#old florida fish house

[labgrownmeat]

if you could reblog this it would be greatly appreciated!!

hi, my name is Leigh and I am a transgender woman who lives in florida. I'm currently trying to move out of this state before they ban my insurance from covering my medication, my healthcare provider from servicing me, or even ban me from performing in public under the drag ban (I'm an independent musician, not that it should matter either way). I am concerned that the recent legislative attacks on transgender people here will continue.

I am trying to move to Chicago where my partner and several friends live but I need help. I am struggling to find work and a place to stay, I have never moved so far before and by myself, so I am kind of feeling like a fish out of water. if anyone might have any helpful information regarding employment and housing it would be appreciated. i have a degree and work experience in several fields, social work for 3.5, assembly, food service, and delivery jobs as well.

if you can even help by donating a little to my moving/living expenses, please consider doing so. I've put my gofundme and venmo below. if you cannot, please consider sharing this post.

venmo: @ hollinndagain

gofundme:

#fundraiser #gofundme #trans rights #florida #chicago #LGBT #idk there are probably other things i could tag #mutual aid

[ww2yaoi]

[here's a little taste of a multi-chapter clegan post-war fic I've been working on. note: I've taken creative liberties with the timeline and John and Gale's post-war lives. it's very much intentional]

Winter 1948

Marjorie Cleven dies on a Tuesday in December, two weeks before Christmas Eve.

John gets the call a few days later. Gale’s voice is steady on the other end of the line, but John knows his heart is broken. It’s the first time they’ve spoken since Marge got sick. After the wedding, there had been some letters exchanged, few and far between, but John has always been a crummy pen pal. There were reunions, but those were annual at most, and John rarely stuck around past a couple of drinks and a war story or two. When they got back stateside in ‘45, he thought the distance would be good for Gale, thought it would help put their past far behind them.

Now, in hindsight, it seems futile. John feels it all rushing back, like VE Day was just yesterday and Gale’s boots are still underneath his bed.

It’s warm in southern Florida. The sun beams down on the tarmac, hot enough to fry an egg on the airfield, sunny-side-up. John watches from the control tower as planes taxi below him. His trainees will be on furlough soon, but he won’t be going home for Christmas this year. Any excuse to maintain the two thousand miles between him and Gale.

It doesn’t last. John should’ve known he could never keep away for long.

Spring 1949

The back of the cab smells like menthol cigarettes and cheap cologne. John drums his fingers against his thigh, feeling suddenly restricted by his uniform now that he’s been let loose in the civilian world. Laramie, Wyoming passes by his window, a cluster of shops and banks and schools on a stretch of agricultural land bisected by historical railways and boxed in by mountains on all sides. The air is thinner here than in Manitowoc, and there are no waterfronts to be found. The terra firma is dusty and brown, the sun a sepia pinprick hanging low in the sky.

The cab weaves through neighbourhoods of modest-looking houses. John had handed the driver the address on a slip of yellowy paper, which Gale had relayed over the phone. John doesn’t know how close they are to his destination, but he can feel his anxiety rising like bile in his throat. He makes nervous conversation, the driver mentioning the geology museum, the fact that the town was named after a French fur trapper who disappeared somewhere in the mountains. It doesn’t do much to calm John’s nerves.

“What brings you to Laramie?” the driver asks, glancing up at the rear-view mirror to get a glimpse of John.

He’s young, probably around Gale’s age. Young enough to have served at least, but he doesn’t comment on John’s uniform. He just peers at him curiously, eyes darting back and forth from the road.

“Visiting an old friend,” John says and tries not to squirm uncomfortably under his gaze. “He goes to school here.”

A moment later, the cab slows to a halt outside of a quaint-looking bungalow. John regards it from his window: white siding, yellow door, slate roof. Rose bushes line the walk-up, not yet blooming, and the grass has recently been mowed.

“Thanks,” John says, fishing a few bills from his pocket and handing them to the driver. “Keep the change.”

The driver smiles at him, close-mouthed, and pops the trunk. John slowly gets out of the car, like he’s trying to delay the inevitable, then fetches his suitcase from the back. He rests it on the sidewalk for a moment while the cab speeds away, looking at the house once more. A gaggle of kids darts down the street on bicycles. A few doors down, a lawnmower springs to life. It’s picturesque, like a postcard Gale might’ve sent him a few years back. John immediately feels out of place, still used to Nissen huts and crowded mess halls and military time. If he wants to turn back, now’s his chance, but he picks up his suitcase from the ground and forces his feet forward, climbing up the porch steps.

He thumbs the doorbell and it chimes. A dog barks gruffly inside the house. John removes his cap from his head and smoothes out his hair. He feels ridiculous, like a socially awkward teenager picking up his sweetheart for prom. His heart is in his throat as the door opens gradually, almost startling as a golden retriever pokes its head through the opening. It squeezes outside and dashes into the yard, yelping happily.

“Archie, get back here!”

John recognizes that voice. The door opens all the way, and suddenly, Gale is standing in front of him. Everything John had thought to say on his way over dies on his tongue. Gale looks practically the same, if not a bit filled out in his middle than he was during the war. His cheeks are smooth and shaven, flaxen hair styled off his forehead in a coif. John could never get used to seeing Gale in civilian clothes, but that’s how he appears in front of him now, crisp, white button-down hanging off his shoulders, navy slacks belted around his waist and brown cap-toe shoes on his feet.

They look at each other for a moment, unspeaking, then a smile splits Gale’s face in two. “Hello stranger,” he says.

“Gale.” John can’t help but return his grin. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

He holds out his hand for Gale to shake it, but Gale takes one look at his outstretched palm and instead, pulls John into a hug. It surprises John, so much so that almost all the air shoots out of his lungs at the contact. Gale’s fingers meld into the muscle of John’s back. It takes John a moment, but he eventually returns the gesture, squeezing Gale gently. They part and Gale turns his attention towards the dog, Archie, who’s taken it upon himself to start digging around in the garden.

Gale whistles. “Come here, boy,” he shouts, clapping his hands, and Archie bounds over.

He pauses to sniff John’s shoes. John crouches down and pats the dog, rubbing his ears, and is instantly reminded of Meatball.

“He’s usually not so ill-behaved,” Gale says. “He gets excited around visitors.”

“I don’t mind,” John replies, smiling down at the dog.

Archie pants, long, pink tongue hanging from his mouth, then he retreats back inside the house. Gale reaches down and picks up John’s suitcase from the porch. John straightens. They look at each other again, a bit too long without words to be comfortable, but John knows they’re both adjusting to being in close proximity again after so long.

“Lead the way,” he says, motioning towards the open front door.

Gale seems to snap out of it. “Of course, come on in.”

John steps inside the foyer and closes the door behind him. The interior is small, but well-decorated and tidy. The ocean blue walls are hung with artwork, the hardwood floors carpeted with rugs. John sets his cap down on a table peppered with framed photographs but doesn’t stop to look at any of them. He follows Gale past the dining room, down a hallway, and through the kitchen to another hallway at the back of the house. Gale opens one of the four doors that line the hall and carries the suitcase inside. John peeks his head into the guest bedroom. A double bed sits against the far wall, night tables on either side of it that host brass lamps with cream shades. On the other end of the room is a cherry wood wardrobe and an armchair to its left, upholstered in a muted green. Above it lies a square window, lace curtains pulled together to drown out the harsh afternoon light. The bedroom is sparse and unlived in, like most guest bedrooms are, but John appreciates it just the same.

“Hopefully this suits you alright,” Gale says, setting the suitcase down beside the bed.

John nods. “Suits me just fine,” he says. “Better than what I have back at base. That’s for sure.”

Gale looks at him. An emotion John can’t exactly pinpoint passes over Gale’s face, something like recognition, bordering on wistfulness.

They return to the kitchen, and Gale beckons John to sit down at a round table in the corner. Archie laps water from a bowl as Gale putters around the kitchen, opening cabinets. He appears tense, but not in his usual stiff, reserved way. His energy is almost jittery, nervous, and he taps a rhythm on the countertop. It’s not like him, at least not like the Gale John knew during the war. He pretends not to notice.

“So, how was your flight?” Gale asks eventually.

“Good,” John says and adjusts his uniform, crossing his legs. “Felt strange not being the one flying the plane.”

“I’ll bet,” Gale replies with a suggestion of a smile. “Do you want something to eat? Some coffee?” He reaches into the cabinet and produces a tin of Foldgers.

“Just coffee, thanks,” John says.

