#powers out around our neighborhood but not here.... thank god for the fucked up wiring over here

[twilightarcade]

anyway how do we feel about the snow michiganders

#wordstag #only the michiganders living by me..... the rest of u guys i don't know about but this is our first GOOD snow #last week was just 2 get us prepared and scared (idk was that last week. Maybe a few days ago ? Whatever it was nothing HAPPENED) #powers out around our neighborhood but not here.... thank god for the fucked up wiring over here #other michiganders who are dying rn i wish u the best 👊👊👊

[death-kat-19]

Anxious Antics

Fandom: Sanders sides.

AU: high school Au.

Warnings: cussing.

Summary: Virgil Vice is both Awkward and Anxious at all times, this and his bad choice of friends is leading to him getting into some pretty odd situations.

This was inspired by @lefaystrent ‘s Welcome to the Neighborhood! Go read that!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Virgil Vice,his name makes him sounds like some kinda superhero alter ego, and he would be if being socially incompetent was a super power. 

Virgil was your stereotypical High school Emo, got caught up in the wrong crowd and they kind of stuck. Though he wasn’t usually one for making friends... 

he would actually rather die then try and find new friends.

And it seems like he would as here he was, dangling from his foot off a giant crane at an abandoned construction site. His idiotic counter parts were with him as well though they were safely on the ground. 

“GET ME DOWN!!!” Virgil screamed as he swayed back and forth from a wire wrapped around his black converse. He knew those things were durable, and mom said they were a waste of his money. He should invest in another pair, oh wait, he cant cause he’s gonna die! 

 The leader of there little bad boy wannabe group nicknamed deceit ,wow so edgy, finally responded “Uhhhh, you heard the man Remus go get him down!” he said shoving the worst possible man for the job forward.

“.....Okay!” Remus was quick to agree and began his climb up the rusty machinery

“no no nO NO NO!! anyone but Remus ple- Ugh!” Virgil attempted to reason though was cut off by the urge to puke as he was swung in circles from the swaying as the broken bars moved with each step Remus took. He mentally cursed his mother for making him eat dinner before he headed out as he dreaded his future career as slim shady, moms spaghetti. THIS WAS NOT THE TIME!!

Virgil’s thoughts were solely pessimistic ‘Oh god I’m gonna die I’m gonna die I’m gonna die dangling off some stupid crane cause of some stupid dare and Remus is my only possible savior! FUCKING REMUS! that boy literally got kicked out of lush for eating 4 bath bombs and as much soap as he could fit in his pants. I’m doomed!’

His thoughts soon spiraled a bit darker.

‘No one would miss me anyway. i’m a nobody. my only friends were the ones that got me into this situation. my mom just got a new boyfriend i’m sure they could get a better son who doesn’t grow up to do stupid dares from some asshole teens who were never actually nice to him!! and-’

“hey short stack give me your hand!” 

Virgil’s thoughts were cut short and he looked up. Never in his life has he been so happy to see Remus’ disgustingly painted fingernails. with some slow moving and a good reach Remus had grabbed Virgil’s hand and had pulled him toward him with a good tug Virgil’s shoe fell the fifty or so foot drop to the bottom where deceit was waiting. Though Virgil hardly noticed as he clung to Remus the entire way down the rusty machinery until he was safely on the floor. 

“Good job you did great!” deceit praised Virgil’s shoe in his hand. 

“Fuck. You.” was the only thing out of Virgil’s mouth as he grabbed his shoe slipping it on and promptly storming out of the construction site.

“Virge wait!” Remus called chasing after the traumatized boy. 

“WHAT!? what could you possibly want from me!?” Virgil asked tears dripping down his face as he trembled. 

“let me drive you home.” Remus said holding up his car keys. Deceit soon walked up behind. “Because walking home after that is of course the best idea” he mocked crossing his arms. 

“.....Your a dick Dee” virgil said wiping his eyes. “but yeah. a ride sounds nice Rem..” 

