#[ when we first saw this at our local Walmart we kept thinking how they look like those pencil grips ]

[solarisgod]

eats your promo like they're skittles

sdkjgnskjdg that's funny you think of our promo like Skittles because I was thinking of this during the process of making it:

#FOOD CW #ANONYMOUS #/// #// #/ #𓁹 ༑ ࿐ྂ ⩇⩇ : ⩇⩇ ⚠︎ [ 𝙴𝚇𝙸(𝚂)𝚃 : 𝙶𝙾𝙳 ] * ‹ OOC . › #𓁹 ༑ ࿐ྂ ⩇⩇ : ⩇⩇ ⚠︎ [ 𝙴𝚇𝙸(𝚂)𝚃 : 𝙶𝙾𝙳 ] * ‹ ANSWERS . › #[ ✨ : they taste... interesting ] #[ when we first saw this at our local Walmart we kept thinking how they look like those pencil grips ] #[ and we kept thinking we were drinking paint when we ate these ] #[ so it was indeed an interesting experience having these ] #[ anyways this promo does taste very colorfully yummy we're glad you can enjoy it 🌈 ] #[ colorful and eyestraining and starry aesthetics are sure the Chimera Cluster Brands <3 <3 <3 ] #[ same for the Starwake System as well uvu ]

[literate-lamb]

can I kiss you on the dancefloor?

Steve Rogers/Reader

One year into a relationship, yet still dancing in secrecy. Steve thinks he’s protecting you.

When a civilian and a hero fall in love, anything could go wrong. But not in the way Steve would have thought.

Or how the media play with the lives of superheroes.

►word count: 7.6k

► warnings(!): slight angst, alcohol

A/N: My gift to @blue-like-barnes for the Hoelentines Fic Exchange! I’m sorry it took some time, giftee. I didn’t expect this to turn into a monster (yikes). Thank you for hosting @amythedvdhoarder @chrissquares @drabblewithfrannybarnes ! Dividers from @firefly-graphics​ and GIF from Giphy

On his day-offs, Steve Rogers was a man full of disguises. 

When they first started, it was the baseball cap and thick-rimmed glasses. He liked it, it was simple, but he knew it wouldn’t be long before someone would notice. How could one not when his face was the one plastered in old war propaganda, in the museums commemorating his achievements, and even flashes on the telly when you walk past the local electronics store. 

Hence, it wasn’t a surprise when the tabloids posted a photo of him in his disguise, waiting at a crosswalk on a cold night. 

‘Captain America spotted on a midnight stroll’ came the next morning. It was taken after he was done walking you home, thankful they didn’t catch a glimpse of you.

“So capsicle, where were you off to last night?” Tony greeted him at breakfast, offending paper in hand. He unrolled it, opening and making a show of reading, displaying the front page for all seated to see. “Nice reading glasses, wasn’t aware you needed them.”

Striding into the room, Natasha came and snatched the tabloid. She gave it a critical eye, judging, before turning towards him. 

“Hmm, recycling disguises, Rogers? I’m disappointed.” 

Steve just groaned in reply.

The second time it happened, he had gone to the Black Widow herself for advice. He had expected sound advice coming from a former KGB spy who spent her paycheck on hair, but all he got was a stick-on mustache. Something about ‘needing to blend in rather than pointing the obvious’.

“I don’t know what you’re up to, Steve, but at least it’s better than that nerd get-up,” she smirked.

You had liked it. Giggling every time he kissed you, the fibres tickling your lips. He had ‘a caterpillar’ on his upper lip as you called it. And Steve had learned to get used to the itch.

But it wasn’t long before his new look was the star in barbershops. 

‘Captain America’s new look takes the world by storm.’ They had caught him again in another paparazzi shot. Tony had teased him for days after.

He couldn’t shake it off easily, constantly reminded of it when he walked the streets. Seeing them on screens when he’s channel-surfing. Even when he’s training new recruits, his vision filled with a sea of unshaved cadets, their hairy upper lips a prominent fixture.

He knew he had to do something when Bucky and Sam came in one day sporting twin mustaches. 

He discarded the strip of fibre in the bin. Reminding to pay Natasha a visit.

The third time he decided, he seeked out the help of Scott Lang, who was a master in keeping out of sight during his burglary days. Scott had given him a black beanie and told him to grow out his facial hair. 

The beanie hid his golden locks and the beard made him look rugged. You loved it, your thighs quivered when it was him and you in the four walls of your room. Uncontrollable groans as he went down. ‘Beard burn’ you had called it. Whatever it was, he loved the sounds you let out.

Four months. That’s how long the disguise lasted. His longest disguise to date. 

Before he became a trend.

‘Captain America is the new style icon.’ The internet sleuths found out where he got it too. ‘The sale of Walmart beanies skyrocketed by 70% thanks to Captain America.’

Tony had bought everyone in the compound a black beanie for Christmas, including the receptionist.

“Our grandpa’s a trendsetter, who knew,” he announced. Steve had smacked the back of Tony’s head with the beanie before retiring the disguise.

Now, sitting in The Sleeping Cat, Steve had opted for aviators and a Nasa baseball cap. He still kept his beard after your pleads, and he liked the look, he admits. It was back to basics for him and this was one of the only places where he was safe from prying eyes. Afterall, it was in this very café where he had met you.

The Sleeping Cat was a quaint little thing, a hole in the wall in a quiet part of the city. Not many knew of its existence, the entrance obscure, a blink and you’ll miss it. Which made it all the more perfect for him. The baristas knew him and minded their own business, offering him a smile every time he visited. ‘You’re safe with us’ they seem to say. 

He could say the same about the patrons. Most that frequented were regulars like him, they seemed the same, looking for a place to get away from the overbearing world. They seemed to share an understanding, paying him no mind as if he was just another man they passed on the streets. And that’s how he preferred it. 

Just a boy from Brooklyn.

Ding!

The chime of the door pulled him out of his thoughts. Facing the door, he saw you, smiling as you came through.

This was the best part of his days. 

You had met Steve Rogers at the most unexpected of times.

Terminated from your previous job at a small gallery, dumped by an ex-boyfriend after a 2 year relationship, you were at an utmost low. To escape your roommates —in case of pitying or prying, but if you were honest with yourself, it was to escape your own humiliation— you left the apartment on weekdays under the guise of going to work. In reality, you were at The Sleeping Cat applying for jobs on your laptop.

It was during one of the afternoon hours when you felt a tap on your shoulder.

Turning to your left, you were greeted by a pair of startling blues. They were bright but worn as if they’ve seen too many. Looking at the bigger picture, you took him in. Hair hidden under a cap, a sharp jaw and an equally sharp nose, and if you looked closely, you thought you could spot a few moles on his cheeks. He looked familiar, but you couldn’t put a finger to it.

Eyes fleeting to his lips, you realized he was actually talking.

“Huh?” 

“I was wondering if this seat’s taken?” He smiled, gesturing towards the empty seat opposite. He was clearly amused.

“Yeah, sure, sure,” you nodded, making room for his things. 

The following days, it became a routine and an arrangement. You would be at the café as early as the owner would allow, laptop in hand. While he would come in the afternoons in a different jacket each day, a sketchbook in hand. You would be propped up, sending application after application, praying for luck. While he would quietly sit, churning sketch after sketch, in a relaxed demeanour. 

Sometimes you would peek over your screen and watch him draw for a few minutes, lost in his strokes. When you look up, you’ll find his eyes locked with yours, and you’ll immediately reimmerse yourself behind the screen, embarrassed.

It was a comfortable routine. You came to expect him everyday. And on the days that he didn’t make it, you felt a bit forlorn looking at the empty seat. You both didn’t talk much, yet you were getting comfortable in his presence.

Until one day, he broke the silence.

“So, what is it that you do?”

You stared, dumbfounded. Looking around there wasn’t anyone nearby. 

“Were you talking to me?” you asked.

“Yes,” he chuckled. “It’s just that you’re always on your computer…” he trailed off.

“I’m an assistant curator at an art gallery— or, er, used to be,” you explained. “Long story short, I lost my job and now I’m looking for a new one, that’s why I’m here.”

He seemed to ruminate before replying, “So you know a thing or two about art?”

You both started a new routine; one with a lot of communicating. He would ask you about your mundane weekends and interests and in turn, you would ask about his. Except, he was anything but mundane. 

On the days he was absent, you learned Steve was away on a lot of ‘business trips’. When he returned, he had never failed to present you with a souvenir. From matryoshkas to sarongs, it was always a surprise accompanied by a tale.

“The pattern on the sarong is called a batik, and it’s amazing how they’re drawn using wax like a liquid crayon. It’s an interesting art form.”

Outside of your little routine, he was an enigma. You barely knew about the Steve outside of The Sleeping Cat. Sometimes he threw the names ‘Bucky’ and ‘Sam’ a lot —out of exhaustion— without giving away anything, remaining tight-lipped. While his mysteriousness should’ve been a cause of concern, you couldn’t help but gravitate towards him, wanting to peel more of his layers, like the shell of a matryoshka. 

The routine went on for a few more weeks, with calls of interviews and business trips in between. Before you received a phone call.

“I got a job! At the Whitney!” you squealed, shaking his shoulders over the table, oblivious to the other patrons. Steve endured it, smiling. 

“Congratulations,” he said when you’ve calmed down. “I guess this is the last time I’ll be seeing you?”

You froze, high coming down, realization settling in. After a few weeks of secret meetings, of getting to know him, of having lunch together, of sharing laughs, you’ve come to see Steve as a good friend. And maybe, there was the birth of something more.

“Let’s exchange numbers,” you said, opening your phone. “This way, maybe we can hang out again. Have lunch sometimes?”

“I’d like that.” He smiled. 

And the rest was history.

Making your way towards The Sleeping Cat, you amused yourself with past memories. Memories from almost over a year ago. 

Steve had come to give a speech at the opening ceremony of an exhibition at the Whitney. Your first exhibition as a curator. An exhibition on art from the war times. When they had announced his title, a loud ‘oh’ was the only thing you could muster. 

The ‘ding’ of the bell resounded, announcing your arrival. Heading in, you saw a head perked up, beaming, baseball cap securing his golden locks and aviators hiding his mesmerizing blues.

This was the best part of your days.

But maybe, you were getting a little tired.

If someone were to ask you months ago if you were happy and content with your relationship, you would’ve replied with a swift yes in a heartbeat. No hesitation, no reservations, no doubt. Now, sitting in the same cafe, the same one you frequent on dates, the same one you both met in, you weren’t sure of the answer anymore.

As Steve gets up to order for you both, your eyes wander to his sketchpad. It was filled with sketches of random objects; the flower on the table, the pastries on display, sometimes the patrons of the cafe, and occasionally, you. 

“You’re my favourite subject, so far.”

It was not for the lack of love or the lack of affection. Steve was the most loving; loyal in so many ways, gentle when asked, and protective to a fault. Maybe the protectiveness was the cause of it all.

Staring at Steve’s back, your mind shifted to a memory from the past week, when your roommate pulled you aside from a get-together at the ice rink.

“Hey,” she called your name, taking a hold of your elbow. “Can I talk to you for a sec?”

“Sure, what’s up?” you followed her, leading you to the sides.

Her eyes conveyed her worry. It amplified with the chewing of her bottom lip, a nervous tick.

“Are you and Steve… okay?” she asked, her brows perked. “I’m not sure if you notice, but today, it’s full of couples.” 

You looked towards your group of friends. There was your roommate’s girlfriend tying her skates, your other roommate and her boyfriend talking to another couple —their friends— and they were all holding their significant other’s hand. Oh.

“I don’t want to throw you out of the loop, but there would probably be a lot of double skating involved today,” she said, widening her eyes, looking comical. “Do you want me to talk to Steve? Maybe I could convince him to come, y’know?” 

Out of your two roommates, she was the only one who knew of your paramour. Having walked in on you and Steve making out on the couch. She was sworn into secrecy, with the promise of autographs from all the Avengers. 

“Look, it’s okay,” you assured her. “I can handle skating alone, and you know why he can’t really come here with us,” you shrugged.

“Okay, but aren’t you tired? Of all this sneaking around? Don’t you want to shout to the whole world ‘I’m fucking Captain America!’” she flailed.

You shushed her, muffling her mouth with your gloved hand.

Part of the secret was how Steven Rogers was an engineered superhero. A superhero with many enemies, leading him to fear for his loved ones, and that included you.

You went into the relationship whole-heartedly knowing the challenges; discreet rendezvous, kisses in the dark, minimal contact in public. You were his secret and he was yours. It was for your own good, wasn’t it?

“What’s got your little head wrapped up?” Steve’s voice startled you, bringing you back to the café. On the table, two cups of coffee and a slice of cake was served.

“Hmm? Oh, just thinking about this party the museum’s throwing this weekend,” you took your cup, blowing, contemplating your next words.“Say, how about you and I, I don’t know, go as dates?”

Steve crunched his brows. “You know that’s a hard thing for me to do, especially with your colleagues around.”

“I know! But maybe… maybe, you can go in one of your disguises this time? Remember that one time we went to Central Park?”

Steve exhaled, he remembered that afternoon. It was the one-off that you both ventured on a date in the outdoors. 

Decked in his beanie, casually strolling through Central Park with you beside him. Although he was still wary, keeping his hands in his pockets, fighting the urge to hold your hand. 

No one had recognized him; not the ice-cream man, not the kids running around, not the mothers pushing strollers. No one. 

“I’ll see what I can do.”

You leaned forward, pecking him on the lips multiple times. “Thank you!”

“You sure this looks convincing?”

“Trust me, punk. Grade A assassin here, thank you very much,” Bucky boasted while fixing the wig on his scalp, untangling the unruly strands.

Steve had sought Bucky for help, with the belief that assassins were good at hiding in plain sight (and maybe, he just didn’t want to go to Natasha twice). Bucky was also his most trusted confidant and he knew about you, Steve trusted him not to tell. But now looking at himself in the opposite mirror, he wasn’t so sure of that anymore. 

Long dangly tresses hung on the sides of his face parting in the middle, a trimmed beard leaving a bit of goatee, and to finish it off, Bucky dressed him in a checkered shirt consisting of random coloured squares. He looked like he just stepped out of the 60’s.

“Oh, wear these,” Bucky handed him a pair of large wire-framed glasses. “Done.”

Steve took a look in the mirror. A seedy pimp was the first thought that crossed his mind.

“Thanks Buck, I owe you one.”

“Sure Stevie, just bring me around next time on one of your dates, I’d like to meet her,” Bucky winked. “Or make it double.” He wagged his brows. “Like old times.”

Steve snorted.

“Okay, I got—“ Steve’s words halted when an alarm blared overhead. It demanded their attention.

“Captain Rogers, Sergeant Barnes, your presence is required in Prep Room six,” called the disembodied voice. “There’s been a breach of extraterrestrial energy in the airspace of Sweden.”

Steve exited and rushed through the hallways, Bucky following close behind. He made it through the living quarters, trudging to the training wing before entering one of the many prep rooms. 

“Nice costume, Cap. Halloween already?” Sam quipped. Almost everyone was present, they were equally amused.

Before anyone else could follow, Tony strided in immediately, grumbling. “Okay team, there’s been an E.T synthezoid putting holes in the ozone layer. I’ll fill you all in the quinjet. Suit up and meet me at the hangover in 10.”

Everybody gathered their equipment and hurried to leave, passing by him. Before Tony could, he took notice of Steve and did a double take. And then a third. 

“What’s with the pimp daddy get-up, Capsicle?” 

Steve huffed, ignoring the jab. “I have something that I need to attend. How important am I in this, Tony?”

“We need all hands on deck. We don’t really know what we’re up against, Fury’s still running recon,” Tony explained, squaring his shoulders. “Whatever it is you have, Cap. It can wait. Lives are at stake here.” With that, he left, not standing by for a response.

“Darn it,” Steve cursed, removing the glasses and the wig.

He left the prep room with his shield in hand. With one hand, he shot a text to you. He’ll make it up next time.

Loverboy [6:30 PM]: Emergency mission

Loverboy [6:30 PM]: Can’t make it, sorry

You switched the screen off, sighing. Around you, the party was in full swing. Invitees mingling with refreshments in hand, discussing the pieces on display tonight, and bidding on the pieces they find exquisite. Hors d’oeuvres and champagne were being served, brought around by servers on silver platters. You’ve been munching on them non-stop, grabbing one every time a server comes your way, needing something to occupy you.

Surrounding you, you’d see the occasional couple walking around, enjoying their time. The palms of their hands locked in each other’s as they navigate together, rarely straying afar. 

You clenched your hand, reminded of how empty it felt. 

It was inevitable, you were warned of this, you were told to expect this. Dating a superhero meant that he was never solely yours. You were sharing your boyfriend with someone, except that someone was the world. 

“Hiiii!” a shrill voice broke your thought, calling you by name. A blonde woman, followed by a brunette emerged from the gathering of art-goers, headed towards you. “It’s been a long while!”

“Hey! Yeah, it’s been awhile,” you waved, recognizing the two. 

When they reached you, you were aware of the slight tension in the air, leaving the three of you standing awkwardly. After all, these two were your ex-colleagues and you didn’t exactly leave the previous gallery on good terms. Tonight was a night with masks, it seemed.

“So, how are you two doing?” you decided to get it over with.

“We’re fine, everyone’s fine! But how are you? We heard you worked here now, pretty impressive,” the brunette —Claire— winked at you. You laughed.

“Yeah, it’s so nice seeing you again, and at the Whitney? The pay must be good, you know what I’m saying?” Hilda chimed, knocking her elbows with yours. You didn’t appreciate it but you endured.

 “Say, what are you doing over here far away? Why not you join us over there,” Hilda pointed, towards a mounted canvas at the end of the hall. It was occupied by two men in a discussion among themselves. “Chat a bit to catch up, a bit of art philosophical debate in between. What do you say?”

You contemplated her offer, not wanting to seem pretentious, but thought about the false flattery and ego-stroking that would sure ensue in their company. The thought of it drained you.

“It’s okay,” you waved them off nervously. “I have to call my boyfriend sooner, gotta check up on him and let him know I’m... alright.” You held up your phone, playing on convincing.

“Oh? He isn’t here tonight?” Claire seemed to feign worry. 

“No, he got caught up with something. He’s a busy man,” you cooked up an excuse. No one could know. 

“Okay… In that case, we’ll leave you to it. Maybe we’ll bump into each other sooner.”

“Yeah, I’ll see you guys soon.”

They waved before backing away into the mass of patrons. You let out a breath you didn’t know you held in. 

While the interaction was unexpected, this was what you had to deal with when it came to the question of your relationship. The excuses, they became second nature to you. The lies. The deceit. Anything to protect Steve’s identity, and inadvertently, you.

Throughout the night, you mingled with any clients interested in a work of art, all the while stepping out of Hilda and Claire’s line of sight. You didn’t wish a repeat of the earlier evening.

When the crowd started dwindling, signalling the end of the night, you were relieved of your duties. You headed straight for the restrooms after, one getaway before leaving. You huddled yourself in a cubicle, locking it shut.

Seconds in, you heard the creak of the restroom door followed by the clicks of heels.

“Can you believe it? Someone like that got the chance of working here.” 

You recognized the nasally tone. It was Claire. 

“Yeah? Not like she deserves it. I mean look at her? Demure, slow. It’s like talking to a mouse. I bet she’s a prude too.” That was Hilda.

The gushing of the faucet muffled their voices, but their sharp words were clear as day, your ear catching every snark and hiss.

“And when she was talking about her boyfriend? He probably doesn’t even exist, it was just to get off our backs,” Hilda paused. “Last time I heard, her boyfriend dumped her. So, I guess she’s creating imaginary ones now.” 

They both cackled.

By now, you knew they were talking about you. Their words didn’t hurt as much, you knew the colour of their hearts beneath the masks. But was that how people viewed your hidden relationship? A facade? A farce?

Once the door clicked shut, and the tapping of their heels faded, you left the restroom, heart feeling heavier.

(y/n) [6:45 PM]: stay safe stevie ! remember to hydrate

(y/n) [6:46 PM]: punch those meanies

(y/n) [6:46 PM]: (`⌒*)⍟-(`⌒´Q)

Steve chuckled when he turned on his phone, amused at your texts. You always sent him good luck messages every time he went off for missions. Although he didn’t seem to get the emoticons that you sent, even after being taught by Peter Parker. He just didn’t get them.

Steve dialed your number, sitting on the edge of the bed as he dried his washed hair. Beeps ringed before you picked up, your smooth lilt permeating the speakers. 

“Hello? Stevie?”

Steve smiled, missing the caress of your voice after a day filled with explosions and cries.

“Hello, sweetheart,” he greeted. “How’s my girl been?”

“Great, now that you called,” you teased. “But are ‘you’ fine?” you emphasized.

On the other end of the line, you mirrored his position, sitting on one corner of the bed. Picking the newspaper in your lap, you observed the front page: ‘Avengers saves the Arctic!’ 

“Same old, same old,” his voice carries. “Listen, about yesterday—“

“It’s okay,” you interrupted him, other hand gripping the newspaper. “You have to protect the Earth and that also means me. You don’t have to apologize, I knew what I signed up for.” 

Did you? Or was it now a hollow statement to convince yourself?

“I still want to make up for it, my girl deserves that much,” he responded.

You slowly unclenched the paper. It left Steve’s form crinkled.

“If you want to sooo bad,” you exaggerated. “There’s a Valentines charity ball for our arts program in three weeks time. You think you could make it this time?”

“You know no promises, but I plan to, even if I have to do everyone’s laundry for a week.” You heard rustling on the other line. “What’s the exact date? I’ll put it on my calendar.” 

“The 16th.” Scratchy scribbling filled your ear, the sound loud in the silence. 

“Done. Can’t wait to see you all dolled up, sweetheart.”

“Me too, baby,” you said. “At least put on a nice moustache this time.”

He laughed. Your heart felt lighter. To him, it was probably nothing, but to you, it was a form of reassurance. A reassurance that what you had was real.

“Steve, you got a moment?”

The aforementioned man turned around, taking a glance over his shoulder. Sharon Carter slowed to a stop, a small smile on her face. As always, she carried an air of superiority, matching that of Steve’s wavelength. Yet today, it seemed dim.

“I think we need to talk, you have time for coffee?”

Glancing at his watch, he nodded. “Sure, Sharon. Lead the way.”

She took them outside of S.H.I.E.L.D and into the chilly air of DC, navigating through streets and crowds while huddling in their coats. They chatted, breaths puffing as they caught up, the familiar scenes passing by.

He hadn’t been in DC in awhile, it felt good to be back. 

“We’re here.”

Sharon headed in first, holding the door for him. He thanked her. They ordered and got seated. A smile was shared, strained as it seemed. 

“Better just rip the band-aid off,” Sharon sighed. “I miss us.” 

“Sharon—“

“Please, hear me out first,” she insisted, showing her palm. “We probably shouldn’t have done what we’ve done after Aunt Peggy’s funeral. I just lost someone I looked up to the most, and you lost the woman that you loved. We were both grieving. It wasn’t fair to the both of us.”

“While I do miss us, I know that it wasn’t meant to be,” she continued, shooting a sombre smile. “I understand that now. I guess, what I wanted was closure.”

Her hand quivered on the table between them. Steve clasped his over hers, offering to soothe.

“I don’t regret what happened in Germany. While yes, it should have not happened, it was what we thought we needed at that time. We both lost someone we held dear,” Steve explained, hoping his words reached her. “None of it was a mistake, Sharon. You’re still someone I trust and hold dear, remember that.”

Steve clutched her hand tighter, running his thumb over her knuckles in circular motions, attempting to calm and show understanding.

In his efforts, unknown to the two, the shutter of a camera went off across the street.

Something felt off. Everything that could go wrong, went wrong. At first, you thought it was your own anxious mind running. 

You woke up late on a work day, burned your eggs and toast, accidentally wore unmatching socks, and your roommate was acting weird. All jittery when you entered the hall, stammering her words, and performing this bizarre dance when you walked past the living room. You gave her no mind when you passed the threshold and slammed the door, phone gripped in hand.

Loverboy [6:00 AM]: Good morning, dear 

Loverboy [6:01 AM]: [image]

A photo of Steve, sweaty after a run showed on the screen. He was smiling, shirt stained and clinging to his chest. You had taught him how to take selfies.

You [7:20 AM]: morning, handsome

You [7:20 AM]: 😍😍😍 

The morning texts were the best part of your morning commute. It made the arduous and packed journey worthwhile. Even when you almost tripped at the doors, it couldn’t take away your joy.

You made it just in time and clocked in, meeting clients and discussions with artists throughout the day. It was uneventful, although the bad luck seemed to have followed when you spilled your coffee on the concrete.

It was when you left the museum that your day took a turn for the worst.

On the ride home, the man opposite you was reading a newspaper. Nothing unusual, but at a glance, you thought you saw a familiar face printed on the corner. Before you could take a closer look, the man folded it in half and got off.

A few minutes later, you arrived at your stop, exiting the station with the fast-paced crowd. That’s when you were bombarded.

Lining the streets, your vision was filled with the scattering of a crowd of papers. Every face you saw was plastered in them.

‘The Good Captain In Love?’

‘A Superhero & A Civilian Romance?’ 

‘Captain America’s Girl? Mysterious Woman Sighted’

The sight of them left you in a panic, your anxiety spiking through the roof. Your world started spinning, everything —buildings, trees, faces— blending altogether. Everywhere your eyes deflected, a headline invaded your sight, imprinting itself on your retinas. Had they found out?

Composing yourself, you headed towards the nearest news stall, mind boggled with too many questions and not enough answers. How? Why? When?

Only, it wasn’t your face they were publishing.

‘“Oh Captain, My Captain” America in love? Spotted last week in DC was Captain Steven Rogers with a mysterious lady. They seemed to be cozy with each other, an eyewitness told Us Weekly. Story on Page 11.’

The photograph showcased Steve with a blonde woman, sitting in a café with their hands clasped on the table. Your heart shattered at the sight, remembering how empty yours have felt lately. 

Was he purposely out with this woman in public? What did that mean for you? Why were you shadowed?

“Are you and Steve… okay?”

“She’s creating imaginary ones now.”

“Aren’t you tired? Of all this sneaking around?”

