She says with a hint of frustration in her voice.

"What benefit?"

"West Ham is holding a benefit and all of the local clubs are invited to go. I told you about this last week."

"You definitely did not." There's an edge to your voice you weren't expecting but in all fairness, you're pretty annoyed.

"Yes, I did."

"Rebecca you didn't-"

"It's not my fault you don't pay attention." She snaps.

"Alright, I'm over this." You say as you get up from the table. "I know you're overwhelmed and stressed but it doesn't mean you get to talk to me like shit. You did not tell me about it, you've barely spoken to me in two weeks."

"So you're not coming?" She asks, visibly annoyed, as you put your plate in the dishwasher.

Rolling your eyes you look over at her. "As much as I don't want to go, yes, I will be there."

Neither you or Rebecca speak to each other for the rest of the night or the following day. The tension in the air is so thick you can cut through it with a knife. You're absolutely dreading this event but it'll look bad if you're not there and you'd rather not get bombarded with questions about your absence.

Silently, the two of you get ready for the evening and head out. Rebecca looks stunning, as always. You'd be drooling over her if you weren't so annoyed with her, truthfully. And because you're spiteful, you make sure you look as hot as possible. Wearing the dress that Rebecca has told you more than once she loves on you. That she usually has a hard time keeping her hands off of you when you wear it. You picked out a pair of tall stilettos that perfectly accentuate your legs, your makeup is flawless, making your eyes pop, and your hair is styled in a way that shows off your collarbones.

As soon as the two of you reach the benefit you beeline it to the bar and Rebecca stops to talk to some people. Right off of the bat you take a shot to curb your frustrations from the last two weeks and order your favorite drink. The bartender makes your drink and passes it to you and you tip him a £20.

Spotting Rebecca, she makes eye contact with you and notices the drink in your hand, she scowls for a moment before turning back towards her conversation. If you were any closer, you probably would have exploded on her.

Normally, you wouldn't go out of your way to piss Rebecca off, especially not at an event like this. But right now, you don't care. You're mad and hurt and with the small amount of liquid courage running through your veins, you're feeling daring and decide "fuck it." You want to make her feel the same way she's made you feel for the last two weeks, regardless of how immature that may be.

As you walk around the benefit you talk and mingle with a few people and you make sure you're in Rebecca's eyeline. After talking to a few players you finish your first drink and move on to your second one.

The night goes on, you and Rebecca barely speak to each other and before you know it, the benefit is almost halfway over. You were hoping deep down that being out would have relaxed Rebecca, but it hasn't and you're over it. Deciding to grab another drink, Rebecca watches you as you get up from the table and walk away.

While you're at the bar, a gorgeous woman walks up next to you and orders. The two of you greet each other and you can feel Rebecca's eyes boring into you from afar. Catching a glimpse of her out of the corner of your eye, she's staring directly at you and this woman. Bingo.

"I'm y/n, what's your name?" You ask the woman.

"I'm Samantha, but most people call me Sammy."

"It's wonderful to meet you Sammy. So what brings you here tonight?"

"I'm actually new to the West Ham women's team, this is my first season with them."

"Oh! That's exciting, how are you liking it?"

"It's amazing, I was nervous at first when I heard about the owner but luckily he's no longer in the picture anymore so I'm enjoying it more than I expected to."

You know she's talking about Rupert. After assaulting the coach and being booed off the pitch last season he sold the club. A new, much nicer, owner took over.

"Oh yeah, you definitely dodged a hand grenade there." You say with a laugh.

"What brings you here?"

"Oh, I work for AFC Richmond."

"Ah, so you know Rupert?"

"Luckily I joined after his reign ended, but I have had the displeasure of meeting him on a few occasions."

"I haven't had the pleasure of meeting him yet."

"Consider yourself lucky."

Glancing over, Rebecca is still staring at you. The scowl on her face would be terrifying if you weren't so annoyed at her. Because you're a little shit, you decide to take it up a notch.

"Was he that bad?" She asks.

"Oh he was the worst, I only met him a few times and each time he hit on me and tried to make a move, it was gross."

"Ew!"

"Yeah! He's such a creepy old man! It's amazing he can still get it up honestly."

The two of you burst into laughter and your hand grazes her arm for a moment. In less than thirty seconds you hear heels aggressively clacking on the floor, you see Rebecca out of the corner of your eye and she's pissed.

"I'm so sorry, can you excuse us for a moment?" She politely says to Sammy, who is confused but nods and walks away. Rebecca grabs your arm and drags you to a secluded spot. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Oh, hello, it's nice for you to finally acknowledge my existence."

"Y/n I am not in the mood."

"Neither am I." You say and you begin to walk away. Rebecca grabs your arm again and spins you towards her.

"Really? Of all nights, this is the night you decide to test my patience?"

"I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about."

"Do not play dumb with me. I saw you with that woman, flirting with her. Did you really think I wouldn't notice?" She says, her bright green eyes burning with anger.

"Who said I didn't want you to notice?" You deadpan.

Rebecca grabs your drink out of your hand and puts both yours and hers down on a nearby table and grabs your wrist.

"That's it, we're leaving."

Before you can respond she pulls you out of the reception and through the doors to the entrance of the building. Her car pulls around a minute later and the two of you get in. The anger is radiating off of her, you don't think you've ever seen her so mad before, honestly. It would worry you if you weren't so mad yourself.

When the two of you finally make it home, Rebecca slams the front door shut and crosses her arms, her eyes narrowing at you.

Neither of you say a word since neither of you want to be the one who breaks the tense silence. Rolling your eyes, you turn around and walk into the kitchen.

"Don't you dare walk away from me." She says as she follows you.

"Or what? You'll pretend I don't exist for another two weeks?"

"How dare you, how dare you flirt with that woman, right in front of everyone. Do you know how badly that can reflect on me?"

"Oh, I'm sorry," You say, your voice dripping in sarcasm. "how silly of me to forget that absolutely everything revolves around your image."

"What is the matter with you?!"

"Me?! You're the one who's barely spoken to me in two weeks, you're the one who hasn't touched me, the one who's been snapping at me for no reason when I try to talk to you. I should be the one asking what's the matter with you?!"

"And you think that makes what you did tonight okay?"

"How the fuck else was I supposed to get your attention Rebecca?! I've been trying for two fucking weeks! All you've been doing was snapping at me and ignoring me. So yes, I flirted with another woman, does that make me an asshole? Yeah, probably, but I've tried literally everything else besides screaming at you, because you and I both know nothing was going to come from that." Rebecca stands there for a minute almost shaking with anger.

"So what? You wanted to make me jealous?"

"Yup, and obviously, it worked pretty damn well."

"What? I'm not- no-"

"Rebecca Welton, you are many things and being jealous is certainly one of them. Who knows how far I would have taken it." You push. "I could have complimented her beautiful eyes, or brushed a strand of her hair away from her face. I was thinking of whispering something in her ear, something that would make her laugh. Resting my hand on her back-"

"ENOUGH." Rebecca yells. She storms up to you and grabs the back of your head, hard. Pulling your face just inches away from hers. "You've made your point. Now it's my turn to make mine."

Before you're able to do anything else Rebecca spins you around and bends you over the countertop. A hand comes down hard across your clothed ass and a small yelp emerges from you.

"You want to tease me?" Rebecca says through gritted teeth as she brings her hand down again onto your ass. "You want to make me jealous?" Another smack. "You want to flirt with other women?" This time Rebecca pulls up your dress, revealing your soft skin that's starting to turn red from the smacks. "Just to get my attention?" She smacks your bare ass and you yelp again. "Well my darling, you have it. You have all of my attention now." She smacks your ass once more before palming it and squeezing it, massaging the reddened area.

A low moan escapes from your lips. The cool granite countertop feels soothing against your heated skin as Rebecca continues to hold you against it.

Her fingers dip between your legs and she runs them over your underwear. It's almost embarrassing how wet you are already, you can hear Rebecca smirk when she feels the wetness through your thong.

She drags her fingers languidly up and down, just applying enough pressure to certain spots to make you twitch. It takes everything in you to hold back your moans when she circles your clit, you don't want to give her the satisfaction, at least not this quickly. But she knows that she can turn you into putty in her hands in just a few stokes of her fingers and tonight she's testing your strength.

After a few more firm circles she pulls her hand away and you have to muffle a whine of disappointment. Her hand comes down hard on your ass again and you let out another yelp.

Rebecca grabs the fabric of your thong on each side of your hips and slowly pulls it down. When they reach your ankles she smacks your ass again and uses her foot to kick your legs open wider.

"This was not was I was expecting." You think to yourself. Although you're not upset about it, it's actually really fucking hot seeing Rebecca in this state.

"You want to make me jealous?" She asks, grabbing the hair on the back of your head. "Answer. Me." She growls.

"Yes."

"All because I didn't give you enough attention?"

She tugs at your hair when you take too long to answer.

"Yes."

Rebecca's fingers find your dripping slit and she rubs you up and down, stopping every so often to circle your hardened clit. A moan threatens to escape and you swallow it.

"Let me hear you." She demands.

She circles your clit faster and a moan slips past your lips.

"Good girl." She says, picking up the pace, drawing more moans out of you. "I know you wanted to make me jealous, but for a second did you ever think that little girl could pleasure you the way I do?" Her middle finger prods at your entrance before sliding into you.

"Oh fuck." You moan as your eyes roll to the back of your head.

"That she knows your body as well as I do?" She curls her finger just right and your knees almost give out. "That she could make you cum the way I can?" Her finger curls more while she slides it in and out of you. "Hmm? Is that what you thought?"

"No!" You cry out.

Rebecca slides a second finger into you and the moan that leaves your lips is just sinful.

"No one can make you feel as good as I do baby, isn't that right?"

"Yes-" The word blends into another filthy moan as she curls her fingers in a "come hither" motion inside of you.

With her grip still tightly grasping the back of your hair, Rebecca pulls on it as she fucks you faster. She pushes and pulls her fingers in and out, fast and hard, curling them when she's deep inside of you. Moans spill from your lips like a prayer and your legs begin to shake. She's building your climax fast and hard and if she keeps it up, you won't last much longer.

Your walls start fluttering around her fingers and she knows your close.

"Please!" You beg.

Rebecca brings you closer and closer to the release you've been craving for two weeks. Just as she's about to send you over she pulls her fingers out and you cry out from the loss. She smacks your ass hard again as you feel tears pricking the corners of your eyes. Grabbing your hands, Rebecca folds them behind your back, your face now flush with the cool granite countertop.

"Do not move." She commands.

All you can do is nod your head and you hear the sound of her heels retreating out of the kitchen and up the stairs. Your legs quiver and you clench around nothing, your body still reeling from the denial.

After a few minutes you hear Rebecca walk back into the kitchen, sans heels. She walks up behind you and you can hear her shuffle around and a low moan escapes from her. The sound of a cap opening and closing clicks and Rebecca places a bottle of lube on the countertop in front of you.

Your body shivers with excitement when you feel something cold and hard slide against you. After a few strokes, Rebecca slides the strap on deep inside of you and a guttural moan passes through your lips.

Slowly, Rebecca slides it in and out of you. Both of your moans melt together in harmony as she keeps a steady pace.

Rebecca starts quicken her thrusts and she grabs your hip with one hand, her nails digging into your skin, and grabs your arms still folded behind your back with the other. With each practiced thrust, she pulls you back into her, sending the strap deeper and harder into both of you.

"Oh fuck Rebecca!" You cry out.

"Good girl, I know how much you love it when I fuck you. Better than anyone else, right?"

"Yes, fuck! Yes!"

The dildo is hitting all of the right spots deep inside of you, once again you can feel your orgasm building. With the other end of the strap on nestled deep inside of her, both you and Rebecca moan with each of her thrusts. She picks up her pace and releases your arms, you immediately grab onto the edge of the countertop, her hand grabbing your other hip.

Rebecca pulls you into her harder and harder with every thrust and you can feel your walls clenching down around the toy. Cries ring throughout the house, neither of you can decipher whose cries are whose as you both rush to the edge.

You can feel Rebecca getting closer when her thrusts become less calculated and more desperate. She drives you closer and closer to your release and you cry out her name like a prayer.