“Oh Dee has a huge cock i can assure you!” Remus exclaimed.  “EWW Remus! what the hell i didn’t need to know that!” he shouted but couldn’t help but laugh as the teens walked to the trashy spray painted green pick up truck that Remus owned.

~~~~~~~

Deceit got dropped off first as he was the closest. 

The ride was pretty quiet. Remus drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as he drove. “.........sooo..You okay?” Remus asked glancing at Virgil. 

“huh? oh yeah. i guess so...thanks for like..getting me down or whatever” Virgil said hugging himself.

“oh. no problem. i mean if you would have fallen you would have been dead and flat as a pancake. like one of those nine eleven jumpers but like not as high up ya know!?” 

“Thanks Remus. that’s very helpful..” Virgil said just as Remus pulled up to Virgil’s home. the small house wasn’t much but Virgil couldn’t have been happier to see it. “thanks for the ride” was all he said as he left the car and walking inside. 

“OK BYE!! see you tom-” Remus exclaimed but it was cut off when Virgil slammed the door. 

“god...i need new friends...” Virgil said glancing out the window as Remus drove away. he put his house keys in the little bowl on the counter. his house was silent. ‘mom must still be out with her boyfriend.’ Virgil thought as he picked up the mail from next to the bowl of keys. “bill, bill, ad, ad, bill huh?” there was a letter with his name on it. it was sealed with wax. “What is this fucking Hogwarts?” he walked into the kitchen and opened it with a butter knife. he pulled out the letter. it was written in the nicest handwriting he had seen in his life. ‘what was this wrote by a god damn android? no one has this handwriting!’

Dear, Virgil Vice

    Salutations my name is Logan Berry and I am a Junior Valedictorian at Hollenbrook High. A group of students at our school including me have been assigned to offer potential students a full time scholarship to Hollenbrook’s out of state trip. Our Student president Patton Hart has decided that a variety of students from other schools should be able to experience the same this us more privileged students do. I have chose you from Grindlelor Highschool because of your great Grade Point average and lack of other school activities leading to you most likely being free for the trip. Please get back to me as soon as you can. 

                                                             Sincerely, Logan Berry. 

‘Wait what? The Hollenbrook out of state trip!? that’s like a thousand dollars a student! out of state is putting it lightly those freaks end there trip by going to Europe! there’s no way this can be real. this is a total prank....doesn’t Remus’ brother go to that school?’ 

“ill have to just ask tomorrow i guess.” he said as he pocketed the letter and went to bed. it had been an eventful night he just wanted to watch shitty YouTube videos and sleep. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thanks for reading! i’m 100% open for constructive criticism as this is the first thing i’ve written for awhile and i’m looking to improve. I hope you like it!

#thomas sanders #sanders sides au #sanders sides #virgil sanders #remus sanders #Janus Sanders #sanders sides fic

[mildly-incoherent-ramblings]

Alturas

Derived From, And An Offshoot Of “The Weekend In The Country” Writing Prompt, Given By Adam Gnade. 

A Preface: This story is awful. I have tried to work through this experience for years. This is a work of semi-fiction I suppose, but most of this really did happen, and you can guess which character is based on me pretty easily. I do not condone ANY of the actions depicted here. Please, care for your animal friends, and your elderly family, and if you cannot, find help for them. Good fucking god find some help and fucking save them. Do everything in your power. I did not sleep a full night’s sleep for months after what I saw that weekend.

CW: animal abuse, animal neglect, self neglect, dementia, guns, gunfire, themes of transphobia/homophobia, domestic abuse, toxic family dynamics, misogyny, vivid sensory descriptions of these things.

Part 1: Knuckle Bones

The drive itself was not bad. There was felt a certain nostalgia for many trips down south to San Diego to visit my great aunt with the family when we were children, or to the north to see the snow in the winter. Dad got lost for a little while, but he refused to admit it, he just angrily grumbled to himself and yelled to the backseat if anyone made a noise that broke his concentration. We rode through miles of outstretched quiet roads interrupted by the occasional rest area, and only stopped briefly at points for food and gas, and to rotate who got to sit in the front seat. On freeways and then off of them and up into the endless hills, long winding roads that almost felt like going in circles we drove, all of us anticipating the destination. We were going to visit grandma and grandpa, my Dad’s stepmom and father. They lived on a little farm out in Alturas.

Alturas is a small town nestled up in the rightmost corner of California, bordered both by Nevada to the east and Oregon to the north.  When we finally arrived there, the first thing I noticed were the hot air balloons. I had never seen them in person before. Floating out toward the horizon and above us and all around were hundreds of these drifting along, wicker baskets and all. Being mostly a city kid, I had almost forgotten they even existed. Peacefully scattered near and far in an expanse of clear blue sky I saw them; big beautiful ones with complex designs in an array of bright colors; mostly red and yellow with splotches of cyan and green, bits of neon pink. They reminded me of printer cartridges or SMPTE bars on a TV screen. I fixated on them as we rode up onto the main street of the town.

We stopped at a diner for breakfast, and the realization hit me that I was with my family and in a moderately conservative area. I would have no choice but to act as a woman here, I would not be given another option. I’d have to try my best to blend at least. Dressed in a baggy T-shirt and jeans, and a baseball cap backwards like some 90′s mall bro troupe, one could say that alone was a dead giveaway. But to these people, and to my family at the time, I was a dyke at best. At worst... lets not get into it.

We ate breakfast at this little place, dusty and kind of worn down, white walls yellowed over the years with tacky décor displayed upon them. The Don’t-Tread-On-Me flag hung up in the corner made me very nervous. Dad and my brother didn’t notice, but the old folks at the table next to us, and the truckers on the other side of the room, and the CHP officers grouped together at the bar shot daggers in my general direction, some of them holding their glare on me like snipers aiming for my head from the top of a building. I tried to eat quickly and eat well, especially since I hadn’t had anything that day except for gas station coffee and a pack of hostess mini donuts several hours before. I ate like I eat, which can be stereotyped as like how a man eats. At one point my brother said I wasn’t being polite, even though his table manners were about as bad, and the reason why he felt it different for me need not be spoken. Loud and clear.

My brother had a really hard time accepting my transition. Same with Dad. Neither will admit to it now but they both were cruel to me often, and for a while hoped they could just disregard this aspect of me and force me back into the box of womanhood until I gave up. When I first came out my brother he offered me a pair of jeans he didn’t wear anymore and asked me if I needed any advice on good cologne to wear, needed any razors, etc. This enthusiasm wouldn’t last. The next time he wanted money from me, or my weed, or something of mine he could sell, or someone he could point his anger toward, he would weaponize my former femininity against me and revert back to the same misogynistic behavior I had always known him to engage in. I was a woman again when he wanted me to be one, and I had no choice in this matter. This would go on for years. He still to this day has a deep subconscious hate for women, but thankfully and in despite of how sickening these implications are I have escaped this form of mistreatment after starting testosterone.