He looks around the kitchen as Gale spoons coffee grounds into the machine. His eyes trace the checkered red wallpaper, the white-tiled backsplash, the laminate countertops, the icebox in the corner. He’s never seen Gale in such a domestic setting, not even during the wedding. Maybe that’s why he stayed away for so long, even when he was invited time and time again. Perhaps he didn’t want to experience Gale so far removed from the world they both inhabited for so many years, a world where the only people they could rely on were their men and each other. Now, there’s no avoiding it. It’s all laid out for John to see.

The coffee maker beeps and steams. Gale rests his elbows against the kitchen counter and looks over in John’s general direction, but doesn’t quite meet his eyes. John doesn’t know what to say to him. He doesn’t know how to fall back into the easy camaraderie they had at the beginning, before the stalag, before the march, before the end of the war. Seeing Gale has ushered back a slew of emotions John has been distancing himself from since they parted ways four years ago. He feels like an intruder in Gale’s home, looking for Marge in the corners of the room but not finding her. Guilt stirs in his stomach, and he asks himself again what the hell he’s doing here. This isn’t his place. This isn’t his life.

“How’s training?” Gale asks. “Are the boys following their orders, Lieutenant Colonel?”

John smirks at that, partly to hide his discomfort. It feels wrong that he should outrank Gale after everything they’ve been through, flight school, then serving together, then imprisonment.

“It’s busy,” John replies and drums his fingers against the table. “They’re good kids. Fucking caterpillars though. So damn young.”

Gale smiles softly. “Were we ever that young?”

“Maybe you were,” John quips. “I feel like my bones have been creaking since before our war even started.”

Gale laughs, and the sound hits John like a fist to his sternum. He realizes suddenly that he’s missed Gale’s laugh so goddamn much. It rings in his ears, out-of-reach and yet familiar, like a favourite song of his he hasn’t heard in years has come on the radio out of the blue. For a brief moment, John regrets denying himself this for so long, even if it was the only way he could get on with his life.

“How’s school?” John asks in turn. “Master’s coming along?”

“Yeah, it’s good,” Gale says, nodding. “I like my classes. Lots of grading, lots of writing, some teaching. I’ve got a meeting on Tuesday with my advisor about my thesis.”

“Well, well, look at that,” John says, the corner of his lips twisting into a grin. “Professor Cleven.”

Gale dips his chin towards his chest, almost shy. “Not just yet, John.”

“You’re getting there,” John says. “Y’know Marge wrote to me about your thesis a year or so back, not that I understood a word. Astrophysics, not exactly my wheelhouse.”

Gale’s face falters imperceptibly at the mention of his late wife’s name, and John immediately feels apologetic for bringing her up without much warning.

“It’s not done yet,” Gale says flatly, his gaze falling from John’s face to look at his interlocked fingers resting on top of the counter. “You can read what I have though if you’d like.”

“Yeah, I might,” John says and grimaces at his own inadeptness while Gale’s eyes are elsewhere.

The coffee maker beeps and Gale goes to it, removing two mugs from the cabinet and setting them down beside it. He takes the sugar out of the cupboard and the cream from the icebox.

John bites the inside of his cheek, knowing what he needs to say but unsure if he has it in him to say it. “Buck?”

Gale’s head snaps up at the sound of the nickname. He regards John with a puzzled look, like he’s no longer used to being called anything other than Gale to his face. The name is a relic from a different time, John supposes, something that belonged to them only, and when John was no longer around to use it, there was no one else around to take up the task.

After a moment, the expression on Gale’s face smoothes out. “What is it, Bucky?”

John swallows, then pushes the words out. “I’m sorry, y’know, that I, uh, I couldn’t make it. To the funeral.”

Gale looks at him for a moment, then his face softens. “It’s alright,” he says. “Marge didn’t much like being the centre of attention anyway.” He pours coffee into the two mugs, then adds sugar to one and cream to the other. “My mother-in-law appreciated the flowers you sent.”

“Oh, good,” John says. “Azaleas were Marge’s favourite, right? I remember them from her wedding bouquet.”

Gale’s eyes grow heavy with sadness. He nods. “Yeah, they were.”

As if on cue, John hears a grumbly cry coming from one of the bedrooms down the hall. It starts off quiet, like a baby stirring from sleep, then gradually gets louder until it becomes a full-blown wail. Archie’s ears perk up before he quickly sulks away.

“Sorry,” Gale says as he grips the coffee with sugar and hands it to John. “I just put her down for her afternoon nap, but she’s in that phase where she’s rebelling against sleep.”

John says nothing, frozen in his seat as Gale crosses the kitchen into the hallway and slips inside the bedroom. John had been so caught up in seeing Gale again that he’d almost forgotten. He stares into the inky well of his coffee, too stunned to drink from it.

Gale emerges a moment later with a bundle in his arms. Now calm, the little girl clings to him, her head tucked into the crook of Gale’s neck as she sucks her thumb into her mouth. She’s wearing cream-coloured footie pyjamas with pink roses on them, her curly blonde hair tangled from sleep. Gale draws circles against her back, rocking her slightly from side-to-side. John regards her carefully. She must be at least a year and a half now, much bigger than she was in the pictures Gale had sent him however long ago.

Gale approaches the table where John is sitting. “Lucy, this is your Uncle Bucky,” he says, pointing over at John. “Can you say hello?”

Lucy turns her head and looks straight at John, and John sees the Marge in her face right away, the slight upturn of her nose, the fullness of her cheeks, the pink purse of her lips, but her eyes are all Gale, blue and round and yawning. She quickly looks away, hiding her face back in her father’s neck.

“Sorry,” Gale says again and rubs her back. “She gets shy around strangers.”

John doesn’t expect it to, but the comment stings. The fact that any child of Gale’s could be a stranger to him is borderline unforgivable.

[To be continued...]

#masters of the air #john egan #gale cleven #clegan #buck x bucky #my fic

[romanarose]

Match made in Heaven

Santiago Garcia x Reader

Summary: The Miller brothers play match maker. Shinanagins ensue.

WANRINGS: Blow job, piv sex, dry humping, choking, spanking, doggy style.

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

When your friend Benny invited you to a cookout with some of his old Delta Force buddies, you could tell he had something up his sleeve, but you had no idea he was trying to set you up. You had no idea that Will was in on it. You had no idea it was with the hottest guy you’d seen in your goddamn life. One single minuet into introductions, it was obvious what they were doing.

“Santi! Fish! C’mere!” Benny loudy called his friends over to where you were walking in to Santi’s house with the Miller brothers. “This is Santiago and Fransico.” Benny introduced before telling them your name. Looking right at Santiago, Benny hyped you up “You’re going to love her, shes hilarious, good head on her shoulders too” Benny patted your back.

Will popped in, explaining what you do for a job, also looking at Santi.

Frankie shook your hand, glancing at Will. Was he on it too?

Santiago extended his hand for you as well. “You can just call me Santi.” His face quipped up in a smile as he eyed a grinning Benjamin. Santi knew what they were doing. 

“Thank you for letting me intrude on your party.” You told him, trying not to stare at his beautiful face. He insisted it wasn’t an intrusion, but you grabbed the dish you had sat at the side table. “I brought this as my atonement.” You hand it to him. The look he gave you, made you feel like you were the only people there, despite the three men watching you.

“T-thank you, that’s so sweet.” He smiles and takes it, bringing it to the table of food.

The party commences, and you corner Benny “What are you doing, Miller?”

Benny threw up his hands in defense, but he could never hide his smile. “I’m not doing anything!” he lied.

You poke his chest. “No, you’re trying to set me up! I told you no blind dates.”

“It’s not a blind date! It’s just… a chance for you to get to know Santi and see where it goes.”

“Ben.” 

Benny’s face soften. “Listen, honestly? He’s a good guy, you're a nice girl, you both deserves something good in your life. And if I’m being really honest? He’s got money, and he’d be a good dad.”

You laugh, smacking him. “Benny! That’s thinking WAY ahead!”

He returns the laugh. “Well I’m not just trying to get you a one night stand! You can do that yourself. Just keep an open mind, okay?

You agreed. Little did you know, a similar conversation was going on across the yard between Santi and Will.

“I told you I’m not looking to date right now, Will”

“I know, but Ben and I think you’d get along!” Will defended.

Santi sighed, knowing his friend had good intentions. “And why is that?”

Will put out a finger for every point. “She’s funny, a great cook, great with kids, she’s pretty, and she's nice, Pope. You need more nice.”

Santi rolled his eyes, but he had to admit, he was rather touched by your gesture with the food. And Will was right. You were pretty. “Fine, I’ll talk to her, but don’t blame me when it ends badly, like everything else.”

“Oh wha wha wha” Will standing walking away. “Sorry, I can’t hear anything above your self pity.”