“You know that’s a hard thing for me to do.”

“Hey lady, you gonna pay for that?”

You were shaken out of your stupor. Looking down, you were clutching the magazine too hard, ripping the image of Steve and the woman in half, right in the middle where their hands met.

You apologized to the man and paid for the magazine. Immediately discarding it in the next trash bin you saw.

“So… you and Sharon?” Sam had asked him after training.

“What?” 

“You, and, Sharon,” Sam emphasized, pronouncing each syllable. “Are together. Man, when were you gonna tell me? I thought it was over.”

Steve froze before replying, “Because it is. A long time ago.”

“Well, this seems to say otherwise.” 

Sam showed him his phone, the screen displaying an article; ‘Captain America’s Girl Revealed. A Family Affair That Transcends Time.’ On top of the article was a photo of him and Sharon at the cafe in DC, his hand atop of hers on the table. A zoomed in version of their hands were provided, fueling the tabloid’s narrative.

Steve paled at the sight. This wasn’t supposed to happen. This was his fears manifested; his anonymity taken, his privacy invaded, but his worst fear was putting his loved ones in danger. And if it was due to their association with him, it would leave him racked with guilt. 

While the tabloids were wrong, he knew that Sharon could defend for herself. You on the other hand… 

His heart rate rose, a new wave of anxiety spiked. Steve wondered if you’ve seen this. No, you must’ve seen this. 

Fishing for his phone, with clammy hands, Steve quickly dialed your number, anxiously waiting for the beeping to end. 

‘The number you’ve dialed is not—‘

“Damn it!”

His outburst surprised Sam, shocking him. Sam gave him a look, inquisitive. 

“Sorry Sam, I have to run.” 

He left, heart in his throat.

When Steve arrived at your apartment, he was almost out of breath. He was still anxious, the ride here not doing much to his addled mind. But he was determined.

Rapidly knocking on your front door, Steve composed himself. When it opened, he was met with the sight of your roommate -- the one that he has never met before.

“Ca-Captain America?” she yelped, shocked to see him on the doorstep.

“Is your roommate in?” he steeled.

“Which one—” 

“Steve,” a voice interrupted.

The door pulled further, widening the entrance. Steve was met with your familiar roommate. She was tense, arms locked across her chest, eyes full of fury. Steve detected something else in them; worry.

“You fucked up,” she said. He winced.

“I know,” he admitted. “And I’m here to make things right. Can I please see her?”

She sighed, stepping in, nodding towards your room. 

Steve hastily walked in, stopping in front of your door. He knocked thrice, signalling you, before turning the knob. It was unlocked. The room was dark when he entered, every source of light switched off, except for your curtains. 

Sitting on the edge of the bed was you, figure illuminated by the street lights against pitch black darkness. When he stepped in closer, you looked up, eyes meeting his. 

Steve turned on the lights and closed the door. He took a good look at you; hair frazzled, eyes bloodshot and dry, nose red. You were the image of heartbreak.

“Are you ashamed of me?” you asked, eyes locked with his. 

“What? No, I—“

“Is it because I’m not strong?” you cut him off. “I know she’s Peggy’s niece… a-and I know how much you loved her. She was your first love.”

“She and I, it’s all in the past. She moved on and lived her life, and I… did too.”

“But did you really, Steve? Move on?” you whispered, getting up. You stood in front of him. Steve could see how puffed your eyes were from crying. “Or was I just… a rebound?”

“No. No, you were never a rebound,” he took hold of your forearms. “I care for you, too much.”

“Then why?!” you shrieked, shocking Steve. “Why the secrets? Why the hiding? Steve, you’ve never even introduced me to your friends. Shouldn’t they know?”

“I wanted to protect you!”

“Protect me from what?!” you roared, eyes full of fury. “The Avengers? If they knew about me, they would protect me. Don’t you think so?”

Steve had no words to that, his mind a jumbled mess.

“I’m… beginning to think that you’re embarrassed with me,” you sighed. “We’ve never been on a date publicly, as each other. We’ve never held hands in public. I want you to meet my friends. I want to introduce you to them, and maybe soon, I want you to meet my family.”

“B-but, I’m tired, Steve. Tired of all the hiding. Of all the sneaking around. I want to tell the world that I’m in love with Steve Rogers, not Captain America,” you sighed, shedding a few tears.

You waited for his reply, only to be disappointed. 

“You know I can’t do that.”

You saw red. All you saw was red. 

You started pushing him, swatting him in the chest. Steve didn’t fight back, letting you unleash your anger, your disappointment. He took your hits, letting you release your pent up emotions. He began backing away when you started advancing, back against the door.

“Get out! Get out!” you screeched, pushing him.

When he unlocked the door and crossed, you immediately shut the door in his face. Steve heard sobbing from inside, his heart shattering at the sounds. 

“This way, Captain,” your roommate approached him, showing him to the door.

Steve relented, shame flooding him. He fucked up.

You stopped visiting The Sleeping Cat, wanting to avoid him at all costs. You blocked his number. You immersed yourself in your work, prepping for the upcoming charity gala. 

Sometimes you find yourself thinking about him when sleep proved to be difficult. It’s when you’re laying at night that you missed him the most.

But it was for the best, you reasoned. For you and him.

The Avengers PR had pushed for a fix-it, publishing a story that spoke a truth. ‘Just Friends: Romantic Allegations Proved False’. Steve had hoped you’d seen it. 

He called you every day but found himself blocked from everything. He still tried, hoping you’d come around one day. He came by The Sleeping Cat every other day, sitting in the same spot, hoping to catch you. 

But you never came.

You clasped the necklace in place, admiring how it sat on your clavicle through the mirror. You took a step back and took yourself in, smiling at what you saw. It didn’t reach your eyes.

Today was the day of the Valentines gala and you weren’t feeling particularly giddy about it. 

Opening your phone, you stared at the one contact that stood out, finger hovering over his name. That name used to give you so many feelings, but today it was a reminder that you were going alone, again.

Sighing, you threw it in your purse and left. Another lonely night, and on an even celebrating love.

Days turned into weeks, and soon, before he knew it, the day of your Valentines gala arrived. 

Steve stared at the calendar. The heart-shaped doodle he drew called out to him, reminding him of fond memories. Fond memories that seemed like a distant dream. But then, he went back to last week, and it all came crashing.

He had hurt you. While thinking he was protecting you, he hadn’t realized he was inadvertently pushing you away. He had no one to blame but himself. 

He loved you. No, still loves you. You grounded him, gave him the normalcy that he craved. Reminded him of a distant time before he was Captain America. 

You made him feel like the boy from Brooklyn again.

While he was ruminating in his feelings, Steve was caught off-guard when the door burst open with Tony Stark coming through. From his peripheral, he could see Bucky and Sam peeking through the frame.

“Heard from the Manchurian Candidate that someone has a case of the achy breaky heart,” Tony said, smug.

“Leave me alone, Tony. I’m not in the mood,” he grumbled, setting down the calendar. 

“And leave you wallowing like shit while your girl is out there probably equally miserable? I know a thing or two about women, Rogers, and it’s that they don’t like to be kept waiting.”

Tony snapped his fingers and from behind, Sam came in with a tuxedo in hand.

“Thought you might need this,” Sam said. 

Bucky came out behind him, with a brush and can of hairspray. “And I still know how to do hair.”

“And I have friends in places,” Tony quipped. “I can get you in.”

Steve was surprised. His friends had surprised him. You would’ve loved them. He was left speechless.

“What are you waiting for, Cap? Suit up.” Tony winked.

Swirling the glass of rosé, your gaze fell towards the dance floor. An upbeat song was being played as people flocked near the middle, letting their bodies take charge for the night. You saw your former co-workers among the throng, hands thrown around their significant others, having the time of their lives.

The gala was in full swing, if the crowd and chatter was any indication. Red and roses were the main theme, with a red carpet stretching from the grand staircase towards the main hall and roses lining every corner and wall. Taking it all in, you were proud to see your ideas visualized and work came to fruition.

You sipped your rosé, enjoying every bit of the gala as you could. From the sidelines, you spoke with a few potential clients and art collectors. Their presence made you feel your importance, and if you dared say it, a little less lonely.

It was during one of your little chats that you didn’t realize when the hall suddenly fell quiet. You turned around when you felt a tap on your shoulder.

“Hi folks, mind if I crash your party?”

Steve smiled at Tony’s antics. They both had arrived at the gallery dressed in their best, and with Tony’s connections, they were granted access. 

Stepping down the grand staircase, Steve felt all eyes on him. He paid them no mind, the thought of you the only occupant of his racing mind. Gazing over the crowd, Steve spotted you to the side, occupied in a chatter. 

Taking deliberate steps, Steve soon found himself behind you. He admired your gown and hair, it entranced him. You still hadn’t registered his presence, even when your partner had ceased chatting and was now staring at him.

With a tap on your shoulder, he was taken away as immediately as you spun around. Steve took in your whole image; your dolled-up face, your intricate dress, your styled hair. It left him floored.

You always did manage to take his breath away. Was this what he had been missing out all this time?

Taking your unoccupied hand, Steve pressed a small kiss before meeting your eyes. 

“May I have this dance?”

Giving away your drink, you took his hand as he pulled your towards the centre, taking space among the crowd. A slow number started, and before you realized, you were swept in a slow dance. It didn’t take long before you felt the sensation of his two left feet.

“Sorry, a hundred years and you’d think I’d know how to dance,” he said.

A small smile lightened your face. Steve savoured it all he could. Gulping, he took the first step.

“I’m... sorry for what I’ve done. I realize now that you were right,” he started. “I thought I was protecting you, but now I see that all it did was push you away. You have all the rights to be mad at me. I was being an idiot, a selfish one. I didn’t think about how you felt about it.”

You winced. Steve had stepped on your toes again. He murmured an apology, resorting to swaying instead.

“Can we start again? No more hiding. No more disguises,” he breathed, keeping his eyes locked on yours. “ We can meet your friends, you can meet mine. Bucky’s been pestering me to bring you to the compound, he wants to meet you.”

You laughed. How Steve had missed the tune.

“How can I make it up to you? How do you want to take the first step? A picnic at Central Park? Dinner at the compound? A trip to the beach?”

You seemed to contemplate, a thoughtful look on your face. You both failed to realize all the eyes on you two.

“How about now?”

“Right here? Right now?” he asked.

“Yes, right here, right now,” you said, determined.

Without hesitation —no more— Steve dived in, planting a kiss on your wine-coloured lips for the whole world to see. Your first kiss in public, yet it felt as if it was only the two of you there, lost in the moment. 

You both didn’t notice the gasping crowd nor the clicks of cameras from photographers nor the booming laughter of Tony Stark. You both only felt the other in your orbit, and that was all that mattered.

“Can you put that down? You’ve been staring at it for the past hour.”

You pouted, setting the frame on the side table, where it has been designated since its publication. 

“I can’t help it, I think it’s a good shot. Don’t you think so, Alpine?” you petted the snowy white cat lazing on the arm of the sofa. Its’ purrs intensified.

“Dinner’s ready!” Bucky shouted.

You and Steve left the room, joining the others in the dining room for dinner. On the side table, the framed article sat neatly, showcasing the tale of the famed occurrence that took place at a charity gala.

‘America’s Girl: The Modern Woman of The Captain’s Dreams.’

Fin.

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers fanfiction #fluff #angst #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers angst #happyhoelentinesday2021

[thatgoblin]

Small Town Affairs Chapter 2

Summary: Hazel is an Omega in the small town of Tin Springs, Midwest America. She's trying to live her life after breaking up with the local sheriff, John Walker, and his mate, Brock Rumlow. New people aren't something that happens often, but when a new pack comes to town her whole life goes from a small mess to a complete disaster in the best way.

Warnings: Domestic Violence, Assault, Sexual abuse, Himbo Bucky, Misogyny, will update as story goes.

Chapter 2

The rest of the day went by smoothly. The lunch and evening rush came and went, making time pass by quickly.

At a half hour till close, Clint came back in.

“Hey,” I said, waving to him with a smile. “How’s it going?”

“It’s going. Got our stuff unpacked and put up so that’s a relief. I was on my way to pick up dinner from the restaurant and decided to stop in and say hey, also thanks again for helping out our first night,” he said, moving the lean against the counter as he talked to me.

“It’s not a problem. Like I told one of your packmates, Helmut, we’re a pretty friendly bunch here,” I said, tidying up my area before shutting down for the day.

“Oh, he came by?” Clint asked, his brows raising.

“Yeah, him and I think his name was Bucky. They came by to get some groceries and Helmut asked about a plant nursery. I pointed him to the one on the west side of town,” I said. “Why do you look surprised?”

“Well, Bucky and Helmut usually keep to themselves. Especially Bucky. I guess it’s the small town just bringing it out,” he said with a chuckle as he began to fold a piece of trash paper into something.

“They were nice. Well, Helmut did most of the talking, but Bucky was courteous. It’s not often we get Alphas that aren’t forceful or dominating. Even if they don’t mean to, it happens a lot around here,” I said, printing out my end of day numbers.

“Yeah, I got that sense the other night,” he said with a cringe. “Does the sheriff always greet new people like that?”

I paused a moment, chewing on my lip as I thought of my answer carefully.

“It differs. Like I said, Alphas around here tend to be more old school and domineering,” I said softly, my smile gone. Any time John and Brock were brought up directly to me I couldn’t help but go quiet and submissive. It took me so long to start breaking out of my old shell and still I’d slip right back into it at the mention of their names. “I’d be careful of him. Just don’t get on his bad side.”

“Is he that scary?” Clint asked, his fingers pausing in their movements to lean forward as if we were sharing a secret.

“Hazel, why don’t you head home early today?” Peggy said as she stood in the office doorway, stopping the conversation. Whether it was to protect me or put a barrier up for Clint, I wasn’t sure and I wasn’t going to argue. “I’m sure you need to get cleaned up for your other job before heading over. I’ll finish up your register for you.”

“Alright, thanks,” I said, not wanting to argue. “Uh, I’ll see you around Clint.” Handing the sheets and keys to Peggy, I grabbed my thermos and purse before heading out the back door. Peggy was my boss and felt like family, but there were times that she was different. Mostly when it felt like she was trying to hide something, a switch flipped and she turned into almost a commanding officer. I liked my job and knew there was a limit with her if I tried to push back, so I didn’t bother trying to figure anything out. Some mysteries were better left unsolved.

I drove home to get ready for my other job. I told people I was a bartender at a hole in the wall in the next town over, but if they knew the truth, they didn’t say a word. Probably because they weren’t supposed to be there themselves. I packed my small bag before grabbing a quick nap and snack. It was dark when I left the house and twenty minutes later I was backstage at the Pink Pony strip club. The other girls and guys were all in various stages of getting ready as I stepped into a smaller, private dressing room.

First things first was, well, to strip. I put my comfy, warm clothes in the small bag before pulling out my costume for the evening. It was a black mesh and bedazzled number that left little to the imagination. The mesh kept it together and on me as well as double sided tape, lots of tape. I quickly ran a baby wipe over my arms and legs to dry my skin a bit which would allow for the smaller crystals and stones on sticky strips that were for decoration to stick better.

Well, for decoration and hiding blemishes and marks I didn’t want others to see. I had a lot of those that would identify me, but the sparkle helped cover them nicely with some make up as well. I moved on to fix my hair into a wig cap then pinned it down with almost a thousand bobby pins and nearly a whole can of hairspray to help keep everything in place. I would glue the front of my wig down before doing my makeup to blend everything together. Lately I've been using a dark ruby colored wig with lots of curls, I got a lot more tips with that one than my other neon yellow wig. Coming out of the dressing room, I spotted a work friend Kira who was just finishing her own costume.

“Hey, Kira, can you get my back spots please?” I asked.

“Yeah, sure,” the other woman said with a smile. Her own costume of chains and feathers jingled like tiny bells as she walked over to me. Almost all the dancers got along well enough to help each other out as much as possible. There were a few dancers that didn’t get along very well, but they were at least able to either avoid each other or were at least courteous. It made the job 100 times easier if things were hunky dory backstage. A few minutes later, Kira had finished and I was set. I thanked her as she went to go do her own show. I pulled my knee high boots on, double checked my makeup, then went to work.

The seating areas at the front of the house as well as the other four smaller stages for one person were filled and still there were people standing at the bar. It was busy for a Friday night, but I wasn’t about to get mad about it. The drunker people got, the more money they’d spend.

“Hey, Carrie,” my manager said, waving me over to the bar. All the people that worked there had a stage name, some for safety and some because it was fun. I wanted to fly under the radar and be left alone when I wasn’t on the job. I walked over to him, waving and smiling to everyone that paid me any mind.

“Hey, Nick, what’s up?” I asked, leaning against the bar next to him.

“I know you’re my girl when I need extra sessions, especially private sessions. You wanna take this group coming in later? There’s supposed to be six or so. Includes lap dances and pole work, maybe a few body shots. They’re paying extra for my best girl. You want it?” He asked as looked around the floor of the club with his one eye.

“Sure. I never say no to extra tips,” I said with a shrug.

“I knew I could count on you,” he said. “They’ll be here in about an hour. They called ahead for some reason. No one calls ahead.”

“Great, hopefully they’re out of towners and get drunk easily,” I said, looking over the floor as well.

“Let’s hope so, go ahead and let Holly know that you’re not on the main stage tonight so she can have it,” he said, motioning to a brunette who was chatting up a table.

“Yes Sir,” I said, giving him a mock salute and getting an eye roll in return.

I let Holly know of the update and made myself useful by helping with serving drinks, making sure to give the tips to the servers I was helping, did a few lap dances, and mingled on the floor to pass the time till my party got there. My shifts were shorter, just five hours, compared to others because I only worked the weekends and was lower on the pecking order, but I still made a good amount on the weekends.

A little bit before my group got there, I headed to the room I was told we were using to double check that everything was clean and in order before getting on stage. I was swaying on the pole when the group came in. I nearly tripped over my platform heels when I saw who it was. It was the new pack in town, including the Alphas I had met at the store.

Fuck me.

Thankfully I was able to grab the pole and make it look like I meant to swing further, spinning myself around.

“Hi ya, fellas,” I called, making my accent thicker and my voice higher to hide my real voice. “Glad to see ya’ll made it. I’m Carrie, what’re your names?”

Taking seats around my stage, they all ordered drinks when a server came in. At first no one said anything, looking at one another almost nervously before I stepped down the stairs towards them.

“Oh come on, don’t be shy. I don’t bite,” I said, giving the dark haired man with a salt and pepper mustache a wink. He was dressed in a wine red button up with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and black slacks. It was all tailored to him instead of the usual baggy church clothes most men around the area wore. The material didn’t look like something from Walmart either. As I slid my hands over his shoulders and straddled him, getting a feel for his disposition, the shirt had to be a mixture of expensive fabrics. There was no other explanation for how soft it was without looking cheap.

“That’s disappointing,” he said with a chuckle, leaning back in the leather seat. “I’m Howard, that’s Thor, Bucky, and Helmut.” Howard pointed to each in turn from the blond with a beard and shoulder length hair that was pinned back in a half ponytail to Bucky and Helmut. “We’re new in town and figured we’d see what this place has to offer.”

“And what do you think so far, Sug’?” I asked.

“I think we found a good place,” he said, smirking looking me up and down.

“I’m glad to hear that,” I said, standing from leaning over Howard. “Now, who wants a lap dance?”

“Bucky, why don’t you go first?” Howard said.

“Me?” Bucky choked as the drinks were brought in, set on the small side tables between the seats.

“You shy, Sug?” I asked, moving to pull an armless leather clad chair to the front of the stage. “I promise, I’ll be nice.”

“Go on, live a little,” Thor chuckled as he picked up his drink. Even in the dim, colored lighting, I could still see a bit of blush across Bucky’s cheeks as he begrudgingly stood up. The men cheered as he moved to the chair in front of everyone.

“Now, some small ground rules, boys,” I said, sliding my hand along Bucky’s shoulders as I walked behind him. “No touching unless I say so, ask like good little boys and you’ll get body shots, AND the bigger you tip, the more you get.”

“I like her,” Helmut said as he watched. The music started for me, something with a good beat that allowed me to tease and taunt. Bucky’s clothes were different for tonight, more like Howard’s really. It was a dark navy blue button up with the sleeves buttoned around his wrists. What was odd was that he had leather clothes on. They were tight around his hands and while I usually wasn’t one to question someone’s fashion choices, I also wasn’t complaining as I took his hands to slide down the sides of my body as I faced away from him. My ass was inches from his face, letting me lean over to twerk for him.

It was common to smell arousal, the need from Alphas and Betas and Omegas alike when I gave performances, but Bucky was different. His scent was coming off in wafts, no hindrance at all. It was intoxicating and easy to get lost in. Especially being so close to him. All the dancers used neutralizing spray to keep our scents to a minimum, adding manufactured floral or fruity scents. I was so glad that I had put on an extra layer that night. When it came time for the tips from Bucky, it took a bit of prompting to put the bills in fun places.

“Put the bills down your shirt or the waist of your pants,” Howard said with a laugh. Usually I hated when customers did that, but with this group I didn’t mind. With slightly shaky hands, Bucky slid a few bills under the belt of his slacks as well as down the front of his shirt to peek out.

“Jesus, Howard, you’re going to get us kicked out,” Bucky huffed at his friend, shooting him a glare before looking down when I had squatted in front of him. Slowly, I slid up his body, making sure to grab the bills with my teeth to end with the tips of our noses touching. His steely blue eyes were wide open, his small gasp letting me smell his breath that had traces of mint and whiskey. Had it been just us, I would have been even dirtier, but with an audience most customers didn’t want to get too turned on.

“You did good, Sug,” I said with a grin, moving to sit directly in his lap as I plucked the rest of the bills from him to shove down my top. I gave him a kiss on the cheek before turning to the group.

“Who’s next?”

Thor took his turn, much happier to have a scantily clad person in his lap. He was fun too. Apparently he was from Scandinavia or something and was new to this type of club. I figured they had strip clubs abroad, but he seemed to be tickled to be in one now. Howard had his, showing off exactly how much he knew about dancing with how he knew where he could touch without getting in trouble. Then there were body shots between the dances that all the men took part in. After a couple, they were all pretty loose and goofy, even Bucky who was laughing and smiling wider.

The last dance of the night was for Helmut and that man was the one I was most worried about. Despite being the smallest Alpha there, the man had something about him that was alluring and almost dark. It was the same with Bucky and when both of them were together it felt like I was in one of those cartoons where the scent of fresh baked treats floated through the forest to beckon the lost ingenue to it. While Bucky had been nervous though, Helmut was not.

He wasn’t cocky like Howard or playful like Thor, no the man was steady and was moving with me almost. I would go to one side and his nose would follow, barely touching my neck and shoulder. His beard would tickle my chest as I peeled off a layer of mesh to let him motorboat me. The dance was intense and when I was done, I was sure that the neutralizer wasn’t working. Just like the others, he got a kiss on the cheek before letting him up.

Despite my fear of being recognized, no one said a thing. Overall the group had a good time, tipping generously as I finished on the stage.

“Now, I hate to say it boys, but that’s all the time there is for us. Make sure to come back and see me Sug’s,” I said, winking at them. They had paid for almost 4 hours and my shift was nearly up, but I would have rather kept servicing them the rest of the night. Especially Helmut and Bucky.

I waved to them as they all got up and left, Howard leaving more tips under his empty glass as he held back. “How about one last lap dance? Hmm? I’ll make it worth your while,” he said. The man had been leaving hundreds all over the place in my room, Nick would understand if I spent an extra fifteen minutes getting the house tips that way.

“Sure, have a seat, darlin’,” I said with a smile, sliding from the stage to the floor. I pushed him back into the chair when he hadn’t sat just yet, earning a surprised look.

“So, out of curiosity, do you do parties?” He asked, looking up at me as I straddled him, holding onto the back of the chair as I moved my body to the music.

“Never been hired to do one out of the club. Usually we keep them in house,” I said, rolling my hips over his thighs.

“I see. So, if I wanted to book you specifically for an event, would I just ask the manager then?” He asked, his eyes roaming over my body. It wasn’t out of the norm for customers to do that as they talked with us, but it felt off with Howard. Like he was acting the part of a customer instead of being one.

“Yup, his name’s Nick. He’s at the bar right now probably, he’ll be the guy with the eye patch,” I said with a hum. “Why are you so curious how things work here? I heard you new people were from New York. You must have fancier clubs there than this nowhere town.”

“True, but there’s a certain charm to this place,” he said. “My mate seems to have taken a liking to the town, especially a certain Omega at a grocery store he’s been seeing.”

“Oh yeah? Good for your mate, though if you’re here and not at home, I’m not sure how good that is,” I said, feeling my heart pick up pace. What the hell was he doing? How did he figure it out without even seeing me at the store?

“Clint, my mate, says the sheriff here is kind of odd. I haven’t met him yet myself, but small towns always have those sort of secrets don’t they?”

“You’re in the middle of the midwest in a small town, Sug’. There’s secrets everywhere. Everyone wants to save face despite hating the people they wanna impress,” I said. This was Clint’s Howard? Did Clint know then? He added me on Facebook, but I rarely posted more than work stuff for the store and even then I had nothing to say that I worked at the club.

“What about you? Do you have any skeletons in your closet, Hazel?” He asked, whispering my name. I stiffened, standing up to glare down at him.

“I don’t know what game you’re playing, but leave the money and go,” I said firmly.

“Look, I’m not trying to cause any trouble,” he said, holding up his hands.

“Uh huh,” I said. “I don’t care what you were thinking or doing, but your time is up and you should go. Now.”

“Look, Clint said some weird stuff about the sheriff and said you acted funny around him and when pressed about it. Why?” Howard asked, standing up as he pulled out a wad of bills.

“It’s entirely none of your business and honestly, stay away from the sheriff if you know what’s good for you,” I said, reaching out to snatch the money from him as he held it out.

“Well, I would, but he likes to make house calls and greet everyone,” he said. “I wouldn’t make a big deal out of it if it didn’t worry Clint and my pack, okay?”

“What do you mean, house calls?” I asked, narrowing my eyes at him.