My Dad was a bit more open, he just didn’t know how to navigate it. He wanted to allow my brother to “have his own opinion” and opted to avoid discussion of it as much as possible. He would later learn that when it comes to something like this, there are no SIDES, there is either upholding the human need to live authentically or deny that need no matter how negatively this affected me and others like me. These days, he proudly supports me and is kind to the trans people in his neighborhood, and would like very much to take his kids to pride once covid is contained and its safe to attend large events again. He got better. Thank fucking god he got better.

We checked into an Inn down the road, got out and stretched our legs. My brother and I immediately went to go smoke a joint. We hid around the back of the building hoping Dad wouldn’t notice, but apparently we stank up the whole area and came back to him seething with anger. He sparked a cigarette, tried to calm down, and we unloaded our belongings from the car in silence. Then it was time to head to the farm. 

A few miles out from town we drove through the acres of desolate farmland down a dirt and gravel road that seemed to go on forever. I didn’t recognize the area until we started pulling into the driveway to their little house. Dad was swearing and smacking his steering wheel, cursing no one in particular but frustrated at how the gravel would scratch the paint on his car. We were, though we did try to blend in, hilariously obvious city people.

I recognized the shapes first, the house, the big looming tree on the right side, the wire fences surrounding the property, the rusty old truck. I had only been here as a kindergartener so my exact recollection of this place was fuzzy, but I had fond memories of the animals and how happy grandma and grandpa were to see me. I felt some excitement to return to this place that I always felt to be so welcoming, warm and filled with love. Then we got closer.

The first thing I noticed were the dogs. Two gigantic rabid pitbulls, one chained to the tree in the yard and one chained to a fence post just to the side of the house behind him. They were both aggressively barking and pulling on their chains trying to get to our car, foaming at the mouths and vicious as hell. I am cautious to describe this because I am aware of a certain stigma around pitbulls and their commonly misunderstood demeanor, and I will add that I have never known any dog of this breed to be cruel in any way by nature. But these dogs, they were not aggressive out of any sort of inherent violence and hatred, they were scared. They wanted to escape. The felt us to be a threat. Their paws were caked in shit and mud, mucus leaking from their eyes and matts in their fur. There were big festering wounds on the side of the dog nearest the truck as though he was bitten by something. Before him, the remains of a cat who had been caught and torn to shreds lay splayed open and rotting in the summer heat, the carcass filled with maggots. Bits of the poor things insides were scattered around the yard.

I turned my eyes over toward the house. The building itself had deteriorated significantly. The paint was peeling and chipped. Rotting wood was visible underneath all covered in a thick, black mold. The entire yard was littered with trash; rusty old cans and plastic bags, rotting apple cores, some unidentifiable mounds of what I can only assume had once been food waste. Weeds overgrew dusty and dry, and the front porch itself was falling away barely keeping its shape. To the left of it, the garage was wide open and I could see the stacks upon stacks of busted furniture, rusted metal piping, lengths of barbed wire wrapped in bundles and all manner of poorly kept junk haphazardly packed against the inner side wall.

My father’s eyes went wide as we all sat in silence, shocked at the appearance of what was apparently the home his mom and dad had been living in for the last few decades, and just how much the state of this place had declined since our last visit. He held his fist to his mouth, clenched so tight you could see his knuckle bones through his skin. Pushing back tears, he tried his best to shake the face of disgust and horror from himself before cautiously opening the door. Under his breath, my brother uttered the phrase “what the fuck,” which immediately resulted in dad turning toward the back seat angrily and slamming his fist on the middle console, growling at him to shut the fuck up through clenched teeth. The spray of his spit fell on our faces. His expression had shifted to be dramatically similar to the dogs. Anger and defensiveness as a secondary reaction to an underlying feeling of danger, and a desire to escape the inevitable. I have nightmares of this face. 

Just then grandpa came hobbling out from the garage clutching a 12 gauge shotgun, screaming for grandma that they had burglars on the premises and commanding us to leave. He pointed it upward and haphazardly fired a warning shot which went straight through the roof of the garage and aimed the smoking barrel directly at us. All three of us had our hands up instantly. Grandma came hobbling out of the house pulling through the dirt in her walker as quickly as she could, yelling for him to stop.

“Garland, that’s your fucking SON. And the grandchildren! They’ve come to visit, we just discussed this earlier this morning FOR FUCKS SAKE GARLAND PUT IT DOWN!” She grabbed his arm and he froze, the tension in his shoulders dropped. He lowered his weapon, staring at us puzzled as he processed the situation.

“ANDREW?” He yelled. “ANDREW IS THAT YOU SON?”

“Yes, Dad. Its us. Me and the kids.” he returned. He was shaking so much in the front seat I could feel it from the back. He slowly lowered his hands to his lap, my brother and I frozen in shock. 

(part 2 coming soon)

#horror #traumaposting #semi-fiction #writing prompt #this is not a nice story #animal cruelty #mental illness #dementia #desolate #hoarding #small town #transphobia #fear #dead cats #horrible #nightmare #trauma #sickness #neglect #dilapidated

[theliterateape]

A Missed Opportunity

By David Himmel

Walking the dog at night is always a little fraught. There are two stretches of the two block route I call Rats Run Way. They border the route north and south. I’m not afraid of rats, but they have this tendency to startle the living shit out of me. They’ll bolt from the bushes of the apartment building or from the dumpsters behind the 7-Eleven strip mall at the corner of our street and Milwaukee Avenue. I’ll jump and try not to yelp. Molly will yank my arm trying to catch them. Sometimes, they’re not running, but lie dead on the darkest part of the sidewalk. 

I don’t like our neighborhood rats. They’re worse than the gutter punks. For six years, I’ve been fighting with the nasty rodents living in our alley and under the foundation of our three-flat apartment building. Dead or alive, there’s often a rat of some kind I have to face. The dead ones make me happy. Especially when I find them flattened in the street—turned into bio pavement by a car I assume came from heaven. The idea of killing rats is one of my go-to fantasies. I daydream of shooting them with my air rifle that is way too powerful to wield in the city, or having the mutant powers of Magneto and mashing them to death when they scurry under the wire mesh along the edges of our yard. With a wink I could make the wire mesh wrap around the rat and constrict until the rodent squished through the mesh like a Play-Doh action set. Sometimes, I’ll take a one dead from the poison boxes on the perimeter of our property and shovel it back down one of the big holes from whence it came. I think of it as a message to the other rats. “Don’t show your rat mugs around here or this will happen to all of you.” It’s very mafioso of me. And, perhaps, sadistic. But they’re rats so fuck them.

Hunting rats and my desire to kill them was the first topic of conversation my wife and I had when we met. She said I should not have been walking the alley behind my apartment with a small bb gun shooting at them because they had a right to be there. She wasn’t wrong. But neither was I. Fuck rats. Kill them all.

So imagine my excitement when Molly and I walked upon a big shit of a rat on South Rats Run Way. Right there in the middle of the sidewalk alongside the 7-Eleven. Molly and I paused. Looked at each other. Looked at the rat. It looked dead. Lying there under the bright streetlight. But it wasn’t dead. It was dying. We could see its stupid little chest rising and falling with no discernible rhythm. It’s beady eyes looked at us with fear and disdain.

“Gross,” I said to Molly as we crossed the street away from it.

She did her business at the corner then pulled me back to the dying rat making sure to leave plenty of distance between us and it.

 “Let’s kill it,” I said. “Is there a big rock around here? We can smash its head in.” I surveyed the area; nothing. “Okay. Let’s go home. I’ll get the shovel.”