The night went well. Beyond well. Ben and Will made it a point to compliment your food, Benny loudly moaning whenever he took a bite, and Will insisting Santi try some. When he does, he can’t help but moan like Benny (maybe slightly less dramaticly), the sound sending a wave of heat through you. The party was alcohol free, you’d later learned this was because Frankie was in early stages of recovery and no one wanted to tempt him. Despite this, conversation flowed naturally with all the party goers, but you still found yourself talking to Santi more than anyone. The tension was growing, you hoped to god he felt it too. As the hot Florida summer cooled down, the heat between you only rose. The two of you found yourselves under a blanket together at the fire pit, sitting in his lap. This move was so bold you’d never have done such a thing if the group hadn’t winded down to just Will, Benny, Frankie, you and Santi. No one said a thing, it all felt natural. Benny did wink at you as Will slapped Santi’s back. Frankie didn’t comment when he left, leaving Santi and you alone, but he did smile warmly at his friend.

The door shut, and Santi turned to your smiling. “What are you thinking, beautiful.”

Words escaped you. Fuck, had he been this stunning all night? He was so much fun to talk to, you didn’t get a chance to really take him in. Bit of gray peppered his hairline of thick curls, his jaw was strong and nose prominent. Santiago Garcia was absolutely immaculate. You stepped closer. “What are you thinking?” You difflect.

“I’m thinking…” He pulled you close, taking your mouth in his. It was immediately sultry, his tongue sliding in your mouth, allowing you to suck it before he pulled away. “That I want you take you in that bedroom and do what I’ve been thinking about all night.” He kissed into your neck as his fingers entangled themselves in your hair. “But, we can also watch a movie on the couch and eat more of that delicious food you made.”

Fighting for air, your press your body against Santi’s “I think Ben ate it all already”

“Damn him. Well, there’s plenty of other food. You can stay over, I have a spare bedroom if you don’t feel like sleeping next to stranger, or I can drive you home-”

Your hand slides down to up his ass in those tight jeans. “Santi?” You kiss him.

He groans into your mouth “Yes, Carino?”

“You’re not the smoothest talker. Let’s put that mouth to better use.” You push him against the wall, cupping the erection in his pants. With a few more deep kisses, you bite his lip and slide your body down, getting on your knees. Without further ado, you pull down Santi’s pants, biting your own lip this time as you take a look at his massive cock. “Fuck baby…” You mutter, slowly taking him in your mouth.

With a few pumps in and out, you pull back to spit on your hand, jacking him while you sat back on your knees to look up at him. Santiago Garcia looked at you like you hung the stars in the sky. 

You keep eye contact with him as you take him back in your mouth, his lush lips parting as you take him fully in your mouth. “Jesus christ, fucking hell” An aray of curse words fall from his lips as he watches you, your fist twisting and pumping and you bobbed your head up and down him. Unable to take it, you slip your hand under your skirt and began touching yourself, the soght of which making a whine slip out his mouth. Santiago Garcia, leader of the Delta force, tough as nails, fucking whined for you.  His hand found your hair. He didn’t pull, didn’t force you down him, but he played with your hair, petting your head and he cood praised. “Good girl, taking me so well…” But when you began swirling your tongue on his tip, he pulled you away, kneeling down to kiss you. “Won’t last wit you acting like that”

When the two of you found his bedroom, Santi pushed you down on the soft bed. Hand on your knees he spread you open, your skirt falling to reveal your underwear. He climbs on top of you, kissing you deeply as his hands explore your body, his hard cock rutting into your core. “Fuck, Santi, don’t stop, gonna- oh god” The fire in your stomach was almost unbearable, his dick rubbing your clit just right, and something about feeling how hard you make him… His hands were insaciable, pulling your your top for his mouth to attach to your tits and he squeezed and caressed everywhere he could reach.

“So fucking sexy, god, Benny been keeping you from me too long”

“Mh, mh Santi, please, please, please…” What you were asking for you didn’t know. His mouth latched onto your right breast, while one of his hand pinched the other nipple. His free hand slide up to your throat, gently trancing the neckline, asking for permission. You nodded eagly and he latched on, the oxygen deprivation being what you needed. Which another harsh thrust of his hips over your clothes sex, your orgasm crashed through you as you cried out his name.

He kissed you gently along the next “Let it out, pretty girl, I got you” He coaxed you down from your high, pulling off your underwear and flipping you on your stomach and propping you up your knees, ass in the air. You felt the cool breeze fo the open window on your wet cunt, slick from our orgasm running down your thighs. “So messy, and all for me…” he muttered, pushing your sundress up to your hips so he could caress your ass. Santi put two thick fingers inside you, slowly, tantalizingly as you whimpered. He leaned over to your face on the pillow, taking your mouth in a deep, passionate kiss. “You still want this baby? Because we can stop. Offer to watch TV and eat food is still on the table.”

You grip the pillow, unsure how much longer you can wait. “Santi, please fuck me please? I need you baby” You look in his beautiful brown eyes, interlacing your fingers with his. “Need you” You beg.

Smiling, Santi kisses your lips, check, neck (stopping to suck on that tender spot below your ear), and back of your neck. He pressed deep, open-mouth kisses between your shoulderblades as he presses into you, careful not to hurt you. “Doing so good baby” he coaxes as you cry out. “You can take it, I know you can, sweet thing”

When he was fly sheathed inside you, he allowed you a moment to adjust, but you began moving on him, making him moan out your name.

Face down, ass up, he thrust into you at a violent pace, grunting out praises. “So beautiful” “Fucking perfect” “Feels amazing, baby”

You were unable to talk, the only thing on your mind was Santiago Garcia's cock rearranging your guts and his hot breath on your back. He sat up, pushing you down further into the bed, muffling your cries as he spanked you. Not hard, but enough to get a jolt of electricity through your body. He felt your walls fluttering around him, and watched you white-knuckling it against the sheets of his bed. “You close, Carino?”

You mumbled a yes into the pillow, and Santi grinned. Wrapped a hand around your waist, feeling the skirt you wore against his hand, he rubbed circles around your clit as he gripped your hips with a bruising force. All it took  was a few hard thrusts, and you were screaming into the pillow, sweat settling on your skin. The world around you was fuzzy, waves of pleasure as Santi fucked your through your second orgasm. He didn’t stop.

You turn your head off the pillow, feeling your droll on your cheek “S-santi”

“One more, baby. Can you give me one more? Please?” He asked you, leaning or so you can see his dark curls all a mess around his sweaty face. He brushed hair out of your face kindly. “One more for me?”

You nod. You’re not sure you could deny him anything at that moment.

He kisses your forehead. “Such a good girl, sweet little thing, I knew you’d be so good for me” Your body too fucked out to move, he pulls you up, back to his chest, one hand working your sensitive bud and the other wrapped around your throat “Where do you want me baby, Im close”

“I-inside, Santi. Come inside me, make me yours”

“Fuck!” He shouts, losing control at those last three words, spilling into you. He quickened his face, still determined to make you come thrice. His hand on your throat moved to your breasts, kneading them harshly. He slipped his fingers around your puffy folds, his wrist still on your clit, and you were done for. Neighbors be damned, because your shouts were definitely floating out the window as the two of you collapsed onto the bed, his heavy weight on top of you.

Santiago played with your hair as he laid on top of you, his presence comforting and warm.

You wrap an arm around him, gluing him to you; you didn’t want his to move. “What now?” You ask, unsure if this was a one night stand or if Benny and Will were right. You liked him, a lot.

“Tonight, I get you some clothes to sleep in, “Santi kissed your neck, then the tip of your nose, eliciting a smile from you. “and tomorrow I take you on a proper date to the most pretentious, hipster brunch place we can find. That is…. If you want you. If not, that’s okay, I can drive you home in the morning, or tonight! or-”

“Santi-” You can’t help but grin. For all his bravado, he still was human, a human with anxieties and insecurities. You roll over under him, smiling at being so close to the pretty, slightly nervous face. “Brunch sounds lovely. You know we’re gonna have to tell the boys they were right?”

Santi grinned back, eyes scanning your features. “Not a chance in hell, pretty girl”

You smile, pulling him to you and nestling your face in the crook of his neck. “Is the offer for food and TV still on the table?” you were starved.

You could feel him chuckle “Read my mind”

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

Thank you for reading!!!!! I was gonna do a quick Santi smut but if you know any of my work, you know i like backstory.