"Fuck Rebecca you're gonna make me cum!"

"Yeah?"

"Yes!"

Rebecca's cries get louder and you know she's close too. You push back into each thrust and you feel yourself tipping over the edge.

"Fuck baby I'm gonna cum, fuck me please make me cum!"

"Good girl baby, fuck I'm so close." She pants.

"Cum with me baby, please, oh fuck please!"

Rebecca's thrusts become erratic, hurling the both of you over the edge into a canyon of pleasure and ecstasy. She keeps her pace, fucking you hard, dragging out both of your orgasms for as long as possible before slowly bringing the both of you down.

With one final thrust, Rebecca practically collapses on top of you, both ends of the toy still buried deep inside the both of you. You can feel your dress sticking to your back as you lay across the countertop trying to catch your breath.

After a moment of silence you feel warm kisses across your shoulders, languid hands slide up your waist and grab hold of the zipper on your dress. Every inch of skin revealed as she pulls the zipper down is met with soft, loving kisses. When the back of your dress is completely open, Rebecca slowly slides the strap on out of you and then slowly takes it out of her. Her fingers slide under the straps of your dress and she slowly pulls them down. Pushing yourself up off of the counter, Rebecca pulls your dress all the way down until it pools at your feet.

Her hands find your hips once more and her lips lock onto your neck. She gently nips and sucks on your pulse point before her hands slide up and gently cup your breasts. While Rebecca massages your breasts and riddles your neck with love bites, you lean your head back onto her shoulder and take a deep breath, relaxing into her as you exhale. Rebecca's hands slide down to your hips once more and she turns you to face her.

Looking deeply into her green eyes you see love. You also see something else, guilt? Her eyes become glassy and you gently cup her face.

"Baby, what's wrong?"

"I'm sorry." She says softly.

You wipe away a tear that escaped with your thumb and you caress her cheek.

"I'm so sorry for how I've treated you the last few weeks. Even though I was overwhelmed, even though I was stressed, there is no excuse for how I treated you my love."

"It's okay baby, I forgive you. I'm sorry for being so immature and making you jealous tonight. I should have handled it better."

"No, don't apologize. I deserved it. You're right, I don't know what else you could have done to have gotten my attention. And that is so unfair to you, I promise from now on when I get overwhelmed, I'll listen to you more. Because you deserved so much better than how I've been treating you lately."

You wipe away another tear that fell from her gorgeous eyes and you pull her in for a kiss. Her lips feel like home, they're soft and warm and when you're kissing her, the entire world disappears.

When the kiss finally ends, Rebecca wraps her arms around you and pulls you tightly into her. Only then did you realize that she was also naked. Her skin against yours has never felt so right, like your bodies were made to fit together perfectly. Rebecca pulls away and takes your hand, leading you up the stairs.

In the bedroom, she lays down in bed and pulls you down next to her. Her arms wrap around you and you lay your head on her chest. Lithe fingers trace abstract patterns across your skin while your legs tangle together under the sheets. Rebecca kisses the top of your head and rests her cheek against it, an audible sigh escaping from her lips.

"Thank you." She quietly says.

Adjusting yourself to look up at her, you furrow your brows.

"For what?"

She looks down at you with a smile on her face and kisses your forehead.

"For putting up with me when I'm a raging bitch. For forgiving me, even when I don't think I deserve your forgiveness. For having the biggest heart I've ever seen in a person. For loving me, for everything."

Leaning up you place a soft kiss on her lips and nuzzle into her neck.

"I'll always love you, Rebecca."

"I'll always love you too, my love."

[direwombat]

tagged by so many people over the past few weeks, but most recently @simplegenius042 on this fine wip wednesday (thank youuuu~). been a while, but here are some sneak peeks at katc ch 7 that's fairly hot off the presses (ie, i wrote them today, they're super rough, and will see the red ink of an editing pen at some point in the near future). syb finally made it to the ranger station in the whitetails, only to find that there's no sign of her brother to be found. just a chatty jacob calling in via radio, and some consequences of the van crash that saved her from john in ch 5. Also tw for passing references to childhood abuse

“Trying to call someone, Deputy?” 

She scowls, glancing around for the source of his voice, if only to disable it. 

“Gotta say, watching you clear out an outpost on your own was impressive. Waltzed into a den of wolves like it was nothing.”

Her blood runs cold. He was watching her the whole damn time? Her eyes dart up to the ceiling, scanning for security cameras. There are none inside, but as she carefully moves to the door, she spots one on the porch outside. According to Augustine, the rangers had security and trail cams set up all over the Whitetails. The cult must have co-opted those for themselves. She grits her teeth. Moving outside, her hand curls around the handle of a baseball bat left leaning against the exterior wall and smashes the camera. 

The pinch in her gut sharpens, white hot and piercing through her like she’s been stabbed. The skin of her abdomen pulls taut and tight as she lifts her arms to swing. 

When she returns inside, low, sinister laughter fills the room. “Clever little jackrabbit, ain’t ya?” 

A growl slips from between gritted teeth and with one hand pressed to her side, she lurches behind the reception desk. Resting on one of the shelves underneath the tabletop, is a HAM radio. She makes note of the frequency it's attuned to, jotting it down in the margins of her map before picking up the transceiver. “The fuck you want?” 

“Got someone who wants to say hi to you.” For a brief, fleeting moment, hope kindles in her ribcage -- Augustine -- only to be snuffed out when Jacob continues, “Ain’t that right, Peaches.” 

Her brow pinches together in confusion, mouth open, ready to ask what the fuck he’s talking about when Staci’s voice comes through. 

“Syb?” His voice is rough. Raw. As if he’d spent the past God knows how long either screaming or crying. He sounds scared. 

All of a sudden her aches and pains and fears are pushed aside in favor of trying to soothe his. “Yeah, I’m here, Stace. You alright?”

She hears his breath hitch and grow shallow, as if he’s hyperventilating. “Don’t listen to him. Whatever he tells you, whatever he says, it’s a --” He’s cut off by the sharp sound of a hand striking skin and he cries out in pain. She gasps, flinching as if she had also been struck. The phantom burn of her Daddy’s hand on her cheek makes the fine hairs on her neck stand on end.  

When Jacob speaks next, his voice is low and threatening. “Alright, that’s enough.” 

“I’m gonna kill you,” Sybille growls.  

“I’m sure you will, sweetheart,” he says condescendingly. “But until then, here’s what’s gonna happen: you’re going to surrender. You’re going to do exactly what I say. And if you behave, maybe I let you see your friend here.” 

“Kiss my ass.” 

“I’m being gracious here, Deputy. The rangers at the station didn’t get as generous an offer.” 

Her lips curl back, exposing all her teeth in a predatory snarl. “You sunnovabitch, I’m gonna --”

But, before she can finish her threat, he’s talking over her. “You’re not feeling well, are you, Deputy? I see the way you’re moving. Slow. Clutching your stomach. Abdominal pain?” He clicks his tongue and she can practically hear him shaking his head. “Nasty things can happen if you let that go unchecked. Do your little buddies in the Valley know? Can’t imagine they do if they let you come up here all on your own.”

Her silence must speak volumes, because after a moment’s pause, he begins to laugh. 

“They don’t know you’re here, do they?”

Her molars grind together so hard her jaw creaks. The pain in her abdomen is getting worse. A pressure builds  Her heart is racing so fast she can barely hear him over it rushing in her ears. Through heavy, labored breaths, she grits out, “You listen to me --”

“No. You listen to me. My Chosen will come get you. You’ll play nice. And maybe -- if i’m in a good mood -- maybe, I’ll humor you with a negotiation. How does that sound?”

“Sounds like you can take my boot and shove it -- ah!” Another sharp stab of pain lances through her stomach, and her shaking knees buckle, sending her to the ground. Her vision tunnels, darkness rapidly closing in from the corners of her eyes. Her body lands on the hardwood floor with a solid thud. Boomer is rushing to her side just as she hears the motor of an ATV approaching from a distance. He whimpers, nosing at her and trying to nudge her back to her feet, but her weak and trembling limbs won’t let her. “Go,” she hisses at the same time Jacob’s voice calls to her from transceiver now dangling by its cord. “Go!” 

Boomer whines again, but follows her command, and slips through the door she’d left slightly ajar. 

She groans, clutching her stomach and curling her knees close to her chest. The roar of the ATV grows louder and louder as it approaches. She rests her sweaty forehead against the cool floor and waits. Waits for Jacob’s Chosen. Waits for the dark embrace of unconsciousness to finally deliver her from her pain. Waits for God to show her the Pearly Gates where Mamma and Augustine are waiting for her before the Devil grabs her ankle and drags her down the Hell.

And for funsies, here's the snippet from a sequence featuring syb's recurring guilt dream

Gravel crunches under heavy boots. Each shuffling step kicks up dust behind her. Sweat clings to her skin, beading at her brow and slipping down her neck to soak into the collar of her shirt. The humidity is suffocating, heavy and oppressive as the Louisiana heat beats down on her. She lurches forward with slow, shambling steps, her head light and nodding back and forth as her exhausted and aching body soldiers on.  

One foot. 

Then the other. 

Again, and again, and again, and again. 

A chorus of cicadas screech -- or maybe that’s just the ringing in her ears -- as she’s pulled like a dog on a leash towards the grave she helped dig. 

A lazy breeze cuts through the stagnant air, but it does little to wick the sweat from her brow. Blades of tall grass in the fields around her bend and sway, whispering softly and echoing the words that pour out of her mouth. 

“O Lord, I beg Thy forgiveness for havin’ offended Thee, and I detest all my sins…”

The moon hangs low, fat and full, on the horizon, illuminating her way with silver beams of light. Every breath she takes is a struggle, every step she takes causes an ache so deep she feels it in the marrow of her creaking bones. Her hair clings to her forehead and the back of her neck. Blisters have formed and popped several times over, the soles of her feet squishing out blood that pools in the dusty footprints she leaves behind. 

She’s walked this lonely dirt road more times than she cares to count, nothing more than a shambling corpse, making a pilgrimage to the same Unholy spot every time she goes to sleep. 

Wiping the sweat from her brow, she adjusts her grip on the shovel slung over her shoulder. Its wooden handle warped and stained with the blood and sweat of her calloused palms. She swears that each time she returns to this road, that stain gets a little bit bigger. 

As she passes a pond, a creeping bit of the bayou that threatens to overtake the road with each passing summer, the back of her neck prickles as a pair of unseen eyes lock onto her. Clouds drift overhead, blotting out the moonlight and she’s cast into darkness. A shadowy figure swoops past her with a heavy beat of its wings and fluttering of feathers. She gasps and her gaze snaps skyward, some wild prey instinct sends her heart racing, urging her to run. 

An owl glides through the air, following the path of the road towards the weeping willow that towers on the horizon. It’s the only tree for miles, standing sentinel at the crossroads where she helped bury a man. 

Underneath its swaying boughs stands a single grave marker, one that her Daddy hadn’t bothered to make. She comes to a stop in front of it. It’s an old thing, nothing more than two planks of wood bound together by rope. Its white paint is chipped and weathered. It bears no name, no dates -- nothing to indicate who has been laid to rest here. 

With a heavy sigh, she turns her shovel around to sink the blade into the soft, sandy soil and begins to dig. Time slows, the only sign of it marching ever onward is the pile of dirt that grows larger with every shovelful. The owl watches her work, offering a scornful hoot whenever she stops to catch her breath. 

It’s only when the tip of the spade makes contact with something solid -- a hollow thunk reverberating through the air -- that she tosses the shovel to the side. She falls to her knees and begins to rip into the earth by hand. Her nails chip. Her fingers bleed. She catches sight of curved pieces of keratin caught in the churning soil. Her hands are caked in dirt and blood. 

But still, she digs. 

Off in the distance, a coyote chitters -- a sound that morphs into the rough and rasping cackle of a heavy smoker as another breeze rolls through, hot and humid like breath on her neck. The smell of tobacco is carried on it. “Gotta move faster than that, Billie,” her Daddy barks. 

And still, she digs. 

But she isn’t digging fast enough. 