✶

Molly and I returned to our apartment, me with the energy of a man on a mission. I unhooked her harness to let her run free to my wife Katie who was watching a PBS cooking show on her iPad in bed. I hung up Molly’s leash and harness and joined them in the bedroom.

“There’s a big rat dying on the sidewalk by 7-Eleven,” I told Katie with a grin on my face and a lilt in my voice.

“Ew.”

“I’m gonna go kill it.” And I turned to head down to the building’s basement where my rat shovel leans against the back stairwell waiting patiently like Excalibur waits in the stone for Arthur to give it a yank. The rat shovel is no ordinary shovel. It’s an instrument of precision and germs. It used to be a snow shovel. But in 2014, we experienced the Summer of the Rat where our yard was overrun with rats thanks to a healthy nest thriving alongside the foundation. The downstairs neighbors and I took it upon ourselves to fight the vermin. We set snap traps baited with almonds smothered in peanut butter. Five out of seven days a week, I’d find at least one dead rat with its head or neck snapped by the trap or traps in the morning when I would take our dog Eddie out for his morning pee ’n poo. I used the snow shovel to scoop them up and toss them into plastic bags to dump in the trash.

“You’re not going to kill it. Just leave it,” Katie said.

“There’s a potentially dangerous animal likely full of poison and God knows what other filth, plopped in the center of a major neighborhood thoroughfare like a sleeping Jabba the Hut. I’m going to finish the thing off then chuck it in the dumpster. It’s my neighborly duty.”

“That’s disgusting. Someone else will get it.”

“If everyone thought that way, nothing would get done.”

“Good thing not everyone thinks that way.”

Katie is my wife, not my boss. But I could tell she was really bothered by the idea that I was giddy at the prospect of going out to violently slaughter a rat with a snow shovel.

“What if someone sees you?” she asked me.

“Let them.”

“They’ll probably call the cops on you.”

It was late. I was tired. She didn’t convince me to stay in as much as I just gave up on it. “Fine,” I said, “Should we get high and watch 30 Rock for the seven hundredth time?” She liked that idea.

✶

The next morning, I took Molly for her walk as per usual. The rat was gone. No sign of blood. No sign of anything horrific happening to it. No sign of a dead rat body in the nearby bushes or flattened in the middle of the street. I thought, someone must’ve scooped it up either after killing it or after finding it dead from the poison, or whatever was killing it.

I don’t often experience FOMO. The feeling I had that morning as Molly and I walked down the Rats Run Way South wasn’t a fear of missing out, it was regret for missing out. I wanted that rat’s blood on my hands. Or, more precisely, I wanted that rat’s blood on my shovel.

Never again will I miss an opportunity like that. Fucking rats…

#Chicago Rats #Missed opportunities #A missed opportunity

[warriorqueen1991]

Thunderstruck Part 1

Characters: Negan X Reader

Warnings: SMUT!!!

Notes: This was a request from the absolutely fabulous @ask-kakashihatake thank you so much for being the first person to send me a request, sorry it took me so long to get it out for you ♡

Summary: Lucille is a 35 yr old woman living in the city with no luck with love, the most entertaining thing in her life is her favorite show The Walking Dead. Her heart yearns for a fictional character played by an unattainable actor, it seems she’s destined to be alone…but one stormy night everything changes ;)

————————————————————–

Flopping down on my black couch with a tired sigh, I pulled my bare feet up onto the cushion. Running my hand through my still damp, dirty blond hair I pulled my black spiral notebook onto my lap. Lightning flashed behind the white curtains of my small apartment as I flipped through the channels, I hated storms.

Every since my family had been caught in a tornado during our camping trip, I just can’t help thinking every roll of thunder is gonna bring a damn funnel cloud down on my head.

I mean we were fine, my family didn’t seem phased by the close encounter but here I was bouncing my knee and frantically searching for a distraction. Stopping on AMC I smiled as Negan strolled onto the screen, his rumbling voice and obnoxious swagger making me melt.

The majority of fans seemed to dislike the crude villain but I found him fascinating, not to mention he wielded a beautiful barbed wire bat that carried the same name as me.

Watching as he played pool with Spencer, leaning on the pool cue biting his lip. I hummed, he definitely wouldn’t need to try very hard to get me to jump on wife detail. Biting my lip I began writing down what I would do if Negan was real.

It was a little odd at first because I absolutely love Jeffrey Dean Morgan and his wife and family. But having read the comic books and dabbled into the fanfiction pool it was pretty easy to imagine him as a completely different person.

I was blushing slightly as I jotted down grabbing that damn scarf of his and playing an intense game of tonsil hockey.

Not to mention him shoving me over that damn pool table and pounding me from behind. I giggled I hadn’t dated much in my life, I had pretty bad social anxiety and going out kind of freaked me out.

Thank god I had a pretty vivid imagination.

God the things I’d let him to do to me if he was real.

Letting out a deep sigh I dropped my chin on my fist closing my eyes “ I wish you were real”.

Glancing up at the TV I wrinkled my nose as Rosita pulled her gun on Negan pulling the trigger.

A loud crash echoed outside making me jump with a surprised yelp as the electric popped off. Tumbling from the couch I was trembling as I grabbed a flashlight from my end table. Another loud crack of thunder making me flinch as I heard something crash in my room.

What the hell was that?

Clicking the flashlight on, I aimed the beam at my door with shaking hands. Something was stumbling around in there, but how was that possible? I was three floors up and my chain was still on the door.

“Goddamnit, what the fuck is going on?”

I flinched, was that?

Gripping my door knob I slowly pulled it open “he…hello?”

The air parted in a screaming woosh as something swung around the doorway. Crying out in fear I ducked as it smashed into the doorframe, rolling over on my stomach I quickly got to my knees. A tall looming figure pushed it’s way from the darkness with a growl “who the fuck are you?”

My eyes nearly popped out of my skull as the room lit up, another streak of lightning dancing behind me.

Standing in my room looking thoroughly pissed and baffled was non other than Negan himself. He was in his tight white tee, his beautifully shaven face twisted in anger. He had blood streaked across his face and on his pants, snarling he lifted his bat above his head with a thunderous roar.

“FUCKING SPEAK WHEN YOU’RE SPOKEN TO!!!”

I flinched “I…I…” what the hell was I supposed to say?

His face was getting red with fury as he stormed over to me grabbing my shirt before tossing me onto the couch. “Listen bitch you better start fucking talking, or I’m gonna paint these goddamn walls with your brains”. Pulling my feet up off the floor I quickly grabbed the lamp sitting next to me in defense, “ple…please don’t hurt me I…I don’t know what’s going on but…”.

Another streak of lightning lit up the room illuminating his now confused expression.

I was shaking all over but let out a deep sigh as he lowered his bat, his head cocked to the side. Bending over to grab the flashlight I had dropped, he pointed the blinding light onto my face.

Squinting my eyes I tried to shield my eyes from the light with my unoccupied hand.

“Fucking hell” his voice was light and filled with disbelief. Dropping the light to the floor his breathing increased “am I fucking dead?” I swallowed roughly “uh…I…I don’t think so” he shook his head furrowing his brow “what’s your name darlin?”

I rolled my lips, best to play it safe till I knew exactly what the heck was going on “Lu…Lucy”. He let out a shaky breath “Lucy?” I nodded, running his hand through his dark hair he let out a puff of air “so how the fuck did I get here…Lucy?”

Every time he said my nickname he looked a little more hurt, did…did I look like her?

I shrugged shaking my head as I placed the lamp back down, getting to my feet. “I don’t know…your uh…” my brow creased in confusion “Negan right?”