“The sheriff came by to see us, going almost door to door to introduce himself. Usually people don’t do that unless they’re trying to prove something or if they have something they want to stay hidden,” Howard said. “I was out when he came by, but enough of the pack was put off by it that it became a concern.”

“Just don’t put your nose in other people's business and you’ll be fine. Sheriff Walker just likes to make sure everyone knows he’s the one in charge,” I said.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Howard said with a sigh.

“How’d you know it was me anyways?” I asked as he turned to leave.

“Clint said you had a weird birthmark under your left ear, that it looked like a crescent moon. Also when I pulled up the website, he recognized you from a promotional picture,” he said, his eyes trailing over my face. “But it’s not a birthmark is it?”

“You better go before security thinks you’re holding me hostage,” I said, gathering all the money as well as the glasses onto a server’s plater. If Clint figured it out, did Bucky and Helmut? Fucking hell.

“I’ll see you around, Carrie,” he said, giving a small wave before leaving the room.

I watched him leave the room before exiting myself, going right to the dancers room. There I sorted the bills before giving the house mom a tip and paying the house a cut. Sitting down, I took a bit to catch my breath and grab a snack. Things that had been simple were suddenly getting so very complicated. I had my second job for nearly six months now and was doing fine with keeping that part of me a secret. Things were steady, kinda boring, but steady. I needed that to get on with my life. Maybe it was time to start saving up to move to a new place. Somewhere far from the small town that was eating me alive.

“Hey, Carrie,” Kira said, coming into the room. “Your weekly visitor is here.”

Another thing to just make the night crap.

“Thanks. Tell him I’ll be out in a minute, I’m just changing,” I said, giving up on the last half hour of my shift. Usually I would have worked the floor more, but he was early this week. As quickly as I could, I took off my costume and accessories before wiping myself down then changing into my usual clothes.

Walking out the door for the night, I had made sure to get the money ready beforehand, wanting to hand it off then leave.

“Hey Sweetheart,” a gravelly voice called from a picnic bench next to the back door. I looked over to see Brock sitting there with a stupid smile on his face as he smoke a cigarette. He was lit up by a lamppost that was supposed to give us a good range of vision. Most of the time it just made everything orange and looked like it was from a horror movie. With Brock waiting for me, it felt like one. “I didn’t cut your night short, did I?” He asked, standing up to his full 6 foot four height, to throw the butt of his smoke on the ground and grind it out with his boot. I put my shoulders back as I marched over to him, pushing the envelope of money into his stomach. With Brock I couldn’t show hesitation or weakness, the man was a predator that would go for the throat the moment it was shown.

“There’s your cut,” I said, turning to leave.

“Uh-uh, you know the rules,” Brock said, grabbing my elbow tightly. Growling, I moved back over to him as he counted the money.

“Can you hurry up?” I hissed, pulling my hoodie sleeves down over my hands as I shifted my feet in wait.

“Calm your ass. I’m just making sure,” he said, not even looking away from the bills. “Ah, see, this is why you wait. You’re $300 short.”

“That’s because John decided to stop by the grocery store this week and bother me,” I said. “Per our deal, if either of you interact with me beyond necessary needs, you get less money.”

“Not $300 worth,” he said, looking up at me.

“He was an ass and I’m in a mood, so just take it and go,” I sighed, adjusting my bag strap on my shoulder.

“Not how this works, Sweetheart,” he said, holding out his hand. “Fork over the other $300 and we’ll call it even. I’ll talk to John and remind him of our agreement. After that, if he still decides to be an idiot, then you can give less money, but not till then.”

“That’s not what you said,” I snarled. “I’m not paying you to sometimes stay away. So that’s what you’re getting and nothing more till next week.”

“I don’t know who you think you’re dealing with, but I can assure you that it’s not nice guy John who you can just sweet talk,” Brock said, grabbing my arm hard to jerk me close. “Now, either give me the money or I make things really hard for you at your regular job. You know, the one where everyone likes you enough to pity you instead of whispering about what you really are.”

“Let me go, Brock,” I growled, trying to pull away from him.

“See, this is making the price go up. Now we’re at $400 that you owe me. Wanna fight me some more and make it higher?” He asked, tightening his grip on me.

“Fine.” Pulling out my wallet from my bag, I grabbed the extra money for him. Waiting as he counted it out, he slipped it into the envelope with a smirk.

“See, was that so hard?” He asked with a chuckle.

“Fuck you, Brock,” I said, wanting to just go.

“Oh no, no, no,” he growled, his hand shooting out to grab my face and force me to look at him. “We are not going to start that attitude. Understand? I can remind you why you hate me so much if you really want me to. It’s no skin off my back to take you home and fuck that look off your face.”

“Let go,” I grunted, struggling as his grip tightened.

“Not until you promise to be a good girl,” he sneered. The music to the club was loud, making it impossible for anyone to hear me scream for help or even know there was something happening. The music also covered the sounds of footsteps approaching us as Brock easily lifted me onto the picnic table to pin me down, making me lose my bag as I held onto his arm to try and pry it off with a cry.

“Hey! Get off her!”

Brock’s tight grip on my face kept me facing him, hiding the people who were coming over to us. It didn’t stop me from struggling though.

“This isn’t your business, fuck off,” Brock snarled, making my hair stand on in. John was a bully, someone who could only get so rough before feeling bad. Brock was a fucking monster. Something I’d wished I’d known before being with him. Just the sound of his voice raised and angry had me trembling.

“That’s not how this works,” another voice said as they got closer. “Let her go now.”

“Or what? You’ll call the cops?” Brock scoffed.

“No, we’ll just kick the shit out of you.” That voice I knew, making my stomach roll. They should have all left by now, what were they doing still there?

“Brock just go,” I managed, hoping he wouldn’t do anything. “Just take the money and go. I’ll pay extra next time.”

“Damn right you will,” he grumbled as he let go of my face before backing up. “She’s all yours. A heads up though, she likes it when you bite her.” Brock chuckled as he walked away, probably planning something for next week. My stomach rolled at the thought.

Sitting up, I swallowed hard as I hopped up on shaky legs to grab my bag. I kept my face down as shame threatened to set it on fire with how hot it was. I was near tears as I picked up my bag, my hands so unsteady I almost had to drop my stuff.

“Are you okay?”

My hair only covered so much of my face, but the people had seen everything already. I wasn’t hidden anymore.

“Look, uh, just. . . It’s fine, okay? It was just a misunderstanding,” I said, seeing Helmut recognize me. “You guys should go.” There was a confusion of sorts as his brows furrowed together, but he didn’t say anything. Before anyone else could say anything, I started off towards my truck, hoping that I would be able to make it without tripping over my own feet.

“Wait,” Helmut called as he followed. “Please.”

“I’m leaving for the night. It’s fine, I promise,” I said, putting on a nice smile as I stopped. Everyone loved my smile at the club. They said it was warm and friendly with a little spice. “It was just a mix up, that’s it. Thank you for checking on me though.”

“At least let me walk you to your car. You look shaky,” he said, trying to be a gentleman. I wanted so badly to let him, to have someone who wanted to help me instead of use me, but I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t do that to him when there was so much more that could hurt him and the others.

“I think your friends are waiting for you actually, but thanks,” I said, my eyes watering as I kept forcing my smile. The last thing I needed was anyone getting involved between me and my exes That would just make the mess even bigger. Worse, I liked Helmut and his friends. Him and Bucky specifically. I didn’t want them to get in trouble or tangled up in my stuff. They didn’t deserve that.

On the way home, I had to pull over to keep from driving off the road. My vision was cloudy from tears and I couldn’t breathe. Things had been so good for me and now shit was hitting that fan. Why me? I didn’t do anything wrong! I played by the rules and got nearly killed only to escape and think I can leave it all behind. Why can’t I just be free of this!? I screamed as I hit the steering wheel, so mad and hopeless that nothing else had work. About ten minutes later I had calmed down to a sniffle and was able to see properly. I put my truck into gear and drove home.

I pulled into my short driveway to see everything was still the same there at least. I trudged in to put things up before bed, almost not caring enough but knowing I would be pissed in the morning. As I flopped onto my mattress after changing into my pajamas, I got a text.

[Brock SMS:] You owe double next time for the trouble.

Fuck.

#zemo/oc #bucky/oc #john walker/oc #helmut zemo/oc #bucky barnes/oc #brock rumlow/oc #zemo/bucky/oc #john walker/brock rumlow #john walker/brock rumlow/oc #zemo/bucky #abo au #marvel

[poisonedapples]

Lasting Impressions - Chapter Two: One Step Forward

Story Summary: Virgil makes a good friend at the weirdest time of day; four in the morning, where everyone and their dog is fast asleep. However, deciding to befriend that person ends up getting him into a lot more trouble than he could ever suspect. His new friend ended up going missing that same night. And Virgil was the last person to see him alive.

Previous Chapter

Chapter Warnings: Kidnapping, stalking, swearing, some unsafe binding, a couple mentions of alcohol, mentions of past injuries and blood, implied past fighting, past abuse mentions, money issues, and food mentions

Chapter Word Count: 6,937

Notes: A huge thanks to CornyBird on Ao3 for beta reading this story (and also most of my stuff)! You’re the best <3

Virgil’s leg was bouncing violently on the floor as his thumb hovered over the call button. He’d run home as quickly as he could and was still panting from the exercise, but Virgil refused to take off his binder. If he was going to visit the police, he didn’t want them to see his chest.

It was such a stupid thing to worry about. Out of all the things that happened in the last hour, he was worried about a detective seeing that he had boobs. Usually if his binder was restricting him, he’d take it off the second he was able to. But considering now he was a part of a missing person investigation, that seemed like the least of his worries.

There was a phone number on the bottom of the missing person poster he’d grabbed. If you have any information about Roman Goldsberry, it said, please call the local precinct at the number below.

He had the number dialed. All Virgil had to do was press call. But facing the severity of the situation (and his phone anxiety) seemed like a task impossible to overcome.

Virgil threw his phone on the bed and started taking off his shirt to get to his binder. The thought of heading back out into the world without his binder terrified him, but right now he could barely breathe. So he slipped on a sports bra and took in a couple deep breaths, feeling too jittery to do his usual stretches afterward.

He breathed in for four seconds instead. Your information could save this dude’s life.

He held it for seven seconds. It’s terrifying, but you have no choice. This is life or death for someone here. You have the power to save him. Do it.

Then, out for eight. Just hit call and get it over with. If you don’t, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life.

Virgil looked at his phone on the bed, still opened to the number ready to hit the dial. He slowly walked over to his phone like it was a ticking bomb. Do it. Hit call. It’s really not that hard. Just call it.

Alright. On three...one, two...two and a half…

Three.

The phone began to ring as Virgil paced around his room. The ringing seemed to last a lifetime before a voice finally interrupted the sound.

“You are speaking to Police Detective Logan Wilson, please note that all calls made to this number are recorded and responses may have a delay.”

Virgil paused for a long time. Is this a recorded message?

“...Is anyone there?”

Fuck. Apparently not. “Uh, hey, sorry...I just, uh...it told me on the missing posters for Roman Goldsberry to call this number if I had any information…?”

Virgil heard a thud in the background. “Yes, you have the right number. What do you have to report?”

“Well…” Virgil looked at the smiling missing photo still crumpled up on his bed. “The poster says that the guy was last seen on October 2nd. I talked to him at 4 AM on October 3rd.”

Another thud. “And you are certain you talked to Goldsberry?”

“Yeah. He told me his name and we talked for a while. I know this sounds kinda crazy, but...I think I might have been the last person to see him…?”

The other side of the line was quiet for a while. “Would you mind telling me your name?”

“Uh, Virgil. Virgil Blackbell.”

“Thank you for calling, Mr. Blackbell. However, I would like to question you about Goldsberry further in person. Would you be willing to come to my office at the Eleventh Precinct for questioning?”

No turning back now, huh? “Uh yeah, sure. What time?”

“Well...it’s noon right now, and unless you have any other responsibilities, how would you feel about one o’clock?”

“I can do that, sure.” Let’s get this over with.

“I’ll be sure to keep an eye out for you at that time, then. Have a nice day, sir.”

“Uh, see ya.”

With that, the detective on the other end hung up. Virgil took his free thirty minutes before he had to leave as time to collapse in bed and scream into the pillows, which provided some relief from the pent-up anxiety he’d been having. But still, his limbs felt weak and something deep inside Virgil’s body wanted to vomit.

I have to go to a precinct. To talk to a detective. For questioning. In a missing person case.

Virgil stuffed his face deeper into his pillow and screamed again. Why couldn’t this shit have happened to someone else?

But there was no turning back now. In an hour, Virgil would be talking to a detective about a guy he barely knew. At least then, he could drop this whole mess.

That was the only thing keeping him together—dropping this whole thing.

Virgil took a deep breath and curled up in his bed. It’s alright, he thought, we’ll get this over with.

Then I’ll never have to worry about missing people ever again.

***

When Virgil made it to the precinct five minutes before one o’clock, the detective was already waiting for him at the door.

He always thought of detectives as the ones in old mystery movies, the ones with magnifying glasses and a brown trenchcoat, but this person didn’t look anything like that. Instead, he was wearing a black suit with a dark blue tie, the square glasses on his face making him look like a nerdy businessman more than anything. Virgil would have laughed if he didn’t remember that detectives have more fighting skills than he ever would.

The detective approached him. “Are you Virgil Blackbell, by any chance?”

“Er, yeah, that’s me.”

“I appreciate you coming here, Mr. Blackbell.” He held out his hand to shake, which Virgil accepted awkwardly. “I’m Detective Wilson, I’m investigating the disappearance case of Roman Goldsberry.”

“Uh...hey.”

“If you would follow me this way, I will take you to my office and we can begin.”

Virgil shrugged, “Alright.”

Logan led him down a thin hallway full of offices. They all had frosted windows with various names of (what Virgil assumed to be) other detectives printed into them. At the far end of the hallway, Logan stopped at a door titled Detective Wilson, opening the door and motioning Virgil to go in first.

The room was decently small. There was a two person table in the middle, but on the side was a computer with two monitors and a cheap swivel chair. The place was so organized Virgil felt embarrassed for his own room, even if the detective couldn’t possibly know what it looked like.

Logan sat down at the table and gestured for Virgil to sit across from him. Virgil did so hesitantly, crossing his hands in his lap to try to keep some level of composure. The detective seemed hardly fazed. All he did was take a recorder off of his computer desk and set it at the table, pressing play and bringing out a pen and notepad as well. “I record all my interviews in their entirety for legal reasons. I hope you don’t mind me pausing to take notes as well.”

“No, I don’t…” Virgil started picking at his fingernails, “Though I’ll admit, I have no idea how any of this works.”

“It’s alright, I hardly expect you to. I’m only going to ask you questions about your encounter with Roman. I’ll try to make this as quick and precise as possible so not to waste both our time.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. Lay it on me.”

“In your call to my office, you said that you were the last person to see Roman before he disappeared,” Logan said, “Could you restate why you think that?”

“On the missing poster, it says he was last seen at his house on October 2nd. I met him at four in the morning on October 3rd.”

Logan nodded to himself and scribbled something in his notepad. “Where were you when you spoke to him?”

“Only a few blocks from my apartment. I think it was like...Washington Road where we met up. Then me and him walked for a couple blocks before I turned back to go home.”

“Do you remember the street you last saw him on?”

“No idea. I only know we were near a Walmart.”

Logan made more notes. “Alright. Now, for precautionary measures, let’s talk Roman’s behavior that night. Was there anything about his behavior that struck you as odd? Perhaps he seemed paranoid, or generally on edge?”

Virgil shook his head. “He actually seemed pretty chill to me. He said hi to me first and called me handsome, then went on a dramatic rant about Disney World rides. I wouldn’t really call it paranoid.”

“What about any other unusual behavior that might not strike as paranoia to you? Anything you considered to be upset emotions?”

“I mean…” Virgil thought back to his conversations with Roman. “...He kinda had a lonely look in his eyes, you know? Like, he kept laughing with me and acted all dramatic and stuff, but he looked like he had something on his mind deep down.”

Logan looked up from his notepad with a quizzical expression. “Did he tell you about anything bothering him?”

“I mean…” Virgil went back into his memories. Roman didn’t mention much about himself at all, other than he was an actor.

...Wait.

Wait a fucking minute.

Virgil smacked his hand on the table so suddenly that even the detective seemed surprised. Virgil’s eyes widened in shock as he ran a hand through his hair. “Scratch that. Scratch everything about him not acting weird, he was acting weird as fuck.”

Logan actually scribbled something out on his notes. “How so?”

“I can’t believe I didn’t notice this before- He was all over the place! It didn’t seem weird at the time because I thought he was flirting, but he was doing the weirdest shit!”

“Elaborate, please. What makes you believe he was acting weird?”

“Everything! First, he told me about his theater show that he was supposed to star in, but then he said he wouldn’t be able to make it because of ‘personal reasons’. He invited me to the show, which is kinda weird considering we just met but not really, but then he wouldn’t even tell me the show dates because he didn’t have time to? Don’t actors, especially the lead, have that shit memorized? How hard is it to say ‘Oh, it’s on Saturday at these times’? It’s not like he left immediately after that either! We talked for at least another five minutes, saying the dates really wouldn’t have taken that long!”

“Perhaps he wanted to get away before anyone noticed...” Logan murmured before writing more stuff in his notepad.

“Yeah, and honestly, that’s not even the weirdest thing. So we exchanged phone numbers, right? He told me immediately after that he wouldn’t respond to me for the next few days. I thought it was because he was busy, but then...well, you know what happened to him.”

“That I do. Was there anything else that may strike you as strange?”

“Well, he sent me a message to make sure we had the phone numbers right. Except he took a picture of himself and sent me that, which like...who does that for a first text message?” Virgil ran a hand through his hair. “I think the most eerie thing about it now was the caption he put under it. He said ‘don’t forget this beautiful face’.”

“May I see that photo and the message?” Logan asked.

Virgil pulled out his phone and opened it to Roman’s contact. It didn’t take long for him to scroll up, but once he did, he handed it to the detective. Logan’s eyebrows knitted together as he held his chin in deep thought.

“Did you ask about the injuries on his face?” He eventually asked.

“Uh, yeah. He said he tried to befriend a cat in an alleyway and it attacked him. I mostly believed it because he said he was tipsy.”

Logan wrote something in his notes and turned back to the photo. “Those are not cat scratches. A cat wouldn’t leave bruises or bust his lip like that.”

“What?” Virgil reached his body over the table to look again at the photo. Logan tilted the phone so he could see, but lo and behold, he was right. Roman’s face was covered in red splotches that signified more than just blood; a bruise was ready to form. The cut on his lip was too deep to be made by a cat, and the bottom of his left eye was beginning to swell too. Virgil hadn’t noticed it in the darkness, but now with it pointed out, it seemed so obvious.

“Not to mention, look at his hand on his chest in that pose. His knuckles are busted. The only way that happens is if he punched someone or something.” Logan pointed out.

“...Holy shit.”

“You also mentioned he said that he was tipsy, correct?”

“Yeah, he told me he had a couple drinks. I don’t know anymore than that, though.”

Logan wrote down more in his notepad. “Is that all that struck you as suspicious?”

“I mean…even in the moment, I thought something else he said was weird. I just thought he was being flirty.”

“And what would that be?” Logan asked.

“He pointed out the time to me before we left. He said to remember that it was 4:24 the last time I saw him. He said it was because it must be some kind of lucky number...but now I’m not so sure that was why.”

Logan seemed confused. “What do you think the real reason was, then?”

“...It’s almost like he knew. Like he knew he was gonna go missing and wanted to make sure I wouldn’t mess up the information.”

“And you have no idea why he did this?”

“No, no idea. I barely knew the guy anyway.”

“Understandable.” Logan wrote in his notepad again, this time a lot more vigorously before tearing off a section of the paper and handing it to Virgil. “That is the number for my mobile phone. I would highly appreciate it if you sent me a screenshot of Roman’s last messages to you, as well as the picture itself. If not, I may call you asking for it.”

“Uh, noted.”

“Is there anything else you would deem necessary to mention? Or has everything been covered?”

“I think we’re good now.” Virgil hesitated for a moment. “...Though, can I ask you a question?”

“Certainly. Go right ahead.”

Virgil picked at his thumb again. “...What do you think happened to him? About why he went missing?”

“What do I think?”

“Yeah.”

“Well…” Logan set down his notepad and looked Virgil in the eyes. “I’ve seen many missing people cases in my time. For the majority of them, they reappear after a week or so with a wild story to explain their behavior. Considering there seems to be no evidence of foul play or anything else to raise concern, I believe he got stressed and decided to escape for a while.”

“So he ran away?”

“It’s my most plausible theory. As of right now, I’m hardly concerned. Despite what the media says, most missing cases in adults don’t end in such unfortunate ways, let alone ones like the Goldsberry case, though that specific information is classified.”

“That makes sense...though, can I go now?”

Logan nodded. “You may. Though I do want those pictures as soon as possible. And if you come across anything else, you have both my office number and mobile.”

Virgil stood up as Logan held the door open for him after turning off the recorder. “I do appreciate your help, however.”

“Uh...yeah, thanks.” Virgil walked out and made his way down the hallway, out of the precinct. Logan sighed as he closed the door, sitting back in his swivel chair and looking up at the roof.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. When he pulled it out, he saw two messages on his lockscreen:

Unknown sent two photos

Unknown: This is Virgil, here you go

Logan smiled to himself. That was fast.

 He’d look more carefully over the photo later, but right now he was more concerned about the locations Virgil had given him. Considering Roman was apparently tipsy that night, Logan had a new theory that he’d gotten into some trouble at a bar and was lying low for a while. Who knew, depending on how crazy of a drunk he is, maybe he got lost trying to run away from home and ended up in the countryside.

It was a very loose theory, but the only thing that made this case concerning was the distressed brother that kept blowing up his phone asking for updates. The facial injuries were somewhat concerning, and Roman apparently knew he wasn’t going back home, which was also concerning to an extent if Logan wasn’t so certain he’d run away. Other than that, Roman was an adult male with no history of mental disorders (other than past grief counseling) or physical disabilities. Just like he told Virgil, people like Roman come back within a week and all is well.

Logan pulled up a map of the city on his monitor, zooming into Washington Road and seeing the possible paths Roman and Virgil could have taken. It was possible Roman’s case could have foul play. His family certainly expected it, but a hunch is nothing compared to evidence. And as of right now, their evidence pointed to confusing, not to foul play.

There are certainly suspicious parts in this case, but there’s hardly any evidence at all for anything. Up until now, the biggest lead I had was the last time Roman was seen by his brother, which still pointed to nothing. The only believable theory is that Roman’s absurd work overload ended in him running off to take a break with no warning.

Which was certainly more realistic than the drunk theory.

Logan noted the street name he believed Roman may have departed with Virgil on. A couple blocks from Washington Road, there was a rather large Walmart on the curb. He took a note to ask the city for surveillance footage by tomorrow.

However, Virgil did say that he took a strange note of the time and told Virgil not to forget it. If he wanted to get away, he wouldn’t have made such a big deal over that.

Or maybe he really was being flirtatious? But who flirts like that?

It was all perplexing. There was almost no evidence for anything, let alone on Roman’s whereabouts. He needed something more than this, something that tells more of the story…

Wait.

...The laptop!

Logan practically jumped out of his chair to head down to the other detective offices. He’d almost forgotten about the laptop! Roman’s laptop was currently with his fellow detective (and friend) Carrie Merchant, who’d been working to see if the data on it could be restored.

It was another item that could have either been evidence or something completely unrelated. Roman’s phone was nowhere to be found (most likely still on him), but his laptop could have information on where he went. All it took was a search through his apps, folders, and search history.

Except there was one problem. When they took the laptop in as evidence, everything from it had been wiped clean. When it was turned on, it was like purchasing a new laptop and opening it for the first time. Not even Roman’s name was on it anymore.

Carrie had volunteered to spend the next few hours trying to restore it. Considering she was infinitely better at computers than Logan could ever be, he was perfectly fine with this.

Before he could open the door to Carrie’s office, the door almost smacked him in the face as it suddenly opened. Logan pulled back just in time to see Carrie on the other side, pushing open the door with her foot and paying more attention to tying her hair up than she was where she was going. When she looked up to see Logan, she smiled and clapped her hands together. “Perfect, just the guy I’m looking for!”

Logan fiddled with his tie. “I assume you were looking for me as well?”

“Yup. I’ve got an update on the computer.”

“Did you restore it?”

“Not at all! The whole thing’s busted. I think it’s just a fruitless effort.”

Logan blinked.

“However,” she continued, “I do have something else. And you really need to see it.”

Carrie led Logan into the office and sat down at her computer. “What is it?” Logan asked.

“I think we need to start treating this case as a kidnapping; maybe even a murder.”

“Explain, please?”

Carrie pulled a flash drive out of her computer and showed it to Logan. It was dark red with a sparkly gold crown painted on the side, which was absolutely not her style. “The laptop was a total bust. I tried everything I knew and looked all over the Internet for ideas, but it was wiped clean thoroughly. However, in the disk compartment there was a hidden note.” She plucked a sticky note off her desk and showed it to Logan:

Get my red flash drive. It’s inside my desk drawer.

Carrie didn’t acknowledge Logan’s confusion, only plugged the flash drive back into her computer and let the files open. “His brother let me search through his room again and grab this. I brought it back here and just got done searching through it. Everything on it is wiped clean except for this.”

Logan looked at the file she was pointing to on her screen with the mouse. “It’s a video.”

“Yeah. There’s honestly no way I can explain this. It’s...really disturbing. It reminds me of a horror movie, the ones where they find footage and weird shit happens in it.”

“Play it.”

Carrie clicked on the video and let it load.

It was a video of Roman at his computer desk. He fumbled with the tilted screen for a while to get the seemingly perfect angle, but then darted his head around the room as if looking for something. He paused for a moment before jumping and looking around again. Roman’s eyes were full of unshed tears as he gazed at the monitor in horror.

“...Do you hear that?” He whispered, “I’m not losing my mind. I know it’s real. I’ve been hearing it for weeks.”

Logan looked at Carrie quizzically. “Just keep watching.” She said.

“I know it’s in here. I’ve torn this whole place upside down looking for it but I can’t find it!” Roman looked around the room again. “It’s a camera. It’s watching everything I do.”