Anyway, if ur a slut for Santi Garcia like me, come read Leather and Lace! It's an ongoing fic, will only have a little smut buuuuutttt it's cute as hell, and people have seemed to really like it.

tagging @welcometostayingawake, @ahookedheroespureheart and @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction

#santiago garcia x reader #santiago garcia #santi garcia fanction #santiago pope garcia #triple frontier fic #triple frontier #triple frontier fanfic #smut #santiago garcia smut

[icestarphoenix]

Wisconsin Headcanons

Wisconsin’s State Spirit is lead gray stripes that cover his forearms, the pattern resembling that of a muskellunge (or muskie). There’s a bit of webbing between his fingers as well as a pelvic fin and back fin on each of his forearms that phase through his clothes. [#6C6C6A]

The muskellunge is the official state fish and the state is one of the best for catching big world record muskies.

Wisconsin is also known as the Badger State not because of badgers, but because of the 1820’s lead miners that dug tunnels to sleep in and keep warm like badgers do.

I have Wisconsin’s physical appearance as Charlie Berens’s. He’s already the Wisconsin guy anyway and it gives a little more variety in looks.

Wisconsin’s eyes are quite piercing and can give off some serial killer vibes.

Eats the most amount of dairy out of anyone in the house. Milk, cheese, ice cream, he eats as much as he drinks, which is to say a lot. It’d make a lactose intolerant person explode.

As America’s Dairyland, Wisconsin is the leading dairy producer. He also beats out California in cheese production.

The first ice cream sundae was actually produced in Two Rivers, Wisconsin. It’s his favorite way of enjoying ice cream.

His tone of voice is often so dry that you can’t really know at first listen if he’s joking or what he’s saying is satire or not.

The Onion, America’s finest news source, was started by two University of Wisconsin-Madison students. The fact that it’s headquartered at Chicago now does irk him a bit.

Wisconsin rides an old-school Harley-Davidson from the 80’s. Michigan helps him maintain it.

Wisconsin is also a surfer, but he prefers surfing on freshwater lakes than the salty ocean. He also prefers kite surfing to normal surfing or paddleboarding.

Sheboygan has been called the “Malibu of the Midwest” due to having the best waves of the Great Lakes.

Barbie is from the fictional town of Willows, Wisconsin. Wisconsin indeed be like:

fr fr

From This Is Some Serious Waffle House Behavior, Wisconsin decided to keep the gator he found and named him Cheddar. Cheddar is a good boi. Cheddar is precious. Sconnie likes to hug him and protect him and see him smile.

Wisconsin dresses his son in a Packers sweater and a tail sock with his name emblazoned on it to keep him warm in the colder climate. The lovely boy is often chilling next to the heater during colder months.

Illinois tried to sneakily dress Cheddar in a Cubs sweater once, but one warning hiss reminded the state that Cheddar was indeed an alligator and he promptly ran away. 

Wisconsin was able to provide funding to open a new alligator rehabilitation center in Florida with the state’s enthusiastic approval. Gators that have been found in unsuitable habitats are brought there to be cared for and eventually be returned to the wild.

As Cheddar has already been hand-reared and spoiled due to Wisconsin’s inexperience, his son isn’t ready to be released back into the wild. He’s a lot more careful now when caring for new gators. Some notable members of the center are Muenster, Mozzie, Colby, and Brick.

#welcome to the table #welcome to the statehouse #ben brainard #wttt #wttsh #wttt wisconsin #headcanons

[aisling-saoirse]

The Kissimmee River Restoration:

In the 1947, After vigorous flooding to outlying communities in Orlando and Kissimmee, residents demanded channelization and flood control measures be enacted, so the Army Corp of Engineers crafted a solution: a 103 mile long, 30 foot deep channelized canal of the Kissimmee River directly into Lake Okeechobee contained by massive adjacent berms. The flood control measures worked relatively well upstream however before the project even finished Floridians noticed an environmental catastrophy down river; a 90% loss in bird populations, heavy nitrogen and phosphorus loading, and destruction of important fish habitat.

So by the 1970s, congressional intervention funded scientists to start planning how to fix it. The end result was an economic split between the South Florida water management district and the Army Corp of engineers to split the cost of restoration project 50/50. In the 1990s the work of burying old channel (in certain segments) and the restoration of 43 miles of riverway and a 3 mile wide flood plain began (visible in the image below).

What I'm going to show you is my access to the ecological progress of the completed filling of the of the C-38 channel.

Visible in the satellite imagery from Google we can see the meandering channel of the historic Kissimmee riverway adjacent to a wide canal system and dam, up until 2 years ago most water flowed through the canal rather than the river. The natural canal functioned as a sort of oxbow lake surrounded by cow pasture. The Corp and the SFWMD sought to create a massive wetland floodplain habitat by filling the channel and restoring flow where it had once was gone. To do so they needed also needed to remove the lock/dam. The channel was filled with the adjacent berms, no new fill was required in these sections. The dam (first image) was a large water control system with a mining access road above it. As you can see below, the process of filling it left a lot of bare ground, there was no planting strategy prepared for the loose soils instead it was left to flood when the remaining channel was filled.

Here is the that dam and road today:

All that remains is an elevated mound which houses a deep aquifer well monitor and plants as far as the eye can see. Plant life took over immediately after flow restoration, I mentioned before no new plantings were done in these section (new plantings were only established in "cuts" across the old channel to prevent erosion) so all plants are spontaneous. Spontaneous vegetation includes both introduced and native species, our guides stated that their primary concern was providing bird and fish habitat, pesticide regimes are used to control some problematic invasives (how else can you manage 20,000 acres). You have to understand the image below is only 2 years of growth in an area which was previously debris and cow pasture, the water management district is delighted to see such a fast recovery of any kind.

So what happened to the cow pasture?

With floodplain restored, much of the habitat is being converted into an emergent wetland, which will be flooded around 6-9 months out of the year. This caused the death of much of the recent dryland species which faltered under the loss of their Terra-firma conditions. On the plus side this is providing bald cypress with beneficial growing conditions

All together the Kissimmee River restoration is no small feat and far from a complete restoration. The multi-billion dollar project is necessary to bring back an ecosystem on the verge of total collapse but also to reduce nutrient loading into Lake Okeechobee, as an experimental ground for other river restoration projects. This is by no means a complete restoration, much of the river is still channelized to protect local towns (and Orlando). Instead the restoration of flow is meant to provide beneficial habitat combined with storm water control.

Is this project a success? Who can say so far, all I know now is the beautiful sound of birds chirping in the morning air while floating in a vast wetland seemed like the beginning of something better.

Image 1 source: The South Florida Water Management District

#Kissimmee river #river restoration project #florida #ecological restoration #photographers on tumblr #this is a summary i dont have time to be extremely thorough #american south #kissimee river restoration

[15-lizards]

I like to project so that’s why I love to imagine ASOIAF characters as ppl who live in the American South

Texas Oil Mogul Lannisters. They have a residence in the city but their main place of living is on their ridiculously big ranch house next to all their oil rigs. Tywin runs that shit like the navy and no he doesn’t care about the environmental effects. Tyrion does damage control to the press, Jamie the heir would rather be doing literally anything else, and Cersei can’t understand that Tywin doesn’t want her to inherit the business (she has a different PR crisis every month)

Swamp people Greyjoys (Florida edition). They are just so Florida Man coded I’m sorry. They def live in the boonies. Balon sits on the porch all day and bitches instead of doing anything. Asha does all the actual work (fishing, trapping, gator hunting). Aeron is super into the crazy Baptist church down the road. Theon walks around barefoot and drugged out of his mind bc he’s just like that. Euron is the weird uncle that tried to bring home an alligator as a pet. Multiple times.

Swamp people Reeds (Louisiana edition). The better swamp people sorry ab it. They live way down south in a rickety old house on the river and they have about three neighbors within a ten mile radius. Very mysterious and isolated but if anyone is sick Meera will be at your doorstep with all her grandma’s weird remedies to make you feel better (and they always work). Jojen is the kid that the local church thinks needs an exorcism. Howland is the strange neighbor you go to if you want all your problems to go away without question

West Virginia Appalachian Baratheons. A working class family with a mining history. Everyone is too stubborn to move away from their ancestral home. Robert makes and sells moonshine out in the backyard. Renly is the smoothest talking, most charming and popular motherfucker in town. All the old ladies and moms love him. Stannis left to go to college and immediately got rid of his accent when he moved, and he hates going back to visit, even when Shireen begs him. Whenever they visit, Shireen teaches the old neighbors how to read if they never learned :,)

Alabama Tyrells. They have two residences, a McMansion in the suburbs and a big farmhouse in the country (they got rid of their family plantation bc Olenna thought it would be bad publicity). Mace is an old school southern gentleman who everyone likes even if he’s a bit ridiculous. Olenna is THE head of all the socialite women in town. Willas is studying to take over the family business (nobody even really knows what it is, they own like everything in town). Garlan and Loras are both D1 football players who are going straight to the NFL. Margaery is a pageant queen/cheerleader/sorority girl who definitely had a society debut.