He chuckled getting some of his swagger back “the one and only”. He eyed my apartment in confusion “how the hell are you still alive?” I shrugged with an uneasy laugh “good neighborhood I guess”. Chuckling he gestured to my pj pants and baggy shirt “Awfully fucking comfortable for being alone surrounded by the fucking dead”.

I bit my lip nervously “uh…” how the hell was I going to explain to him he was a fictional character from a TV show?

Maybe I hit my head when I fell off the couch and this was all just some fucked up dream.

Scrubbing my face I took a deep breath “here’s the thing…” he cocked an eyebrow at me “the uh…outbreak never happened”. His face scrunched up in confusion “da fucks that mean?” my stomach churned as I stammered for the words.

Fuck it, it would be easier to just show him.

Walking past him I pulled the curtain back, he narrowed his eyes before walking up next to me his eyes widening in shock.

“I’m fucking dead…I mean I’d have to be right?” he looked down at me, he almost looked frightened “how is this fucking possible?”

I rubbed my arms nervously “I honestly have no idea…you’re a character from a TV show Negan!” he chuckled looking out the window before he noticed my serious expression. His smile quickly fading “what the hell do you mean?”

It took awhile but after using my phone to Google The Walking Dead and brush him up on all the entertainment his hellish world was bringing others, I was left sitting in the kitchen with a very silent Negan. The candles around us were shimmering slightly, the dancing flames casting long shadows across the walls.

I sighed as he continued to scroll through my phone, scooting off the stool I walked around the island to stand next to him.

He growled “I don’t fucking exist?”

I didn’t know what to say, I mean how do you ease anyone into this sort of thing?

He slid my phone to me “so in this world I’m this Jeffrey guy?” I shrugged “I…I guess, I mean I’ve read stories about different dimensions but I never really thought it could be true”. He pinched his nose “I just don’t fucking understand this shit…how the hell did I get here?” I shook my head “I really wish I could help, but I…” I paused my eyes widening.

“Did you kill Spencer?”

His eyebrows rose to his hairline “how the…” he shook his head “yeah…was fucking looking down the barrel of a fucking gun when I dropped in”. My mouth dropped “I was watching that when the power went off” he growled dropping his head in his hands “fuuuuck this is making my fucking head hurt”.

I smiled rubbing his shoulder gently “well maybe you’ll get transported back when the lights come on”. He nodded running his hands through his hair “got any water dollface?” My smile brightened “yeah you can go back in the living room if ya want”.

He smiled getting to his feet before disappearing into the living room.

Filling up two glasses from the tap I placed some ice in each before I moved around the island. Catching a glimpse of my phone still lying on the counter I paused, placing the cups by the sink I reached over to grab my phone.

A deep growl made me jump in surprise.

Gasping in shock, I whimpered as his large body pressed in behind me. flinching as he smacked my spiral notebook down on the counter next to my face.

“Seems like I have a fucking fan”

My face instantly turned beat red “I…I uh..” he chuckled darkly leaning in over my shoulder “had some fucking plans for me did ya?” I had no idea what to say. I was balancing between dying from embarrassment and pooling onto the floor in arousal.

I could feel his warm breath puffing out against my neck as he moved my dusty hair to the side.

“What’s your name darlin?”

I blinked “Lu…Lucy” he growled gripping the back of my neck, my face pressing firmly against the cool counter my hands spread out beside me.

“Stop fucking lying to me” his voice was a cool whisper that sent a shiver down my spine. I couldn’t help the tiny moan that escaped my lips as his narrow hips jerked into my backside, he grunted running the hand that was around my neck into my dirty blond hair.

“Your name sweetcheeks?” I was breathing heavily as my eyes wandered back to him over my shoulder.

“Its… its Lucille”

I trembled at his long drawn out groan as he pressed his now noticeably hard erection into my ass. “I fucking knew it…” I moaned shifting against him as he fisted my hair “I’m not her Negan”. He smacked his hand against the counter pressing his nose next my ear “maybe not in this world”. I gulped as a wave of pleasure crashed through me, could that really be true?

It made sense, if there could be alternate versions of Negan than why not everyone else?

Gripping my hair he pulled me against his firm chest “ya like this darlin, you feel how hard I am for you…my sweet precious Lucille” he practically purred my name with a rough groan. At this point my panties were fucking disintegrated, reaching back I slipped my fingers into his hair.

Jesus it was just as soft as it looked.

“Yes…god yes…please” a part of me couldn’t believe I was actually begging him to nail me to my kitchen island.

But on the other hand…

Fucking Negan was fixing to fuck me in my kitchen, no manner of fanfiction in the world could of prepared me for this.

Growling he pressed me back onto the counter “stay!”. I gasped with a loud moan as the sound of his belt jingling to the linoleum made my heart race. This was actually fucking happening, the feeling of his warm fingers slipping under my waistband made me flinch.

“Easy baby” he purred, running his hands down my legs I gasped as they took my pj’s with them. Raising back up behind me he made sure to caress his long fingers back up my trembling flesh. Pushing up my shirt he let out a deep breath “take that shit off”.

I couldn’t get the damn shirt off fast enough.

Tossing it toward the doorway, I bit my lip with a pleased hum as he pressed me back onto the counter.

“Hmmm good girl” he rasped running his calloused hand down my spine, “you wanna get your fucking hands on me baby?” I nodded panting heavily as I slid my hands aimlessly across the marble, my sticky skin squeaking slightly.

Pulling me back by my hair he groaned as I grinded against his hardon, my hands flinging back to grip his hair.

“Help daddy outta these fucking pants baby girl” I let out another shaky breath, I didn’t exactly have a daddy kink but every word coming out of his mouth was pure sex. I winced as he pushed me to my knees “show me how BIG of a fan you really are?” he put emphasis on the word big by leaning back with a deep chuckle.

I licked my my lips taking a deep breath, oral wasn’t exactly something I had much experience with.

Chancing a glance up at him I sucked in a deep breath, that damn smirk of his almost had me begging again. He spread his arms “I ain’t got all night darlin” I scooted closer to him, popping his button open, looking up at him to gauge his emotions as I slid his zipper down.

“You gonna make my visit worthwhile sweetheart?” I nodded enthusiastically as I tugged his pants down along with his boxers. He let out a wheezing laugh, running his tongue across his bottom lip as he placed his large hand on my head.

Licking my lips I leaned forward to mouth at the side of his throbbing member, my tongue running up its velvety skin. He grunted as I leaned into him, my lips suctioning over his red tip as my tongue ran across his leaking slit. “Fuck…having a fucking feast down there baby?” I hummed around him with a smile, he tasted salty and sweet.

“Yeah…that’s it…take it darlin, fuck your mouth feels fucking amazing”.

I shifted uncomfortably trying to relieve the pressure building between my thighs as he continued to groan and growl words of encouragement. I could feel his cock pulsing within my mouth as I slid him as far as I could with a loud gag making him groan loudly. Running my hands up up under his shirt I clawed at him with a desperate whine.

He chuckled breathlessly “fuck, on your fucking feet” I made a frustrated noise hollowing my cheeks so I could suck him more firmly. His pained groan had me sucking on him harder my nails biting into his sensitive skin. “Jesus fuck!!” he growled pulling me from him so he could shove me back against the fridge.

Caging me in his large arms he sucked on my neck as I squealed out in pleasure, working his tight white shirt up his back he pulled away long enough to toss it on the island. Kicking his boots and socks off he shucked his pants off before lifting me off the floor to slam against the nearby cupboards. Crying out in pleasure I gripped his smooth cheeks firmly, I wanted to kiss him more than anything in the world.