Roman bolted up from his seat and walked to the background to open his bedroom door. He looked on both sides of the door before closing and locking it again, but still stood in the background looking around his room.

He turned his back up against the door and slid down the wall, holding his head in his hands ready to cry. “Stop it! Stop watching me, I know you’re in here!”

“...What the fuck…?” Logan muttered, frowning at the laptop screen.

“I can’t take it anymore! What do you want from me!? Leave me alone! Please, just leave me alone! I’m sorry!”

Roman was outright wailing now, covering his ears with his hands so tightly that his hands were turning white. In between sobs he would mumble something unintelligible, curling in on himself more and more as the seconds passed.

Then, the front door of the house opened loud enough for Roman to jerk back up to his feet. “Roman, I’m home!” Someone called out.

Roman ran to the computer and rubbed the tears out of his eyes. If he wasn’t such a beautiful crier, someone would have noticed his previous sobbing almost instantly. “Welcome back!” He yelled.

Roman turned to shut the recording off, then the video ended.

Logan’s eyes were wide with horror. “...Holy shit.”

“I’m telling you, it’s terrifying.” Carrie replied.

“It seems like he’s showing signs of psychosis, maybe? It is more likely to show in males, and he’s in the prime age to start showing symptoms. Having beliefs of being watched happens in persecutory delusions.”

Carrie hummed. “I thought the same thing too. But listen to it again.”

She turned the volume all the way up and replayed the beginning:

Roman paused for a moment looking around his room. Then, quiet but clear as day, the sound of a mechanical whirring was heard from the background.

Roman jumped. “...Do you hear that?”

Carrie paused the video. “It sounds like a camera zooming in. And that’s not the only time you hear it in the video.”

She fast forwarded the video to when Roman stood up. Once again, a mechanical whirring can be heard.

She fast forwarded again. Roman closed the door, and the mechanical whirring was heard. “Stop it!”

Carrie paused the video before Roman could begin screaming again. “I don’t think it’s psychosis. I know laptop audio isn’t exactly the greatest, but that’s not a usual sound you hear a TV or computer make. Something’s in that room, and it’s built to spy on him.”

“Do you think it’s a stalker?”

“I’d be surprised if it wasn’t.”

Logan put his face in his hands. “Well...between this and what Blackbell told me, this case has become a lot more serious.”

“Blackbell?” Carrie asked.

“Virgil Blackbell. He called my office, and apparently, he was the last person to see Roman before he disappeared.” Logan opened his phone to the photos Virgil had sent him, then handed it over to Carrie. “He only realized Roman was exhibiting strange behavior when I asked him about it. He didn’t seem paranoid, but Blackbell theorized that Roman knew he was going to disappear before he did. It appears that he was taking precautionary measures to make this investigation easier. Roman sent him that photo of himself under the guise of testing if their phone numbers were exchanged correctly.”

“Who beat him up?”

“No idea. He told Blackbell that a cat scratched him when he tried to befriend it while intoxicated.”

“That’s a load of horse shit. Did his brother mention him getting in a fight before he disappeared?”

Logan shook his head. “I could ask him again, but considering he’s told me lots of useless information about Roman’s life, I doubt he would skip over something like that. Plus, those injuries look new.”

“But if he got in a fight, then got kidnapped a few hours later, are the injuries actually connected?”

“I’m unsure, however, I still think it’s important enough to take note of. I want to contact the city for security camera footage at the time Roman was last seen and see if we can track him. I have a general location of where he and Blackbell parted ways.”

“You gonna contact the brother to search through his room too? Roman wasn’t able to find the camera, but maybe we can.”

“I would like to. I’ll write up a report and do that first thing in the morning.”

Carrie smiled. “Sounds like a plan. After all, this is your case, not mine. I’m just helping you out.”

She handed Logan the flash drive as evidence, which he took gratefully. “I do appreciate your assistance. It would have taken me much longer to find this without you.”

“Yeah, yeah. Now scram, I have my own reports to file and I still need to take my lunch break.”

Logan smiled and left Carrie’s office without another word, looking at the flash drive in his hand as if it held the secrets of the universe.

Roman left this behind for a reason. He left that note in the disc compartment so we could find it before anyone else did.

Logan took a turn and walked back to his office. Virgil’s right. Roman did know something was going to happen before it did. So why didn’t he contact authorities?

Maybe he thought the stalker would find out he did, and then kill him before anyone could come and help.

...Or maybe he figured it was too late for him.

Logan sat at his desk and pulled up a document to begin writing. Roman Goldsberry missing person case. Foul play is heavily possible.

He tilted back in his chair and stared at the ceiling for a moment. Whatever happened, one thing is for certain.

This kid got himself into a lot of trouble.

***

When Virgil opened the door to his apartment, the first thing he did was collapse onto his couch and groan.

Thank God it was over now. He didn’t have to worry about detectives or missing people ever again. Of course he hoped Roman made a safe journey back home and wasn’t actually hurt, but Virgil barely knew the guy! They talked for thirty minutes and exchanged phones, it’s not like they were close friends or anything!

Besides, Virgil really wasn’t cut out for this. Missing people stress him out enough when he’s never met them before, but he actually saw Roman minutes before he went missing. That was too close for comfort.

He wished the best for the guy and his family, but Virgil had his own worries. He needed to pay rent, leave enough money on the side for testosterone, and pass his last year of college. Solving a mystery wasn’t exactly on that list.

If Roman’s alive, I’ll pay him a visit when he comes back. It’s the least I can do.

The door to the apartment slowly opened. “Virgil?”

Virgil shifted his head out of the couch cushion to look at the door. Elliott had come home; they were wearing more masculine and less noticeably emo clothes than normal, which already struck Virgil as odd. However, if the look in their eyes was anything to go by, then today had been rough.

“Hey, Elliott. Don’t mind me, I’m just merging with the couch.” Virgil joked.

Elliott smiled, but based on how they were curling in on themself, it wouldn’t be so easy to cheer them up. “How was today?”

“Decent, I guess. I got to talk to a detective and skip class, which was as fun as you think it was.”

“...A detective? Why?”

“You remember Roman?”

“That weird guy you met in the middle of the night and somehow thought was cute?”

“Shut the fuck up.” Virgil squished his face back into the couch. “But you won’t fucking believe what happened.”

“Did he text you back?”

“Nope. But apparently he went missing after we talked.”

Elliott’s eyes widened as they scooted Virgil’s face to the side to sit on the couch. “...What?”

“He went missing. Straight up vanished off the face of the Earth. It looks like I was the last person to see him, so I talked to a detective about him.”

“Holy crap.”

“Yeah, it’s weird as shit. But that’s all I can do about it.” Virgil shifted to lay his head on Elliott’s thigh. “What about you though? You seem pretty depressed.”

Virgil felt Elliott freeze. “...I think we might need to get a third roommate.”

Virgil sprung up from Elliott’s lap. “What? Why? We only have two bedrooms, they wouldn’t even be able to sleep anywhere.”

“I mean, I can share my room so long as they’re not overly messy. We can make do.”

“You didn’t answer my other two questions, my gender-neutral dude.”

Elliott sighed. “...I won’t be able to afford rent in time again. Or any food. So I’ll be mooching off of you again.”

“What-”

“And yeah, it’s really annoying, trust me, I know. I don’t like taking all your money either, which is why I think a third roommate would be able to help us. Your rent would go down and so would mine-”

“Elliott.”

Elliott stopped their ranting long enough to look Virgil in the eyes. “Why won’t you be able to pay rent? I thought with your new job, you were becoming more stable.”

Elliott sighed. They stared at the floor for a while before putting their head in their hands, digging their palms into their eyes to keep the distress at bay. “...I owe Mitch fifteen hundred dollars.”

Virgil jumped off the couch entirely. “What!? Bullshit! He’s just trying to manipulate you again, you can’t just give him fifteen hundred fucking dollars!”

“But I do owe him it, Virge! I still haven’t paid him back my rent when we lived together, and he’s so pissed about it he’s ready to take me to court! And fifteen hundred dollars is a lot cheaper than a good lawyer!”

“I still call bullshit, considering how much that bitch mooched off your money when you were together, he should just call it even.”

“Yeah, I get it, he’s an abusive prick. But I want him off my back so bad and I’m sick of him harassing me over it. Half of my next couple checks are going to him, so I basically have nothing to live off for the next month. But at least then he’ll leave me alone.”

Virgil stuffed his hands in his pockets. “...And there’s nothing you can do to convince him to bring it down?”

“It used to be two thousand, Virgil. Fifteen hundred is him bringing it down.”

“...Shit.”

“I know you really don’t like the idea of sharing a house with a stranger, but maybe if we look really hard to find someone we both trust then things can be easier.”

He didn’t want to do it. He really didn’t want to do it. Things have always been him and Elliott, and there was no telling what roommate might end up popping in. Would they also never pay? Not respect their boundaries? What if they were transphobic?

There were far too many things that could go wrong. Virgil had spent so much time getting Elliott comfortable with him again after they broke up with Mitch. Some stranger was not going to ruin that for them.

Virgil rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. “No, it’ll be fine. I’ll just...take up my mom on her favor to give me some money. I don’t like her paying me, but if we need it, we need it.”

Elliott sighed, so tired and defeated. “I’m really sorry, Virgil.”

“Don’t be, just...let me call my mom, okay? I’ll call her and see what we can do. If things get really bad then we can think about a roommate, but I’d rather try this first.”

Elliott swallowed back unshed tears. “Yeah...yeah, you do that.”

If Virgil didn’t know any better, he would sit next to his friend instead and comfort them as best he could. But Elliott always shut down when they were upset (especially after the bastard), and really, all they needed was some sense of security. If he could provide that, then they’d both be okay.

Virgil locked the door of his bedroom and picked up his phone. He was seconds away from pressing call on her contacts before he spotted the paper on his bed.

The missing person poster. The photo of Roman, smiling so wide without a care in the world. The face of a man that no one would guess would go missing until he had.

Virgil lowered his phone for a moment to look back at the poster. He really hadn’t given it much of a look-over, honestly. All he took note of was the name, photo, date and number on the bottom. But missing posters always had more than that. It had his height, weight, age, hair and eye color, as well as where he was last seen (which now needed to be updated from “at his house” to “some random street”). But then, right under the phone number was another number.

10,000 dollar reward for anyone who knows his whereabouts.

...Well, Virgil did know where he was in the middle of the night, which helped with the case some. But he doesn’t know where Roman actually is.

...But if I find out, then those ten thousand bucks will be mine. It could pay mine and Elliott’s rent for a whole year and then some.

And Elliott wouldn’t have to worry.

Virgil looked between his mom’s contact and the poster. He hated asking his mom for help because it felt like he was mooching off her, and the reward could pay for a hell of a lot more than his mom could ever dream of helping with. All he had to do was put in some detective work with a decent amount of patience.

It was tempting. Really selfish. But also really fucking tempting.

Virgil looked back at his phone. His mom would be so willing to help, and he could put this whole stress of Roman behind him. But on the other hands, it’s fucking ten thousand dollars.

...It was a stupid idea. It may have had Elliott’s wellbeing in mind, yet it was also selfish. But Virgil hadn’t had financial security since senior year, and every dollar helped. Also, it’s not like it was unfair. If he found Roman, no one would argue that he didn’t deserve it.

Virgil closed out of his contacts. It’s so stupid.

… But fuck it. It’s worth a shot.

Virgil sat on his bed and tried to think. How do you go about finding a missing person? What’s the first step?

Well, first off, he needed to find out the story. He needed to see if Roman was the kind of guy someone would want to disappear, or if he was loved enough to be held for ransom. Or maybe even just the kind of guy to want to run away from all his problems.

And the only way to find that out was from people who actually knew him.

But how do you track down the family of a guy you barely know?

...The Internet. Everything is on the Internet.

Virgil opened a tab on his phone’s search engine and googled Roman Goldsberry. If there wasn’t a paper on his disappearance where they ask a family member about him, then maybe the good old trackers that post everything about you will have something to say about it.

Lo and behold, something did pop up with Roman’s name. And it was infinitely better than Virgil could have imagined.

Virgil clicked on an article with a very interesting title: Goldsberry Brothers Join Forces for Special Valentine’s Day Sale.

“A brother, huh?” Virgil said to himself.

He clicked on the article and began to read the first paragraph:

Love is in the air at this time of year, where everyone scrambles to get the perfect gifts for significant others before the dreaded 14th! Although husbands may be spending too much money on romantic dinners for their wives, businesses take this as the perfect opportunity for sales. The US alone spends 20 billion dollars every year on different Valentine’s Day themed presents. But this year, the state favorite candy store “Wish Upon A Sweet” owned by Patton Goldsberry has teamed up with a floral shop popular in the candy chain’s hometown; owned by his brother, Roman Goldsberry.

...Roman owned a flower shop?

The fucking candy store guy was his brother?

Wish Upon A Sweet was one of the most popular candy stores in the state. Virgil’d gone there plenty of times since the chocolate single-handedly cured his depression, but he would have never pegged Roman to be related to the owner.

It’s a small world after all, Virgil thought.

But there was no time to be worried about candy. He had the name of the brother, now he needed to find a way to contact him.

Virgil went back to his browser and looked up Patton Goldsberry. Of course the website for the candy chain popped up, but Virgil wanted more than that. Instead, he clicked on a website built to find people that had all kinds of information on it.

And there, right above a personal phone number, was Patton Goldsberry’s address.

...I’m taking this too far. Virgil looked around his room to make sure no one was watching him being an utter creep. This guy’s brother is missing, I can’t just show up to his house!

“...Unless I make it seem like I’m trying to console him…” Virgil felt the anxiety pang deep inside his chest. It was a stupid idea, but maybe if it seemed like he wanted to help and told Patton he had met Roman, maybe Patton would be more willing to talk. If Virgil played the part, he could get more information on this guy, and he could make progress.

It felt like such a dick move. But it was also ten grand on the line here.

Plus, I don’t have to only be there to get info on Roman. I can still be nice to him.

He doesn’t need to know.

Virgil stuffed his phone in his pocket and walked out of his room. Before he could go out the front door, Elliott called to him from the same position on the couch Virgil left them in.

“Where are you going?”.

“Change of plans.” Virgil said. “Trust me, I’ve got an idea.”

And just like that, Virgil was off to a stranger’s house.

#roman sanders #ts roman #ts virgil #virgil sanders #logan sanders #ts logan #patton sanders #ts patton #ts elliott #elliott cartoon therapy #Analogical #platonic analogical #familial royality #kidnapping #stalking #food mention #swearing #alcohol mention #blood mention #injury mention #past abuse #thomas sanders #sanders sides #lasting impressions

[jj-lynn21]

Mickey’s Valentine’s Day surprises ch 1

Warnings: fluff, drug use, smut. 

notes: This is only 2 chapters. AU Mickey, Sweetie Pie and Jules several months after the event that brought them back together. If you want to know how they got to this point read Borrowed time: Mickey & X-Reader. 

Mickey, Sweetie Pie and Jules walk down the Daytona, Florida board walk on a warmer sunny February day. They have earned enough money at their shell shop today for the girls to go get ice cream while Mickey picks up a few other items in the tourist trap part of town to take back to their one-bedroom apartment near the beach. Yesterday they had given all they made to the landlord and the guy everyone called Doctor Frank for enough products to make it until March.

Today they made enough for ice cream and a few groceries. It seemed to be more crowded than usual on the beach. Mostly couples who loved to buy from the littlest shell shop on the beach. Mickey, Sweetie Pie and Jules didn’t even think of what the day was coming up until they saw all the flyers for Valentine’s Day.

“Mama is Daddy your Valentine,” Sweetie Pie said.

It was the first thing she had said all day, other than ice cream, so Jules knew it was important to answer. “Yes, Sweetie Pie. Daddy is Mama’s Valentine and vice versa of course.”

Sweetie Pie looked at Mickey suspiciously without saying a word. With all that happened to her before, mostly perpetuated by a man that she called Daddy she had always looked at him with suspicion. They had been together as a family for months. Mickey had done his best to give the little girl everything he could. She still barely ever said a word to him. And the way she glared at him sometimes, especially if she woke in the night to find him and Jules high, laughing at sponge bob cartoons, paralyzed him with guilt. For the life of him he didn’t even know why it bothered him.

Mickey and Jules swung sweetie Pie off the ground as they walked. “I’ll get both my special girls something special for tomorrow. Valentine’s Day is for more than just celebrating the love of two perfect souls finding each other by fate.”

“Don’t be spending money on us Mickey,” Jules said, “We know you love us without gifts.”

“I got it, Babe.” Mickey gives them a big dopy smile. “I Promise I won’t spend any money on you.”

The girls skip off to get ice cream as Mickey goes shopping. He pays for Milk, bread, peanut butter, cereal and some lunch meat at the local convenience store and takes it back to the house to put it all away. Then he takes the car a few towns over to a Walmart he heard was easy to get a five-finger discount.

He see’s a necklace that says, Sweetie Pie We love you, and an outfit he thinks will fit her and stuffed it all down his pants. He grabs a white tank top set with a little pink heart for Jules and some decorative boxes and hearts and stuffs them in the inner lining of his jacket. Lastly, he walks around to find something to buy that he can return easily. He grabs a metal detector. He chats up the cashier as he is buying the detector, so she won’t notice anything else he has taken.

Mickey walks out clear and heads back to the apartment. When he gets there its already dark. Jules sits on the couch her arms crossed. Mickey looks down, “Hey” He talks quicker as he goes, “I dropped the groceries off and went to grab this.” He shows her the metal detector. “Just hear me out babe. We can find treasure on the beach to sell along with all the awesome shells, rocks and shell jewelry you and Sweetie Pie make. Don’t be mad. I can’t live if your mad at me.”

Worry in her eyes, “How did you get it Mickey?”

“I bought it babe,” He tosses the receipt to her.  “You want to have a bump and go try it out right now? Right now. We will go right out on the beach and probably find a fortune.”

“Let me make sure Sweetie Pie is asleep first,” She pats his bulge which seems a bit bigger than usually when she hasn’t even got him going. “Hide whatever your packing and get what we need.”  

He goes into the bathroom. He bends down behind the toilet. The tiles come off the wall easily revealing an opening with vials of cocaine and pills.  Mickey grabs a vial and stuffs the gifts in the hole. He puts the tiles back in place. When he gets up Jules is standing at the door.

She puts her hand out, “Come on Mickey.”

He smiles and takes her hand going into the living room/their bedroom/kitchen. He quickly cuts the rock as she rips some junk mail and rolls straws for them. They snort the powder, grab the metal detector and head out to the beach.

“What are we going to do when we find treasure baby.” She asks excitedly.

Mickey hovers the detector over the ground, “We are going to have everything baby. I’m going to take you and Sweetie pie to that expensive sea food dinner place at the end of the pier. We are going to invest in a bigger shake for our business…”

The machine starts beeping like crazy but its just a bottle cap.  They are both disappoint but move on to the sand. “Its ok baby. Its ok,” Mickey comforts her. “I know we will find something important. I just feel it.”

“If you feel it baby, I believe you.” Jules looks at the waves crashing on the shore. “I fucking love the ocean at night Mickey.”

She wraps her arms around him starting to kiss his neck as the machine starts to beep again. “Oh, fuck,” He looks at the machine and then to Jules who is practically climbing him for affection. “Here now baby?”

“Yeah, Mickey,” She starts to undo his belt. “Its not a bad time is it?” She looks up at him.

‘No baby, I love fucking you on the beach. Its one of my very favorite places to fuck.” He turns off the beeping machine and takes her down to the sand. As she straddles him her dress hiked up, no panties (she hardly ever wore panties), finished getting his pants and boxers down. She was on him riding hard in seconds. Looking in each other’s eyes as he thrusted erratically.

Both moaning out their love for each other. Mickey didn’t even care about the sand irritating his ass as he moved with his best girl. He loved the small sounds she made when she finally came. It always pushed him right over the edge to the pleasure he always needed.

They both still had energy to spare, so they ran into the ocean and splashed around like kids. She wrapped herself around him looking into his eyes heart beating fast.

Mickey jumped the waves holding her close, “I love you so much Jules.”

“I know,” She smiled at him. “What do you think Mickey, I want it again here.” She reaches down to see if her hands can work him back up in the chilly water.

“I can fuck you anywhere you want baby, anywhere,” He rises to the occasion with her help.

Trying his best to keep them stable as the waves tried to push them around, he had her in the ocean. He concentrated to keep it up. Moving in time with her and the ocean. She kept her arms and legs around him pushing her hip to match him until she came. She kept a hold of him even when they finished.

Running her hands on back of his neck as he carried her out of the water she said, “I love you.”

Mickey grins, “I know.”

#villain 2019 #mickey & jules #bill skarsgård smut #writing #creative writing #au #fiction #original story #valentine's day #valentine story #fluff #smut

[fuck-customers]

I suffer from severe depression, anxiety, and PTSD. If this bothers you then this isn’t your cup of tea to read. It will be brutal. It will be honest. It will be graphic.

I had my symptoms almost completely under control for years. I have wonderful kids and a supportive husband. For some reason a switch flipped in my brain. I no longer had my hands on the wheel no brakes to stop it. The nightmares, flashbacks, bouts of depression, never ending anxiety, and more were returning full force.  It’s not like they ever went away, they were just not as big of a demon it is now. It actually got bad enough that I voluntarily committed myself to a mental health care facility.

Despite that help I only got worse. Self harming started with scratches, then deep wounds, until I was using blunt objects until I bruised. Any kind of physical pain somehow made the monster in my head weaker. During that time I also became increasingly suicidal. I began to miss work because I was just clutched so tightly within the jaws of mental horror. Obviously my husband began to stay home with me to ensure my safety.

This was making our financial situation harder and my mental health worsened with it. Like a sick joke one led to the other led to the other until I was unable to get out of bed most days of the week. When we lost Medicaid and were unable to afford insurance that also made a huge impact on my well being. We couldn’t afford for me to see a therapist, go to the doctor, or get my medication. We had to limit these things that are a very crucial part of my past, present, and future.

We did what we could to get my medication and do minimal visits to the doctor. We couldn’t afford a therapist, so that got neglected.  I needed all of it, though. My quality of life suffered as did my family’s. The days missed from work piled up between the two of us. All because of this strong inescapable force that is a part of my every waking and sleeping moment.

Before I go further, yes, I know being absent a lot is reasonable terms for termination. But where do you draw the line? Where does understanding come into play? Where is your compassion, Walmart?

Things were looking up for a brief time. My loyal online friends helped make sure that my kids still got a Christmas despite our hardships. I was so moved that I felt like things could get better. Wrong.

A week before Christmas and all through the store Walmart decided we were too much of a chore. Both my husband and I were fired. On the same day. A WEEK BEFORE CHRISTMAS! I became numb at first thinking that surely there was something we could do. We were both loyal employees and did our jobs well. So my husband and I decided to speak with the store manager about our options.

She was the most cold, robotic human being I have ever met. She sounded completely scripted and devoid of any soul as she went through the reasons we couldn’t keep out jobs. We sat and watched her as if she was giving a power point presentation and how horrible we were as employees.

I started hypo ventilating and crying in front of her. With that same robotic practiced voice she asked if I wanted her to call for an ambulance. My chest got tighter. She then asked in a monotone if she needed to call a doctor. My husband had to lead me out of the store as my breath became almost impossible to catch.

Still crying when we got home I suddenly felt that overwhelming urge that I’ve had so many times before. This time, though, I knew it was the day. I was going to do it. I had a point where I wasn’t able to provide for my family, we could become homeless, starve, and worse. The monster finally snapped it’s jaws shut with a final nudge from that conversation.

I waited until my husband fell asleep. We were both stressed enough that we had a couple of drinks. With a belly full of vodka I climbed up the stairs to my bedroom. I gathered every single pill bottle I could find, vitamins included, and choked all of them down. All there was to do now was get in bed, fall asleep, and wait.

I woke up blind, scared, weak, and confused. The ground felt like a sea of tiny legos that I sank into the more I struggled. I felt no pain, but I could hear my husband yelling at me to get into bed. I had fallen at some point, but try as I might I couldn’t claw my way up. He dragged me into the hallway and redressed me. I have no memory of having ever removed them, so it almost felt as though I was being stuffed into a body bag. His voice sounded so far away as he called 911. The darkness pulled me in and wouldn’t let me go.

In the ambulance I screamed as if possessed for water. I felt like I had gone for weeks without hydration. The more I was denied, the more I howled and pleaded. I begged as they strapped my hands down so I couldn’t fight for a single drop anymore. I finally began to figure out some hazy figures. To my left was for sure my husband, holding my hand and crying. To my right were a bunch of people I didn’t know. Still immobilized I screamed! Water! Please give me some water! All I heard were echoes that I couldn’t have any.

As time went on I began to feel as though my husband was drifting away from me as these people surrounded me and mocked me. I thought they were telling me to sit up, so I kept trying. They held a straw to my mouth just out of reach. It was too dark to see and they kept playing a game of “keep away” with the straw. I remember writhing and shrieking because of the feeling that I would never be able to taste water ever again. Just as hope was waning I saw my little brother. Impossible, I thought, he lives clear across the country. With him taking my hand my body stilled and my consciousness slipped.

When I once again came to I was still out of it, desperately thirsty, and strapped down. Never have I wanted to escape so much. My memory isn’t clear from here, but I’m sure that I managed to work one of my hands out of the restraint before intervention occurred. I was medicated to calm me down and sled back into a sort of unaware purgatory.

Upon waking again I was more level headed. I was told that my husband found me naked, convulsing, and trashing around in an effort to get back into bed .I had stitches in my head, bruises over pretty much 40% of my body, broken toe nails and finger nails, scrapes, and a deep wound behind my ear. My bedroom is quite small, so the amount of movement and strength I was putting into everything caused quite a lot of damage. For the next few days my vision went from triple, to double, then blurry before coming back to normal. I spent that time learning how to walk again so that I could simply walk to the toilet. Unable to do so I was humiliated by the necessity of a bed pan.