South Texas Martells. They have a big ass cattle ranch near the mountains. Doran is a big name in state government, he has billboards up all over the highway for his re-election campaign. Oberyn lives off the family money with no real job and likes to travel out of the country, but does philanthropy every now and then to boost his reputation. Elaria is a hot topic of conversation for all the ladies, because she’s Oberyns middle class mistress who had kids out of wedlock. And the Sand Snakes are definitely all accomplished horseback riders, Oberyn taught them on the ranch himself, to everyone else’s discomfort.

Okay thank you for coming to my Ted Talk

#asoiaf #game of thrones #i spent way too much time on this #but I needed to speak my truth #where are my fellow southern ASOIAF fans let me hear y’all

[offender42085]

Post 859

Zachary Snyder, Florida inmate U34139, born 1990, incarceration intake in 2012 at age 22, sentenced to life

Murder, Attempted Escape from Correctional Custody

Facing a possible death sentence if found guilty at trial, Zachary Lee Snyder pleaded guilty to first-degree murder Friday for killing a woman he called "Grandma."

Snyder, 22, was accused of murdering 66-year-old Doris Babcock at her Dunnellon home in November 2009. He agreed to a plea agreement with the State Attorney's Office in exchange for a life sentence.  "Are you pleading guilty because you are in fact guilty of that charge?" Judge Hodges asked before accepting his plea.

Snyder nodded and said yes.

He also pleaded guilty to attempting to escape from his Marion County Jail cell in January 2011 and faces a five-year prison sentence on that charge. It will likely run concurrent with the life sentence.

On the night of Nov. 13, 2009, a sergeant with the Marion County Sheriff's Office was dispatched to Babcock's home after her husband, Cecil Babcock, a long-haul truck driver, had tried to call his wife while he was on the road in Kentucky. After multiple failed attempts to reach her, the sergeant was sent to the Dunnellon home to check on the woman. Snyder answered the door.

"One thing that he (the sergeant) noticed were some pretty substantial cuts on the defendant's hands," said Assistant State Attorney Rock Hooker in court Friday, as he went over the factual basis for the murder charge.

Snyder reportedly told the sergeant he cut his hand while filleting a fish.

In previous testimony during a hearing, the sergeant said he noticed spots of blood on Snyder's jeans and other blood spots around the house. Pieces of the living room carpet were torn up and a portion of the bedroom carpet had been cut out.

After Babcock had taken him in, Snyder reportedly lived in the house on and off for five years and moved out on his own three weeks before the killing.

At the crime scene, Snyder turned over six of Babcock's credit cards when authorities asked him to empty his pockets and had the woman's car keys attached to his key ring.

Hooker said in court that authorities found a pair of boots at Snyder's residence with Babcock's blood on them. They also found three to-do lists that all started with "kill Mrs. D (Doris Babcock)."

The handwriting on those lists were analyzed and determined to be Snyder's, Hooker said.

Babcock's charred remains were found in a burn pit outside her home. A piece of her torso found confirmed that it was her body.

At the time of the incident, Snyder told authorities he was burning trash.

Experts determined from the remains that Babcock died as a result of several stab wounds to the chest and the death was ruled a homicide, Hooker said.

After spending some time in jail, Snyder asked to speak with a detective and then wrote a five-page letter confessing to the crime and later gave a videotaped confession to detectives.

Dressed in an all-red jail uniform, with his hair cut short, Snyder appeared calm and relaxed as the judge questioned him about his competency during the hearing.

Unlike previous appearances in court, he was less talkative and only said that his attorneys were going to provide him with the discovery documents in his case.

One of Snyder's attorneys said he pleaded to the charges nearly three years after the incident because he was concerned about Babcock's family sitting through a trial. 

"His biggest concern was that he didn't want to put the family through a trial," said Steven Laurence, one of Snyder's defense attorneys.

3f

[possumnest]

i collect postcards - here are some of my favorites :]

image ID

[1. 4 postcards, described from left to right; a black and white photo of a statue of a figure praying to a tall statue of jesus on a cross in a forest with many ferns; an illustration of a bluish-silver sailfish on an offwhite background, reads "'sailfish' from the gulf stream, florida"; a photo of a large dark grey taxidermied fish on a light blue cloud backdrop; a print of a photo of birch trees at a bend in the road, the individual colors in the print are slightly offset giving the image a blurred effect

2. 4 postcards, described from left to right; a painting of the eruption of mt. vesuvius from the perspective of a boat in the water, reads "napoli - vesuvio in eruzione"; a painting of a tall pine tree with two small figures in cowboy hats sat together on a log in front of it; a black and white photo of an antlered white-tailed deer with a fawns head peeking up from behind it, reads "greetings from eckerman, michigan", copywritten in 1945; a photo of an old man with dark skin and grey hair wearing blue jeans and a grey blazer sitting in a chair outside holding a white banjo in front of the porch to a wooden house, green trees, and a blue sky]

#🪲 #postcards #postcard collection #all of the ones in the first photo + the vesuvius one i got yesterday #they r very cool

[melancholia34]

╰┈➤ Some info on the Dads:

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

⎈ They met during a bar fight. Charlie got caught beneath a table and Barley helped get him to a doctor. The two later became good friends.

⎈ Barley is from Ireland and Charlie is from Colombia. Both immigrated to America with their families and lost them due to sickness. Barley was actually engaged before he came to America. (His fiancée later sends him a letter where she tells him she's found another man.)

⎈ Charlie is second to youngest in a family of 5 kids. He was raised by a single mother. She was shot by police and, one by one, his siblings died due to starvation and sickness. Charlie arrived alone to Florida but slowly moved his way up to New York, where he'd heard was plenty of work available.

⎈ Barley is a heavy drinker. He was rumored to start the bar fight along with a few other sailors. His father was also an alcoholic and is responsible for the limp he has in his leg. Barley was abused as a child and often neglected. He's an only child who's mother died giving birth.

⎈ Charlie works at the bar where the fight took place. Barley's father taught him how to fish. The two bought the small house near the coast after they realized they were in love.

⎈ They lie about their relationship, disguising themselves as old college friends, siblings, or just bachelors. They are constantly fearing that the town will discover them, so they stay inside as much as they can and do not go out unless it is necessary. Benedict is also not allowed to go outside on the front porch or lawn.

⎈ Charlie works the night shift and Barley goes fishing at dawn. He spends the first half of the day with Benedict and home schools him. Afterwards, it's Charlie's turn.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

⎈ On February 16th, 1957, their home is burned. A crowd of neighbors sets fire to their home. The secret is out and the people destroy the place.

⎈ Charlie has been dead for three days. He died just as his brothers had. He starved and passed away in his sleep. His body is left in his room and is burned in the fire.

⎈Barley goes out at dawn the same day the home is to be set ablaze. Not to go fishing, but to drink. And drink. And drink. After a while he stops the boat and puts a pistol to his head.

#charlie and barley #the butcher gang #idk what to tag here #batim au #baby benedict

[morbidology]

One resident of Montverde, Florida, was 12-year-old Georgia Crews. Georgia was a student at Minneola Elementary School who lived in Highlands Avenue with her mother, Linda, her father, Mike, and her two older brothers, 15-year-old Charles and 16-year-old Tony. 

The fifth-grader had baby-blonde hair and brown eyes. She absolutely adored her bulldog, Tiger, and had a penchant for Kenny Rogers. Her favourite snack was Rice Krispies and in her free time, she designed and even sewed her own clothes.  At the weekend, she would go to Sunday school at the local United Methodist Church.

On the afternoon of the 8th of April, 1980, Georgia’s parents left the family home to go fishing for catfish on Lake Florence with Charles. This was a common occurrence in the Crews household; Mike worked as a commercial fisherman and Lake Florence was literally a stone’s throw from their front door. This day, however, Georgia and Tony both decided to at home. At some time between 5:30PM and 6PM that evening, Georgia and Tiger left home to go to the Stop & Go on Country Road 455 where her mother worked. 

Stop & Go, which was approximately a mile from Georgia’s home, was the only convenience store in the town. Dusk was fast approaching and Georgia was “mortally afraid of the dark” so she wouldn’t be long, she assured her brother. 3She was wearing a jeans, a tank top, and was barefoot – one of her many quirks. She had wanted to purchase snacks before settling down at her friend’s house to Kenny Rogers in The Gambler.