His eyes grew dark as he gripped my throat, those beautiful carmel pools boring into me as he pressed his lips against mine in a heated kiss. I moaned loudly against his lips, his tongue delving into my mouth with almost practiced precision. Moving my lips against his I whimpered as he pulled back, his face looked almost sad as he caressed my face “fucking beautiful”.

I smiled running my hands down his neck, it was strange but my heart ached to be with him.

It was like we had been lost and finally found one another.

What if he was right?

Sliding my fingers back into his damp locks I tugged him forward slamming my lips back where they belonged. Negan groaned pressing his body firmly against mine as he dipped his head down he latched onto my nipple. His bare hips grinding against mine with a soft growl.

His dripping cock slid across my soaked folds, my pj’s having slipped off somewhere during the commotion.

Wrapping my arms around his flexing shoulders I screamed out in ecstasy as he finally slid home. Wincing slightly at his size I clawed at his back, biting against my heated flesh he slammed his hips forward making the cupboards rattle behind me.

Groaning roughly he gripped my hips hard enough to bruise as his pace quickened, he was grunting and panting heavily as I cried out. Pulling out of me with a tight wince he grabbed his belt off the floor as he tugged me to my small table. Folding his belt in two he groaned “might wanna fucking bite on this sweetheart, unless you want the fucking neighbors to know my name”.

Biting down on the stale leather I moaned around my makeshift gag as he lifted me onto the table, his large hand gripping my throat firmly as his other lined himself back to my entrance.

Thrusting inside me with heavy grunts I couldn’t keep the loud wails from escaping around his belt, the worn leather doing little to muffle my pleasure.

Throwing my arms above my head I grabbed fistfulls of my hair as my poor table squeaked in protest. Negan rolled his head back with a loud groan as he rolled his hips against mine, his throbbing shaft pulsing deep within me.

I had never felt anything so wonderful in my entire life.

Gripping his hair I spit the belt out onto the floor as I met him in a sloppy kiss, my walls tightening around him as he growled against my open mouth.

“Fuck yes…ahh fuuuuck cum all over my fucking cock baby”.

I screamed arching my back as I gushed around him, my body trembling in pleasure as he continued to thrust. Hearing the wood crack loudly I pulled his head close to mine with a breathy moan “Ne…Negan slow down…I” he growled as my hips rose to meet his before he pulled back.

I gasped as my walls clenched around nothing, my body practically crying out at his absence. Sitting up I let out a high pitched moan as he cupped my face, ramming his cock back into my snug heat with a desperate whine. Clawing my fingers through his hair I threw my head back screaming to the ceiling as his hot cum bathed my walls in soothing heat.

Negan let out a deep sigh followed quickly by a soft groan of relief, I couldn’t stop the blissful smile that quickly spread across my face. He was breathing heavily as his muscles contracted against me, soft groans puffing past his lips. I keened scratching my nails through his damp hair, the table gave a loud creak as he moved off me his large hands pulling me to his arms bridal style as my small table crashed to the floor.

Both our eyes widened before we burst into laughter, wrapping my arms around his neck I kissed his jaw “I tried to tell you…”. He chuckled “fuck, sorry darlin…gotta little carried away” I shook my head with a smile “bedrooms in the back”. He smiled brightly exposing those beautiful dimples of his as he took long strides to my bedroom door, kicking it open with a playful growl as he dropped me on my bed. Crawling over me like a big cat he cupped my face kissing me passionately as I wrapped my arms around him.

Rolling over he pulled me to his chest, I slid my hand down his body to play with his dark splatter of hair on his stomach. Purring softly he pulled me closer to kiss my hair “do you think I’ll fucking leave when the lights come on?”

I rolled my lips in thought “I don’t know…do…do you want to?”

He hummed low in his throat “I know you’re not the Lucille I lost, but you’re still her…just under different circumstances and conditions…this is…it’s fucking unbelievable….I can’t fucking…”.

We both flinched as the lights popped on bathing us in soft light. Our breathing picked up again as we waited for something to happen, looking around the room I smiled.

He looked completely shaken by the possibility that he would be forced to leave.

After a full hour of us waiting to be torn apart he finally let out a deep breath, a wide smile spreading across his face as he rolled over to press himself into the crook of my neck. I giggled as his arms wrapped around me in a tight embrace, hugging him back I pushed him back slightly so I could look into his hazel eyes.

“Wha…what about The Sanctuary or the others…what…?”

He cut me off with a deep kiss, pulling back slightly he breathed against my lips “they don’t need me”. He shook his head pressing his forehead against mine with a soft smile “I need you…you’re my second chance”. I smiled trying to blink away the tears threatening to spill over as he closed his eyes.

“I’m not gonna fuck this up” he growled kissing me softly “not this time…the fucking Devil himself would have to drag me from your arms”.

I grasped his face as I kissed him deeply, maybe there really was a plan for all this nonsense we call life. All the pain and suffering we go through…

we are each born with two of everything yet we only have one heart.

Trudging through the darkness we seek to find our other half, it may not be today or tomorrow or hell even in this world but we all have someone waiting for us.

And whether it be this world or another, one day you’ll find them and it will be like seeing color for the first time.

You just may need to wish upon a little lightning first.

————————————————————–

☆TAG LIST☆

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[ab-cogitation]

I almost wanted to complain about how cold it is this morning, But I don’t have a reason to, because truthfully, I’m happy to be back home in Detroit.

Being here means to embrace all the Seasons and their temperament.

Sometimes the Sun shines and sometimes the Sun need a break, desiring hugs from Clouds. The Sun letting it’s many emotions eject as rain, lightning, snow or to simply seek refuge in the Cloud’s shadow.

See even the Sun knows when to be humble; to stand down, take a step back and be behind the scenes. Likely recharging, resurging then emerging from the night to lead the Moon back to her sanctury. Because the Sun knows that when it’s own inner glow is too bright, it too is blinded. Caught up in the lime lights and lemon drops that it rejects the idea of even lowering itself for recollections which indebted it’s riches. Riches being the fruit of it’s Spirit, its Light, it’s loathing and longing to be recognized beyond warming sensations.

Like how it kisses our skin, draws up sweat and get us in heat to BBQ, bike, bathing suits and seeing the details of one’s frame. A lust we often have no shame in sharing. It’s obvious with how we are staring. Hormones flaring. Emotions blaring like sirens. The kind of vibration that draws courage into hiding and on lookers to confiding with a God they often forget besides Easter, Thanksgiving and Christmas. The inadvertently abuse emitted by the Sun is endless.

Which is why it often hide in Clouds us human call emotions.

Coming back home to Detroit has been just that; A Cloud of emotions. There’s a light in me that has been wired into us all, but quite frequently forgotten victories make us uncloth from our armor. Thus becoming susceptible to being sieged by every vice there is.

I learned this hard truth every time I handed out my still tattered Heart. Instead of bandaids and gauze pads with dressing, I opted to hold my Heart together using left over ribbon from holidays and coating it with Modge Podge and glitter.

I gift wrapped my shit, and stood back in the corner awaiting the receiver to be slapped with the element of surprise.

They thought I was perfect, because I’m pretty. Better yet they assumed that the tenderness in my words meant I would be hesitant to aim where it hurts— Accountability. Moreso towards myself, because people really believed the inner Peace I speak so freely of came without consequence. People really thought that I don’t go through things or make mistakes. Yes I’m prone to a fuck up or 10, but I view this shit as lessons given I choose to be a student.