Where is this silver lining of all of this? What does this have to do with Walmart? I’ll start with the good things I have taken away from this whole disaster. I found help. I found people. I found love. I found the resources I desperately needed but did not know existed. I could finally get back on the road of recovery, no longer a snack for the jaws of depression. I met so many kind and generous people. I was visited by a Chaplain who lent an ear and offered me a gift card to a grocery store so I could feed my family. A local women’s charity group brought two boxes of food and intend to bring gifts and coats for my kids as well. Once again my online friends came to my rescue. For the first time in almost a year I feel good for a change.

As for Walmart’s part in my sad adventure?  Their lack of empathy and sheer disregard for an employee in pain. They talk real big about family and caring about their employees. That is a lie, as my family learned. It was the last lie that I just couldn’t stand. The reason that I am sharing this is because I know I am not alone, my husband isn’t alone either. We are both victims in retail hell. Yes, again, we called off so much that we did have it reasonably coming to us. What I’m upset about is that no one asked why I was missing so much work.  They didn’t even ask if I was okay or how to help. Instead the grinches decided to fire us the week before Christmas.

Everyday there is an employee out there hanging on by a thread in any retail store, but I am speaking about my experience with Walmart. They are more than willing to snip those scissors over that thread you’re clinging to. Walmart, like so many other corporations, does not care. It’s that simple. We are not people to them, we’re not even machines. We may as well be the crap they scrape off the bottom of their shoes.

Merry Christmas, Walmart! Thank you for nearly killing me with that good old fashioned Sam Walton pride. My name is Heather and I tried committing suicide on December 18th, 2018 after a very cruel discussion with the store manager of Walmart store 802. I know that I am not alone with this event. I didn’t want to learn that I am not alone through this method, so I implore you. Do not let your job be that last straw when it comes to your mental well being. Cling to that straw. I just barely clung and I’m lucky to have survived. I am here to tell you that it is not worth it. You are cared for by a lot of people, more than you’ll ever know. -Abby

Yes, I know I full on just posted the store name and number. But they have really really REALLY deserve this one. -Abby

#tw suicide #suicide #graphic #trigger warning #death #walmart #ptsd #self harm

[abthepoet]

All my friends are dead.

Something strange is trending in my life.

All my friends die.

At the beginning of my sophmore year in college, my roommate from freshman year died tragically in a single vehicle car crash. Her name was Allison Lynam. We called her Blake. She was sassy and funny and I wish I would've taken more time to know her.

The rain was torrential the night she died. I swear I've never seen it rain that hard ever again in my life. She drove to the store along Highway 36 in Long Branch,NJ. She had off campus housing that year and had to use the highway often. The road was terribly flooded the night she died. Im told she hydroplaned, spun, and T-boned the driver side smack into an electrical pole. Her family still decorates it.

At that very same moment, in my dorm room nearby, I was watching TV when the lights suddenly flickered and dimmed. A brown out.

I had no idea but that was my friend crashing into a pole and dying. She was 19 years old.

I know this because that accident happened near the mall. That accident killed the power to nearby businesses.

I later found out that the road she died on was so badly flooded, the police intended to close it. Why they didnt get to it in time, I'll never know. Maybe that's fate.

Then there was Jessica Blain. Jessica Blain was a firecracker of a human being. She was 100% unmistakable. One of the loudest, funniest, most loyal people and friends I have ever met. She was also an incredibly gifted singer and I was lucky enough to have Chorus with her. We, along with a small group of friends, founded a new greek organization on our campus, Alpha Xi Delta. We were paired up as Twins. (you can't have Bigs & Littles when you're just starting the Family Tree). We named the family we formed Fuck Up Your Shit. Because that's what we'd do for a friend. I miss her laugh most of all. It was loud and unapologetic. She was there for me, supportive, and encouraging without me ever having to ask. The night I officially finished college we all went out to the local gay club, The Colosseum. I got wasted, of course. But Jess was the person who when I shouted 'I have to pee' on the ride home, she stopped and knocked on strangers doors and asked to let me use their bathrooms. Nobody said yes so she held my hand while I peed on a fence instead. I remember the last time we spoke. She was at a concert with a mutual friend. We hadn't spoken much since I graduated, she was still in school.

She died in her dorm room bed on Halloween as a result of asphyxiation during an epileptic seizure. She was 20 years old. The news was broken to me that very same Halloween night as I floated along in NY on a concert cruise. The World/Inferno Friendship Society decided to host Hallowmas, their annual event, on a boat this year. Nothing like being trapped on a musical boat while you grieve. I had messaged her AIM late that night to say hi. She had an away message up. I may have sent a message to a dead person. I miss her friendship more than I realize sometimes.

That brings us to James Padden. James was a warm, snuggly bear of a guy who always tried to do the right thing and let me steal his hoodies. He insantly became my best friend in a Stepbrothers-esque manner. I met James working overnights at Wawa in Leonardo, NJ. I forget how it started now, but we were standing in front of the deli and I think I tossed him a broom or he already had one. . . I cant remember now.. . . but he just took one look at me with that mischievous little twinkle that I quickly returned and we instantly began sword fighting with our brooms. Like two little boys playing pretend and having a ball. He was sweet and silly and kind. I needed a ride, and he loved to drive. Our first winter as friends, we went out doing donuts in the snow. I barely knew him, but I felt safe. We smoked a ton of weed and had so many adventures trying to procure more. One time, we got so high driving to a Dropkick Murphys concert in NY we kept going in circles, missed almost the entire show save for the last 3-5 numbers, and had a blast. I can barely remember the night, but I remember laughing hard in that car. No one could talk to me like James. We were both insecure being chubby kids and adults, but so charismatic and grandiose that I sometimes thought we were the only two who would put up with listening to each others wild ideas and ridiculous banter. We would smoke joints and take adderall and talk about everything and anything. I miss the safety and closeness I felt with him. We were always 100% platonic, but we could nap together, I could walk into his house and jump on him in bed and wake him up. Then we would cook ourselves a breakfast feast and hit the beach. He taught me to always take the back roads. I gave him advice on the ladies. He taught me about fixing cars. I helped shave his back. He called his new pick up truck, a pick'um up truck. We could wax philosophical all damn day and not get sick of each other.

It wasnt just driving he loved, it was going fast. Like so many young white men, he had tendency to be a little reckless. The universe gave him a pass only so many times.

I'll never forget when he got his motorcycle. It was the last time I saw him. It was a bright green crotch rocket. He loved lime green. I was doing yoga in the living room when I heard this obnoxious engine rev down my street. I asked myself, who the hell is making this noise?! And it was James, grinning from ear to ear with a matching helmet on his shiny new toy.

before he left I said, 'you die on that thing, I'll bring you back to life and kill you." I remember giving him this very long and intentional hug and not knowing why I felt compelled to hang on.

When he left and hopped back on the bike, I felt compelled again and took a video of him riding away from my driveway until he was entirely out of sight.

That's my very last memory of him alive. James Padden died on Thanksgiving five days after his 25th birthday. He went out for a joyride on his bike before dinner, opened up to 100mph around a curve where he couldn't see a car pulling out around the bend in time. They called a medevac, but he died on scene. I loved James dearly and I regret drifting apart after we both left Wawa and I started a new relationship. He had stuff too, but in hindsight it never seems important.

Then there's JB. I will always remember JB for his kindness and generosity. The very first time I finally worked up the nerve to go to a poetry slam, I was alone and terrified. I had no idea what to expect. JB was the very first person to turn around, introduce himself, and welcome me. He made me feel like I belonged. Years later, when I won the title of Grand Slam Champion, he immediately offered to help coach me for national competition. Except, I didn't see the messages and left them unanswered, which I deeply regret. When I started hosting my own open mic a few years after that, JB would be one of the only people to consistently come support the show both as an audience member and participant. It was at a pizza joint and he would sometimes buy me food when I had no money. He wrote beautiful poems about his two young daughters and how much they inspired him. JB always tried to make people laugh but you could tell he carried a sadness. I did not get details, but from what I have gathered he made a choice to end his life. I wish I would have gotten closer to him and appreciated him more as a friend and person. I wonder if he felt no one cared about him and I feel like I should've let him know more.

Which brings us to Crys. Crystopher Anthony Diaz was a Scorpio with a big heart and a big personality. I met him on Myspace back in the day and started Web camming. We became friends and eventually fell into this gray area of friends, together, but not. It wasn't long before I was spending days at his place, killing hours at a time downloading music, making Wawa runs, and smoking weed with his roommate at the time, Syd. You know, the whole reason I worked at Wawa was Crys suggesting it. And Wawa is the reason I met James. Crys was unlike anyone I'd ever met. He was poetic and artistic and loved animals, especially pit bulls. He loved to draw and write and had this very out loud style that favored Earth tones. He taught me about fashion and insisted on getting dressed even if it was 1am and we were just going to Wawa because you never know who you might see. We would buy new clothes at Walmart and have photo shoots. That boy drank his weight in coffee daily. If it's one thing I'll always remember him for, it's the dancing. Dancing was a passion of his and always used to talk about wanting to form a dance crew. Eventually, we ended up living together for four years. My first apartment was with him in this piece of shit duplex rented to us by a slumlord in Keansburg,NJ. My relationship with him was always defined by our Aries/Scorpio dynamic and he never let me forget it. His birthday was October 30th, mischief night. One time, after we had moved into a new place, we decided to get revenge on our old downstairs neighbor by taking a finished lobster carcass and throwing it on his lawn. . . . . . . Keansburg had a terrible stray cat problem. 😁

I have so many memories with Crystopher. Unfortunately, towards the end of our relationship things became too tumultuous. We had too much unresolved baggage and trauma to find a healthy place emotionally together. We were so financially strained for a time we hardly ate. And then when he met his new girlfriend Laura, she introduced him to her good friend, Roxy. As in Roxcicet. aka Blues. Neither of us knew what that even was at the time. But he sure learned quick. He started using them pretty frequently as time went on, and things only got more complicated. My mental health took a nose dive. By the time I moved out our relationship was trash. I basically left. At the time, I didnt have a choice. things had gotten so bad between us, the money, the using . . . we didn't act like friends anymore.

I saw him a couple times at his new place but that was years ago. Since then, he went through a lot, including homelessness and more struggles with addiction to opiates. He reached out to me and sent me a message apologizing for everything a couple years back. I never responded. I was afraid I would let him back into my life and let the all the problems back in. I didnt trust where he was at in his life. We lost touch and stopped speaking.

His ex, who used to live with us and became my friend, messaged me and told me he died a few days ago. He was 35. I'm still waiting for information, but it may have been drug related. I'm not even sure where I'm at with how I feel. I know why we stopped talking. It was the right thing to do at the time. But he didnt deserve to die so young, having spent the last god knows how many months homeless. It's fucking with me so hard because we never resolved anything. I loved this person so fucking much and we never made peace. Of everyone I've lost, he was the closest to me. I've had a lot of people die on me but none that I lived with and shared a life with. I have more memories with him than I can handle and while I know we hadn't spoken in years and why, I still wish I would've said something. Done something. Yes, i needed healthy boundaries but he needed somebody. when is being firm too firm? If we would've helped, could it have been different? But we didn't want to help at the time, you try to be tough and draw a line. Be firm. Not let yourself be taken advantage of. But is that a defense? Did that defensiveness leave a human being who's head i used to scratch until he fell asleep out in the cold to get sicker and die?

What am I supposed to learn from all this Universe? Why do you take my friends so young and so tragically? I'm only 35, I'm too young to have this much loss.

Because these are just the major players I've lost. It doesnt include my cousin Jared, who died being reckless on a motorcycle at 21 two years ago. I was 15 when he was born. I loved that baby, he used to bite my nose. But his family lived far, so I rarely saw him growing up. Last time I saw him was at my grandfather's funeral. He didn't remember me and the nose biting.

And then there's Marcos who we used to chill with. He worked delivery for our favorite chinese food place. He was a nice kid who lived with his grandparents. We would get food, smoke weed, hang out a little. Even used to buy it off him for a while. Eventually he got into the opiates too, he even wound up being good friends with Crys and being Blue buddies. But eventually Marcos died from an opiate overdose. He was in his mid twenties.

I didnt want to include Ricky because he was more of an acquaintance for me, he was more my partners childhood friend. But god damn, in the time I knew Ricky that kid was a riot. He was loud and funny and definitely marched to the beat of his own drum. Drugs took him too.

Thanks for reading all this if you've made it this far. It's taken me about two hours to type this out on my phone. but i needed to. Thanks for coming to my TedTalk

#death #story #story prompt #grief #friends #loss #love #dying #grieving #sad #lessons #life lessons #writeblr #writing #compose

[sierrabinondo]

woodland creatures tour - day 5 (jacksonville)

day 5 was the last day we would spend in florida. i was actually really enjoying it down here and would have loved to stay longer. when we were planning this run i really wanted to do all florida shows but we couldn’t afford the extra mileage that would add to our van rental and in hindsight i think that still going to the carolinas was a good move.

i’m so glad this next gig was so close though, because we could still enjoy our time in orlando for a little bit longer. apparently we needed to check out of the airbnb by 10 or the host would charge us $20 for every like 5 minutes we kept the cleaning ladies waiting outside. so we hauled ass and then decided on a breakfast spot for everyone to go to. i really didn’t want to go to a chain restaurant. after a little bit of searching i found keke’s breakfast cafe, which seemed like a local franchise. had good reviews and looked interesting so we took a chance. i think this was the first like meal we all sat down and had together all of tour. we talked about anime while we waited for our food to come. we ate probably the best breakfast all of tour. my omelette was pretty damn good. santino ordered pancakes and i’m pretty sure they were the fluffiest ones we’ve ever had. 

if anyone knows me they know that i love food. once my mind is set on eating something i will literally not rest until i’ve had it. and for the entirety of our time in florida i DESPERATLEY WANTED ICE CREAM. i couldn’t find an ice cream spot on the other side of disney springs we ended up on after my lunch with eton and jeri so we left without ice cream. and i wanted ice cream really badly lmao. apparently, you can still go hang out at the disney resorts even if you don’t have a reservation. that was what all the disney blogs said. so i suggested a quick pit stop at the polynesian for dole whip before we hit the road for jacksonville. the guys were cool with it but it actually took much longer than it should have so it led to a chain of unfortunate events that i will divulge on later. at the time it was fine.

when i’ve stayed at disney i’ve only stayed at the port orleans resorts (which are BEAUTIFUL), and the last time was at a huge condo off the resort. the polynesian is one of the most expensive disney hotels you can stay at. we pull up and at first the security guard doesn’t let us in. i peered my head out the driver’s side window to let her know that we were here because we wanted dole whip lmao. i must have conveyed well enough that we aren’t a threat because she let us through. the resort is soooooo beautiful. and it was so nice out so it was nice to walk around. we had to walk quite a bit to get to the dole whip stand and luckily there wasn’t a wait. 

i don’t understand why it was my first time finally having dole whip when it’s always been available to me every time i’ve gone to disney??? but holy shit it was so tasty. i got the pineapple/vanilla swirl. i would have gotten something more elaborate but i was still about to consume dairy the day of a show which is already risky for me haha. joe got a float, i tried a sip and it was so good. i think kris just got pineapple soft serve. it was such an amazing snack while we were sitting there in the heat. i felt pretty damn good.

we then left for jacksonville and what was supposed to be a 2 hour drive turned into 3. that tends to happen (normally we account for this) due to pee breaks and a stop or two for gas. we ended up arriving to the hotel waaaaaay later than we were supposed to, around 5 pm. i still needed to shower, run to walmart to get antacid medicine, and we STILL needed to eat. we needed to load in no later than 7 for the show. i started to get really anxious. i knew there was nothing i could do but i went into panic mode. 

we check into the hotel, which actually seems OKAY at first. the girl at the counter is pleasant and complimenting me on my hair while she checks us in. but all i could think of was how fast i was going to throw down my bags and go pick up the tofu stir fry i ordered. i don’t get the luxury of just waiting until we get to the venue to eat because the sooner i eat the less likely my throat will be shitty when i have to sing. so i run to walmart to get my meds and then pick up my food. i went to walmart alone which was ill-advised. for the first time in ages i get cat-called. i know i was wearing shorts that made my non-existent butt look good but i walk around like that all the time and don’t get harassed, ever. the dude didn’t just say “what’s up”. he was like “ooooooOOOOOOOH hey girl what’s UPPPP that booty (yes he literally said ‘booty’) lookin FINE as HELL. what’s up??? how you doin??? what’s up??” like............would not shut up. i just looked down and sped inside the walmart, it looked like he was loading his bags into a car and i assumed he would be gone by the time i came back outside.

nope.

i called jeremiah for when the harassment continued lmao, i was just like “please stay on the phone with me until this is over, in case something happens to me.” i was livid. i go pick up the food while having a quick call to catch up with jeremiah and then i returned to the hotel. and i really thought the misery would end there. but i come back to the room to find out that there are BUGS ALL OVER THE FUCKING WALLS and PUBES IN THE SHOWER. i marched back to the concierge and told that girl in front of a family she had JUST checked in that our room had bugs and pubes. i felt bad for putting that on her but i was furious. she gets us a new room that is still pretty sketchy looking, but we do a check and it’s not in nearly as bad of shape as the other room.

i don’t even get time to shower, i just quickly rinse and shave. i didn’t even get to really do my makeup, i just like touched up whatever was on from this morning and inhaled my stir fry. at least the food was good. pulses. is hitting up the tour chat because they arrived before us (where’s the surprise lol) and they kept saying THERE WAS A DOG AT THE VENUE WHOSE NAME WAS ALSO SIERRA. so whereas this show seemed like it was going to be the least attended i was still pretty damn excited. they also said it was even smaller than will’s pub. i wondered how small they could mean, haha. but yeah. it was small! but! it was in a really cool little bar. there was a beautiful outdoor area with graffiti and the inside was definitely small but it’s not like we were bringing out 30 heads. it ended up working out fine. with the help of one of the locals named adult life, we moved the tables outside to allow for more room. 

adult life kindly hopped on the show a few days prior when one of the locals bailed. they were a really tight, awesome punk band that sounded awesome. i did like this weird like nod or like verbal acknowledgement when i saw the vocalist outside warming up lmao it was something like “MY MAN” and i immediately regretted being a fucking weirdo hahahaha. they covered dog days by florence it was so cool. i really enjoyed their set. most importantly they drove alllll the way out from orlando to play with us on a work night which we all immensely appreciated. they were awesome to talk to and it was great to meet them. 

while i believe like only 6 people came to this show, the jacksonville crowd was one of the highest quality audiences we played to. everyone was dancing and being really into both our sets, it was cool. i noticed they knew all the words to pulses. songs!!! i always think about how cool it is that if you can get one or two people to dig your music outside your friends circle, it just means that there are infinitely more people out there like them who would come through too, if they knew about your band. 

little did i know that more weirdness was unraveling after our set. i notice some guy is chatting up my bandmates as they’re loading up the van. i was outside when he says “oh so i own a couple buildings in the area, this one across the street and two down the road (something like that). i have a couple of employees inside getting a drink, i’m just waiting for them.” ????????? so weird. there’s like a total of 5 people inside that weren’t there for the show, or already working for the bar, and there was no way they were with this guy. the math didn’t add up. but i bopped back inside to go watch the last band, digdog. 

digdog ripped. they called themselves party prog and i absolutely back that statement. a really interesting mix of punk and prog music. not like new prog, but like rush and yes maybe??? whatever! they were great!!! really entertaining guys. super nice, too. my bandmates were still outside and i wanted them to come inside and watch so i was blowing up our van’s group chat. i shut off my internet cause my phone was dying and i figured they’d eventually come inside. after like ten minutes, only kris comes inside and no one else. i was like “??????” so my phone dies while we’re watching digdog. and after digdog finishes playing, we’re packing up merch, and my bandmates finally come back to explain to me that the reason why they stayed outside by the van is because that sketchy guy that was chatting them up was conspiring to rob us!!!!!! he started to ask them questions about where we were staying and where we were from. they didn’t want to leave our shit until the guy was gone. oh my god i didn’t even think of the possibility that someone might try to follow us back to the hotel and steal our gear. we’ve been sooo lucky, and we haven’t been robbed on tour. yet. lmao 

all in all, jacksonville was definitely a good time but very weird. if we come back (and we would like to!) we will definitely be on our toes lmao. 

oh. and we still found a roach in our room the next day. roaches are the devil i know (had them for years at the apartment in asbury) but that still sucks. don’t stay at the hospitality inn jacksonville!!!!!!!!!!

#woodland creatures tour

[lord-rosenth0rne]

Walmart Stalker. FUN.

I shouldn’t be so amused by this incident, but I am. It’s a bit morbid now that I think about it because it really could have been much worse if we weren’t paying attention or the people around us just ignored what was happening. My roommate and I, both females, decided to go to the Walmart in the next town instead of the one closer to my home, which is considered much safer if you talked with the locals. The one we went to we often joke that you’d be run over in the parking lot on any given day with how some of the customers are there.

We both were in pretty foul moods due to different circumstances and thought walking around Walmart at midnight would help lift our moods since it was one of the few places opened. It wasn’t the first time we did it. I’m a night owl by nature and my roommate was either off the next day or didn’t have to go in until later, I don’t exactly remember. That, and I get claustrophobic and severely drained with crowds during the day so most of my Walmart outings have to be at night. The walking helped a little considering we had just gotten back into Pokemon Go due to Gen 2 and 3 being added and the Santa Pikachus and Raichus for the holiday season. I’m still searching for the gym that hosts an Absol raid…

Anyway, once we went through most of the store, we had moved to the front toward the self-checkout and waited in a small line. At the front of the store were three associates and a greeter at the door. The greeter is a little detail that comes into play a little later. Out of the corner of my eye, a man shorter than me but taller than my roommate pulled up almost perpendicular to us, almost as if he was trying to cut us in line. He didn’t say a word to us or even acknowledge that we were standing right there. At first, we didn’t think anything of this other than he was just some rude jerk trying to get out quicker. He was a medium build, white, with a baseball cap and a dark hoodie. My roommate then suggested that we get snacks before we checked out since we were already there. I shrugged and agreed. Nothing worse than getting home and having a freaking craving for a snack, regretting that you didn’t grab it when you had the chance. We got out of line and started to head to the far back of the store.

Behind us, we hear a noisy cart rushing up as if to keep up with us. I have long legs which means I don’t walk, I stride. My roommate has learned how to keep up with me when we walk side by side. Whoever was behind us had to rush to keep up with us even when we were just strolling at a moderate pace. I turned my head to look out of the corner of my eye at this person and noticed it was the man. I hear my roommate mutter, “You saw him too,” in a deadpan voice. I answered back quietly with a ‘Yeah’ and sighed.

I really was not in the mood for this. Neither of us was, though I would think no one would want to be in the mood to deal with a stalker. I often think someone has to be out of their damn mind to want to stalk me. I have had the idea that if you showed your crazy first, you might make them reconsider you as a target.

“You know, I’m really in the mood to bite someone in the face,” I say in a moderately loud voice. No joke, I actually said this. My roommate agreed with me just as loud and the cart behind us stopped abruptly. We pretended like nothing had happened and turned into the soda aisle. When we saw no one behind us, we conversed about what was going on. I’m not going to lie, my adrenaline was going and it felt great. Morbid, I know. It almost felt like a game. It was so surreal. I really didn’t feel scared at any point during this even though I thought I should have. Probably because I know my roommate would jump at this guy like an enraged spider monkey and I had her back and vice versa if he had tried anything.

We found his cart a few aisles down in the main aisle still filled with the same stuff that we saw when we were at the front. Nothing out of the ordinary though. As we talked about the incident, I kept an eye on that cart. We knew it was his because we did not pass a cart to get to the snack area. We would have had to break our side-by-side walk if we had. There wouldn’t have been enough room in order to continue that way. We decided to spend a little more time in the store to make sure we weren’t being followed again and I noticed a man wearing almost the same kind of clothes hunched down at one of the self-checkout machines. I kept an eye on him as well but when he stood straight, he was much taller than me. The man who was following us was shorter than me but taller than my roommate. The clothes had to be a coincidence. This guy was busy fighting with the machine to try to pay and the abandoned cart was still in the main aisle. After I was sure this wasn’t the guy, we went to check out and everything was fine. It wasn’t until we started to leave that I noticed that the greeter was gone and replaced with a dark-haired woman in non-Walmart attire. She wore a beige jacket but under it was a security uniform. A small detail that had slipped my mind, probably due to the adrenaline.

When we got home, we started to think about it more. I’m not sure if what I said and my roommate loudly agreeing with me is what scared this guy off or if he saw someone that was coming for him. It could have been a combination of both. My roommate told me that she did see an employee leading a cop down one of the aisles, something I did not see. It felt pretty good that people were actually paying attention to what was going on. I am a crime buff and I’ve found cases where the public ignored things like this, only for the victim or victims to turn up missing or dead. 

I mean, the guy was pretty obvious. We can only figure he was trying to get in front of us in the line so he could get out into the parking lot before we did and do god knows what. When we didn’t stay in line, he followed after us. I can only imagine that the three employees or the greeter noticed him take off after us when we decided to leave the line. There were a lot of employees on the floor too as it was the time of night stockers would usually be able to do their jobs without many people to deal with. Someone saw something and notified security and a police officer and one stayed at the front while the other was possibly looking for the guy.

My mom tried to point out that it would have been stupid of him to try to take on two females, but I had to disagree. Again, crime buff. I can point to many cases where multiple females were killed by a single man around the same time. It’s not unheard of.  We can only guess that he had a weapon waiting somewhere either on him or out in the parking lot to make what he wanted to do much easier. What would have been really stupid for him was to mess with us in the moods we were in though. Apparently, the ‘resting bitch face’ expression I get when I’m not feeling well isn’t enough of an indicator that I don’t want to be messed with nor shouldn’t be messed with. I’ve been told if ‘looks could kill’ so many times when it has come to that expression. Add my roommate into the mix, someone who I’ve adopted as a sister and consider to be one of my platonic soulmates, I would have actually killed this person.

Either way, although I’m intrigued by what happened, my roommate and I are grateful it didn’t turn into anything worse. I do get chills at the thought of what would have happened if we had gone out to the parking lot before or after him. I would like to say ‘never going back to that Walmart again’, but they do get different stuff than our local one does and the staff was on the fucking ball so I might not utter those words just yet. We run the risk of running into people like that just leaving the house alone. Or not, if you want to get technical. It was just… a strange incident. One I don’t want to happen again in case it doesn’t turn out so well.