Georgia never made it to her friend’s house. In fact, she never even made it to the convenience store.

𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐞:

https://morbidology.com/who-killed-georgia-crews/

#Georgia Crews #True Crime #Unsolved #Cold Case #Mystery

[mariacallous]

For most of his life, Cory Infinger has lived down a hill and along a bend in the Little Wekiva River, a gentle stream meandering northwest of Orlando. During Hurricane Ian, in September 2022, the stream swelled, inundating the homes of his family and his neighbors and also the street where they live, making it impassable.

Overnight Ian had moved slowly and violently over the state’s interior, dropping historic amounts of rain, after coming ashore in southwest Florida as a category 4 hurricane, its high winds and storm surge flattening coastal communities there.

For Infinger the deluge forced a hasty morning evacuation with his wife and youngest two of their three children. It would displace the family for months as their home underwent massive repairs. More than a year later the ordeal has left the family rattled, especially his 16- and 8-year-old children, said Infinger, who grew up fishing and trapping turtles along the Little Wekiva and now enjoys doing the same with his kids. (A 22-year-old son no longer lives at home.)

“You could tell they were sad when we came back to get the last few things,” he recalled of his kids as he described the family’s temporary stay in a rental house, and then the move back to their newly remodeled home. “It took them a while to get used to, this is our new house. Everything had changed.”

In the last seven years Florida has weathered five major hurricanes. Michael, which made landfall in 2018 in the Panhandle, was the first category 5 hurricane to strike the continental United States since Andrew in 1992. Ian, in 2022, was the costliest hurricane in state history and third-costliest on record nationwide, after Katrina in 2005 and Harvey in 2017. Recent major Florida hurricanes also include Irma in 2017, Nicole in 2022, and Idalia in 2023.

If the disasters sharpened Floridians’ resolve, in the immediate aftermath, to build back stronger and better, another crisis may be causing some to rethink where they live and the rising risk as the global climate warms.

After Ian, Infinger’s taxes and homeowners insurance, which he pays together into a bank escrow account as part of his regular mortgage payment, jumped by $450 a month. That amount could be considered moderate in a state where annual home insurance rates in the five and six figures have not been unheard of in recent years, and many homeowners have received letters from their insurers informing them that their existing policies will not be renewed.

Some homeowners have received multiple such letters from multiple insurers, leaving them scrambling from one policy to the next, as lenders require mortgage holders to carry insurance. Others whose homes are paid off are going without insurance altogether, to spare the expense.

“We deal with it,” said Infinger, who, with his wife, is considering moving away from the Little Wekiva in the coming years. For now, he said, “there’s nothing really we can do about it.”

Across the country, homeowners are grappling with skyrocketing insurance rates and dropped policies, with those in states such as California, Florida, and Louisiana hit hardest. Growing evidence suggests the soaring costs only hint at the widespread unpriced risk facing homeowners as the warming climate leads to rising seas and more damaging hurricanes and wildfires.

As many as 6.8 million properties nationwide have been affected by insurance problems, but that number represents a fraction of the 39 million homes and businesses vulnerable to flooding, hurricanes, and wildfires whose risk has not been priced into their policies, according to a study by the First Street Foundation, a nonprofit researching climate risk. Together these 39 million properties constitute what the study characterizes as an “insurance bubble,” defined by properties likely overvalued because of underpriced or subsidized insurance.

Other research suggests the changing climate has not been priced into the real estate market in a way that reflects the risk. A separate study published last year in Nature Climate Change, a peer-reviewed journal, estimates that residential properties vulnerable to flooding are overvalued by $121 billion to $237 billion, in part because of the subsidized National Flood Insurance Program.

The study found that the most overvalued properties are concentrated in coastal counties where there are no flood risk disclosure laws and where there is less personal concern about climate change. Much of the overvaluation is driven by properties situated outside of the 100-year flood zones designed by the Federal Emergency Management Agency. Low-income households especially are in danger of losing home equity, potentially leading to wider wealth gaps. In Florida, properties are overvalued by more than $50 billion, according to the study.

The unpriced risk is important for many reasons. Municipalities that rely on property tax revenue may be vulnerable to potential shortfalls, the study says. The National Climate Assessment pointed out last year that the overvaluation of coastal properties makes it difficult to move people out of harm’s way, because of the limited amount of compensation available through flood insurance and federal flood disaster assistance programs.

“Florida is one of the riskiest places from a climate impact standpoint that you can live in,” said Rob Moore, director of the flooding solutions team at the Natural Resources Defense Council. “One only needs to look through a few years of front pages to see how many major hurricanes have struck this state, and that definitely had an impact on how both private insurers and insurers in the public realm are looking at risk and pricing it in the state of Florida.”

“We’re so far behind in regard to pricing in the climate. That’s why we’re seeing these big [insurance] spikes in places like Florida and California and Louisiana,” said Jeremy Porter, head of climate implications research at the First Street Foundation. “It’s the first mechanism to start to price climate into the housing market.”

[ihopeyoubothstaysafefromharm]

wip whatever day

something from my very elaborate expanded draco-in-mundane-apocalypses universe. the rest of fic has a lot of game theory and mountain goats references

On Tuesday afternoon, the entire state of Florida sank into the ground. Not at all slowly, like quicksand, but in a manner more akin to swallowing, to a vacuum without an air lock or something pulled in on a lizard's tongue. Draco was at work when it happened and all but one of the wall-mounted television screens interrupted their various sports broadcasts to live feeds of affiliate stations, footage of men and women in suits doing their best to keep straight faces while plugging in words like vanished and unclear and contact and grid. Draco was in the middle of scanning the slips from the morning shift - most of them Nascar and the Icelandic Counter Strike league when all the screens flickered in clunky synchrony, drew his eyes up from his work. There's nothing you can film when something disappears, so the b-roll was an odd collage of people standing on state lines outlined by a yawning void, of fences and highways cut off like string, of loops of CCTV that stops like someone switched off the lights. The shop was empty, had been since he'd kicked out the regular huddle of truant teenagers and would be until the 5pm rush.

Draco reacted the way he usually does to catastrophe, which is to say he did nothing at all except feel the small muscles running along the vertebrae of his neck tense, the way they do when someone brings up tendons and cutting throats. A delicate tap to the tiled floor beneath - still there. A glance through the window - the grey afternoon untouched. One of the Sky Sports channels had switched to the news and the news presenter was wearing the same glasses as someone in a split-screen on CNN. One of the screens showed footage from the gulf of mexico, a fishing boat on the water, but the water was sliced clean through with black. It would have been 11am in Tallahassee, said the big LED clock on the wall. It was funny to see the name on the wall, Miami somewhere slightly higher up. There were seismological readings coming in on some of the screens now, 3D visualisations and graphs that plummeted down and then shot right back up. None of them seemed to mean anything, as far as anyone knew. There was a neon globe spinning on RAI 2, the same as always except for one glaring hole. When Draco was little, before the world expanded dramatically and then reduced to this little life of lockboxes and betting slips and freezer-friendly meals, he was taught about the old wizarding conception of the world. His governess taught him that it was once believed that the globe was full of itself in reverse, like a dome collapsing, like a reciprocal fraction. That it was how they made sense of un-being, of vanishing spells - a thing that cancels itself out, hidden somewhere deep under the core.

There was a live feed from the white house now on every screen, staffers scurrying around a podium no one was stood at yet. A brief pain shot through the muscles in his left palm, right by the wrist, bone deep and startling. Fear, understanding, certainty, doom and then - he'd been leaning against the clunky keyboard, pressing down too hard. The world sharpened, sounds and colors coming in at the end of a release of pressure, humming like a tuning fork. A cacophony of ding-s and abberated notifications was ringing out from the computer, from whatever processes he'd accidentally triggered. A dry noise outside broke through the sound.

#drarry #joyful fic #wip

[davenportapartments]

City of Davenport, FL

Davenport, Florida, is a charming city located in Polk County, in the central part of the state. Situated near major attractions like Walt Disney World Resort and Universal Studios, Davenport offers a more relaxed atmosphere and higher quality of living compared to its bustling neighbors.

Originally founded as a settlement in the 1830s, Davenport has grown steadily over the years. Today, it is known for its mix of old Florida charm and modern amenities. The city's historic downtown area features quaint shops, restaurants, and historic buildings that offer a glimpse into its past.

Davenport's location also makes it a haven for outdoor enthusiasts. The city is surrounded by lakes, providing ample opportunities for fishing, boating, and other water activities. Nearby parks and nature reserves offer hiking trails and wildlife viewing opportunities, allowing residents and visitors to connect with nature.