Like….

Returning home to Detroit from Phoenix with the same amount of money I left with ($150) humbled the fuck out of me, but engulfed me to shame more than any feeling. I were under the impression that I were supposed to return with a lot more money and mantras they recited the spiritual journey I embarked on in the West Coast.

I were supposed to come back feeling like that bitch, but being broke to the point all of my mom friends had to join their coins together to get my ass back to Detroit. Which I’m grateful for that. Totally grateful. Super appreciative and thankful that they came through for me minutely, because I were days away from being put out of my apartment.

Why?

Love.

I thought I found Love in a man who was deep in a union with his childhood issues, manic anger and addiction to cigarettes and meth..

Yes… Meth.

But I tried to Love him anyway. I tried to support him anyway. I tried to make sure every morning was greeting with hot breakfast and sucking his dick on the whim so he’d never feel inclined to ask.

I tried to treat that nigga like a King. A God maybe. I saw beyond his conflicting ass flaws and sought a treaty with his Potential. I tried to nurse his symptoms from withdrawal by diving deep into studying herbs and tantric touches.

I tried to support his moves, no matter how mediocre, by investing in his aesthetics and trying to connect the many dots he failed to revisit.

I tried to Love this man. Be the mother he wished he had. Be the Lover he claimed never existed and be the light, the Sun to conquer his darkness.

I tried so damn hard to be what this man needed that the absence of reciprocity made me bitter. Damn near resentful, not vengeful, but definitely irrational from still keeping him around until he decided to leave cuz the well ran dry; both my pussy and pockets.

How about my sense of self worth?

I let the Sun in Phoenix illuminate a light in me to the degree I were blinded by my own insecurities.

How did I end up so desperate? Breaking my contract with Celibacy? I mean.. Ya girl was 1 year and 4 months in without dick. I were craving a booty rub, but what I wanted was Love. I wantrd to be celebrated and honored in the same fashion as our ancestors honored the Sun and now rever the Son of God named Jesus.

I felt saving this man would equal out our yolks as he unknowingly saved me from being lost in my own darkness. He saved me from loneliness just by being there. His company and conversation alone was enough until that shit became arguments, and drove me away from being at my own apartment— my name on the lease; my money paying the bills; my money putting in groceries; yet he somehow would get an attitude when I returned home too soon to MY place… A place that never felt like my own until he left.

That’s when the weight loss journey took place.

After walking my son to school in the morning, I would walk around the neighborhood with my headphones on. Taking in the scenic sunrise, the mountains and the buzz from busy commuters.

Hike, Hike, Hike

Hiking up North Mountain

Strolling around the water Basin on 10th St

I learned of parks and cool ass places in my neighborhood I didn’t know existed. I started testing out my photography skills. I tried my hand as running around the water basin and sitting on bare land with insects under trees.

I began to adopt the diet of the hummingbirds around me; seeds, nectar from flowers, berries and water.

I observed all the plants, trees and flowers around me. Absorbing their divine nature to get an organic understanding of how I want to be; rooted, budding and blossoming, letting the beauty of my essence be conceived.

Unsure of what this plant is, but it smells good as gawk!

More importantly, I cultivated a relationship with the Sun whom really shed light on who I AM.

Sunrise in North Phoenix

Taking the information downloaded home to create vision boards, a plant based diet and staying in the Rhythm with God through dance, yoga and prayer.

My vision board and cluster of craft supplies that I still regret leaving behind.

Introspection, solidarity and manifesting some shit.

It was through these regimens, practices and form of worship that enabled me to cope with being alone. I had to deal with heartbreak and anger. I had to master the emotions of grief and guilt. I had to really take the time to learn and LOVE ME.

Who I AM…

Phoenix was chosen as a healing space given that it was revealed in my name interpretation rendered by BlaqFire Nation. In my birth name, Ashley, rising from the ashes like the Phoenix is said to be apart of my story in this lifetime. Given that prior to my decision to flee Detroit I endured the death of my mother, were exposed on social media for something personal, and learning that I’ve been my baby daddy’s side bitch all these years, I were in a dire need to escape. And since I were too chicken to commit suicide after contemplating the shit over and over, relocating suited best.

And I dipped out Detroit with $150 and my son who was 4 years old at the time on a mentally excruciating three days on the Greyhound.

The rest is the journey of The Alchemist, which is also the title of a book recommended by a great friend of mine.

It was a parable that spoke to me, because much like the character, Santiago, I too were on a quest to find my treasure and love. I also communicated with the wind, the rain, the Clouds, and the Sun, which all led me to speaking with God.

That is when I learned that the treasure I dreamed of could only be discovered at home, in Detroit…

And I have located that treasure.

It was ME all along. It was ME that I found.

So while I don’t possess the material monetary shit that society says define who my status, I own something greater, more profound and infinite—It is the realization that I can only save myself. It’s a knowing that regardless of who or what I encounter, I only have control over me and that is more than manageable.

So while I wanted to complain about the cold weather, grey skies and the Sun playing hide n seek with a nigga after being spoiled in a city where the Sun shines boastfully 300 days a year, the coldest it get is 40 degrees at night during winter month (yes literally a month of cold), and no snow? I ALMOST wanted to regret returning.

You see what comparison does right? It generates a divide in the spectrum, thus taking away the Light that all is worthy of experiencing. Shit even the darkness want to be enveloped in the Sun’s grace.

The Sun… I’m so grateful for it’s solar power. It’s a star that’s assisted with my personal evolution. It’s been the formula to my countless issues. Being in the Sun, feeling the Sun; gazing at the Sun; it’s been my saving grace. Interesting how the simple things, most of which is taken for granted, become the epitome of our healing. Much gratitude to the TRUE SUN of GOD.

Had I not left Detroit, who knows where I’d be mentally…

Can’t ponder on the hypotheticals tho as they’ll strip away where I AM NOW.

Speaking of now… I went from 190 lbs to a solid one fiddy.

I had a great solo Hot Girl Summer. Bike riding, river running and being grounded by Mother Earth to be refined in feminine energy.

The journey continues….

#ABCogitation

Heartbreak and the Sun Saved Me: A Narrative on why I Returned to Detroit I almost wanted to complain about how cold it is this morning,But I don't have a reason to, because truthfully, I'm happy to be back home in Detroit.

#addiction #alchemist travels #detroit #Healing #heart chakra #inner peace #Losing a parent #Mental Health #phoenix #pisces #self love #weight loss journey

[criticalerrorka]

Sharing the Excitement

I don’t share a lot of my personal life, or really make many original posts these days. This can be mostly attributed to the fact that I am always on mobile and don’t like the limited amount of editing I can do or the time that it takes me to write out long things on a phone keyboard. 

So, I’ve been driving a piece of shit car for the last 6 years. A 1998 Chrysler Sebring JXi convertible with a salvage title and a slow-drip oil hemorrhage. Within the first year of owning this car, I began putting away savings for a different car. See, this car had always been intended as a “temporary fix.” It was bought for me (by my dad, from one of his good friends) when my 1998 Dodge Stratus took it’s fourth or fifth shit. The damn thing had over 200k miles on it and we sold it for scrap (the Dodge, not the Chrysler).

Problems my Sebring has developed over our six year relationship include but are not limited to:

Dead trunk suspension. TBH, I think it might’ve been dead when I got the car. For most of my car’s duration with me, I have had my “trunk stick”, which I wedge into the trunk of the car to hold it open. 

A steady leak at the front windows during heavy rain.

A back window dropped off the track, then Macgyvered to stay mostly closed (with about a half inch gap) and never open again. Also leaky.

A driver’s seat belt that frequently tries to merge you with the seat because it’s locking up and won’t loosen, only tighten. 

A water leak in an unknown and unidentifiable location that guaranteed every three to four days I would have to check my fluid levels before driving the car.

A gas gauge needle that won’t go above 3/4 tank, so even when I spent extra money filling the tank, I never got the satisfaction of seeing the needle on FULL. Also, couldn’t quite trust it when it got close to empty.

A dysfunctional horn that also had to be Macgyvered--my dad rewired it to a weird little button on a string that sat in one corner of my dashboard. Super-impracticable, but it passed inspection. Prior to the re-wiring, the fuse for the horn had been pulled out, because one cold morning I went outside, cranked my car to warm it up, hit lock on my key fob to keep strangers out of my cranked car while I went back in to finish getting ready... and promptly began panicking, because instead of a single “honk” to indicate the car had locked, I was greeted with “HOOOOOOOOOOOONNNNNNNNNNKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK” and NOTHING WOULD STOP IT. My horn was stuck in the “on” position at fucking 6:30 in the morning and I had to barrel back inside and wake up my boyfriend because I had no fucking clue what to do. 

Illegal tint. My dad bought this car from a collision repair center owned by a friend of his. It had been the friend’s wife’s car before she upgraded. (Ironically, this woman used to drive me to school in the 7th grade because they lived in my neighborhood and her daughter was a grade below me, and at the time this car was my DREAM car, because I didn’t know anything about cars but it was purple, and this was like 2001 so it was relatively new.) So, car guy KNOWS the tint isn’t inspection-legal. But for the first few years I own the car, no one at the inspection station cares. It’s JUST BARELY out of the legal range, not super-blackout-tint or anything like that. Then one day I fail inspection, I’m told that police have been cracking down on tint more so the inspection guys likewise aren’t looking the other way, and I have to go home and peel off all of my already-failing tint with a razor blade and a hair dryer. 

Magic smoke. Like, a LOT of magic smoke. At some point, she had been cured of the magic smoke (not sure what surgery helped with that). But for a while, it was embarrassing to go through a drive thru or any place my car would be idling for a while, because I would just be smokescreening the people behind me.

Extreme seat-cushion cracks, deterioration, exposure. My driver’s seat was 2/3 exposed foam.

Never gets warm. Between the compromised windows and the overall shitshow status of the car, it would take about 20 minutes for hot air to start coming out of the vents. And even then, the car would never truly feel warm.

A stuck passenger seat. Like, something got stuck in the track so it wouldn’t slide forward or back anymore.

Oh, I almost forgot about this one! One time I was vacuuming the car and I moved my driver seat all the way up and IT GOT STUCK. I had to drive with it like that, dangerously close to my steering wheel, windshield, and airbag, for a very terrifying 15 minutes to interrupt my dad at his job so I didn’t have to worry about an airbag snapping my neck.

One of the speakers died. I don’t think I blew it out--I hate bass and I don’t listen to my music very loud. It just gave up.

Around the same time the horn got an attitude, it stopped making any sound when I locked my car. I used to just spam the lock key and listen for the beep if I was in a crowded parking lot trying to find my car, but this was taken away from me. 

Towards the end, the locking mechanisms’s relation to my key fob was very strained by cold weather. If it was below freezing in the morning, I would have to unlock the door with the key itself instead of the button.

For a while, some of the electrical stuff was funny. The CD player wouldn’t get power and I would have to pound on the dashboard or wiggle the key around the ignition. If the radio wasn’t working, I knew my turning signals also weren’t working (much more concerning).

At some point it developed the ability to release the key without the key being in the proper position, so I had to be extra careful that I didn’t wind the key back too far so that the radio was running before I took the keys out. 

These next bits weren’t the car’s fault, but were still annoying to deal with. I broke my passenger side mirror on the world’s skinniest tree and it just sort of flopped for a while. Then, I dented the shit out of my passenger front corner panel when I sunk my tire into a pothole/storm drain combo. The panel was bent so badly you couldn’t open the door enough to let a person in or out. A coworker’s mechanically-savvy friend, a little bit of money, and a trip to the junkyard afforded me a replacement mirror and a new, non-matching quarter panel. I could have cared less about the look, but now I had a giant clashing square of burgundy on my purple car, more or less telling everyone around me “I LIKE TO HIT THINGS”.

Now mind you, I haven’t even gotten into the mechanical problems that grounded her for a while; she’s needed several surgeries, including her starter, her water pump, her fuel pump...I really can’t remember everything. It’s never been a huge, expensive fix, but it’s always been something very time consuming.

Oh, here’s a fun side-note about Chryslers; well, at least this one. I will NEVER buy another one so I can’t continue my research on this, but it seems Chrysler at least at some point was a malicious company that wanted to make sure the everyman had zero ability to work on their vehicles and would have to take them to the dealer for any sort of maintenance or repair. EVERYTHING is in a weird and inconvenient location inside this car. The goddamn battery was right above one of my wheel wells--I couldn’t even get my battery replaced at an auto-parts store like Auto Zone or O’Reily’s because THE DAMN CAR HAS TO GO ON A LIFT TO GET THE BATTERY OUT.

On Wednesday, January 10th, I was driving the 2-3 miles home from work, cutting through an apartment complex’s connecting road, and my RPMs dropped to zero. My power steering went out. I pulled my car into the parking lot, shut her off, and she wouldn’t crank. It just kept turning and turning and turning and turning, but would never spark.

Thank all the gods for AAA. I got her towed home. My boyfriend tried what little he could with the limited time he’s had: check battery, change fuses, things of that nature. But he’s been working a lot, and it’s been so fucking cold, he hasn’t really had the time to fiddle with her.

So for 10 days I’ve been getting rides to the bare necessity of places: work, home, and one doctor’s appointment (s/o to my best friend for making sure I got to where I needed to be). 

Friday, January 19, I left my boyfriend parked outside my work while I did my once-over before locking the place up. My manager was out of town and I was left in charge, so I was very meticulously making sure I had shut down and locked everything. Needless to say, he had to wait on me a good 15 minutes while I got my ducks in a row.

And wouldn’t you know, that wonderful man got on craigslist (after YEARS, mind you, of leaving me to be the one to do the searches while he provided second opinions) and lined up a test-drive with a private party, and the location was a place I drove by every day on my way to and from work. 

And guys? GUYS?!

She’s a 2009 Toyota Corolla and her name is Rebecca after Lori Petty’s character in Tank Girl, and I love her so much.

tldr: I’ve been driving a shitty car for 6 years, searching for an upgrade for 5 of those years, and yesterday I FINALLY bought another car. I had a 1998 Chrysler Sebring, it died, and I found a 2009 Toyota Corolla. 

And I really just can’t put into words how much weight has been lifted off of me. I’ve been terrified of my car for years. I’ve been searching, and struggling, and I’ve met up with at least a dozen people to test drive their cars and always left disappointed. And finally, finally, I’m free.

#text post #long post #really long post #ericka got a new car #mine #my stuff #journal #life update #share in my excitement