The angry wind whips and curls around her. The exposed skin of her arms alight in burning pricks of pain. The faded circular scars pockmarking the underside of her forearms burn, throbbing in pain as the familiar sting of ashes rains down her neck. “Y’ain’t got all night, girl,” Daddy snarls. “C’mon, move it!” 

Panic sets in. 

Nonetheless, she digs. 

taglist (opt in/out)

@josephseedismyfather, @la-grosse-patate, @tommyarashikage, @florbelles, @statichvm,

@fourlittleseedlings, @wrathfulrook, @harmonyowl, @ivymarquis, @carlosoliveiraa

@cassietrn, @confidentandgood, @strafethesesinners, @trench-rot, @g0dspeeed,

@miyabilicious, @inafieldofdaisies, @josephslittledeputy, @aceghosts, @adelaidedrubman,

@finding-comfort-in-rain, @socially-awkward-skeleton, @voidika, @strangefable, and anyone else with a wip to share this wednesday (or any other day <3)

[quaranmine]

Letters from the Lookout #4 - Letters Unsent

(HC Firewatch AU snippets, 1,656 words)

Grian wants to write a letter to Scar. He refuses to dictate it, though. CW: bringing back some of the suicidal ideation from chapter 11

August 1989

Jimmy’s flat is pleasantly dark and cozy. The sky outside is dark and rain spatters across the windows. The living room has a lamp lit in the corner, as well as warm light spilling out from the kitchen. The TV is on in the corner, and Joel and Lizzie sit curled up on the couch in front of it watching football. Jimmy isn’t here right now, having popped out to grab some takeout for them all. Joel is under strict orders to pay close attention to the game so he can fill Jimmy in when he gets back. 

It’s lovely, honestly. It feels…domestic. That’s actually something Jimmy had joked about, earlier—he’d said he felt like he needed to domesticate Grian again, after he spent so long during the summer living in the wilderness. 

Grian’s fine with that as long as being domesticated means he can melt into his bed and never leave. With the lights off, preferably. Jimmy seems to think it means other things though. Trips to the shop. To the pub. To the train station. Watching football on the television. 

So tonight Grian’s out of his room to socialize. And by socializing, he means sitting at the kitchen table alone with a notebook and pen while Joel and Lizzie sit in the other room. 

It’s been weeks since he last spoke to Scar. The absence grates on him. Scar would know what to say. He’d understand Grian. He’d fix it all. 

Grian can hardly think about the last time he spoke to Scar. He remembers snatches and pieces of it, but mostly his mind just flits over the day, refusing to settle on any one moment. There is a wall being built in his mind to protect him from the unimaginable. He tries to keep the lid on those memories tight, like it’s his personal Pandora’s Box. It doesn’t stop him from having nightmares about it—about the terrible way Mumbo looked, about the way he wanted to die, about the way the fire smelled and roared—but during the day he always lets his mind slide right off the idea entirely. 

Scar saved his life though. And he deserves more than radio silence for it. 

Grian still has his Forest Service-issued radio. It’s in his room here in Jimmy’s flat. The rangers didn’t bother to take it back from him after they visited him in the hospital, or perhaps they didn’t realize he even still had it. Grian still listens in on it sometimes. He listens to the bustling conversations that the English HAM radio enthusiasts in his area are having on the national talk frequency. He never speaks. Just listens. 

Scar is across an ocean right now, sitting in that lookout tower in the middle of the mountains, and he’s alone again. He’s the reason Grian is right here now. He’s also the reason Mumbo has a proper grave to visit. 

And thus, Grian wants to do better. There isn’t much he wants to do at all these days, aside from simply ceasing to exist, but this is one of them. He wants to close the loop. He wants to apologize. He wants to thank Scar. 

How does one reach a lookout on duty? By letter, of course. 

Grian knows the address of the Wapiti District Ranger’s office. He knows that any letter sent there addressed to Scar will eventually make its way to his cabin via supply drop, or Scar himself swinging by to pick it up on a day off. He just has to write it first. 

The writing is the part that is proving to be tricky, however. The burns on Grian’s arms, and the other exposed parts of his body have already healed but his hands remain a source of frustration. Four weeks on, they’re healed too—technically. He attends physical therapy twice a week. His doctor is worried about something called “contractures” that are causing his fingers and wrist to be consistently stiff. 

He is completely terrified that this will be forever. He’s terrified that the rest of his life is going to be full of fumbling around with things with fingers that don’t work quite right anymore. He never knew how much he took for granted until he couldn’t button his own shirt anymore. 

The doctor is confident it won’t be forever, so Grian clings to that little piece of hope like a life preserver. The doctor just says it needs time, compression, and therapy. The burns could have been significantly worse. If they were, the conversation would’ve been different. He’s been wearing a compression garment on his hand since the moment it was possible to do so and the doctor hasn’t given him permission yet to stop wearing it.  

He’s allowed to take it off now and then though, and so right now it is removed so that he can grasp the pen better. His hands still have poor grip strength, and the pen shakes. It’s either that or from the emotion. He closes his eyes, and pours his focus into keeping the pen straight, but trying to force precision is just as painful as it is ineffective. 

He tries to write, and the pen skitters across the page instead. 

He slams the pen down in frustration and runs his hands through his hair. It’s not working. It’s not going to work. He slowly starts to put the compression glove back on his hands. 

He needs…help. 

“Lizzie?” he calls. 

“Yeah?” she says back from the couch. 

He sets his teeth, and sighs. “Can you come help me with something for a moment?”

A moment later she wanders into the kitchen. Her pink hair is tied in a messy ponytail. For some reason when she walks in, Grian gets the distinct feeling he’s being babysat by them while Jimmy is out. He shakes the feeling off. It’s irrational; Jimmy is only out to pick up food for them, and Lizzie and Joel were invited to hang out. They probably did this every week while Grian was in America. Now he’s just able to be present too. 

“Whatcha need?” she asks. 

“I was trying to write a letter,” he says, and his face flushes with embarrassment. “I, um, can’t.”

He sees her look at the table, and back at him, the realization dawning on her without him having to say it out loud. “You want me to write it for you?” she says.

He nods. “If you don’t mind.”

She grins, pulls out one of the chairs from the table, and sits down. “Sure! I’d love to. Who’s it for?”

“It’s—well, it’s for a guy named Scar.”

“Scar?” she says, and then adds: “That’s a really weird name.” From anyone else, Grian would get defensive on Scar’s behalf, but he recognizes Lizzie’s irreverent bluntness well. 

“That’s your friend from the forest, right?” Joel calls from the living room where he’s been apparently eavesdropping. The way he calls it the forest makes it sound like a concept, a thing, and not a real place Grian briefly used to live. 

Lizzie makes a noise of recognition then. “Ohhh,” she says. “Now I remember you mentioning him before.”

“Yeah, he was in the lookout in the next sector over. He was my friend,” Grian says. “And that’s a nickname.”

“What’s his real name?” Lizzie asks. She pokes him in the shoulder. “You don’t talk much about him.”

Grian freezes. “I…don’t know,” he says. “He never told me his real name. It never seemed to matter.”

How could he not know? He’d never asked. It didn’t feel important. Scar was Scar, and that was all that was ever needed. Maybe it had been all Scar was ever comfortable with. 

Grian came to realize during his time in Shoshone National Forest that in the backpacking and associated communities, names were a much looser concept. On the Appalachian trail in the east and the Pacific Crest Trail in the west, through-hikers often adopted trail names for the journey. Similarly, Scar wasn’t the only fire lookout Grian had heard about over the summer who chose to go by some enigmatic name. 

“Okay!” Lizzie says, sensibly moving straight along past Grian’s mini crisis. She pulls the piece of paper over and grabs the pen. “Dear Scar…” she dictates aloud. Then she looks back up at him. “What next?”

“Um, let’s start by saying I’m having a friend write this for me,” he says.

“Dear Scar…I’m having my wonderful, talented friend write this letter for me,” she starts. Grian rolls his eyes, but doesn’t say anything. Something about gift horses. “Next?”

“I’m writing this to say…” he trails off. To say what? How, exactly, is he going to put this into words? He hasn’t planned this out at all but more significantly, he’s not sure he even can.

Dear Scar, I’m alive because you were looking out for me. I’m sorry I left the country before I could tell you that myself. 

Dear Scar, I didn’t kill myself because you talked me into running from the fire again. I’m sorry that I still want to do it sometimes, but I haven’t yet and I think I’m too tired to. 

Dear Scar, you didn’t think I was crazy when everyone else did. I’m sorry I got angry with you. I’m sorry I wasn’t nicer to you sometimes. 

Dear Scar, you made me laugh. I miss talking every day. 

“What do you want to say?” Lizzie prompts, and Grian realizes that he hasn’t said anything for quite a long time at this point. 

“I—I don’t know,” he says. The kitchen suddenly seems so hot and enclosed right now. “I’m sorry,” he says, and stands up. “I’m sorry,” he says again, grabs the papers from Lizzie. “I’m gonna—I'm gonna do this on my own, thank you.”

He goes to his bedroom, locks the door, and doesn’t come back out until Jimmy is knocking on it and begging him to eat.

[johnwickb1tsch]

Okay so- random ramble of the day 2.0 that I thought of after a particular conversation I had with @treedaddymcpuffpuff in the comments.

Trigger warning! (It's bordering n0n-c0n, if you're uncomfortable with that, please feel free to skip this)

So what if- John actually does snap first, and it ends up being particularly nasty. (to be honest if either him or the reader do snap at the other at some point, it's going to be wild either way so 😂)

Let's say he caught the reader trying to escape, or maybe her playing with his emotions / emotionally manipulating him, - pulling out the 'i belong to you' card to gain his trust for an example - or maybe they just had an incredibly shitty argument that was prompted by the ever building tension between them, by neither of them willing to compromise much. (elastic band reference says hello again 😂😂)

Now, generally speaking, both John and the reader have shown clear signs of enjoyment when it comes to the more.. dubious kind of consent, and even though John was the one to trigger most of those occasions, I feel like someone with the reader's strong personality and self-respect would've had a much different reaction to it if she wasn't into it.. That being said, so far every time the reader disobeyed him / refused to give in, John ended up leaving us alone, and I think he'd be lying to us and himself if he were to say that it's to torture us even further.. Sure, having yet another denied orgasm added to the list is shitty, and yes, he had tried to isolate us in order to punish us when we tried escaping the first time, (probably not the last time though) but it's becoming ever so slightly clear that he is doing this more for his own sanity's sake, rather than ours, so he doesn't flip out and snap at us.

That being said, his punishments, although cruel, were still much more on the lenient side... But I can't help but think that with the already high pressure on both of them, and an additional problem source might just be enough for him to lose his shit, and thus, punish us, hence where the extremes come in, such as completely tying us up, - he already said he dabbled in shibari, and he's definitely still into it imo, "misspent youth" or not - perhaps gagging us if we get too bratty, giving the reader a good spanking, perhaps some degrading, and most importantly being the selfish bastard we know he can be occasionally, meaning this whole thing will be to.. comfort him? Reassure him? Bring him that sense of security back to know that he is in control, something that we've seen him go to extreme lengths for in all 4 movies..

And considering that we didn't really establish any boundaries yet, seemed to be into it sort of, and even the fact that John might very well lose pretty much all sense of rationality, and go absolutely fucking ham on us, to the point of our lust turning into actual terror.. In which case, a safe word should be used, buuuuuuut- 1) We don't have one yet. And 2) John will probably have us immobile, silenced, face down, ass up, sobbing for him anyways, so in that crazed state of mind, he might not actually realize that he's hurting us, (emotionally I mean. I think he'd be pretty aware of the physical pain 😂) until it's just a little.. a teeeeennnsyyyy tiiiiiinnssyyy little bit toooooo late..

AND MY GOD- Does that open up endless possibilities for us. On one hand, he would definitely be overstepping any and all boundaries, even if we haven't quite established them yet. Could this be the triggering event for the reader to start thinking with her brain instead of her heart and pussy, and actively suppress her urges, her feelings, the love she feels for him despite it all, and perhaps plan her escape?