#Walmart #Stalker #This actually freakin' happened #It didn't feel real at all #I'm laughing at the idea of it each time #It's surreal #Guys #stay safe and watch your surroundings #People are strange #roomie was there #Don't fuck with the roomie either

[easyfoodnetwork]

Food Distribution 101: What Happens When the Food Supply Is Disrupted by a Pandemic

A worker unloads a fruit and vegetable truck in the UK before the pandemic | Daniel Leal-Olivas/AFP via Getty Images

Coronavirus is exposing the gaps in a complex food distribution system that’s seeing farmers dump excess product while food banks report shortages

This story originally appeared on Civil Eats.

“It’s like Armageddon, but we’ll get through it,” Benjamin Walker explained over the phone in mid-March. That day, sales at Baldor — the New York-based food distribution company where Walker is the vice president of sales and marketing — had dropped by 85 percent.

With 90 percent of its business focused on food service, Baldor’s 400 trucks are typically loaded with specialty produce, meats, and baked goods bound for restaurants, hotels, schools, and stadiums in New York City, Boston, and Washington, D.C. In other words, its food goes to all of the institutions that have been shut down by the coronavirus pandemic.

“The shimmer of hope for us is the 10 percent of retail [sales we were already doing],” Walker said. “That’s really the only food channel operating at the moment, and that supply chain has been maxed out.” Over the last months, Walker and his team have been acting quickly to onboard new accounts and reroute those trucks.

As shoppers across the country have stockpiled food in anticipation of weeks or months of eating at home, there has been significant panic at the sight of empty shelves in grocery stores. Experts and food-industry groups have jumped in to assure the public, in various publications, that the American food supply was strong and those shelves do not reflect shortages. Instead, they were said to be a reflection of behind-the-scenes adjustments that need to be made by manufacturers, distributors, and retailers to keep up with where people are eating.

In the last few weeks, however, it has also become clear that the workers we rely on to harvest, process, stock, and deliver all this food are vulnerable to coronavirus — which means we will likely begin to see gaps in the production system itself.

We’re also seeing large disparities where farmers, without their usual foodservice markets, are being forced to dump milk, eggs, and produce — even while there is an urgent, unprecedented need at food banks. And while there are efforts underway to address the gap between production and distribution, in between are many questions about how our food supply and distribution systems are set up — or not — to respond to disruption.

For now, what we know is that the country is in the midst of a rapid shift in terms of the kinds of foods that will get to shelves and how they get there — as well as shifts in who is available to work, how those workers are kept safe, and new restrictions on movement between countries (and sometimes, cities). With all this in mind, now is the time to understand what U.S. food distribution, under the best of circumstances, looks like.

Photo by ARIANA DREHSLER/AFP via Getty Images

Organic tangerines and boxes sit out at Stehly Farms Organics in Valley Center, California

Food Distribution 101

Farmers produce food in all 50 states, but agricultural production is concentrated in California and the Midwest. Some states have built robust local and regional food systems in which food is sold directly to residents at nearby farmers’ markets, restaurants, and CSA subscriptions, but the vast majority of food leaves farms and enters a complicated, interconnected web of transport and processing.

Andrew Novakovic, a Cornell University agricultural economist, said that the beginning of the supply chain is pretty uniform, but once food leaves the farm, “that’s where you start to get some divergence.” Some foods that are sold fresh are moved almost directly through packaging to a grocery store, while others are processed into different products.

Dairy is a good example of variability in supply chain length. The shortest is for milk, which is highly perishable. It’s bottled and pasteurized and then trucked directly to a retailer or moved quickly through a distribution center before being shipped to grocery stores or food service customers.

Cheese is a different story. That milk might be processed into mozzarella in a factory, which is then used by various companies to turn it into blocks or packages of shredded cheese. Or maybe the milk goes to a factory where it’s processed into powdered cheese, which might then be sent elsewhere to a processor making boxed macaroni and cheese, as one ingredient in the assembly line. “Every [food] has a little bit different detail, but the fundamental story is farm to processor, processing in one or multiple locations, maybe there’s storage involved, and then ultimately it gets to a food manufacturer or retailer,” Novakovic said.

Those pathways, however, are rarely simple nor linear. In 2019, a research team at the University of Illinois gathered data on how food moves between counties and then developed maps that illustrated those “food flows.” The research showed 9.5 million “links” between counties. “For example, the map shows how a shipment of corn starts at a farm in Illinois, travels to a grain elevator in Iowa before heading to a feedlot in Kansas, and then travels in [the form of] animal products to grocery stores in Chicago,” the lead researcher explained late last year.

Then there are imports and exports. According to Economic Research Service data, in 2018, U.S. agricultural imports totaled $129 billion, with more than half of that total in “horticultural products” like fruits, vegetables, nuts, and wine. While those foods were coming in, even more food was being shipped out, with exports totaling $140 billion. In 2018, Canada, China, and Mexico received the most food from the U.S.; more than 50 percent of the rice, wheat, and nuts produced here were exported.

While several decades ago, retailers were more likely to store extra inventory, in recent years, supply chains have become what many in the industry call “lean.”

“Supply chains are so efficient, they call them ‘just-in-time’ food delivery systems,” explained Robin Currey, the director of sustainable food systems at Prescott College. This is possible because retailers track buyer behavior over time and order just what they need when they need it. “The models are extraordinarily well-developed … because nobody wants to be losing money [on food waste or storage],” she said.

Before the pandemic, those models accounted for shoppers buying roughly the same portion of food they ate every week—the remainder was eaten outside the home. So, when people were told to stock up and stay home, demand spiked, and that lean system wasn’t stocked with extra inventory.

“We’re making decisions about [food] purchases today that are going to be consumed over a longer period of time,” said Michigan State University agricultural economist Aleks Schaefer during the first in a series of weekly Zoom presentations about how the coronavirus is impacting the supply chain. Schaefer said he saw current shortages at supermarkets as “short-run disruptions that over time will be ironed out.”

Photo by Daniel Kopatsch/Getty Images

Asparagus harvested during the coronavirus crisis

Coronavirus and the Supply Chain

“As the virus spreads and cases mount, and measures tighten to curb the spread of the virus, there are countless ways the food systems at all levels will be tested and strained in the coming weeks and months,” the Food and Agriculture Organization (FAO) of the United Nations declared at the end of March.

Starting at that first step in the chain, the U.S. food supply could first be affected by disruptions in farm labor. Many farms rely on workers who come from Mexico and other countries via temporary agricultural H-2A visas, and while the Trump administration is allowing workers to come in, fewer workers may make the journey, given the situation. Farmworkers are also particularly vulnerable to coronavirus, and outbreaks in the fields could occur.

In meat processing, workers in several states have already contracted COVID-19, causing groups of workers to go into quarantine; others have walked out of meatpacking plants demanding better protections.

On Monday, the CEO of Smithfield — one of nation’s largest suppliers of pork — warned that the virus was pushing the industry “perilously close” to a meat shortage.

“It is impossible to keep our grocery stores stocked if our plants are not running,” Smithfield Foods CEO Kenneth Sullivan told NPR.

So far, Novakovic doesn’t think these impacts will spread industry-wide. But he is concerned that transportation could be affected. “There’s going to be a lot of stress on the transportation system,” he said. The U.S. trucking industry was already confronting a shortage of drivers before the coronavirus. And there have been recent reports of truckers facing fears on the road, as they face shuttered truck stops and changes in demand.

Data from the food flows project also shows that the most “important” counties in terms of sending out and bringing in the most food each year are almost all in California, one of the states hardest hit by COVID-19 so far.

Tessemae’s is a Maryland-based company that makes organic salad dressings, condiments, and salad kits sold at national retailers like Target and Walmart. Co-founder and CEO Greg Vetter said he was initially concerned because the produce the company uses for its salad kits comes from Monterey County, California, which issued a “shelter in place” order starting on March 18. However, agricultural supply chains have so far been allowed to operate as usual. “Right now, we’re exempt from any of these lockdowns,” he said. “So we’re just going to keep watching this in real time.”

Movement across international borders is likely to be affected in bigger ways, and the FAO noted that it was “already seeing… challenges in terms of the logistics involving the movement of food.”

In many places where travel has been restricted in the U.S., exceptions are largely being made for important food distribution. The closing of the Canadian border, for example, does not apply to commercial traffic, which Novakovic said recognizes that “we’ve got pretty integrated supply chains going in both directions.”

At Baldor, Walker said he has started to see disruptions in imports, especially from heavily affected places like Italy and France. While there is a significant amount of imported food already stocked in the U.S., depending on when trade and production return to normal, he said, “you’re going to start to see the domestic stock of European imports vanish.”

“While we might have the food supply available, will we have the workers to get it to us?”

Still, that does not necessarily translate to an overall food shortage, Novakovic emphasized. “If you can’t get Brie cheese from France or olive oil from Greece, nobody in the U.S. is going to go hungry,” he said.

And yet shifting supply chains to move food normally destined for restaurants and other institutions to retail locations is a bigger challenge than it sounds.

At Baldor, Walker said the core challenge has been quickly setting up accounts with retailers. “We’ve been trying to onboard hundreds of new customers,” he said. On the day we spoke, his drivers delivered to 150 Acme supermarkets, a chain based in New Jersey, New York, and Pennsylvania.

Other companies set up to sell to both food service and retail customers, such as Organic Valley, are taking a similar tack. The company’s structure, a cooperative of 1,800 dairy farms, means it already has a network of small, domestic producers spread out across the country. But chief revenue officer Staci Kring said in a statement that the company was working to adapt to the shift. “Where we have the flexibility, we are redirecting production from food service to retail to fill the increase in demand,” she said.

Another challenge Walker noted was that retailers have different produce preferences than restaurants. Grocery store shoppers only want about 50 popular items out of the 3,000 items Baldor usually distributes, so farmers who grow produce such as microgreens and purple garlic for chefs are likely to be more affected than onion and tomato growers.

Once distribution networks do shift more to grocery stores, labor at those stores presents a final challenge. “Some of the stock-outs and slowdowns in grocery check-out lines are because employees are staying at home and practicing social distancing,” Purdue University food and agricultural economist Jayson Lusk said in a recent blog post. “This problem is likely to grow if more people become ill. So, while we might have the food supply available, will we have the workers to get it to us?”

Trader Joe’s has already had to temporarily close stores in New York City after workers tested positive for coronavirus, although it’s one of several grocery stores that are implementing preventative measures, like reducing hours to give staff time to stock shelves while limiting exposure to customers.

“In many locations, we’ve adjusted our hours to allow our store teams time to rest a little, clean, and get new products in and on the shelves for our customers,” Kroger’s CEO Rodney McMullen said in a video posted to the national grocery chain’s coronavirus information page.

Supermarkets are also hiring more workers: Safeway, a national grocery chain, announced it has 2,000 open positions to fill, while Amazon announced it would hire an additional 100,000 workers to handle increased delivery demand (a significant portion of which is likely due to a spike in online grocery orders). Like many things, whether the companies will be able to fill those jobs at a time when social distancing is encouraged is a big unknown.

Will Food Distribution Become More Localized?

Will the disruptions to these long food chains prompt more people to buy food directly from local producers? Maybe.

“I’m in the midst of writing an op-ed right now about this being the moment for local food systems to shine,” Malone said during the Michigan State University presentation. He’s not the only one. Kathleen Finlay, president of the New York-based food and farming organization Glynwood, recently made that argument in The Boston Globe, and many articles have chronicled a rise in demand for local food.

Prescott College’s Currey said that the COVID-19 crisis has called new attention to food security, and that some of the benefits of localized food distribution are on display. For instance, relationships between farmers and customers that enable direct distribution far from crowded grocery stores. Small, direct-market farmers are also not locked into contracts with big buyers, so they can be more nimble and change what they grow and how they get food to people more quickly.

On a basic level, “the longer and the more complicated something is, the more things can go wrong,” Currey said.

But different kinds of crises can illuminate the risks and opportunities of different systems of distribution, she added. A hurricane that wipes out crops in Florida, for example, would highlight the benefit of being able to get food from far away shipped in. “Longer supply chains can enhance our resiliency when we have localized disasters,” Currey explained.

Her hope is that “increased awareness about some of the vulnerabilities in our food supply” will lead to deeper consideration of how to build domestic and regional food security, and where balancing that with imports and exports really makes sense.

In the meantime, the supply chain will continue adjusting on the fly. “I get a recap from our head of supply chain at the end of each day. It’s ‘What’s going to happen next?’” Tessemae’s Vetter said. “Every single day is something new.”

• Food Distribution 101: What Happens When the Food Supply Is Interrupted by a Pandemic [Civil Eats]

from Eater - All https://ift.tt/2VBfn4D https://ift.tt/2K6BfQa

A worker unloads a fruit and vegetable truck in the UK before the pandemic | Daniel Leal-Olivas/AFP via Getty Images

Coronavirus is exposing the gaps in a complex food distribution system that’s seeing farmers dump excess product while food banks report shortages

This story originally appeared on Civil Eats.

“It’s like Armageddon, but we’ll get through it,” Benjamin Walker explained over the phone in mid-March. That day, sales at Baldor — the New York-based food distribution company where Walker is the vice president of sales and marketing — had dropped by 85 percent.

With 90 percent of its business focused on food service, Baldor’s 400 trucks are typically loaded with specialty produce, meats, and baked goods bound for restaurants, hotels, schools, and stadiums in New York City, Boston, and Washington, D.C. In other words, its food goes to all of the institutions that have been shut down by the coronavirus pandemic.

“The shimmer of hope for us is the 10 percent of retail [sales we were already doing],” Walker said. “That’s really the only food channel operating at the moment, and that supply chain has been maxed out.” Over the last months, Walker and his team have been acting quickly to onboard new accounts and reroute those trucks.

As shoppers across the country have stockpiled food in anticipation of weeks or months of eating at home, there has been significant panic at the sight of empty shelves in grocery stores. Experts and food-industry groups have jumped in to assure the public, in various publications, that the American food supply was strong and those shelves do not reflect shortages. Instead, they were said to be a reflection of behind-the-scenes adjustments that need to be made by manufacturers, distributors, and retailers to keep up with where people are eating.

In the last few weeks, however, it has also become clear that the workers we rely on to harvest, process, stock, and deliver all this food are vulnerable to coronavirus — which means we will likely begin to see gaps in the production system itself.

We’re also seeing large disparities where farmers, without their usual foodservice markets, are being forced to dump milk, eggs, and produce — even while there is an urgent, unprecedented need at food banks. And while there are efforts underway to address the gap between production and distribution, in between are many questions about how our food supply and distribution systems are set up — or not — to respond to disruption.

For now, what we know is that the country is in the midst of a rapid shift in terms of the kinds of foods that will get to shelves and how they get there — as well as shifts in who is available to work, how those workers are kept safe, and new restrictions on movement between countries (and sometimes, cities). With all this in mind, now is the time to understand what U.S. food distribution, under the best of circumstances, looks like.

Photo by ARIANA DREHSLER/AFP via Getty Images

Organic tangerines and boxes sit out at Stehly Farms Organics in Valley Center, California

Food Distribution 101

Farmers produce food in all 50 states, but agricultural production is concentrated in California and the Midwest. Some states have built robust local and regional food systems in which food is sold directly to residents at nearby farmers’ markets, restaurants, and CSA subscriptions, but the vast majority of food leaves farms and enters a complicated, interconnected web of transport and processing.

Andrew Novakovic, a Cornell University agricultural economist, said that the beginning of the supply chain is pretty uniform, but once food leaves the farm, “that’s where you start to get some divergence.” Some foods that are sold fresh are moved almost directly through packaging to a grocery store, while others are processed into different products.

Dairy is a good example of variability in supply chain length. The shortest is for milk, which is highly perishable. It’s bottled and pasteurized and then trucked directly to a retailer or moved quickly through a distribution center before being shipped to grocery stores or food service customers.

Cheese is a different story. That milk might be processed into mozzarella in a factory, which is then used by various companies to turn it into blocks or packages of shredded cheese. Or maybe the milk goes to a factory where it’s processed into powdered cheese, which might then be sent elsewhere to a processor making boxed macaroni and cheese, as one ingredient in the assembly line. “Every [food] has a little bit different detail, but the fundamental story is farm to processor, processing in one or multiple locations, maybe there’s storage involved, and then ultimately it gets to a food manufacturer or retailer,” Novakovic said.

Those pathways, however, are rarely simple nor linear. In 2019, a research team at the University of Illinois gathered data on how food moves between counties and then developed maps that illustrated those “food flows.” The research showed 9.5 million “links” between counties. “For example, the map shows how a shipment of corn starts at a farm in Illinois, travels to a grain elevator in Iowa before heading to a feedlot in Kansas, and then travels in [the form of] animal products to grocery stores in Chicago,” the lead researcher explained late last year.

Then there are imports and exports. According to Economic Research Service data, in 2018, U.S. agricultural imports totaled $129 billion, with more than half of that total in “horticultural products” like fruits, vegetables, nuts, and wine. While those foods were coming in, even more food was being shipped out, with exports totaling $140 billion. In 2018, Canada, China, and Mexico received the most food from the U.S.; more than 50 percent of the rice, wheat, and nuts produced here were exported.

While several decades ago, retailers were more likely to store extra inventory, in recent years, supply chains have become what many in the industry call “lean.”

“Supply chains are so efficient, they call them ‘just-in-time’ food delivery systems,” explained Robin Currey, the director of sustainable food systems at Prescott College. This is possible because retailers track buyer behavior over time and order just what they need when they need it. “The models are extraordinarily well-developed … because nobody wants to be losing money [on food waste or storage],” she said.

Before the pandemic, those models accounted for shoppers buying roughly the same portion of food they ate every week—the remainder was eaten outside the home. So, when people were told to stock up and stay home, demand spiked, and that lean system wasn’t stocked with extra inventory.

“We’re making decisions about [food] purchases today that are going to be consumed over a longer period of time,” said Michigan State University agricultural economist Aleks Schaefer during the first in a series of weekly Zoom presentations about how the coronavirus is impacting the supply chain. Schaefer said he saw current shortages at supermarkets as “short-run disruptions that over time will be ironed out.”

Photo by Daniel Kopatsch/Getty Images

Asparagus harvested during the coronavirus crisis

Coronavirus and the Supply Chain

“As the virus spreads and cases mount, and measures tighten to curb the spread of the virus, there are countless ways the food systems at all levels will be tested and strained in the coming weeks and months,” the Food and Agriculture Organization (FAO) of the United Nations declared at the end of March.

Starting at that first step in the chain, the U.S. food supply could first be affected by disruptions in farm labor. Many farms rely on workers who come from Mexico and other countries via temporary agricultural H-2A visas, and while the Trump administration is allowing workers to come in, fewer workers may make the journey, given the situation. Farmworkers are also particularly vulnerable to coronavirus, and outbreaks in the fields could occur.

In meat processing, workers in several states have already contracted COVID-19, causing groups of workers to go into quarantine; others have walked out of meatpacking plants demanding better protections.

On Monday, the CEO of Smithfield — one of nation’s largest suppliers of pork — warned that the virus was pushing the industry “perilously close” to a meat shortage.

“It is impossible to keep our grocery stores stocked if our plants are not running,” Smithfield Foods CEO Kenneth Sullivan told NPR.

So far, Novakovic doesn’t think these impacts will spread industry-wide. But he is concerned that transportation could be affected. “There’s going to be a lot of stress on the transportation system,” he said. The U.S. trucking industry was already confronting a shortage of drivers before the coronavirus. And there have been recent reports of truckers facing fears on the road, as they face shuttered truck stops and changes in demand.

Data from the food flows project also shows that the most “important” counties in terms of sending out and bringing in the most food each year are almost all in California, one of the states hardest hit by COVID-19 so far.

Tessemae’s is a Maryland-based company that makes organic salad dressings, condiments, and salad kits sold at national retailers like Target and Walmart. Co-founder and CEO Greg Vetter said he was initially concerned because the produce the company uses for its salad kits comes from Monterey County, California, which issued a “shelter in place” order starting on March 18. However, agricultural supply chains have so far been allowed to operate as usual. “Right now, we’re exempt from any of these lockdowns,” he said. “So we’re just going to keep watching this in real time.”

Movement across international borders is likely to be affected in bigger ways, and the FAO noted that it was “already seeing… challenges in terms of the logistics involving the movement of food.”

In many places where travel has been restricted in the U.S., exceptions are largely being made for important food distribution. The closing of the Canadian border, for example, does not apply to commercial traffic, which Novakovic said recognizes that “we’ve got pretty integrated supply chains going in both directions.”

At Baldor, Walker said he has started to see disruptions in imports, especially from heavily affected places like Italy and France. While there is a significant amount of imported food already stocked in the U.S., depending on when trade and production return to normal, he said, “you’re going to start to see the domestic stock of European imports vanish.”

“While we might have the food supply available, will we have the workers to get it to us?”

Still, that does not necessarily translate to an overall food shortage, Novakovic emphasized. “If you can’t get Brie cheese from France or olive oil from Greece, nobody in the U.S. is going to go hungry,” he said.

And yet shifting supply chains to move food normally destined for restaurants and other institutions to retail locations is a bigger challenge than it sounds.

At Baldor, Walker said the core challenge has been quickly setting up accounts with retailers. “We’ve been trying to onboard hundreds of new customers,” he said. On the day we spoke, his drivers delivered to 150 Acme supermarkets, a chain based in New Jersey, New York, and Pennsylvania.

Other companies set up to sell to both food service and retail customers, such as Organic Valley, are taking a similar tack. The company’s structure, a cooperative of 1,800 dairy farms, means it already has a network of small, domestic producers spread out across the country. But chief revenue officer Staci Kring said in a statement that the company was working to adapt to the shift. “Where we have the flexibility, we are redirecting production from food service to retail to fill the increase in demand,” she said.

Another challenge Walker noted was that retailers have different produce preferences than restaurants. Grocery store shoppers only want about 50 popular items out of the 3,000 items Baldor usually distributes, so farmers who grow produce such as microgreens and purple garlic for chefs are likely to be more affected than onion and tomato growers.

Once distribution networks do shift more to grocery stores, labor at those stores presents a final challenge. “Some of the stock-outs and slowdowns in grocery check-out lines are because employees are staying at home and practicing social distancing,” Purdue University food and agricultural economist Jayson Lusk said in a recent blog post. “This problem is likely to grow if more people become ill. So, while we might have the food supply available, will we have the workers to get it to us?”

Trader Joe’s has already had to temporarily close stores in New York City after workers tested positive for coronavirus, although it’s one of several grocery stores that are implementing preventative measures, like reducing hours to give staff time to stock shelves while limiting exposure to customers.

“In many locations, we’ve adjusted our hours to allow our store teams time to rest a little, clean, and get new products in and on the shelves for our customers,” Kroger’s CEO Rodney McMullen said in a video posted to the national grocery chain’s coronavirus information page.

Supermarkets are also hiring more workers: Safeway, a national grocery chain, announced it has 2,000 open positions to fill, while Amazon announced it would hire an additional 100,000 workers to handle increased delivery demand (a significant portion of which is likely due to a spike in online grocery orders). Like many things, whether the companies will be able to fill those jobs at a time when social distancing is encouraged is a big unknown.

Will Food Distribution Become More Localized?

Will the disruptions to these long food chains prompt more people to buy food directly from local producers? Maybe.

“I’m in the midst of writing an op-ed right now about this being the moment for local food systems to shine,” Malone said during the Michigan State University presentation. He’s not the only one. Kathleen Finlay, president of the New York-based food and farming organization Glynwood, recently made that argument in The Boston Globe, and many articles have chronicled a rise in demand for local food.

Prescott College’s Currey said that the COVID-19 crisis has called new attention to food security, and that some of the benefits of localized food distribution are on display. For instance, relationships between farmers and customers that enable direct distribution far from crowded grocery stores. Small, direct-market farmers are also not locked into contracts with big buyers, so they can be more nimble and change what they grow and how they get food to people more quickly.

On a basic level, “the longer and the more complicated something is, the more things can go wrong,” Currey said.

But different kinds of crises can illuminate the risks and opportunities of different systems of distribution, she added. A hurricane that wipes out crops in Florida, for example, would highlight the benefit of being able to get food from far away shipped in. “Longer supply chains can enhance our resiliency when we have localized disasters,” Currey explained.

Her hope is that “increased awareness about some of the vulnerabilities in our food supply” will lead to deeper consideration of how to build domestic and regional food security, and where balancing that with imports and exports really makes sense.

In the meantime, the supply chain will continue adjusting on the fly. “I get a recap from our head of supply chain at the end of each day. It’s ‘What’s going to happen next?’” Tessemae’s Vetter said. “Every single day is something new.”

• Food Distribution 101: What Happens When the Food Supply Is Interrupted by a Pandemic [Civil Eats]

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#Blogger #cooking #Eater #food #recipes

[agoodflyting]

The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

A small thing for the Single Dad/Hot Teacher AU Winter rolls around, bringing slush and runny noses.

Rey catches a cold the first week of December and stays home from school, eating canned soup and grilled cheese sandwiches and watching Mythbusters on Netflix. For three days, Ben’s Google search history is a string of desperate inquiries:

difference between cold and flu is throwing up normal with a cold flu symptoms how long does the flu last diseases similar to flu symptoms of anthrax is it anthrax or flu how much tylenol safe for kids 100 degree fever when to take kids to the hospital fever

She sleeps on the couch, a sad, sniffly little burrito in her favorite Wonder Woman blanket, and he calls out of work to bring her juice and rub circles on her back with his palm, like he used to see her mom do when she was a baby. When her throat hurts and she whimpers because she can’t sleep, Ben honest-to-god cries. He’s never felt so useless in his life.

The second day, Rey’s teacher texts Ben to ask how she’s doing.

The December snow is thin, not good for much more than coating the sidewalks in a thin layer of white that’s quickly trampled dirty brown. It’s a shame- Ben remembers winters when he was a kid being a lot more impressive. He has vague, probably exaggerated memories of giant snowmen and building ice forts in his backyard with his dad.