The city's population has been steadily growing, thanks in part to its affordable housing options and convenient location. Despite its growth, Davenport has managed to maintain its small-town feel, making it a popular choice for families and retirees looking for a peaceful place to call home.

#davenport florida #sweet home #moving #orlando lifestyle #orlando

[hydropyro]

The Fiddler Went Down to Faerûn

Chapter 1: Johnny's Arrival

Chapter Text

"Four, three, two, one—" Johnny opened his eyes, expecting to see the near-empty side parking lot of the local grocery mart, but instead of cracked tarmac and gravel, his boots tapped on cobbled stones as he took a shocked few steps back.

"Ma'am?" He called out, searching around himself. Behind, he saw a gruff-looking man, who quickly averted his eyes and continued on his way down a separate, cobbled path. The 'voodoo' woman was nowhere to be seen.

Johnny figured it was early morning or late afternoon, telling by the angle of the sun. He readjusted his instrument case on his shoulder and started toward the sound of a crowd.

Tall grass blocked his view for a good hundred yards before Johnny stepped out of the brush and could look down on a bustling little town. He gave a low whistle. That lady hadn't been lying. He'd been sure she was taking him for a ride, but whatever she'd done had worked. He just hoped it was worth the money he'd given her for her 'spell'.

Johnny continued down the cobble path. He'd seen paths like that in movies, like them old French ones his Nana liked. Looking at the buildings as he drew near, he supposed it was possible he was somewhere in Europe. He'd never been outside of the States before, not even to Mexico. Really, other than a short trip a little ways into Florida, he'd never left Georgia. Never'd needed to.

Europe was nice -- if a little smelly. Johnny wrinkled his nose. He'd mucked out plenty 'a barns, but something about the smell struck him as a little more 'outhousey' than 'barny'. It wasn't unbearable, though he worried for a moment as to whether Europe had flushing toilets. It was nearly the 80's, so he figured they'd have to by now. And it wasn’t that he had a problem using an outhouse – his Nana and Papa had one out at their cabin. He’d also been out camping and fishing enough times to be familiar with doing his business as God intended out in nature – but in a city he didn’t figure that was a good idea.

As he walked, now in the midst of the odd little houses and stacked buildings, people were looking at him quite odd. He waved at a few, but they rarely returned the gesture, instead looking almost offended.

Johnny pulled his ballcap down tighter and lowered his eyes. Europeans were a bit different. Not only their behavior, but he could hear a whole slew of conversations happening around him and hardly understood a word of any of it. They also looked odd, which he really hadn’t expected. He just figured they’d look more or less like Americans.

Most were pretty regular, other than their clothes that made them look like they’d stepped right out the pages of a Charles Dickens’ story, but some were tall with pointed ears, and others were half the size of a normal person despite their otherwise looking and sounding like adults.

Maybe the Hapsburgs weren’t as unique a case as he’d been led to believe—

His mother’d taught him that if it weren’t something that could be fixed in fifteen minutes, and wasn’t hurtin’ nobody nohow, to keep his trap shut, and so that’s what Johnny did. He continued to offer kind smiles if anyone met his gaze but didn’t go out of his way especially to engage with anyone.

The weather was nice. Warm, but not too hot, and the air was drier than he was used to. Even as he stepped out onto a boardwalk, lined on either side with buildings despite being suspended over some body of water, it wasn’t too humid.

He figured he must be in England. He’d seen an old illustration of London Bridge in school. It, too, had homes and shops spanning it on either side. And, the accents were right, as far as his unaccustomed ears could tell. That would also explain the few people he’d seen dressed up like hulking lizards – this must have been some kind of cultural festival, like a ‘Ren Faire’

That would be exciting. Though he was on a bit of a mission, it was self-imposed, so he could take the time to catch a jousting tournament if he could or see some soldiers in a reenactment. He’d seen a few Civil War reenactments – but knights were definitely cooler.

Johnny sauntered up to a friendly-looking man that had been trying to sell fresh produce, it seemed, to passers-by, speaking English. “Howdy – erm – mate,” he tipped the bill of his hat some. He’d never ‘a thought of a man as ‘beautiful’ before, but there wasn’t much different a way to describe him – other than his Hapsburg ears, which Johnny did his best not to stare at.

“Hello, my fine—” the beautiful man turned his attention to Johnny, and his friendly smile became a slight frown. “—ly dressed fellow.” He reached out with a hand and gingerly pinched a wrinkle in Johnny’s t-shirt, his too-wide eyes even wider now with surprise.

Johnny took a step back, laughing politely to try and mask his discomfort at the stranger’s grabbing and clear sarcasm at his appearance. “Yea, sorry about that. I was just buckin’ some bales before I ran into town, and my truck’s still a bit dusty from – well – I haven’t had a chance to wash up yet.

“I didn’t know this’d be a whole thing.” He looked around at the other people bustling about the narrow street.

“You are – an interesting character,” the Englishman said. “I’m sure I haven’t seen you before?”

“No, sir,” Johnny took the man’s still somewhat extended hand and gave him a firm shake. “M’name’s Johnny. I’m from Georgia, USA.

“I was actually hopin’ you’d know of somewhere I could grab a bite? Maybe a Coke?”

The Englishman said nothing and maybe even looked a little offended.

Johnny chuckled again to try and keep the mood light. “Sorry, I don’t know the local ‘lingo’. Is there somewhere I can buy some dinner? It’s gettin’ kinda late, so maybe a hotel?”

“Food and drink?” He pointed over Johnny’s shoulder. “There, and a bed, too – if that’s what you were asking.”

“Thank you kindly, sir.” Johnny tapped his fingers to the bill of his hat again and turned, crossing the narrow street. A wooden sign hung out front of the wooden, shiplap building, but he couldn’t read the squiggly text. He was pretty sure that American English and – well – English English used the same alphabet – but maybe not.

The interior was quite dark and it took a moment for Johnny’s eyes to adjust. There were a few people around, sitting at tables or standing near one another in quiet conversation. A woman stood nearby behind a counter with hair that could have made even Dolly jealous.

“I’m guessin’ this here’s a ‘pub’?” Johnny put an arm on the counter and gave the woman a polite smile.

“A weary traveler, busted and bruised. You come for sustenance. No – decadence.”

“I don’t know much about decadence, ma’am. I was just hopin’ for a Coke – Pepsi’d be alright. An’ I’m not sure what folks here tend to eat, but a sandwich’d be good, if you’ve got one.”

Her eyes filled with the same sort of confusion as the beautiful man’s had, and Johnny was at a loss.

#baldur’s gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #raphael #raphael bg3 #fanfiction #fanfic #Raphael is in my head again and it’s getting weird #Charlie Daniels Band #Yea #I did it

[colleenmurphy]

"B...Bruce! Pull. Up! I SEE TREES! We almost HIT THAT EAGLE!"

Was all he heard from his terrified flight companion turned in flight entertainment. Her long dark hair was spilling down from it's plastic hair clip and her aviators were sliding down her nose as her hands waved wildly at the clear blue sky that matched her eyes.  He couldn't help but grin a slow easy grin at her. She was truly his fish out of water today. 

"Man...you're a mermaid, huh?"

"If I'm a mermaid then you're an albatross!"

The belly of the plane was mere inches from the pristine tree line as they roared along with the flight path of the local geese. He had to admit her hometown was a pretty little place. Pulling up they had a better view of some cozy houses along the coastline. In fact they buzzed Minnie's place as they spotted her in the back yard having a cigarette. He decided to show off a smidge and loop a hello before continuing on. The neighbor's grandson now things the Murphy house is the coolest place on earth.

He'd been born in Chicago, moved around to Indiana as a kid and then joined up to the Army on his 18th birthday. He'd been in Florida ever since after he'd come home from his three tours. The woman to his right was about ten years his junior, an internationally licensed boat captain named Mary Colleen Murphy, or Col as she preferred to be called. Currently marveling at the view her face lit up like a kid at Christmas.  He could count the dusting of freckles across the bridge of her nose and the fact that her eyes were now tinged a little spring green meant she's calmed down enough to enjoy herself. The fact that they could simply pack a bag and fly out to her hometown from their place in the Hatcher Keys blew her mind. To Bruce it was just another two hour flight that went smoothly. 

"I can deal with being a bird. Here's the part you hate..."

He figured ample warning would help settle her stomach. She knew that the most critical time was during take off and landing, it still didn't help her body to know not to gag at an angle normally not achieved. 

"I doubt I'll ever get my license. I've a feeling that's not looked kindly on during the final exam?"