On the other hand, I feel like John would feel an unbelievable amount of guilt, because despite his previous punishments, and everything he's been doing being morally wrong, he has never quite breached the line of becoming a monster, (in our eyes at least) not to mention that he is very morally grey, so while he may be rational enough to realize how unethical things are and just ignore it, - or have the fear of losing us overpower his sense of justice - (nobody is there to hold him responsible either ey) I know for a fact that he would never want us to doubt his love for us for a second. He wants us to feel cherished, loved, safe, and protected, and while he knows we do not see things that way yet, I feel like he would instantly realize just how much he fucked up.

A part of me feels like his first instinct would be to run away (as per usual), put some distance between us both because he doesn't want to hurt us any further, and because he god damn will be actively self-loathing, self-hating, self-blaming himself for the events.. But I also 100% believe that him seeing the reader teary eyed, spooked out of her mind and clearly hurting would again, overpower his sense of rationality, and just make him wanna comfort us. Physically, verbally, emotionally- Any way he can really. Which again, opens up a plethora of options for us, because he would definitely be a lot more inconsiderate of what may aid us in our escape, and what we could just find simply comforting.

Would it fucking wreck me emotionally if the reader ended up using this to guilt trip him into slipping up and allowing her to escape? Absolutely. Would it be justified? Also abso-fucking-lutely, although god forbid it were to happen because GODS it would be like an avalanche of emotions...

So yes.. Angst. And smut. Thank you @treedaddymcpuffpuff and @johnwickb1tsch for fucking wrecking all of us emotionally 😂(Jk jk, i fucking love you both, you evil geniuses.)

Haha, so word spreads fast that I can't handle noncon. 😬 I literally write a series of books about a vigilante bounty hunter who hunts down vampires who hurt women, so this should not have been a surprise to me. I guess I'm a weenie. Is there such a thing as gray romance, LOL? it might be more my speed.

I'm honestly not sure how to answer this one without spoiling the story I'm trying to tell, so I'm just going to leave it here because you raise some very interesting plot points that I'm sure people will love reading! You have QUITE an imagination and such an acute understanding of character motivation!

[ladylooch]

https://www.tumblr.com/ladylooch/750047240359428096/is-there-a-time-mack-needs-to-stop-and-uses-their?source=share

Yea, like can we see a lil snip of this. Like she changes her demeanour and David notices and checks in and they stop. Just fluffy as they communicate and then take care of eachother and cuddle 🥹

18+ content below

It’s been a rough week for both Mack and David. For the latter, a five game losing home stand has him and his teammates incredibly frustrated. For the previous, her article is not coming along like she has been hoping it would for the last few days, creating doubts and uncertinty for what to do next. After talking about their frustrations at dinner earlier, Mack and David knew exactly how they were going to end up in together later.

So it’s not a surprise that David has Mack smashed into the bed on all fours, railing into her from behind as he pins her wrists in place. The primal urge to fuck harder into her hits him and he snaps his hips tighter into her. Mack’s arms move slightly against his grip. He tightens down on her, stapling her arms in place at her sides so he can keep taking her the way they both want. 

Mack grows still and quiet under him. David moans. Mack does not. 

His eyes snap open and he takes in her form beneath him. She is rigid, eyes screwed shut tight with her cheek pressing into their comforter. David can feel her get tighter around him, but in a different way, almost unwelcome, compared to when she is right on the edge for him.

“Honey, you okay?” Mack shakes her head no. 

David releases her immediately, sliding out of her gently. His hands glide up her arms, then down her back as he steps back off the bed, standing behind her as she curls into the fetal position. Her breathing is rushed, arms crossed over her chest. Patiently, David observes her.

“Can I hold you, honey?” He asks, laying next to her on his back, careful not to touch her until she moves for him.

“Yeah.” She sighs, uncrossing her arm and reaching for him. “I don’t know what just happened but all of a sudden I lost it.” She shudders as he pulls her into his side.

“Okay. Did I do something?” He asks seriously, wanting to know.

“No.” She shakes her head, then turns to kiss his lips. “Something in me shifted and I wasn’t in a mental space I could keep going.”

“Okay. We are good?”

“Yeah.” She nods, kissing him again. “Thank you for noticing.” 

“Of course, baby.” He smoothes her hair back from her face then kisses her once again. Mack sighs, hooking her arms around his neck and turning so they are enclosed in a circle with their limbs. They settle into silence as they both rub each others backs, intimately connecting despite the bump in the road they just experienced. With other partners, this would be awkward and someone would be running from this apartment. But not with Mack and David. They’re leaning into each other further in this moment than if they were still curled up having sex like before.

“I’m hungry.” Mack says suddenly. 

“I can make some pancakes? Or an omelet.”

“Can we split an omelet?”

“Sure.” He chuckles. What she really means is will he make one, so she can have three bites and then he will finish the rest while she grabs ice cream from the freezer. David waits a few more precious seconds, continuing to touch his girlfriend all over her shoulders, back, and thighs, making sure she is okay before he gently peels their naked skin apart. “Come help?” He asks, extending a hand out to her. 

She takes it with a smile, slightly shy as he kisses her again.

“I’m trying really hard not to apologize.” She admits.

“You didn’t do anything wrong.” He assures her.

“I know… I just… we really wanted this tonight.”

“Yeah, but not if you’re uncomfortable. I’m happy just being in the same room as you, babe.” He tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, then leans forward to kiss her forehead. “Ham and cheese?”

“Mhm.” She nods, biting her lip as she follows him to the closet for a quick change of clothes. 

[yr-obedt-cicero]

What do people close to AH call him? For example, does Eliza or friends call him Hamilton instead of Alexander? Thanks!

AH seems to have commonly gone by his last name, Hamilton. It is what you will usually see him being refered to by even in less than professional settings, or many of his repetitive nicknames were just variations of his last name, like Ham or Hammy. Commonly used around camp when he was Aide-de-camp to Washington. [x] Even Hamilton and Laurens - who were incredibly close - usually always refered to each other by last names (Likely due to the military setting). Similarly did Stevens, Hamilton's boyhood best friend, even when Hamilton nicknamed him “Neddy”, [x] Stevens usually only called him by his last name. Although, occasionally Hamilton signed off his letters as “Alex”, yet rarely did any of his close friends call him the same. [x] And it was more common of an occurrence when he was younger and still on the Islands.

There are implications Eliza followed suit and also mainly refered to her husband by his last name, for instance a guest recalled her once at the Grange; “There was a long silence, broken by the murmured words, ‘I am so tired. It is so long. I want to see Hamilton.’” [x] Oftentimes, she even commonly called him “My Hamilton”. We don't have any surviving letters from Eliza to Hamilton, but in other letters Eliza wrote to and from people it is a reoccurring phrase. In a letter to Richard Harison from Eliza, September 10th, 1804, she wrote the same phrase; “As to myself when I peruse your letter, so expressive, of those marks of tender remembrance, of my Hamilton, and friendship for his children,” [x] Their youngest daughter, Eliza Hamilton Holly, even quoted to her brother John Church Hamilton, where their mother said; “Justice shall be done to the memory of my Hamilton.” [x]

Hamilton even refered to himself as her Hamilton, in a letter dated the 17th of March 1780, he wrote;

It is now half an hour past our time of meeting. I must bid you adieu. Adieu my charmer; take care of your self and love your Hamilton as well as he does you. God bless you

“From Alexander Hamilton to Elizabeth Schuyler, [17 March 1780],” Founders Online, National Archives, https://founders.archives.gov/documents/Hamilton/01-02-02-0622. [Original source: The Papers of Alexander Hamilton, vol. 2, 1779–1781, ed. Harold C. Syrett. New York: Columbia University Press, 1961, pp. 285–287.]

And again the same year on the 13th of October;

I tell you, my Betsey, you are negligent; you do not write me often enough. Take more care of my happiness, for there is nothing your Hamilton would not do to promote yours.

“From Alexander Hamilton to Elizabeth Schuyler, [13 October 1780],” Founders Online, National Archives, https://founders.archives.gov/documents/Hamilton/01-02-02-0902. [Original source: The Papers of Alexander Hamilton, vol. 2, 1779–1781, ed. Harold C. Syrett. New York: Columbia University Press, 1961, pp. 473–475.]

You're welcome, and hope this helps!

[itsclydebitches]

I need to re-watch the scene for exact details, but I've been thinking all day about Nate's failed Diamond Dogs attempt and why it crashed and burned so hard. I mean, the obvious takeaway is that there is none of the love and support from which to build that kind of group at West Ham. As Beard lays out for Trent in the same episode, they're laying bare their innermost thoughts, feelings, and experiences. If you don't trust the people in the room (which Nate has no reason to yet - it strikes me that they're left in this awkward silence while waiting to officially begin, rather than the casual camaraderie we see in Ted's office) and if there's no respect (which there isn't, particularly between Rupert and Nate: Nate is catching on to all of Rupert's manipulations - what name to call him, cheating with his secretary, etc. - and Rupert just straight up refuses to see him as a person) then of course the core foundation of what the group is built on will crumble.

However, beyond that I also think intention is important too. The original Diamond Dogs forms because Ted needs advice about sleeping with Sassy. He makes himself vulnerable to the very group he's forming as a way of modeling what the Diamond Dogs are all about. In contrast, Nate's first meeting feels more like an excuse to brag. Yes, he does have a similar problem to unpack, namely the question of how he should navigate this relationship, but that felt secondary to me, with the excuse to tell these top dog (pardon the pun) men that he's finally landed a maybe girlfriend forefronting his motivations. Remember, Rupert was meant to be in the room and Nate makes it clear that this meeting is not really about the group helping each other, it's about them paying attention to his partial success/continued worries. The fact that the other guy (I don't even know his name, which speaks to the lack of bonds in this room) wants to talk about taking care of his ailing parents but Nate shuts him down kinda says it all. Compare that to Beard graciously telling Ted that he has the floor and then, once Ted is done, he asks if anyone else has a problem to unpack, including Roy. Nate's Diamond Dogs, beyond lacking the relationships necessary to work in the first place, feels like it's built on his own, stubborn self-interest; it was an attempted replacement for Rupert/formerly the social media/formerly Ted. What outside force is building up my self-confidence nowadays, especially when Richmond is on a winning streak? Nothing except a maybe girlfriend! Let's try to create a new source of validation.

Nate has undoubtedly improved a great deal throughout this season. I actually thought at first that he was improving too quickly and with, to my mind, no narrative explanation. It was only when I saw other fans pointing out the power of getting distance from those who have enacted real and perceived harm (AKA the club and Ted) that Nate's kinda-offscreen growth made a bit more sense to me. However, now I'm actually glad to see him failing in these ways. Trying to talk to Ted after the game, spotting Rupert's manipulation, fluff family time that makes no mention of his father's expectations, a perfect end to his terrible date, not caring that his box got crushed, not spitting in the mirror... it felt like the show was absolutely speed-running Nate's redemption arc because it's the last season, rather than allowing him to organically struggle with these issues and face on-screen events that act as a catalyst for his growth. To say nothing of how the show argues very strongly that growth has to be modeled/supported for an extended period of time... and Nate is without both this season, yet still seems to 'magically' be improving. Given where we left him, I kinda feel like I'm watching an alcoholic suddenly overcome their addiction while working in a brewery. Yeah, of course that's possible... but I very much expected this to happen in a different environment, or at least with far, FAR more support. So now, despite only having three episodes left, I'm reassured by the backslide. Nate refuses to wave to Ted in front of the crowd. He's still trying to suck up to Rupert, both over text and in person. He forms a group that, although oh-so-obviously modeled after Ted's, is really just a Nate the Great show. It feels like the show remembers that he has too much to work on to 'fix' it all with a girlfriend storyline. Nate is a very complicated character who needs a great deal of screen-time to come back from where we left him last season; frankly, more screen-time than he can feasibly get with just a few episodes left and a cast this large. Despite the potential pitfalls of that though, I think it's good that the season is reintroducing some of that complexity. Nate isn't just on a winning streak of his own with soft looks cast towards Richmond photos and an adoring girl in his bed. That need for external validation is still very much there and he's never going to fully come into himself until he realizes what the himbo boys did this season: Belief isn't a sign up on the wall, or a kind coach, or a girlfriend, or a Diamond Dogs group. Those all help support you, yes, but ultimately it has to come from within.