The local kids manage to have some fun with it anyway, scraping snow off ledges and fences around the apartment complex to fling at each other. In the mornings he bundles Rey off in her hat and scarf. The early morning frost turns her nose and cheeks pink as she walks to school with a neighbor kid, a boy named Finn who lived in the next building and had recently lost one of his front teeth.

“That’s so cool!” Rey squeals when Finn holds it up in one glove, beaming a gap-toothed grin.

After school, Ben waits outside the playground doors so that he can walk home with Rey. He sticks out like a sore thumb in the pack of stay-at-home moms waiting for their kids outside the school. On top of being a fucking giant, he’s the only guy there. The first few days he kept half-expecting one of them to call the cops on him.

Now they just ignore him, flashing wary smiles before going back to comparing snack-time recipes off Pinterest and swapping pregnancy stories like some of the guys he used to know in prison did scar stories.

Some of the shit he accidentally overhears makes him want to cringe in horror. He’d butted in once, unable to contain a horrified, “That can happen?” and they’d giggled at him in a way that made him feel like he was back in high school and had just embarrassed himself in front of the popular girls.

When Rey’s mother was pregnant she’d still lived at home with her parents. It was her mom, and to a lesser degree Leia, who’d done all that pregnancy stuff with her. Ultrasounds and doctor visits. He’d tried going shopping for baby clothes with her a couple of times, but somehow it always managed to end in a stupid fight. Like every other fucking thing they did together.

The week Rey was due he’d run off in his dad’s old van, overwhelmed with fear at the responsibility of it all, desperate to escape what felt like the end of his life. By the time his dad and his uncle finally tracked him down and dragged him back, Rey was already home from the hospital.

“You’re the one who got yourself into this mess, kid.” He can still feel his dad’s hand heavy on his shoulder, marching him up to the door like he was a kid who’d just broken the neighbor’s window. At the time, it had felt like a death sentence.

On the last day of school before winter break, 3:30 hits and he waits, hands fisted in his coat pockets and breath frosting the air, while kids trickle out. They’re all wrapped up in their puffy winter jackets, the kindergartners looking like little marshmallows with legs. A sea of colorful bobble hats stampede around his knees as their moms herd them off.

“They have parts on the back called the stabilizers and they can fly this- look- this close-” He hears Rey before he sees her, gushing about her new favorite thing this week, the Blue Angels. They’d watched a couple of videos on YouTube after he told her how his grandpa and his uncle both used to fly with them, and she’d been hooked.

“Really? That sounds very dangerous.”

Ever since The Incident, Mr. Hux had taken to walking her out of the school building most days. Today, in concession- or maybe it’s in surrender- to the holidays, he’s decked out in a pastel green shirt and a festive tie.

Ben crosses his arms as Hux steers Rey straight to him.

“Time for the prisoner transfer,” Ben says, setting a serious look on his face. Rey rolls her eyes at him, but he’s rewarded when her teacher huffs a little laugh.

“She’s your responsibility for the next two weeks,” Hux says, matching his tone.

“I’ll rough her up if there are any problems.” Ben ruffles Rey’s hair with one large hand.

“Hey!” she yelps.

Hux laughs, and Ben is suddenly aware, with a low sinking in his stomach, that this is the last time he’ll see him until after New Years. Somehow, he’s kinda gotten used to exchanging hellos every afternoon.

“So Hux, you have any big plans for the holidays?”

“Christmas. Family. The usual.”

“Wow, don’t sound too excited,” Ben deadpans, then inwardly cringes. That’s the kind of tacky shit his dad would say.

“Is anyone our age excited to spend a week with their parents?” Hux replies mildly, and Ben can take a hint when he quickly changes the subject. “What about you two? This is your  first Christmas together, I believe.”

There had been a couple of holidays when Rey was a baby, before he got arrested. The three of them together like a real family. They usually ended in shouting, and anyway Rey’s too young to remember them. He doesn’t count those. “Yeah, first one. Uh...” he says, “Probably food and presents. Normal family stuff.”

It’s still weird to say, but something about it makes him want to smile. Family stuff. Their family.

“We have a tree!” Rey interrupts with a little bounce. The yarn ball on top of her hat gives an excited wobble.

“I’m glad,” Hux says. He never used that fake ‘adults talking to little kids’ voice. It was something Ben liked about him. “Christmas isn’t the same without a tree.”

“It’s tiny. I think it’s a midget. But it’s really green and it smells like Christmas.”

Ben tries not to laugh and fails. “Rey...”

It was a dinky thing, one of those dwarf trees from the 24-hour grocery store, but it was real and Rey was crazy about it. She’d never had a tree that wasn’t made out of plastic before.

“This is going to be so better than last year!” She’d babbled, bouncing around the cart holding their tiny tree as he pushed it out of the store. “We didn’t even have a tree last year because mom forgot to get one, even though I reminded her like every day. All we had was Oscar’s stupid ugly wreath made out of beer cans. We didn’t even have lights.”

Ben had decided then that next year he was going to start saving up earlier and they’d go to one of those tree farms and he’d let her pick out the biggest one they could find.

“Have you decorated it yet?”

“Yeah! Show the pictures!” Rey latches on to Ben’s arm, clinging and letting her feet dangle. She’s small for her age, and skinny. It’s no trouble to lift her with one arm. “Pictuuuures,” she whines.

“She took about ten thousand pictures of this sad little Charlie Brown tree with my phone,” Ben says to Hux, apologetic.

“I’d love to see them.”

“Really?”

“Of course.”

Somehow Ben ends up standing beside Hux, holding out his phone, with Rey crammed warm in between them while she swipes through Christmas tree pictures, offering little comments on each one. Hux actually seems interested in it, asking Rey questions and huddling closer to Ben for warmth. Hux isn’t wearing a jacket. Ben can feel the way he’s holding himself stiff against the chill.

Ben shifts to the side so that he can shield them both from the worst of the cold breeze when the wind picks up.

“Alright munchkin, we gotta go,” he says finally, “Mister Hux is going to freeze.”

“Okay, bye, mister Hux!” Rey beams. “Have a good Christmas!”

“You too, Rey.”

“Bye, Armitage.” He didn’t mean it to sound teasing. It still felt weird to call the teacher by his first name. Ben tended to ration it, like a secret treat.

“Ben,” Hux nods in return.

“Hey, nice tie, by the way,” he calls back they turn to leave. Okay, that one he meant to be teasing. The thing was red and green and covered in bright cartoon Christmas trees. Glittery ones. Ben’s pretty sure he saw that tie for sale at Walmart.

“Thank you,” Hux’s jaw is stiff. He looks like he is trying very hard not to either sigh or roll his eyes. It’s the look of defeat. “My class got it for me.”

#kylux au #hot dad ben solo

[meetmefireside]

escape. 3.

Washington - Skykomish River

After our day in Anacortes, I was royally freaking out about how cold I was going to be white water rafting. We woke up extra early, and after a futile attempt to locate wool socks at Walmart, went to Cabellas and had a field day. We bought water proof pull overs and wool jackets, and dropped $20 on some dang wool socks. I was FREAKED OUT, bro. I was having flashbacks to the time I did a 5k in the middle of January in Atlanta, and the water in the tissues of my butt literally FROZE. My behind was like a block of ice and it took hours to de-thaw. I know I’m dramatic, but DANG.

We arrived early in Gold Bar after a scenic drive from Everett. As soon as we parked, a long haired guy approached our car to sign us in for the trip. We asked about the jackets and the socks, noticing people were walking around in shorts and tank tops, and the air was noticeably warmer than Everett. He told us it likely wasn’t necessary, and the only person on their morning raft trip to get cold “was this super skinny girl, man, I mean like super skinny.”

After being outfitted in neoprene wet suits, we decided to forgo the jacket and socks. Wondering how we would be able to take water with us for the trip, I went up to the guy who had greeted us.

Me: Can we bring a water bottle? Guy: Well, since you asked so nicely with that southern accent, I guess I’ll make an exception for you guys. Me: I’ve noticed since we’ve been here that Washington people are super direct? Guy: Yeah, we’re passive aggressive. It’s a problem. It’s nice to hear someone be nice for a change. (We ended up leaving the water bottle on the bus. Whoops.)

When I say bus, I mean a classic yellow school bus. I was sitting on the hump thing, and I was so claustrophobic. How did I used to ride these in band? We unintentionally got some selfie pics of the Asian lady behind us who was looking at our camera suspiciously, but here is one of the pics before she sat down. There were some European guys in front of us attempting to flirt with the girls who were with them, and they kept getting shut down. I know this is random and stream of consciousness, but it’s helping me recreate a mental picture for myself.

When we arrived at Skykomish River, we walked down to the bank, and listened to one of the guides go through safety procedures. We learned that if you fall off of a raft, you should not wave your hands around, as this means you are in serious danger, and they will be super upset. Patting your helmet means that you are okay with no serious injuries. They split us into groups, and two large groups lamented about how they had to be split up. We ended up with one of the split groups. 

I was kind of annoyed when the group ignored my desire to have Corey (who was wearing the GoPro) sit at the front of the raft. Things happen for a reason, though. Corey sat at the back with our sarcastic guide, who was noticeably less laid back than the other guides on the other rafts. I actually preferred this as I was quietly entertained as he got increasingly annoyed with the people in our group who were not paying attention to his instruction.

He was quiet serious when we came up on Boulder Drop, the most difficult part of the course. We were the second or third raft to make it through, so we watched several other rafts, and some intermittent kayakers, make their way down. We watched one raft (with a different company) get stuck. I enjoyed listening to his elitist commentary. He admitted he was proud of us after one of the girls in our group basically coerced him into saying so. This same girl also got her finger stuck in her helmet at one point, and I found this out after she asked I'm for a Band-Aid. 

For the entire course, we could see locals who live on the Skykomish playing in the river. We saw multiple dogs, which was great for me. At Boulder Drop in particular, a drone was flying over us. The people who were controlling it came down to the river for a chat with our guide. The woman who came down was asking about the rafting company and was pretty elitist about her white water rafting skills. I found this, now understandably classical, passive aggressive conversation pretty entertaining. I could talk to Washingtonians all day.

One guy fell out of a raft while coming down boulder drop, and we were the raft to rescue him. He was a middle aged man, and he was happy as a clam. He kept yelling “I feel like the lucky one!” as he floated through the water while Hal was like “OK, OK GUYS THIS IS PRETTY SERIOUS.” We were pretty exciting to be the rescuers, to be honest. When we pulled him into the raft, he was sprawled out at the front yelling about how great of a time he had just had. We eventually returned him to his raft and continued on down the river.

We asked Hal to tell us his worse rafting story. He said he had taken a group of boy scouts once (not with the same company or course), and they did okay at first, but eventually started trying to throw each other out of the raft. It got so bad at one point that they wiped out on a piece of the course because they weren’t listening, and half of them were bleeding from falling out and throwing each other out. I would definitely say dealing with the talkative group we were with who ignored him at points much to his consternation, and the guy at the front of the raft who took Corey’s spot and kept rowing OPPOSITE to his commands, was less stressful than that experience.

We learned all about our guides who are self-proclaimed river men and all about “beer currency.” Hal lives out of a tent full time, until winter comes, and he picks up seasonal work at a ski resort. He showed us a rock that he keeps with him for each time he rafts this course. It is from the peak of one of the North Cascade mountains. He pointed the mountain out to us, and said that from that point, you can see the entire course, and he keeps it on him as a good luck charm. It was interesting to listen to him talk, and it made me consider camping. For a minute.

The Go Pro is wonderful, but the wide view really doesn’t do the scenery justice. The North Cascades majestically towered above us. The warmth of the sun with coldness of the water splashing us was refreshing. I wasn’t freezing like I had feared. The wet suit definitely helped. I was cracking up to myself at the women in bikinis who were dipping in the cold water like it was nothing while my wimpy self was having an existential crisis over wool socks just hours before.

I really love being on water. It’s an extra step to efficiently see an untouched area. This is going to sound lame and quixotic, but I could have floated down that river forever. I have trouble remembering times where I am happier than when I am on water. My favorite thing is to get into the water. It’s like you finally become a part of the earth. It makes me feel so connected and at peace.

When Hal told us we could get out of the raft, I asked him three times if he was serious, because I was more than ready to jump in. 

Clarity. Peace. Brilliance. Words to describe how I felt flee me. To lay back in the cold water, protected by the warm wet suit and the baking sun. Beneath the North Cascades. One with the Earth. At the mercy of the river. 

Elation. Corey joined me.

We floated for several minutes. There was a moment where I laid back and closed my eyes. I flee to this moment in the recesses of my mind. I want to relive it over and over and over and over.

After my moments of peace, I decided to goof off to troll Corey and make him laugh because I can never resist the opportunity.

I started panicking a little as rocks began to poke and prod me. Fearing I’d get stuck on a rock and ran over by a raft, I asked for a quick rescue. I love the photo below. I think it perfectly captures how I felt while I was in the water. I felt so at peace. Surrendered to the mercy of the world, yet preserved by it.

As we moved down the river, we saw some deer feeding near the bank. We saw a bald eagle’s nest in the trees. Their nests can weigh a ton and be as large as a compact car. Below is a GoPro pick. It’s hard to see, but it’s there.

I enjoyed listening to other guides troll the more serious Hal as we made it down the river. He was not at all entertained. I was all of the entertained for him. He was a super nice guy, though. He gave us great suggestions on what to do for the rest of our time in Washington.

As we neared the end of our time on the river, I felt sadness that it was over. I am thankful for the experience. I would love to do it over again on a kayak. This was my first time white water rafting, and I know I will be trying to find more opportunities to do it again as we travel other places.

#escape #skykomish #washington #travel #white water rafting #gold bar #north cascades

[omega-al]

Error and The Scribe

Over one hundred and fifty years ago ‘She’ came out of the dust. She came with an army of robots, carving a bloody trail through the wastes, until she came to us. We were a small non-violent tribe of scavengers, hiding in a valley that was nearly completely desolated by drought and famine. Maybe she was tired of all the death, maybe she fell in love, but for whatever reason she didn’t kill us. Instead she came to live among us. She taught us how to use the bots, not as war machines, but as tools. She showed us how to use tech and how to build it. We kept the sacred knowledge and learned how to repair the land. Over time we modded ourselves to better interact with our robot companions and turned our small valley into a lush oasis. Eventually every child born was fitted with implants and we became something more than human. We became technomancers. We lived a good life in our hidden valley in the barren wastes of the Midwest, but our savior was only human and no amount of tech upgrades could keep her with us, she died at the age of one-hundred and thirty four. Succeeded by her eleven grandchildren, the founders of our tribe.

After her death the founders were conflicted, some wanted to venture out into the world, take what we had learned to the wastes and try to do some good. But others who recalled stories of a time when we lived out there, warned of the tragedy rejoining the world of man would bring. They argued for weeks about what to do and in the end, some would go and some would stay. Those that stayed were going to make sure no one ever found them, they hid themselves away from the world and cloaked the entire valley from both visual and satellite awareness. When my family left our valley, they watched it get swallowed up by a sandstorm, one that still rages today and appears in random places in the wastes. No one has ever been able to find their way home after that, not in the fifty years since we left our paradise.

It wasn’t easy for the people that left. My grandparents were among the twenty or so families that left trying to save the world and find hidden knowledge. At first they would go to the small towns and respites of man and try to help people, they would offer medical supplies and try to teach others how to heal the land. They would be worshiped at first as saviors, welcomed with open arms, praised for their obvious superiority, but eventually ‘these people’ would get it in their heads that they’d be better off making the decisions, and then they would try to take what we had for themselves. A lot of our tribe died, a lot of our sacred tech was lost. My people had to decide whether or not helping man was worth what they could do with the help given.

Again our people were faced with a choice that further split us from each other. Some left right away, trying to find home in the vast deserts of middle america, others stayed true to our purpose, but over the years and hardship of a scavengers life many eventually fell away.

So many just gave up and walked off into the dunes, my mother was one of them. My father and a few other families were all that was left of our once mighty and righteous goal, a goal that was becoming more and more polluted by dogma and superstition with every day of struggle trying to survive in this harsh unforgiving land. My father was a kind of religious leader, he made a lot of the decisions for the tribe too. He had me indoctrinated into Technofaith by the time I was six and I was a full-fledged Scribe by the time I was eleven. That year I shed my human name, and became Scribe. That was the same year we found Error.

We were in the ruins of El Paso when we were ambushed by some feral raiders, ghoul-like humans so starved and brutalized by the environment they had reverted to a more animalistic pack-like mentality. We were sleeping in a burnt out Walmart, long since pillaged for all it’s goods but still shelter enough from the windstorms, when they crept up on us, surely drawn by our fire.

My father and I were discussing my mother again, he blamed me for her leaving, said she was afraid to see me die. But I heard them argue that night, she wanted to go looking for the homeland and when he refused, she told him if he didn’t go with her then and now, she would be gone by morning, and she was. Just like that she walked out into the night and whatever cruel fate would find her. I remember hating her for years, hating her for leaving me. But I think now I understand why she did.

We were so caught up in our argument we didn’t even here our perimeter sensors going wild with warning. It wasn’t until I heard the long drawn out laughter of one of the beasts that we even knew they were there. Suddenly six, no ten of them were upon us. Most of what was left of our small group were asleep and immediately butchered.

When they were cut down entire parts of our oral tradition were lost, I saw both my friends and our rich history dying in front of me. It had become our practise to only have parts of our great tech knowledge taught to each person in the tribe, and data that person had learned over the course of their life was saved locally, only downloaded to the collective knowledge after death. That way if one of us was captured for knowledge, the captors would only ever have part of the puzzle, but I think my father thought it would keep us together longer, binding us in tradition and blood. We needed each other to save each other.

As I watched them die, I knew man could not be saved. Their brutality would kill all that was good in the world.

My father was fighting them back, five at a time, all four robo-arms flailing wildly from his back, scorpion-like daggers stabbing deep into his attackers. I didn’t have his upgrades yet but I knew how to work the bots. I found my rigger and spiced control of my fallen friends bots into my one headset.

I want to make this clear, no one should ever do this. The human mind, even with upgrades should not be able to control more than three bots independently. It’s too much, it overheats the brain, fries your connections, messes you up. But I had no choice, everyone was dying around me, my father was losing against a near endless army of monsters that seemed to just keep coming back, barely wounded by the razor sharp robo-blades. When I took control I sensed eight bots fully functional on the network and four semi functional turrets. I set the turrets to auto and yelled at my father to run. I sent the bots after the onslaught that chased him, I jumped from bot to bot seeing through their eyes, their arms were my arms, then ran when I wanted them to. I felt the strength of twelve robots, I felt the raw power they had to tear these invaders limb from limb, I held the monsters down and punched them with robot arms until they were pulp, I fired laser cannons and mowed them down, I cut them in half with diabolical robot arms. I discovered all the ancient weapons systems we had been told to avoid using at all costs. These things weren’t meant to be tools, no, they were weapons, terrifying weapons that could turn a man to smoking cinder.

In the end it was silent, only the low hum of the bots, my father’s exhausted grunts, and the sound of a crackling fire. When I disconnected I could smell burning flesh, and my nose was bleeding. I passed out immediately and awoke to my father shaking me. A few others had survived, but were severely hurt. He checked my vitals gave me some water, then walked off to help the others without saying a word. I left the group to go scout our escape route out of El Paso, my father yelling at me to stay on the coms, we would be leaving as soon as the tech could be collected from the dead. I waved him off and went to go find somewhere to throw up.

I was gagging up a can of creamed corn when I heard a gasp and saw something moving in the corner of my eye. I pretended not to notice the small dark figure watching me as I cleaned up my face and drank some of the water. As I chugged it I heard the gasp again, I let some of the water spill from my mouth and onto the ground, and when I did a little black hand reached out from the shadows and then retreated quickly back, not making a sound. I began pouring the water onto the ground, wasting it blatantly. That did it, as it drained a small naked child about six years old came running out of the shadows towards me and the water, and began lapping it off the ground and trying to catch it in it’s mouth. I gave it the bottle and moved away to give it space to drink. I could see now that she was a tiny malnourished girl of anywhere from four to eight years old. Her hair was matted and she was filthy. Her lips were cracked and she looked like she had never known a good meal and a warm bed. I began talking to her while I got out a ration and started eating it. She was uninterested in me until I pulled out the food, then she came over and plunked herself down next to me, pointing at her mouth. I gave her the food and she skittered back off to a safe distance to eat.

I kept talking.

I told her my name, I told her who I was and where I came from the entire time she was just chewing on a slab of dried meat, but she never stopped looking into my eyes. She seemed feral, lost and starving, but something in those eyes told me she understood me. She still had some language skills under all the animalistic fear. That’s when my father messaged me and told me to return to camp, we were rolling out in ten. I told her I had to go now, that I was going somewhere with more food and water and if she wanted, she could come with me. At first she just stared at the space where I was as I walked off, not certain what to do about the offer she had been given, but eventually she followed me nervously in the shadows.

My father was wary, but philanthropic in a religious zealotry kind of way, he needed to save her and much as she needed to be saved. Especially after all that death.

We named her named Error, on account of her not being expected and taught her our way. I hated her after a few short years. She was always in my way, always trying to ‘help’. She followed me everywhere and stole all the best parts for her robots. She was annoying and easily over-excited. She didn’t have a lot of tech and no implants to interface with machines so she learned how to use them in other ways. After a few years, she was programming them to do new things, she was scavenging old tech and finding new ways to use it to improve the bots. My father loved her in a way, but he always looked at her with a kind of disappointment, I think he thought she could never be as great as she could’ve been had she been with us from birth. She could never really meet her potential because she couldn’t interface with the bots like we could. So even though she tried harder than any of us to be a technomancer and win his love and adoration she always fell short. Maybe that’s why I hated her, she tried too hard, and she was better at it than me.

After a few years of travelling together our hardships had been many and the tribe was more fractured than it had ever been, people were losing faith the more faithful and wild my father’s beliefs became. He gets it in his head one day that Error is meant to lead us back to the homeland, that she is some sort of prophet. Grateful for his attention, she begins to search the data banks of any technological society still standing, she searches records and histories looking for some sign of where our people could have gone to. She finds traces of them in their deeds across the land, but no one seems to know where they disappear to when then go back into the dunes. There are tales of people arriving in storms, some bringing aid, others bringing war and destruction. She pins it all out on a map and a great journey is planned, a pilgrimage to the home land, which she is certain she has found.  For seven long years we searched for it. We scoured the wastes, people died, our purpose seemed lost, we seemed lost. And with every failure my father became more and more insane.

One day I came home from scouting and the shelter was locked down, I had to hack into the locks to get in and when I did I found out why. My father had decided to do some surgery on Error. When I found him he was covered in her blood trying to attach some tech to her brain directly. She was out cold but still breathing, barely breathing.  He was mad, he was a butcher, he had no idea what he was doing and he was killing her. I had to stop him but he fought back. He was raving and screaming about how she was the one, the savior, but she needed the hands of god. His hands.

I killed him. I shot him through the face and as he lay dying I held my sister, the last of our tribe slowly fading away. She woke up at that moment and pointed to a helmet she had been tinkering with the last few years. She told me to put it on my head and jam the four spikes attached to it by colourful wires into her exposed brain. She could barely speak, but I understood. She was going to come stay with me for a bit. I downloaded Error into my brain.

Now some might argue that she died that day, and that I am just carrying a construct of a fifteen year old girl around in my head, but she feels real to me and she has gotten me out of more than just a few scrapes.

It’s just us now, she is still certain she knows how to find our lost paradise, so we go, we follow all the strings, go to all the places on her map, Follow all the stories of magical robots or cyborg saviors, we search for lost tech and try to find other like us out there.

She still thinks we’ll find them one day.

#earth then #stories from the future #dustbowl #technomancer #cyberpunk #rigger #sisters #stories #cyborgs #robots #technogods #ghosts #alive inside

[antekpki]

After a few years of just looking at the pictures of it. I finally had a chance to visit the mountain. Even though it’s located in East Java, the same state that I live in, I couldn’t visit it yet because I felt that I needed more experience and knowledge about hiking before I can go there. The mountain is located in Kalibaru. Some of you have probably guessed it right already. Yes, it is Mount Raung, the mountain with the most extreme.. track in Java, I guess? Well, that’s what people say, but it involves rappelling, the thing that I thought was used in every hike when I was a child. You could say that 2018 was hectic when it comes to hiking. I went hiking more than 10 times including the mountains I’ve visited before. I could go hiking two times in a month. For a student who studies a lot like me (jokes), that’s a lot.

Okay, so, my friends and I talked about hiking this mountain right after I just came down from Mt. Argopuro, the longest hike in Java, approximately 40 kilometers and across two cities. We were so tired after coming out of the forest, literally forest with tall trees and really small space. I don’t know what the hell were we thinking. One of my friend even cried during our hike to Argopuro because he was totally exhausted. But hey, I literally had no hesitation when talking about Raung. We were so tired and still haven’t packed things up properly and already talked about our next hike. Crazy? Maybe. After spending five days at Mt. Argopuro where I met almost nobody and only saw either green or brown (trees and dirt), I was glad to see humans again (other than my friends, of course). I totally felt like an actual human being when I started talking with the locals, haha. But really though, it felt like I was away for so long. No signals, no internet, and social media. But there’s that pleasure when you’ve been away for social media for a while. I opened my Instagram and caught up to my friends who posted things for the past 4-5 days but there was no surprise at all. The same shit, just different day. None of them were interesting to me.

Enough about Argopuro, let’s start talking about Raung. So, to hike this mountain I have to go to Kalibaru first. It’s located in Banyuwangi, and luckily there is a train station there that’s close enough to the mountain’s basecamp. Oh, by the way, this is the cleanest mountain I’ve ever been to. I didn’t find any vandalized signs and there was no rubbish! I went to the train station in Malang in the afternoon and arrived in Kalibaru at night, not too late, though. Some of my friends went to the nearest Walmart to buy some nuggets and other things they needed. I went straight to the basecamp using ojek, some kind of Uber with a motorbike. 