[asbestos4president]

Hamuel Burger Episode 1 Transcript

Episode title: Keep Pushing, Abraham!

[Sound of a UFO landing. Interior spaceship noises] Asbestos … Thanks for the donations. Okay, so we've just touched down in Grace, Idaho, the capital city of the planet Earth, so I'll be stepping out shortly to take my first look. For those of you who are new to the stream, I'm doing this blind, I haven't looked anything up about Earth before coming here, so no spoilers, please. Okay, so, before we leave the shuttle, I want to establish some ground rules. First, like I already said, no spoilers. Seriously. Second, no embarrassing me in front of any of the Earth inhabitants. And third, and this is the most important-

TTS voice If you're going into this blind, how do you know that Grace is the capital city? Cheater.

Asbestos Look, it's just common knowledge. The national animal of earth is the mongoose, the national food of the earth is the deathcap mushroom, and the capital city of the earth is a sweet little place named Grace, Idaho, notable for its Mormons, its potatoes, and its vast intergalactic geopolitical importance. 

TTSYou literally just quoted that straight off the page for Idaho on the Earth fan wiki.

Asbestos Did not! 

TTS Did too!

Asbestos Did not! 

TTS Did too! 

Asbestos Yeah, well, you literally just paid me five American dollars to be able to send that message, and if my information is up to date, that is enough to purchase at least one American hot dog. You know, the national hound of the planet Earth? Which I will ride into battle against my enemies and laugh as it mauls them to death. 

TTS Did too! 

Asbestos

 Okay, chat, you have officially lost text to speech privileges for the next Earth minute, which reliable sources inform me is a really long time. Now, it's important to make a good first impression, so I'm just going to make sure my hair looks okay and my belly button looks convincingly real before I- 

[Knocking on metal]

[Short silence]

Asbestos Sorry, I thought I heard something. Probably just the potatoes snoring. It's actually quite late in earth time, and potatoes like to get to bed early because- 

[Knocking again]

Asbestos (whisper) Chat. Chat, I think there's something at the door. Should I-

TTS Hello potentially violent stranger, please come in and strangle me to death!

[Spaceship door opening noise]

Asbestos (whisper, directed to chat) I'm going to actually kill you.

Ham Please don't kill me! I'm left-handed and I have asthma and my Mum says I can't go around getting killed or the neighbours will think we're uncivilised! 

Asbestos Oh my god, this is not a drill. Are you guys seeing this? I didn't think I was going to be nervous, but I'm actually super nervous. What should I say?  Um, hi, Mr. President! Wow, you're way shorter without the hat. 

Ham What? 

Asbestos Do you take constructive criticism? Because honestly, I think you should have kept the beard. The clean shaven look does not suit you.

Ham What???

Asbestos Well, I guess it doesn't matter because I'm going to kill you in a few seconds anyway. Any last words?

Ham This is a sentence I never expected to say, but I think you've mistaken me for Abraham Lincoln, and I'm not sure whether to find that gender-affirming.

Asbestos See, I just don't think that's gonna sell any tabloids. Do you want to pick something catchier? Something with a bit more oomf, maybe? Like, "I've Abrahad it with this life!" 

Eh, we can workshop it.

[Beat of silence]

Wait, what? 

Ham Abraham Lincoln died, like, at least 3 years ago. If you're looking for the president,  it's definitely not him, and it's definitely not me either, and you're definitely not going to find him in a potato field in Idaho. Please put the gun down.

Asbestos Oh! My mistake. I know this one. It's, uh… It's Ben Jammin' Franklin now, right?

Ham Uh, not particularly, no. Look, I just came to tell you to get off our farm or at least turn those big blinking lights off because it's 9PM and some of us are trying to sleep. You really need to leave before my mum finds out you're a UFO.  

Asbestos Man, this is embarrassing. Okay. Okay! Just point me in the direction of the president's house and I'll be on my way. 

Ham I think Washington is, like, South, sort of? Somewhere near Florida? Actually, let me look it up.

[Low pitched noise like a foghorn. This is Ham's mum's voice]

Ham Gee willikers. It's okay mum, the tractor is just leaving!

[Ham's mum]

Ham Not everything is an alien, okay? Sheesh.

[Ham's mum]

We've actually had five spaceships landing here in the past week, but she doesn't need to know that. I've managed to convince her that they're just genetically modified cows. Now go!

Asbestos I'm going, I'm going. I thought Earth would be more welcoming than this. 

Ham You tried to kill me!

Asbestos Earthlings love dying, they do it all the time. Ugh. Now then. Which of these is the go button?

[SFX of a sound a spaceship should not make. Kind of a noise like you would hear for a death animation in a retro video game.] 

Asbestos Not that one. Okay, how about-

[Another disturbing sound effect. Like a balloon deflating but electronic.] 

LINE 36. Asbestos Alright, third time's the charm.

[Fire alarm SFX. An automated voice with a New Zealand accent says "evacuate the building using the nearest fire exit" before a siren blares.]

Ham What the goshdarn heck are you doing? Go!

Asbestos I don't know, and it won't start, and it does not like me!

Ham Well, you can't stay here!  

LINE 40. Asbestos Well then help me! 

[Ham's mum sfx again] 

Ham Mum, the tractor broke down so I'm gonna help push it, okay?

Asbestos Push it where? This is a valuable craft, and if anything happens to it-

[Ham's mum] 

LINE 43. Ham Mum, it's fine, okay? We've almost got it. One, two, three, push… One, two, three, puuush… Help me out here!

Asbestos Absolutely not. Such work is beneath me! Keep pushing, Abraham! My sensors indicate you've shifted it exactly one fiftieth of a millimetre!

[Ham's mum] 

Ham (with a sigh)Okay. Mum says you can stay in our field tonight. You'd better be gone by morning, though, because if she sees you in the daylight she's going to realise that tractors aren't supposed to float.

Asbestos Well, that is extremely nice of your mother to say. Tell her I said thank you. And can you tell her my antennae are very shapely and I have a sparkling personality and I'm free this weekend by the way, just in case she's wondering?

Ham I'm going to bed.

Asbestos (slight chuckle) Goodnight, Abe! Sweet dreams.

[Rooster crowing. It's morning.]

Asbestos What's up, chat? Welcome to the second day of my becoming the president of the United States any percent speedrun. Yesterday we got off to a rough start with some technical difficulties, but today I'm determined to make up for lost time. Now, eagle-eyed viewers will have already noticed that I have drawn a strange and terrifying shape on the side of my craft in strawberry jam. This is in fact the English word "tractor" transcribed (get this) using the Latin alphabet. Ee, that's right! For today's stream, I'm going stealth mode, disguising myself as a humble farmhand in order to infiltrate-

Ham (laughing slightly) You spelt it wrong.

Asbestos What?

Ham Um, you spelt tractor wrong? It doesn't have a K in it.

Asbestos Chat, this is the enemy of the stream Hamuel Burger. I know all about you, young man. Your mother says you never pick up your socks.

Ham That's not true! Hi chat, um, my name's Ham, my pronouns are he/him, and you can find me on YouTube where I do banjo covers of-

Asbestos She also said that I was the most organised and well-disciplined young person she'd ever met, because she wasn't expecting the new farmhand to show up until the afternoon! 

Ham That's right! What are you going to do when he arrives and starts telling the whole town that an alien took his job?

Asbestos Well, he isn't going to get the chance to do that, because I'm gonna kill him! 

Ham (justifiably upset) What?

Asbestos Chat, you're about to see me employ a useful hack called "black mail". Hamuel here is going to help me fix my spaceship because if he doesn't I'm going to dispose of one of his fellow earthlings. You're a farm boy, you can fix a simple spacecraft, right? 

Ham No?

Asbestos Get to work.

Ham I can, like, change a lightbulb, maybe? This thing, though, I don't think the best mechanic in the world could save it. It doesn't even look like a machine. Like, I'm pretty sure it's made out of meat? How does that work?

Asbestos Hey! That's my son you're talking about!

Ham Your son looks less like a spaceship and like a modern art piece representing the alienation of workers under capitalism. I'm feeling exploited just looking at it. Actually, that's exactly the kind of thing my best friend Stanley would make. He's, like, this really cool artist who specialises in mixed media sculpture? His pieces are super thought-provoking. Like, this one time, he stuck a radish to a-

Asbestos Is this Stanley guy going to help me fix my spaceship? No? Then I don't care. 

Ham Actually…

[Ham's mum]

Ham That was mum, she wants you to feed the chickens if you have time. Okay, you stay here and milk the potatoes while I run and get Stanley. And keep out of trouble!

Asbestos I've never even been to Trouble! I don't know where that is! 

[Ham leaves]

Alright. I don't think milking a potato can be that hard. You just sort of have to- 

[Thump]

Ow! It fucking bit me!

TTS Hello Asbestos. Longtime fan, first time caller. I think you're holding it upside down.

Asbestos I don't tell you how to live your life. TTS (different voice) Just last week you encouraged your entire viewership to quit their jobs and invest in your shitty cryptocurrency, Sawcoin. My Grandma had to sell her house because of you.

Asbestos Sawcoin? I've never even heard of-

TTS (same voice as previous) Sawcoin deez nuts! Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha. ha.

Asbestos Okay guys-

LINE 70. TTS (different voice, overlapping slightly) Hi Asbestos, your stream has already taught me so much about the United States. I have started learning English so that I can better appreciate this beautiful culture. So far, I have learned many useful phrases such as "can I get ketchup with that?", and [a bunch of censorship beeps]

Asbestos That's-

TTS (different voice, overlapping slightly) Asbestos Le Guin, are you aware that two out of three of your fellow competitors are already inside the White House at this very moment, one of them holding a knife to the president's throat? And here you are arguing with your chat over the right way to milk a vegetable.

Asbestos Okay, shut the fuck up. You think my ten-year unopposed reign of the speedrunning charts for most civilisations toppled in a day was by accident? You think I've lost my edge just because these new competitors are younger than me and faster than me and have spaceships that work and know how to milk a potato? Well, you've forgotten your places. I'm the best, and I will always be the best. I don't even need my ship. Y'know, I'm going to steal a tractor right now and I won't stop until I've ridden it full speed into the president's office, hung him from the rafters with an American flag and taken his fun little hat for myself.

Ham Uh, what was that about stealing our tractor?

Asbestos Um. Nothing.

Ham I thought so. Stanley, this is-

Asbestos I am Asbestos Le Guin, an ambassador from the planet Strawberry, here to spread love and friendship throughout the cosmos. 

Ham Yeah, this is Asbestos, she's some kind of low-level Twitch streamer and she's here to kill the president. Asbestos, this is Stanley. Stanley is an artist with a poetic soul who has taken a vow of silence because he is a feminist and is dedicating his life to listening to women. He only communicates in harmonica, which I understand fluently due to our warrior's bond. 

[Jaunty harmonica]

Ham And he wants to know what kind of a name Asbestos is supposed to be. 

Asbestos It's a Spanish word meaning "fireproof", and it represents my resilient nature.

Ham … Right. Now stand back. Stanley is going to use his artistic vision and knowledge of steak preparation to make your spaceship beautiful.

[Hammering, drill, creepy opera, clown honk, mooing. Fades out.]

Ham Behold, Stanley's latest creation! A perfectly tender and juicy filet mignon seasoned with glitter and pencil shavings, served with a side of deep melancholy, yet with a subtle aftertaste of hope for humanity. This one of a kind artwork represents the cycle of life and death and rebirth while critiquing the artificial estrangement of man from his fellow organisms that our society has created.

Asbestos You cooked my spaceship! It's medium rare! 

Ham And it smells delicious! Do you mind if I-

Asbestos No! I've had enough! I should burn your pathetic planet to the ground with you still on it. Tell Stanley to stop eating the oxygen tank!

[Unfazed harmonica]

Ham Stanley says [muffled, as though chewing] but I didn't have breakfast this morning and it tastes really good!

Asbestos This is terrible! I'm already the laughing stock of the streaming world, I don't need- Hey, look at this! My views have doubled! Is it too late to change the title from "World Domination" to "Chill Cooking Stream"? Who knew this was what the people wanted? Maybe it's time to turn my life around. Maybe instead of mindlessly slaughtering galaxies, I should become a food influencer! I'll teach the people how to prepare easy, nutritious meals at home! 

Farmhand Hello? Ah, howdy. I'm the new farmhand you hired. Now, I know you weren't expecting me until the afternoon, but I just wanted to come early to get a headstart on my duties.

[Crickets.] Oh, I'm sorry, is this a bad time?

Ham No, no, it's fine, we were just having some… technical difficulties with this tractor…?

Farmhand Oh, this'n? It smells delicious, you've seasoned it perfectly. So the issue is that it just won't start?

Ham Um. Pretty much, yeah?

Farmhand Oh, not to worry, my uncle has one just like this. You can get it started with a good kick to the side. 

[Thunk. The sound of an engine starting up.]

Asbestos What the fuck? Never mind, cooking stream cancelled, we're gonna go kill the president. Stanley and Ham, you really drive viewer engagement, so you're coming with me. Farmboy, to express my sincere gratitude for your services in getting my ship started, I'm going to refrain from vaporising you on the spot for daring to kick my baby. Now run before I change my mind. Okay. Tally ho!

[Synth music]

CREDITS

AsbestosI'd just like to take a moment to thank everyone who subscribed today and read out some of their messages. Spikes says, "hi Asbestos, I wrote the script and I play Hamuel Burger, and I'm failing university because of this podcast". Weird message, but okay. Thanks for the sub. Um, I also have one here from username "Bulk" who says, “Hey chat, I play Asbestos Le Guin and illustrated the cover art for the pod-” What is this? No fucking promoting your stuff on my own damn show, username Bulk! Ugh. Okay, last one and then I'm ending for today. Uh, this one is from Sarah, who says, “ Hiiii Asbestos, huge fan! I loved editing your voice and the whole show”. God, you guys are a real riot with this bit stuff. You just love the bit. Okay, that one was a little weird, so let's just end on another one. There's one from Freya who says, "howdy pardner, I played a charming Southern gentleman". Hey! That's the fucker who kicked my spaceship! Get back here, you varmint! 

[Scuffling]

[twilightinanotherlife]

It’s Complicated

[Ch 1] [Ch 2] [Ch 3]

Fandom: The Twilight Saga x Life and Death Twilight Reimagined

Pairing: Bella Swan/Edythe Cullen

Rating: Teen

Summary: Edythe drives Bella to the auto shop so that the later can pick up her truck. Bella goes on her first hunting trip since arriving in Forks.

Word count: 2,948

(Bella’s P.O.V)

Saturday rolled around and it brought with it a truck bedload of anticipation. I slept in today finally crawling out of bed just before noon. As I threw together a ham and egg sandwich for brunch, I noticed that my senses were getting weak. It always started with my senses. First it was my eyes. Usually, I could see the air particles dancing around and everything was in pristine clarity. But bit by bit the air particles faded away and the colors began to dim. Then it was my sense of smell. Normally I could smell raindrops in the clouds before they fell from the sky. So, imagine my surprise when I heard the sound of rain hitting my roof and I had not anticipated it. In hindsight I should have. I do currently live in a rainforest.

It wasn’t a hindrance really. My senses were just fine, by human standards, it only meant that I would need to hunt soon. The cattle blood in my refrigerator wasn’t cutting it anymore. After I ate, I found my phone in my room and saw that I had a missed call from Edythe. My ringer had been turned off and I had not heard the vibrations I normally would have. Add that to the list of reasons why I need to go hunting this weekend. I called Edythe back. Once the small talk was done, Edythe asked when it would be a good time to pick me up. I told her whenever was fine and she said she’d see me soon. I hopped in the shower for a quick wash and threw on some clothes.

I had just pulled on my raincoat when I heard a car pull into my driveway. I should have been able to hear Edythe’s car from miles away. Yep, definitely going hunting this weekend. There was a rhythmic knock on my door. Even though I knew who would be behind it, it still brightened my day to see her. But it was also bittersweet in a way. I was determined that today was the last day I would spend with Edythe. I was not sure what I could do about Biology class, but I could avoid her outside of school. I cared too much about Edythe to continue putting her in danger.

I locked my front door and Edythe led me to the passenger door which she held open for me. Edythe took the scenic route to the auto shop. At the end of Nottingham Way, she turned away from the beaten path and took an unpaved dirt road. The road cut through the trees creating its own path. Some time ago, before the streets were paved, this could have been a regularly used road. Now it was a forgotten piece of the town’s history; a treasure for me and Edythe to enjoy together. The drive had shown off some of the beauty that this small corner of the world had to offer. Even in the middle of winter, the trees were a bright green. The color stood out against the brown trunks of the towering western hemlock trees and Douglas-firs. I wondered if Edythe was enjoying the scenery as much as I am.

“I’m glad you picked this road,” I broke the comfortable silence we’d been riding in. “The view is beautiful.”

“It is not the view that I am admiring.” Edythe turned her head slightly so that I could see her lopsided grin and twinkling eyes.

My cheeks painted themselves a bright pink and the smell of freesias and crisp apples saturated the air. Edythe’s fingers briefly gripped the steering wheel before her whole body relaxed. Hybrid blood had a strange effect on vampires. Unlike the scent of human blood, which flamed the fire of a vampire’s throat, a hybrid’s blood was more soothing. Just a whiff of a hybrid’s scent could ease the thirst of a starving vampire better than the taste of the sweetest human blood. Though it would quench a vampire’s thirst they lacked the instinct to drink from us. Some part of their subconscious told them that hybrids weren’t met to be a food source for them, but that didn’t stop some vampires from trying.

“Tell me about yourself,” I suddenly changed the course of the conversation. I had to stop this flirtation with Edythe before we both became too attached. The last thing I wanted to do was lead her on in any way. “You’re adopted, right?”

Confusion twisted Edythe’s perfect features. She clearly was not expecting such a sudden change in our topic of conversation. Plus, I imagine her inability to read my mind made it even more unexpected.

“I’m sorry,” I continued. “Is that too personal a question? I don’t mean to pry.”

Edythe’s face smoothed out. “No, it’s alright. You just caught me by surprise is all.” She probably wasn’t surprised often.

“Yes. I was adopted by Carlisle a long time ago. He was my godfather, a good friend of my parents. After they died, Carlisle and Earnest took me in.”

“Earnest adopted you too then?”  

“No, it was just Carlisle. There are cases of same-sex second parent adoption, but it involves petitioning and lawyers and courtrooms. Carlisle and Earnest thought it might traumatize me further to put me through all that. They’ve always done their best to do right by me.”

“You care about them very much.” It wasn’t a question. Merely a statement of the obvious.

“I do.”

“And the others? They were adopted by Carlisle, as well?”

“Not all of them. Just Alice and Emmett. Rosalie and Jessamine are Earnest’s nieces. He took them in not too long after I was adopted.”

“Wait,” I said recalling what Jessica had told me on my first day at Forks High. “I thought Emmett and Alice were foster kids. At least that’s what I’ve heard at school.”

Edythe shrugged. “It doesn’t surprise me that you were misinformed. A lot of people don’t know the difference between ‘fostering’ and ‘adoption.’ They were foster kids, siblings actually, when they came to live with us. It was just Emmett at first, but when Carlisle found out about Alice, he took her in too.”

“That was really kind of him. Earnest too.”

Edythe nodded her head in agreement. “They’re two of the best people I’ve ever known. Carlisle and Earnest have done so much for me.”

I understood that the story was a fabrication; a lie to tell the humans, but that last part was the truth. I could hear the truth of it in Edythe’s voice. She loved her fathers and no matter what the cover story was the Cullens were a family.

When we inevitably reached our destination, I couldn’t fight the heavy feeling in my heart. I was determined that this would be the end of our budding relationship. It was simply far too dangerous to get involved with anyone and it was best I ended things now. How do you break up with someone whom you’d only started falling for, whom you’ve never even been on a date with?

Edythe walked with me as I followed the mechanic to my truck. When I had bought it from the car dealership in Seattle it had been fully restored. The dealership had bought the red pick-up truck from a local who had done a lot of work and maintenance on it. I had been impressed by how new the truck looked, but as the mechanic led us to the truck, I was not as impressed. The truck clearly had several dents in the cargo bed and the paint was badly chipped. Edythe noticed the flaws too and frowned.

“They certainly did a job well done,” she remarked sarcastically after the mechanic had left. Her fingers ran over the dents and chipped paint. “Perhaps I should ask Rose to give it a makeover.”

“No need to bother her,” I said. “The exterior’s appearance doesn’t matter so long as I can drive it from point A to point B.”

I climbed into the cab and placed the key in the ignition. With a turn of the key the beast roared to life.

“That’ll do,” I spoke loudly over the sound of the engine. I turned the key back to the ‘Off’ position and climbed down from the cab. “Thank you again, Edythe for driving me here today. And for being my chauffeur these past few days.”

“Your companionship was thanks enough. I was happy to assist.” Her dark gold eyes twinkled and at the sight of the smile that accompanied it, my slow heart raced.

It was now or never. “Well, I’m sure you have better things to do with the rest of your day than hang around with me.” I climbed back into my truck, shutting the door firmly behind me.

Edythe stood on the outside, her petite frame just reaching high enough to look through my window. The corners of her mouth turned downward. Her frown showed her confusion over my unexpected effort to leave. Her eyes narrowed and I could feel her scrutinizing gaze on my face through the glass.

“I’ll see you on Monday then.”

“Good-bye, Edythe.”

I started the engine and pretended the roaring sound of it drowned out the sound of my heart breaking.

 * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The weather the following morning was truly a reflection of my somber mood. A heavy fog blocked out the sky and clouded up my windows. I dragged myself out of bed before the sun was up and threw on some clothes. A simple flannel and jeans combination will make a perfectly suitable hunting outfit. I couldn’t put off a hunting trip much longer. If I didn’t go soon, I would start to lose my strength and speed. Hunting anything without supernatural strength is not easy.

I turned onto the highway and drove south past the town limits. I continued heading south, past the conifer forests, towards the Hoh rainforest. Driving my truck again felt wonderful and succeeded in lightening my dreary mood. I hadn’t had the old girl for long, but I loved her. It was exactly the kind of truck that Charlie would’ve liked. The morning mist was dense and shrouded everything in a sense of mystery and misery, but as the sun rose above the trees its rays broke through the haze. The skies became clearer leaving only a thin cloud cover between the sun and the earth.

After driving for a while, I finally reached my destination. I turned onto an abandoned dirt road and left my truck hidden among the red cedar trees. Once I was satisfied that the truck was hidden well enough, I took off at top speed towards the east, headed towards the Olympic National Park. I ran deep into the forest beyond the hiking trails and past the campsites. The trees moved past me in a blur of browns and greens. Because my sense of sight was weak at the moment, I put my trust in my sixth sense. That instinct which every vampire possessed that warned them that danger was near. With my instincts still intact I dodged the trees, my feet lighter than air against the forest floor.

Running has always been my favorite part of being a hybrid. The feeling of adrenaline and freedom coursed through my veins. My heartbeat harder as I picked up speed, the sound of it thrummed against my eardrums. The thick cover of the trees thinned out as I reached the base of the mountains. I stopped in my tracks to let my lungs fill with air. With every deep breath the particles in the atmosphere danced across my tastebuds. Using this sense, I tracked down a heard of elk. I hid among the trees as I watched the heard graze. I watched and waited for the opportunity to pounce. That chance came when a cow elk wandered away from the others. I silently followed the female deer. If I concentrated, I could smell the blood rushing through its veins. My mouth watered with venom. My lips curled back to reveal white and sharpened teeth. With a quick leap my arms were around the elk’s neck and by teeth sunk into its jugular. The venom I injected into its bloodstream paralyzed the creature, ceasing its struggling.

I pulled the fresh blood from its veins; the warm liquid coated my tongue. To vampires the taste of animal blood was satisfactory at best, but to me the flavor was sweet and complemented by a rich undertone of earthy flavors. I swallowed the blood and as it coated my throat, I felt my senses returning. The remaining heard, sensing a predator, took off into the forest. I could hear the pounding of their hooves against the dirt. The beast I was feasting on became limp in my arms as a drained the last of its life-giving blood. I dropped the animal onto the floor and inspected my clothes. Other than fur and dirt my clothes were unmarred. As a child I had been an extremely messy eater, often returning from a hunting trip with my shirt caked in drying blood. Now that I am older, I have perfected the etiquette of hunting.