Just so you know, this hike was different, I went with a senior from my high school this time. He’s more experienced than my friends and I. He went to Semeru a couple of times, and also went to Rinjani three years ago. Other than that, I forgot. But I do know he’s far more experienced. He’s also a rappelling specialist and a certified diver. At the basecamp, I met a friend of my senior who already went to Raung a couple of times. I found out way more amazing things about him after I arrived back in Malang. He is a Java 3000er, which means he has finished every mountain in Java that’s as high as 3000masl or higher. I assume he’s hiked the ones under 3000s too. 

The hike started at around 9 a.m. Later than our expectations. I still had no hesitation at all. No negative thinking. Surely not because I went with two people who were experts. But I don’t know why. It was raining and we stayed for a while at a local’s house that was famous for their coffee. They served us coffee for free even though they sell coffee beans. The coffee tasted so good and so I planned to buy a few packs after I came down from the top. We started hiking using raincoat because the rain wouldn’t stop. And the rain kept on pouring until the seventh campground where we decided to build our tent. Usually, people would camp at the 4th ground on their first day, but we decided to go straight to the seventh on our first. Damn, it felt so difficult though. My senior’s friend was like an animal. He couldn’t stop. He probably wouldn’t stop if it wasn’t for us. My friends and I stopped a lot of times for a rest. Our legs were hurting and all that. There was almost no flat ground except for the campgrounds. It was always going up and some of them were really narrow and steep. I had to use ropes at one point too because of the rain and steepness. I met a hiker from New Zealand right before I arrived at the 7th campground. And as usual, they were quick.

After building the tent at the 7th campground, we changed our clothes and hung the wet ones on the trees using ropes. We didn’t even think about having dinner. I don’t know why I didn’t feel as tired as before though. My friends were so exhausted, he was about to collapse, for real! I ate snacks before going to sleep. The others went to sleep straight away. 

We woke up at around 4 a.m, and you know what always happens. We were too lazy to get up. It felt so warm and comfortable inside the tent. The 7th campground didn’t have as many trees as other campgrounds, so I could hear and feel the wind shaking the tent. But then I had to get up after I realize we had a lot to prepare. My senior and his friend woke up earlier than all of us. I heard the Kiwis were chatting so loudly with the locals who went up with them as a guide.

This is where the real hiking begins. The way to the most extreme and narrow path in Java. We continued our hike at around 5 a.m with no breakfast. I only had a fanny pack with me with chocolate and honey inside it. My friends had a little sort of trail running backpack with them, They had bread, fruit, chocolate, and water. It was kind of dark when we started. This time it was different. Even though it was as steep as yesterday, the view was way better. There were Javanese Edelweiss on my left and right. It pleased my eyes and I felt glad looking at them too. We stopped for a while to have breakfast under the shady trees. We had just biscuits and water as if we couldn’t be bothered to have breakfast. There were 9 camps in total before reaching the first peak. There are four peaks if you started from Kalibaru. Bendera, 17, Tusuk Gigi, and the last one: Sejati.

After reaching Bendera Peak, there were no trees and almost no plants around. I could only see Edelweiss and a sort of Vaccinium in this barren grounds as if they were the only species strong enough to survive. The rest were rocks, gravel, and some dirt. The sand that I saw was different too! It looked like it came out of the volcano/crater, not some kind of ordinary sand you’d see down the mountains. I started putting on my rappelling gear including my helmet. My senior prepared the rope to use for later. And because there were no trees, the view was beautiful. I could clearly see the path that I have to go through to reach Sejati Peak. Yes, it was scary. I would say that death was just around the corner waiting for me. I had to be careful for real this time.

We started walking and I felt really happy I finally stepped my foot on this mountain. You have no idea how happy I was! It felt scary when I looked at it for the first time, but I got used to it after a few minutes. It just depends on how you look at things, you know. Sometimes the deadliest and the most dangerous things are beautiful. This place is surely a hidden gem and I thought of this before even reaching the peak. The hike continues past the 17 Peak and the narrowest path of all. People called this “Siratal Mustaqim”. I could see why. The wind was strong and if I slipped just a little then it’s game over for sure. But I had no hesitations at all. I just kept walking as fast as usual. I wonder why I didn’t fear to fall at that time. I didn’t have any motivations. 

After about an hour, I reached the peak: Sejati Peak. The most beautiful peak I’ve ever seen. I met the two NZ hikers with a local guide. They were making videos using drones. Sejati Peak looks a lot better in here than the photos of it on Instagram. I don’t even know what to write to describe what I saw and how I felt. It was more than amazing. The crater that is wider than Ijen, the smoke coming out of it, the little hill inside the crater. The sign that said “Sejati Peak, Kalibaru”. I was so happy to actually see it! The clouds were beautiful too. When I reached the peak, the wind wasn’t as strong as before. It was calm. 

Sejati Peak is the only place where I refused to look at my watch. Everything was perfect. I felt true freedom.

#freedom

[watercolorjen]

This year The Philadelphia Flower show is doing something new. They are holding a photo contest. I heard about this contest last summer through my nephew who works for the Flower Show. Knowing how much I love to shoot photographs of my flowers, Andrew thought I would be interested in entering.

After he sent me the link to the contest and I entered six of my photographs in three of the six categories.  Knowing that the judging and notification of finalists was around the same time I would be on a Panama Canal cruise with a friend of mine, I decided to get prints made of all the photos I entered. Although there was no fee to enter, it was up to finalists to mount each selected photograph on black foam core, trim it to size and then mail it to the contest coordinator by Feb. 25th. I though I had a slim chance of having any of my photos selected but, just in case, I would be prepared if I was pleasantly surprised.

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When I returned home to PA on Feb 4th, I spent a couple of days deleting emails. While at this task one afternoon I received a text from Andrew

“Congratulations! You made the cut for category 195-Avant-Garde at the Flower show.”

I did? Wow!

Turns out I had accidentally deleted the notification emails. I went back and scoured through my trash bin and found all 3. Two were rejections but sure enough, there was one –

“Hello Jennifer Congratulations!”

This is where Gremlins took over what should have been a relativity easy process and turned it into an absolute fiasco.  I’m talking about the Gremlin that ate after midnight, and got wet. Not the cute fuzzy Gremlins.

I quickly opened the email and I was crestfallen. Wouldn’t you know the one photo that was accepted was also the only print  that looked terrible. Either I provided Shutterfly with a crappy file or they printed it badly. In any case, I had to have this photo reprinted and rushed to me so I could get it mailed out by the deadline stated in the email of February 15th! This didn’t leave me much time.

For 12 years or so I was a certified picture framer. I even had my own shop at one point. So I have a shops-worth of framing supplies and equipment in my basement. While I waited for the rush delivery of my accepted photograph, I rooted around in my boxes of mat boards hoping to find a piece of black foam core. Wouldn’t you know  I have several sheets of white foam core and hundreds of mat boards but no black foam core.  Luckily, my local Walmart had some black foam core and spray adhesive.

I was nervous unwrapping the photograph when it arrived, fearful that it would look dull and out of focus like the first copy. If that were the case I wouldn’t be able to send it. I would have to withdraw. But no, it looked great! I got it flattened out and ready to mount.

While looking for the foam core in my studio, I too was searching for my heavy metal utility knife. It was one that had belonged to my dad and I had used it for years. I couldn’t find it anywhere. But my husband & I keep a yellow plastic one in the kitchen that we use for opening packages.  I believe the blade in this knife had never been changed. It wouldn’t cut butter let alone trim this photograph so I replaced the blade.

And, I promptly poked my finger.Blood was everywhere!

I wrapped my finger in a paper towel while I trimmed the mounted photo. Luckily no blood got on my picture, but the yellow cover of the utility knife looked like it had been lifted from a crime scene!

Off to the post office I went, finger now wrapped in a band-aid. As I drove into the parking lot, I couldn’t believe my eyes. It was packed with cars. I swear it looked like 3 days before Christmas and everyone in town had forgotten to mail their packages! Once inside the tiny room, I found a line of about 10 people. I busied myself finding an envelope big enough for the photo and I finished taping the cardboard around my photograph. After about twenty minutes, it was my turn.

“This has to arrive by Friday 15th. ”

“Not a problem”.

I included a self-addressed stamped envelope, sealed up the whole package and finally breathed a sigh of relief when my photo was among the huge stack of mail collecting behind the counter.

Friday night I’m watching TV and decide to check my email. I see an email from the contest coordinator:

Jennifer,  I received your beautiful photograph today and unfortunately two corners are badly bent! Can you please reprint, matte and send to me again ASAP! Unfortunately I can not pass this for the show. Your deadline to have to me is no later than Feb 22! If you can not make this happen I will need to know ASAP so I can let the alternate know.

Thank you and I’m so sorry. Next time please use a much thicker, cardboard material to support the photo in shipping.

Sally

  Oh no! This is Friday the 15th. I am supposed to leave for Florida on Wednesday the 20th. Panic sets in. Can I get a new photo printed, shipped to me, mounted and mailed to her in a week? Shutterfly was giving me a guaranteed delver date of Feb. 20th. It could work but I would have to have the supplies on hand when I arrived in the evening and rush the picture to the post office the next day mailing it next-day-air. I could do it but I would need help.

I called my husband and asked him, if needed, could he could go to the Walmart near us in Florida and get a piece of black foam core. ”

Yeah, no problem. Just let me know. I can go tomorrow.”

I also sent a text to my sister & brother-in-law asking if there was any place around here that could print the photo while I wait? No sense having to pay for rushed delivery if I can take care of this locally.

Turns out our local FedEx does do printing! They do what’s called-Personal Prints up to 8×10 and they also do Poster Sized prints starting at 16×20.

Seriously?

I bet you can’t guess what size my photo needed to be.

Right, 11×14. And, they don’t offer 11×14.

Back to the Shutterfly rushed delivery option.

My sister in law suggested I have the print sent to her, she would mount it and get it mailed for me. I thought about it for a minute and decided it’s too stressful a task for someone who has never spray-mounted before. Also, that utility blade does like to draw blood. I declined that offer and, afraid I was going to lose the guaranteed delivery from Shutterfly of Feb.20,  I quickly placed a super-rush delivery with Shutterfly and I decided to go with my original plan of having the print sent to Florida. I could do the work when I arrived.

Gremlins don’t like getting wet and my plan was beginning to feel like a wash out.

Monday the 18th was Presidents Day & there is no mail. Does Shutterfly use regular USPS, UPS or FedEx to deliver? couldn’t remember. Did their guaranteed delivery take this holiday into account?

A giant snow storm is forecast for Wednesday. Of course it is. It always snows when I go to Florida in the winter. it doesn’t matter what day I decide to fly down, it’s going to snow and I’m going to have to reschedule my flight.

I kept a close eye on the tracking of my Shutterfly order and the weather forecast. Both were dismal. Shutterfly’s guaranteed delivery of Feb. 20th was changed to Feb. 20-21st.

No, no, no. This is no good. There is no way I can get my mounted picture delivered to the contest coordinator by the 22nd if I don’t receive it by the 20th.

The snow storm forecast went from bad –

‘Snow and ice from Tuesday 19th through 20th’

to, hey wait this might work

‘Snow starting Wednesday night through Thursday’

to I’m doomed and probably won’t be leaving Wednesday after all-

‘Snow staring early Wednesday 6-8 inches with ice in the afternoon’

Oh great. Plan B. Marcus isn’t going to like plan B.

Turns out Shutterfly uses UPS and delivered my photo on Monday 18th. Really? I wish I had known they were going to be able to deliver it early. I could have mounted it and and mailed it out in plenty of time. No need to worry about snow or Plan B.

Plan B, as it turns out didn’t work out as expected.

On Valentines day Marcus calls me from Walmart to tell me they only have white foam core.

“Really, oh ……! OK, OK, you will have to find a Michael’s or a frame shop and get a piece from there. ”

I texted him the addresses of Michael’s stores near us in Florida. Turns out there are three pretty close by our apartment. He got two pieces ‘Just in case” also was able to get new utility knife and some sturdy cardboard. Yay!

When I saw that the photo would be delivered on Monday the 18th I suggested he go ahead and mount it and get it in the mail.

“I may not make it down in time because of the snow.”

Always the optimist, “Na, you’ll be okay, I’ll wait.”

Today Feb. the 19th, I called Marcus telling him it’s looking more and more like i’m not going anywhere on Wednesday. There is already a ‘No fee for rescheduling canceled flights’ notice on Jet Blue’s website and no snow is falling…yet.  Anyway, I walked him through how to spray mount a photograph and trim it. I suggested he do a practice magazine cover or something to get the feel for it and call me back. He agreed to give it a go.

“I can’t get the page to stick.”

That’s weird.

“You may not have used enough spray stuff. Try again while I have you on the phone.” he put me on speaker phone.

I hear the spray can over the phone and then he says “It stuck that time. I think I used too much, there is a sticky puddle outside the photo.”

“Try another page and don’t hold the can so close. 3-4 inches away should be fine.”

This worked fine.

“My fingers are full of glue.”

“You can get that off with alcohol or acetone.”

“Okay that worked but I’m afraid I’m going to get fingerprints all over your photograph.”

“You’ll be fine. You just washed your hands in alcohol. There’s no oil left to leave prints.”

Now I suggested he try trimming the foam core to get the feel of it.

“I don’t want to cut these out because I’ll get glue all over the ruler. then when I trim the photo, it will get glue all over it.”

I suggested he do a practice cut on the extra piece of foam core that doesn’t have any glue on it yet. I could hear him through the phone grunting and groaning as he tried. It didn’t sound like it was going well at all.

“Marcus, come here. Stop. You’re too nervous and getting too worked up. Something will go wrong because you are too worried about messing it up. Take the photograph and the black foam core back to Michael’s and ask them to dry mount it for you while you wait.”

“They can do this?”

“Yes. they do it all the time.”

“What if they mess it up? You only ordered one copy. What happens if they mess it up?”

“How about we don’t create another problem before we have to? If that happens, then I email the coordinator telling her Michael’s ruined the photo & I will not be able to send my photo. I’ll be screwed. but, this isn’t going to happen. Relax.”

I’m happy to report that Michael’s broke the Gremlin’s spell over this endeavor.  My photo is mounted, trimmed and wrapped in heavy cardboard. The gal even adhered the required information on the back of the photograph. It’s ready to go into the mail and will arrive by Friday.

This free submission contest has cost me somewhere in the neighborhood of $100 so far. I wonder how much rushed delivery costs?

I’m not saying I’d like to go through all of this stress again. This hasn’t been fun. But somehow it’s worth all of this to have my photograph among the other finalists in the Philadelphia Flower Show! Maybe it will win a ribbon!

If you go, send me a photograph of the display. Unfortunately, after all of this, I won’t be able to make the show this year. When I finally do get out of town after the snow, I will be testing out my new camera on a much anticipated Galapagos Island trip!

[email protected]

(https://www.facebook.com/jennifer.wheatleywolf)

Enjoy the show! Get your tickets here

“Your Entry Has Been Accepted!” or ‘What can go wrong will go wrong’ This year The Philadelphia Flower show is doing something new. They are holding a photo contest. I heard about this contest last summer through my nephew who works for the Flower Show.

[letterstochristopher]

Letters to Chris. April 19th. Day 11.

Hey Buddy,

Dad got home this evening with all your stuff. It’s hard to explain the emotions as I walked down the driveway to the trailer. Fear. Anxiety. Heartache. But also I was so ready to see your things. Things you held. Things you hung up on your walls and wore and slept with. Things that were YOURS. I quickly found your cowboy hat we bought you in South Dakota that you are wearing in one of my favorite childhood photos. The one of you in the cul de sac pretending to be a cowboy, getting ready to draw your fake gun. That’s coming with me.

I never thought I’d find myself looking for a dirty shirt of yours to wear. Ever. But that’s exactly what I did tonight. I just need a shirt that smells like you. What’s weird is everything smells like Febreze. I learned how you had quite the love affair with it (Katrina told me story of how you ran to Walmart for some groceries, and came out with a steak, two packages of Oreos, regular for you and double-stuffed for her, and Febreze. That’s probably the most Chris thing I’ve ever heard. PS…who doesn’t like Double-stuffed Oreos??). I found a few shirts to cuddle with out of your hamper: a camouflage henley, a flannel American Eagle shirt I gave you for Christmas one year (I was so damn happy to see you were still wearing it. Did you think of me whenever you put it on?), your Army PT shirt and a random green tshirt that was on top. I put on the green one for bed and didn’t pay attention to what was on the front until I looked into the bathroom mirror. Big letters across the front say “IRELAND 01.” I’ve been telling Clay since April 9th I thought you would like some ashes released in Ireland, where you always wanted to go since your father was Irish. But I wasn’t 100% sure, so yesterday I asked you to let me know. I believe this is your answer. So I’m taking you to Ireland with me, Little Bro. Mom saw the shirt and she smiled-she had given it to you on your birthday when you were home last month. And apparently you’re wearing it in a pic a friend of yours posted on Facebook. You have a ton of clothes. I think it’s pretty neat that I was able to find the one I gave you and this Ireland one. Even if they do all smell like Febreze and not you.

I’m also cuddling with your firefighter blanket right now. It’s absolutely massive and, from what I hear, one of your favorites. I’ll be sleeping with it, your shirts, your ACU cap that still has your name velcroed on it (so grateful the National Guard allowed us to keep your caps), your stuffed toy puppy you’ve had since childhood and your Coca Cola jacket you wore for work. There’s so much more down there. Dad was able to bring home most of your stuff (just some furniture that couldn’t fit was donated to a local church). I wanted to bring up entire boxes of things to surround myself with in bed. But I know Mom would have a really hard time with that. Before Dad got home, we had the following conversation:

Mom: “Hey, Jenn. I know when your dad gets home, you’re going to want to go through all of Chris’ stuff and take things. But I need you to know that I’m going to need organization. I just will. I can’t just go through his things and not have any order.”

Me: “But I’m going to want to keep some things.”

Mom: “I know. And you will. But I’m just telling you because I know it’s going to be hard for you not to tear through stuff. There are things I need to do. I want to wash his clothes for him. You kids always washed your own clothes, but I never minded doing it. It’s always been a way for me to take care of you all. I want to be able to wash your brother’s clothes. It’ll make me feel like I’m taking care of him.”

And then she started sobbing again, and Nikea and I wrapped our arms around her. She just seems so tiny now. I’m trying to make sure she’s eating. Mom’s always been good about taking care of herself. But she has lost weight, and I worry about her. I know the toll this is all taking on me, and I’m younger. She’s lost so many people, been through so much in her life. She’s a survivor. I know this, but i also know how awful grief and cortisol is on the body. I just need her and Dad to be okay. And obviously Nikea. But Nikea’s always been so tough, has always been more stoic than me. She’s so strong, and doesn’t cry in front of people often; she just has more control. She’s always mostly been a mad crier (the only times she’d cry when we were little is when we’d piss her off). But I’ve seen it a few times since I’ve been home, once because of something I wrote in here about you not being at her wedding. She walked into the dining room where I was sitting and said how she hadn’t even thought about her wedding next year. She’s been so focused on how to get through each day it hadn’t dawned on her that you wouldn’t be there. That realization hit her hard. 

And Dad. He’s the most stoic of us all. But I could tell the last four days have especially worn him down. No father should have to pack up his son’s apartment for this reason. As I was poking through your things (don’t tell Mom), he came down to make his rum and diet. “I told your mother I don’t normally drink this late. But tonight felt like a good night to make an exception.” I was grateful to have the company. I missed his strong quiet presence. We talked about you, obviously. About his trip, and all the incredible people who offered to lend helping hands. Your landlord cleaned up your apartment, boxed most of your stuff up and had it all stacked neatly waiting for Dad. Dad said this saved him an entire day’s worth of work. Your landlord also cleaned so Dad wouldn’t have to see reminders of Saturday night. I’m not sure what all he did, but I do know he removed your couch like I said before. That thought still makes me sick (honestly, I’m so surprised I haven’t been physically ill; I’ve been nauseous and dizzy so many times). Then your old supervisor’s wife came to help Dad load up the truck. Did you know your old Coca Cola buddies had a get-together for you? Of course Dad came, and they all shared stories about you. Mom and I called in and Dad put us on speakerphone, and I tried to thank them for everything. I couldn’t get the words out. I hate how I can’t control it. I’ll have to ask Dad what they talked about.

In your stuff, we also found your Harry Potter poster. The Half-Blood Prince. I remember it hanging it your room when you lived at home. Hey remember when Dad would read you Harry Potter before bedtime? You actually discovered Harry Potter before me. I watched it at Mom’s house in Nebraska one night…taking a chance on a movie I’d never seen before in 2002. I instantly fell in love and told you about it. That’s when you informed me there were four books out, and you were reading them. I was so excited. I remember reading to you on the bottom bunk of your bed one night, and trying to do the English accents. I remember like it was yesterday. It was fifth book, The Order of the Phoenix, and it was the part with the boggart and Mrs. Weasley. Remember, when Harry walked in on her trying to get rid of it and it kept transforming into her family’s dead bodies because she was so terrified of losing her loved ones? That’s fucking ironic. But regardless, I love that memory. My attempts at the English accents were I’m sure awful. You didn’t say anything until I asked, but you admitted you preferred I read without them. I was so disappointed. And hey, do you remember when you told me Sirius Black died before I finished Order of the Phoenix? I was so so mad at you.

The one thing I can’t stand is your gun being here. THE gun. The police released everything to Dad…your phone, your wallet, the glock…everything sealed neatly in evidence bags. Dad said he didn’t want to make any hasty decisions so took everything they gave him. I wonder if the clothes you were wearing are here, too. I doubt they would have given Dad those, actually. For obvious reasons. (I got so scared while unloading your couch pillows. I was praying I wouldn’t see anything on them…but then I saw a big sticky stain. I looked closer-I just had to. But I think it was food. Thank Jesus). But the gun. I hate it. I fucking hate it. That gun killed my baby brother. It took you away from us forever. Dad said that it wasn’t the glock that did it. It was you. And while know he’s right, I still hate it. Maybe if you didn’t have guns you would have tried another way. But then maybe they would have gotten to you in time. Or maybe you would have suffered. I guess it doesn’t matter. What’s done is done. You’re gone.

I talked to our real mom today (I always hate saying that-we have two real moms, but you know what I mean). She had left a message while I was sleeping, and she sounded so damn sad it scared me. I mean, I know she’s going to be sad. But now I’m so afraid for anyone who is battling depression, whether chronic or situational. She said she has been reading up on Reactive Attachment Disorder because of my first post, and I could just tell she was blaming herself. I called her back, and Mom and Nikea came into the room and we all talked on speakerphone. It was so good to speak with her. She was reminiscing about how you were such a sweet and sensitive little boy. I remember. And I know she, like me, wants nothing more than to go back, hold that little boy close and tell him everything will be okay. Back when you were CJ, wore your humongous glasses and loved to be read to every night. She has the biggest heart, and loves us all so much. I know you loved her, too. Guilt is a horrible thing, and you can beg someone to forgive themselves until you’re blue in the face, but ultimately it’s up to them. I just hope and pray she can realize that she, like you, is so worthy of love. That has always been our biggest struggle…yours, hers and mine. I also talked to Grandpa Ward and briefly to Jeanie. Grandpa was your biggest cheerleader. It was wonderful to hear his voice. I haven’t talked with him in so long. It’s crazy how time gets away from you, and before you realize it two years have passed since you spoke with someone. I promised him that would never happen again. If I’ve learned anything from you, it’s to value every second my loved ones spend on this earth. How easy is it for us to take each other’s presence for granted.  I am determined to make sure I have no more regrets when it comes to the people I love. I can’t go through this again.

On Saturday, Mom and Dad are driving up to Mexico to tell Bethany what happened. Even though she’s mentally handicapped, she understands the concept of death. Mom is scared she may hurt herself if she knows the whole story, so said she may just say you had cancer. I mean, you basically did. Mental illness eats away at you just like cancer, slowly killing you. So yeah. It works. I’m trying to decide if I can go with them, or if I should go to Sedalia and visit Grandma, Grandpa, Sue, Sayre and Sayre’s new baby. I haven’t seen Bethany since Christmas, but it’s going to be awful telling her our brother died. I don’t know what to do. I dread how she’s going to obsess over what happened. It’s been years, and she still brings up our dog, Toby, dying. I just know she’s going to keep signing “CJ died. CJ died. CJ died.” And I’ll tell her to stop, but she won’t. She just won’t understand that we won’t want to constantly talk about how you’re gone. I’ll just have to be patient, and understand she doesn’t want to hurt anyone by bringing it up nonstop. I just have such a low frustration tolerance right now.

I’m still angry with you. I don’t know when that’s going to go away. I know it’s a stage of grief, and I’m assuming it’s more pronounced in this kind of situation. I’ve been reading how suicide survivors experience an extreme number of difficult emotions trying to make sense of their loved one’s actions. The book I’m reading now is helping shed light on it. But there’s not a lot out there on this. It’s a difficult subject to talk about. Who wants to discuss suicide? But it HAS to be talked about. People always talk about breast cancer. They have fundraisers for it. What about what killed you and thousands upon thousands of others every year? Why doesn’t society talk more about that? What happens to the families after. What they feel. The devastation. The confusion and anger. The guilt. It’s eating me up inside. The unrelenting brutal heartache of knowing you were sitting at home thinking about things that tore you apart. The constant questioning. I keep telling myself you weren’t miserable all the time. You had moments of happiness. But it wasn’t enough.

Do you know what’s really cool, though? We’ve had several of your friends reach out. I just want to hug all of them. They loved you and miss you, and I don’t know if they realize how much they help with their sweet words about you. Man, you were loved. Did you know? But now I’m asking myself if you really loved ME. You didn’t talk to me about so many things. You would say you were struggling, but wouldn’t give me specifics. In every text that I said “I love you,” you didn’t repeat it. I just can’t stop wondering now. Did you love me? Did you?? I know I had forgotten your birthday…I was so focused on trying to solve what was going on with my health, all the while trying to find jobs and move out of our friends’ basement, that I literally have been battling my own fears and major depression this past year. I don’t forget birthdays. And yours AND Dad’s slipped my mind. That’s never happened before. But now I can’t forgive myself. I just can’t. I know that’s not why you did it. But I still hate myself for it. I’m so sorry, Chris. I just need to know that you love me and forgive me. Please.

Love you, Buddy. Now and always. I’m so sorry.

#suicide #grief #grief and loss #griefsupport #suicidesurvivors