After burying the elk carcass under a large tree, I continued on with the hunt. The act was much simpler now that my senses were stronger than they had been the last few days. I headed up into the mountains, smelling the rich aroma of a bobcat. I easily found the feline and took my fill before disposing of the body. I made my way back down the mountain and ran west to where I had hidden my truck. I stepped up into the cab of the truck and started the engine. It was noon as I began the drive back to town.

My skin was buzzing with renewed energy, the effect of a recent hunt, and my mind was clearer and sharper. Gone was the fog of thirst that had clouded my mind. As I drove, I took in the bright emerald greens that passed me by. Moss clung to the trunks of the trees and hung from the branches like draperies. I rolled the window down and the smell of the forest wafted in. The sensual scent of musk and amber swirled in the air of the cab. I breathed it in, grounding myself with the earthy scent. I always felt better after a good hunt. In fact, I felt so good I almost forgot the sorrows that plagued my heart. I almost forgot.

While I enjoyed hunting the act of it filled me with grief. Charlie and been on an extended hunting and camping trip when James and Victoria had emerged from the trees. I had been daring dad to eat a roasted marshmallow when the wind changed, carrying our scent into the trees. That’s when the two nomads found us. Dad and I heard their footsteps as they changed course. We stood and waited for them to break through the edge of the trees…

I shook myself out of my saddened stupor, refusing to let my mind drift to such a terrible memory and tried to focus on something else. But if I wasn’t struggling against a wave of grief then I was fighting against the blossoming feelings for Edythe in my heart. It felt like my soul was crying out for its missing piece. My eyes stung with tears. I gripped the steering wheel tightly with my hands. The metal frame bent and curved under my fingers. Immediately, I loosened my grip. No need to take out my sorrows on the old girl. Instead of dwelling on the troubles that plagued me I focused instead on the road ahead of me.

I had reached the town limits and drove past the Forks Timber Museum and north up Forks Ave. I took a left turn off the main road and wove my way through the streets until I reached my house. After a quick shower and changing into clean clothes I checked my phone, which I had left at home, for messages. Why I bothered I didn’t know. Edythe Cullen was the only contact on my phone. There was my answer. I checked my phone in the hopes that Edythe had tried to get in touch. Which indeed she had. The vampire had called and left a voicemail. I pressed play on the message and let Edythe’s melodic voice fill the room. The message was a simple one, it was her asking me how my truck was holding up and how was I doing today. Edythe ended her message with well wishes and a promise to see me tomorrow. My heart dropped to my stomach at the sound of that promise. Tomorrow was Monday, which meant it was back to school and the true start of cutting Edythe out of my life. It would not be any easy task to achieve, especially in Biology class, but then I thought of a feasible solution. I could switch lab partners. Angela Weber was in the same class, I decided to give her a call to see if she would be my new lab partner. I found the Webers home number in the phone book and was lucky that it was Angela who answered.

I was glad that she didn’t ask questions about being my new lab partner and was thankful to she agreed to switch. Knowing that I would have a new partner made returning to school tomorrow just a little bit easier. Until then my greatest task was to avoid any thought of Edythe Cullen. Easier said than done.

[too-many-baes]

The Man That Stole Christmas

So this is my contribution to #tmsecretsanta2022 and I am gifting to @lizzybennets so a very Merry (belated) Christmas to you❤️ I wrote what came to mind so I hope you like it (even though it is on the angsty side)🎄

December 23rd, two days before Christmas. Most people were already at home with their families. Some might be making eggnog with a grin on their faces. Others might desperately be trying to keep the children away from the gifts under the tree for two more nights.

For the CIA it was just a regular night. Crime didn’t stop just because it was Christmas, so neither did they.

“So.” Jane said from his position staring up at the ceiling from the couch, using the word as if it were a complete sentence in and of itself. “Who’s getting coal in their stocking?” Although not particularly unfunny of a statement it still failed to pull any laughs from the group as their heads remained on their work.

“Well”, eventually split the silence, the crew one by one turning their heads to look at the source of the sound, “no coal. The opposite really. Craig is spending Christmas with me and my family this year.”

“That’s nice.”

“That’s quick.” Agents Cho and Rigby’s answers, while in unison, could not have been any more different in tone. Choosing to focus on the positivity Grace responded to Kimball as if he had been the only one to answer.

“It is. My parents can’t wait to have him over.”

“They’ve met then?” Grace nodded at Kimballs question.

“Just the once.” A not uncomfortable silence filled the room as one by one heads turned back to their desks.

“That’s quick.” Rigby’s repetition came too late to sound natural and completely lacked the nonchalance and ease he had intended. He sounded jealous and bitter, and he hated that his tone had so easily betrayed how he felt.

It was no secret to his team now that he hadn’t exactly had a happy childhood growing up. Having a father involved with a gang sounded exactly as unpleasant on a growing boy as it was, and as much as he usually tried to be chipper and happy, he had no problems admitting he was a complete and total grinch.

Christmas had never been made a big deal of in his household, it was like any other day where Wayne wished that his father would stay out as long as possible so he and his mother could enjoy the calm he left behind while they could. There was no tree, no gifts, no cookies baking in an oven while a hallmark movie played in the next room. Christmas was miserable. Until Wayne met Grace.

The first year she had joined the team and Christmas had rolled around he had been ready and prepared to be his usual self, no holiday cheer, no participating in office secret santas, and definitely no Christmas parties. Grace had had enough excitement and joy for the both of them and he couldn’t help it. For the first time ever he had joined in on secret santa, getting a new mug for Jane and receiving a tie from Cho. He smiled when he heard Grace humming along to Michael Buble and eagerly listened as she told him how she would be going to midnight mass with her family, as she always did, before having a sleep in and doing presents when everybody woke up.

The second year Grace was on the team they had not long started dating, so it was too soon to spend a Christmas with the Van Pelt’s, however much he had wanted to say yes when Grace had invited him. It would be too much, too soon. Next year, he had thought to himself. Next year maybe he’ll finally have a happy Christmas and he could hang up the grinch outfit he wore like a shield for once.

Well, this was year three, and it couldn’t have turned out any more different than what he had imagined. Instead of complimenting Mrs. Van Pelt on her ham while he and Mr. Van Pelt shared a whiskey he was having to sit in his office with his co-workers and listen to the love of his life excitedly share her Christmas plans as if she didn’t realise that it was supposed to be with him, not somebody else. It felt wrong, and it hurt Wayne more than a little that it seemed Grace hadn’t batted an eyelash that she was giving his Christmas to another man.

“I guess it is a bit quick.” Grace relented, nervously tucking a strand of hair behind her ear that Wayne wished he could fish back out and twirl around his finger like he used to.

“No,” Wayne started to backstep, guilty that he had brought her mood down, “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Yes you did.” She responded without missing a beat. Because of course he had meant it like that, how else could you mean it. “But it’s okay.” He opened his mouth to apologise but a knock at the doorway had him snapping his mouth shut.

“Craig.” Grace beamed, jumping out of her seat and hustling to him so she could be wrapped in the embrace he immediately offered. “You’re early.”

“I know,” he punctuated with a kiss to her forehead that had Wayne’s nose wrinkling involuntarily, “but I figured I’d see what the chances would be of you sneaking off early.” She murmured that she’d check before she scurried off and knocked on Lisbon’s door, quickly entering when she was given the okay.

The group all exchanged merry Christmas’s back and forth, the pleasantries stopping when it was clearly Wayne’s turn. Try as he might to swallow his pride and utter the easy two words everybody else had said he couldn’t bring himself. How was he was supposed to wish joy to the man who’d stolen his Christmas? He offered a tight-lipped smile and a curt nod and was let off the hook from anything more as Grace hurried back over, excitedly exclaiming that she could go. With every item Grace packed away he could feel his blood running hotter until he swore the tips of his ears were burning as Grace shrugged on her jacket.

“Merry Christmas everybody, I’ll see you all in a few days.” She said genuinely with a bright smile and twinkle in her eye that Wayne couldn’t believe hadn’t dimmed at all with all the things she’d seen since starting this job.

“Merry Christmas.” His choked out version of the wish had been lost on everyone in the room, the volume of the chorus cancelling his voice out, but Grace had heard him as clearly as if he had yelled it in a silent room. Her eyes snapped to his as she lowered her waving hand back down to her side. Craig’s arm looped around hers had her body moving out of the room, but just before she turned to follow she offered up a small, genuine smile. It had been just for him, his eyes only, and he knew it, his heart skipping a beat at the action.

As the minutes trickled on, one by one agents started packing up for the night, until he was in the unique position of being the last one remaining in the office with Jane. As Rigsby knew he would more than likely be sleeping in the office he decided to cut his losses and pack up for the night.

“Wayne.” The assumed sleeping man had spoken just as Wayne was about to exit the room. He turned around to find the blonde man peeking at him out of one eye.

“Yeah?” He slowly opened his other eye, examining the mans face as if debating whether or not he should say what he had stopped him to say.

“You know it hurts her as much as it hurts you right?” He finally asked after taking in a large breath.

“I doubt it.” Wayne responded snidely, not caring any more at the immaturity that had leached into his voice.

“You shouldn’t.” Jane responded, his tone lower and softer in response to the bite in Wayne’s voice. “It’s as obvious as the nose on her face.” Wayne thought it over, knowing that Jane was seldom wrong on matters such as this and wanting nothing more than to believe him as he usually did.

“Goodnight Jane.” He stated with a dejected slap of his palm upon the doorway. He was met with a disappointed sigh but opted not to hang around and hear the lecture that might follow, instead making his way downstairs and into his car as fast as possible.

The car radio started as he pulled out of the CIA car lot, the sound of Bublé’s ‘White Christmas’ drifting though the speakers. He tsked to himself, reaching to change the station but stopping just short of the button.

He didn’t know what compelled him to do it but he let his hand drift back to the steering wheel, allowing himself to relive the memory of Grace’s humming those few years ago. He felt a prickling in his eyes and tightening in his throat, making his knuckles turn slightly whiter against the steering wheel.

As he continued to listen he kept thinking about Grace and the Christmas they could have, no, should have had. As the song came to a finish, the last notes dancing in his ears he promised himself one thing.

Even if it meant letting another man have his Christmas’s for however many years that it may take, he promised he himself he would never ruin a Christmas for Grace. No more snide comments, no more jealousy, no more Wayne ‘The Grinch’ Rigsby. Just because his Christmas had been stolen didn’t mean he would let himself steal Grace’s.

[incorrectlooneytunesquotes]

Porky: D-D-D-D-D-D-D-D-Dr. F-F-Frankenbeans' intelligence goes beyond the b-b-borders of the y-y-human mind, his savagery goes beyond the borders of the animal m-m-mind! Daffy: How could he go beyond stho many borders without a pathsport?

[aimlessarchery]

————  𝚑𝚘𝚠   𝚍𝚘𝚎𝚜   𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛   𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚛   𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚢   𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 ?

𝐀𝐋𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐒   𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐋𝐈𝐄𝐒 :     bold .     𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐒   𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐋𝐈𝐄𝐒 :     italic .

ANGER  .   jaw clenching , hands balling into fists , teeth grinding , yelling , going non - verbal , stuttering speech , rushed speech , slow and concise speech , rambling , quiet , arms crossing , shaking head , tearing up , animated , expressionless , projects , internalizes , vents , withdraws , tighter movements , passive aggressive , direct , physical outbursts , verbal outbursts .

JOY  .   easy smiles , fighting back grins , suppressed laughter , loud laughter , giggles , chuckling , smirks , whole body laughs , covers mouth when laughing or giggling , throws head back when laughing , slaps leg , touches people around them when laughing , looks down when laughing , looks for eye contact when laughing , sparkling eyes , bubbly happiness , quiet subtle happiness , obnoxious happiness , wants to spread joy , quietly savors joy .

SADNESS  .   crying , bottling it up , seeks distractions , wallows , meditates and processes , avoidance , seeks out comfort , withdraws , swallowing thickly , talks it out , internalizes it , sad smiles , depression naps , uses alcohol , uses drugs , seeks out sources of joy , fidgets with sentimental item , sits in silence , broods , gets moody , wants someone to share the misery , tries to hide negative emotions , nurtures others to make themselves feel better .

EMBARRASSMENT   AND   SHAME   .    blushing , looking away , rubbing at back of head , covering face , laughing nervously , laughs it off , overthinks , lets it go , self deprecating humor , deflects , gets irritated , smiles , withdraws , crossing arms over stomach , crossing arms over chest , hands in pockets , shoulders sinking , shrugs , falling into silence until comfortable again , talking a lot to compensate .

GUILT .    avoiding eye contact , shoulders sinking low , head hanging down , crying , chest aches , lashes out , internalizes , apologizes , deflects , communicates , withdraws , grand gestures for forgiveness , accepts fault easily , punishes themselves , martyrdom , victim complex , over - active guilt complex , healthy conscience , internalizes even after forgiveness , seeks redemption , moves on easily , denial , lack of guilt or conscience , sorry they got caught more than caused harm , can’t handle knowing they hurt others .

FEAR   AND   ANXIETY   .   trembling , crying , sarcasm or sass to cope , rambles , goes silent , gets angry , fidgeting , impatience , clenching jaw , picking at nails , chewing at lip , pulling at clothes , adjusting jewelry or clothing , swallowing thickly , eyes widening , over - reacts , under - reacts , calm , logical , panic , irrational , overthinks , carefully analyzes , talks to themselves , breathing exercises , flight , fight , withdraw , fawn .

tagging: yoinked this from a year ago from ren sldjflkds go ham if u want

[concentratedbitterness]

The Messenger

Outside of Houston, Texas: October 29, 2022

It’s earlier in the morning than anyone has any business being awake, but then, this has always been Lee’s favorite time of the day.  Dawn hasn’t yet chased away the darkness of the previous night, and though the heavy doors of the workshop are pulled open to let the coming light flood inside it is still only by a lantern’s glow that the hunter sits tinkering with his latest project.  Most mornings the quiet calm would be accentuated with the dulcet tones of some classic Patsy Cline tune or the gritty twang of Cash, or Williams, but not today.  Today, there is only the gentle, repetitive scraping of a metal file moving across the small trinket in the vise.  It’s delicate work, and despite his love for it the music has been foregone in favor of concentration.

If not for this, he might never have heard it.

“Marco.”

Leroy’s hands still, and he blinks.  A quick glance around the workshop confirms that no one else is here; the old man never gets up this early, and Zadkiel is no doubt right where Lee had left them last night.  The damned bird, maybe?

“Marco,” he hears again; like the faintest note carrying on a breeze from somewhere distant.

“Polo!” Lee hollers back with a huff of laughter, never one to pass up the opportunity for a stupid joke, even if it’s only for his own amusement.  A few moments pass and the thick cloud of silence once again settles around him, leaving the hunter unsure whether he had imagined the sound in the first place.  With a shrug, he returns his attention to his task.  It is short lived.

There is a soft ‘click’ as the old ham radio in the corner turns on of its own volition, and the tool in Lee’s hand clatters to the floor.  He’s already reaching for the shotgun on the work table behind him when the voice calls once more.

“Marco.” 

This isn’t his first rodeo–Lee has been neck deep in the occult since he’d been old enough to pack a shell casing with rock salt–but something is off.  The Spaniard’s secured pocket has wards seven levels deep, and those are only the ones he knows about; nothing the old warlock doesn’t want here can be here.  “Who’s there?” The hunter manages tensely, minding the way the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end as he cautiously approaches the radio.  “Ain’t nobody named Marco here.”  And yet, as soon as he says it, he realizes he’s mistaken.  His own brother’s namesake, no less; so bestowed in honor of the man who had been the Brockway line’s patriarch and benefactor for generations.  Marco Jose-Ramon Santiago DeCastilla.  “--You mean Santiago?”

“Deliver the message.”

The hunter’s brow furrows.  Despite his misgivings, he feels his muscles relax just a little.  “What message?”

There’s a soft crackling before the voice on the radio replies.  “Tell him he owes a favor.  Now is the time to repay it.”     

“Who the fuck is this?”

“Deliver the message.”

Leroy allows the gun to fall to his side, still eyeing the source of the sound warily.  “Not if ya’ ain’t gonna’ tell me who’s askin’.”

“Deliver the message,” The voice in the static insists.

The hunter shakes his head, of half a mind to chuck the radio across the workshop if only to have one less problem.  “This’s fuckin’ stupid, what am I gonna’ tell him?  Some rando spoutin’ cryptic shit got my frequency on the ham radio?  Why the fuck should he care?”

“Deliver the message.”

“Who are you?” Lee demands.  A long pause stretches behind his question.  He feels uneasiness weighing over him; a pit in his stomach unlike anything he’s experienced since he was a young, frightened boy locked in a dark box.  Once more, he asks “Who are you?”  

And then, finally, it answers.  “Tell him,” the stranger whispers, so softly that Leroy strains to make out the words, wondering for an instant if he’s truly heard any of them at all.  He steps closer and turns his ear toward the speaker.  “...That the bargain he made all those years ago beneath a desert sky was not with his God.  Tell him…”

***

For all the years he’s known the warlock; all the hours and countless little moments he’s spent sharing Santiago’s company since he was a child, Leroy has never seen the color drain quite so fully from the old man’s face as it does when he delivers the stranger’s message.  It sends an unbidden chill down the hunter’s spine. 

“--An’ then he said,” Lee swallows thickly, speaking slowly and with great care to temper his usual drawl and ensure the words are clear, “Tell him it was with me.”

[cookiemazle]

A Saint Named Jerome: a short story

He’s seated at his desk when it happened. The last bell for school rings and everyone gets up to go home for the weekend, everyone besides him. He’s reading a note that he found in his locker earlier today, “573 Linden Road. 7pm. Sunday”. That’s it. No name, no familiar handwriting, nothing. Just an address and time. “Should I do it?” He thought to himself but snapped back into reality when the teacher approaches with a concerned look. “Unless you want to spend your weekend alone in these halls, you best get a move on honey.”

Walking down the alleyway to his home, he stops at the neighborhood corner store to get three things: Lays Barbecue chips, Butterfingers bar, and tall garbage bags. Opening the butterfingers as he exits the store, he sees someone camped outside the store. “They weren’t there when I got here” he says silently and proceeds on his way. “Hey kid, anything?” As the woman holds out a cup. The teenager fishes out the change he had left over and drops it in, 35cents.

By the time he reaches home, two younger girls are practicing a dance routine on the front lawn. One in all red and the other in all pink, ponytails with coordinating balls at the base and ends. They pause the music as he enters the gate, “what took you so long?” The girl in red asks. He throws the bag of barbecue chips at her and keeps walking into the house. The girls squeal as they open the chips and begin to chow down on their afterschool snack.

The smell of the house hit him as soon as he opened the door, smoked ham, turkey, greens, Mac and cheese and of course, yams. Usually he’d be surprised to find his mother is cooking on a Friday, but she makes special arrangements for birthdays. His is today. “My favorite birthday boy is home!” She says as she wraps her flour covered arms around him. When they pull away he pulls the garbage bags out of his backpack. “I remember you said we were running low”. She looks at her son endearingly as he heads up to his room.

As everyone from the neighborhood leaves the birthday party, there’s a nagging feeling in the back of his mind. He can’t shake that note that he got earlier today. He asked his friends about it at the party but they denied having any association, “it might be from that girl during Homecoming, she might still be digging you”. He weeded her out since she stopped responding to his texts a week after that same homecoming. “You turn 18 and want to be Indiana Jones, take one of us with you at least” his friends insisted. “I probably wont go” he kept telling himself.

As Sunday rolls around, all he could think about was the note. His dad told him that he wanted to go somewhere after church so that made him a little anxious. Pressing hard for time, he faked a stomach ache in order to go back home. He waited for his parents to go on their evening walk before he slipped out the house, luckily his sister was preoccupied with her Barbie switch game to notice anything.

Approaching 573 Linden Road, he stops in his tracks when he spots a singular white ballon floating in the yard of an abandoned church. It’s a late spring evening, the street lights are his only source of light. Walking up to the entrance he hears whispers but it turns into complete silence when he opens the door. Thats when he sees it. A shrine with his picture, candles lit around it with a banner that reads “Welcome Home, Saint Jerome”.

[xasha777]

In the dimly lit library of the Starship Astralis, the soft glow of candlelight flickered against the ancient, arcane architecture of the room. The ship, a marvel of advanced technology and mystic integration, drifted silently through the vast emptiness of space. Within its depths, a young woman, cloaked in emerald robes adorned with intricate designs, sat at a large wooden table. Her eyes, sharp and focused, were fixed on a massive tome before her. The book, known as the Arcane Codex, pulsed with a faint blue light, its pages filled with knowledge that transcended time and space.

This woman was known as Elara, the Keeper of the Codex. She had been chosen for this role due to her unique ability to harness the mystical energies contained within the Codex and her unparalleled intellect. Her mission was to unlock the secrets of the universe, using the Codex to guide the Starship Astralis in its quest for knowledge and exploration.

One day, as Elara delved deeper into the ancient text, she sensed a presence behind her. Turning, she saw the imposing figure of the Commandant of Midshipmen, Captain Elias Thorn. Dressed in his immaculate uniform, his stern expression softened slightly as he approached Elara.

"Keeper Elara," he said, his voice a deep rumble. "We have detected a signal from an uncharted region of space. It appears to be of both technological and mystical origin. We need your expertise to decipher it."

Elara nodded, closing the Codex gently. "Lead the way, Commandant," she replied, her curiosity piqued.

Together, they made their way to the command center of the Astralis. The crew, a mix of scientists, mystics, and seasoned officers, were abuzz with activity. On the main screen, a holographic projection displayed a distant star system, with the mysterious signal emanating from a small, desolate moon orbiting a gas giant.

Elara approached the console, her fingers dancing over the controls as she analyzed the signal. "It's a combination of an ancient language and a highly advanced code," she murmured, her eyes narrowing in concentration. "I can translate it, but it will take time."

As she worked, the Commandant stood by her side, his eyes scanning the data. "What do you make of it so far?" he asked.

"It's a distress signal," Elara replied, her voice tinged with urgency. "Whoever sent this is in great danger. We must respond."

The Commandant nodded. "Prepare an away team," he ordered. "We're going down there."

Within the hour, a shuttle departed from the Astralis, carrying Elara, the Commandant, and a team of elite officers and mystics. As they descended towards the moon, the landscape came into view – a barren, rocky surface dotted with ancient ruins and strange, glowing crystals.

The shuttle landed smoothly, and the team disembarked, their senses on high alert. Elara led the way, her keen intuition guiding them towards the source of the signal. They navigated through the ruins, the air thick with an eerie silence.

Finally, they reached a massive, ornate door covered in intricate symbols. Elara stepped forward, her hand hovering over the symbols. She closed her eyes, channeling her energy into the door. The symbols glowed brightly, and with a low rumble, the door slowly opened.

Inside, they found a vast chamber filled with ancient technology and mystical artifacts. At the center of the room, a holographic figure flickered to life – an old, wise-looking alien being.

"Welcome, travelers," the hologram said, its voice echoing through the chamber. "I am the last of the Arcane Guardians. Our civilization was destroyed millennia ago, but we left behind this message in the hopes that someone like you would find it."

Elara stepped forward, her eyes filled with determination. "We are here to help. Tell us what we can do."

The hologram nodded. "Our knowledge is now yours," it said. "Use it wisely to protect the galaxy from the darkness that seeks to consume it."

As the hologram faded, the team began to explore the chamber, uncovering secrets and technologies that would change the course of their mission and the fate of the galaxy.

Back on the Astralis, Elara returned to the Codex, her mind brimming with newfound knowledge. She knew that their journey was far from over, but with the Commandant and her crew by her side, she was ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead.

Together, they would unlock the mysteries of the universe, guided by the Arcane Codex and their unwavering resolve.