Her dry reassurance to him that she was fine. They were traveling light this time, just some luggage and gifts for the family and friends she had to introduce him to. There had been talk to merging her mother's bar, The Gull's Nest and their place The Trade Winds but they had yet to put anything into writing. Minnie was setting to retire and move closer to her own mother in Miami so it only made sense to keep it in the family...unless Harvey Starling, Col's god father wanted first dibs at a turn key operation. Bruce knew Colleen would gladly do that over taking it over. Even though she lived down south nearly 1500 miles away she still cared about the town where she'd grown up. 

"BVY tower, N2789 5 miles west, inbound for landing."

The crackle of the controller picking up filled his head. Whoever it was had a hell of a head cold. 

"N2789 you're clear for landing. Welcome to Massachusetts."

"I can't just take it from them, Bruce. The Gull's Nest was built by my great grandfather when the town was founded. Second on the waterfront besides the old butcher and green grocer. Did you know the Starling's used to own that? That's how far back our families go...oh my god Harvey! Hel's florist shop is right there...perfect!"

He'd heard her last night as she'd packed for them both. He'd admitted to her that he didn't have a clue about packing for cold weather anymore so she had delighted in walking him through her process and parts of her family's backstory came out as she carefully rolled his shirts and pants up. She'd learned the military packing style. Bulky sweaters went on top to act as a cushion if you were bringing back souvenirs, or in Col's case, if you were bringing a stash of homegrown herb to share with your mother and best friends. Deep down his wife really was a pirate, even if she didn't realize it. 

"Who taught you how to pack?"

"Chief Petty Officer James Murphy Sr."

Bruce caught a glimpse of a pirate smile ghost across his companion's face. All he could picture for a moment was his wife in a plumed buccaneers hat with a dainty silver dagger between her teeth. Perhaps he'd just given himself a new tattoo idea. 

"He was a Navy man...then he came home became a cop and met my mom."

"All American boy."

"Guess you could say that. My mother was almost a nun until she met him."

"Damn beats Mel and Rita's story. She was a barmaid and he was bootlegger."

"Two sides of the same coin, Miller."

The tidy landing strip was fast approaching as the landing gear came out. Wheels touched down and all was well. Another one down in the flight logs. 

In their combined down time from the bar they did flight and boat charters together under the Trade Wind Tours name for the tourists. They weren't above doing a favor to a friend or two with flying in goods. Colleen was going to be needed if his buddy Whit ever gave up his wings. She had also expressed an interest in doing angel flights for sick and needy children. 

"You'd be surprised. My first time I puked out of a bird just straight up didn't care about anything except not wearing it. Bulls eye on an enemy from above. I can still see his face...I still feel bad about that."

"You were under heavy fire in a military war plane. Vastly different as I'm not open and exposed."

Reaching out to pat his jean clad thigh she sighed. 

"You'd be amazed at people can forgive. I'm sure you were the least of his worries back then. You both just wanted to get home."

He'd forgotten she'd been a nurse and just how deeply her compassion ran. He smirked and patted her back as they pulled upwards 

"If it makes you feel better I get sea sick."

A deep chortle sounded in his head that warmed him. 

"Always keep above deck where you can see the horizon and get fresh air or keep to the middle of the boat."

He heard the snicking flick of her lighter.

"You forget we're still in an airspace?"

"Nope. But I figured out my window. Until they come out with a flameless option I'm sticking with hand rolls. Helps my stomach and in all honesty I think you may need some when we're on solid ground. You're wide eyed and your eyebrows are touching your hairline. I love you, Minnie loves you...my Grandmother loves you, Harvey and Helene are going to adore you too."

Directing towards the hangar Bruce shook his head. 

"The last thing I need to do is meet the town chief of police smelling like your home grown, Col."

Wide innocent eyes met his as she held out the joint with a smile. Her next sentence made his face fall momentarily.

"But he's my god father...and I know the perfect spot."

Nimble tanned hands rolled two more joints as they were directed into the proper hangar by the ground crew, a rather an elderly portly white haired fellow wearing safety orange muffs with 'Willy' stitched into his green coveralls. Waving his sticks he looked almost like a Yankee blue collar ballerina.  A thankful two finger wave and they had some privacy.  

"Thanks Willy!"

Colleen called as she hopped out earning a Roebucker smile her way, Willy's teeth matched his shocking white hair before he hobbled back into the warmth of the hangar office. Col had grabbed her small shoulder bag and her flash light before taking off out of sight. Giving him a bird whistle he saw her crook her finger from inside what looked like a solid tree line. 

"Join me on a side quest brave traveller."

Snow crunched under their feet as he followed Colleen. She evidently knew exactly where they were going to end up. A twisting path lead to a rough stone walking path the lead to a rumbling sound. 

"Watch your step here..."

Her left hand reached out to touch a large pine tree with 'HS + JL' carved into the bark and it made him smile to see her reconnect with a tangible object from her past. The initials were newly carved into the bark, especially the JL. From the look on Col's face HS finally found a love well deserved. 

"Where...what...wow."

Looming overhead was a weather beaten lighthouse sitting at the mouth of the harbor. It's light cutting through the fog that was setting in. Between the two of them they'd planned the timing perfectly.  

"This is Tortoise Harbor light...or Turtle Point. I've mentioned it a few times in my stories of home but well...this used to be our secret spot. Me and Helene Starling. A little birdie told me that there's still heat in it."

Knocking the snow from their boots they ventured into and up to the top of the ancient lighthouse on the point. Outside the winds had picked up and the sound of rain was almost indistinguishable against the sound of the surf hitting the rocky coastline. 

"We used to come up here all the time watching for our Dads when they sailed away or came back in. I guess it was our clubhouse...in some way it still is."

The very top held a battered fold out couch upholstered in a rather interesting shade of pea soup green and outfitted with numerous blankets and throw pillows. A handmade three tier shelf held ancient paperbacks along with a wire spool coffee table with bar ashtray advertising 'the regal taste of Reinhardt beer'. tucked to the left hand side by the railing away from the light. The floor below still held a snug little alcove with a lamp and a few layered feather beds for the nights that were especially tough going home. 

"We used to have a working kitchen and bathroom downstairs but that's been boarded up since we were in our 20's. That's the past though."

Settling herself down onto the couch she sighed before inviting him to sit down as she lit the joint. He'd have wondered what she looked like young and carefree and unscarred but she seemed to bloom before him. Healed and restored. The smell of her homegrown hit him right between the eyes and he smiled as curled in next to him. The storm raging outside as they flew higher together allowing their inner teenagers to bond for the first time.

#Trade Winds verse #Colleen Murphy x Bruce Miller #The Mermaid & The Albatross

[jungle-angel]

Even More Summer Vacation Prompts

Sorry guys, it’s that time of the year again, I’m really bored and wanna do alot more writing than I’ve been doing. Please, by all means, send in requests, come chat, send in a blurb, something, anything!!!! Currently taking requests for Top Gun Maverick, Outer Range, Bad Times At The El Royale, Salem’s Lot, Catch 22 (Hulu) and Press Play. 

1. Traveling with the gang and or the kids

2. Where are they going? 

3. Staying with a family member while on vacation

4. “My God I don’t think I wanna leave the hotel” (leads to smut)

5. Sex on the beach (smut) 

6. “The baby has so much sunscreen on that it looks like Kabuki makeup” 

7. “I’m so sunburned right now it’s not even funny” 

8. Their s.o being pregnant and going for a swim in the ocean

9. “You should have been a sand castle building champion” 

10. “I love you, but the idea of swimming with sharks is making me a little bit squeamish” 

11. Swimming with dolphins/manatees in Florida

12. Teaching the babies how to surf for the first time

13. “Say what you want about Florida, but the Key Lime pie is to die for!” 

14. Dancing outside of a street café

15. Riding horses through the ocean

16. Margaritas at the hotel/resort pool

17. “Babe, look out, the baby’s herding the sea turtles again” 

18. Deep sea fishing

19. Catching a video of a wild shark chase during feeding hours

20. Boat/jet-ski rides

21. “Leave your sandals and your cares at the door” 

22. Enjoying the morning coffee on the porch of the beach house/cottage

23. Communal dinner at the home of the family member they’re staying with

24. Chasing and teasing their s.o with the sunscreen

25. Beach massage

26. Scuba diving on pirate wrecks

27. Cooking dinner right on the beach

28. Homemade popsicles

29. Finding seashells, sand dollars and mermaids’ purses on the beach

30. Manta rays/swimming with manta rays

31. Showing the babies how to use a conch shell as a horn

32. Canoeing/kayaking on the ocean

33. A homemade swing on a palm tree

34. “It’s our own little secret spot, nobody knows we’re here” 

35. Beach date

36. “You’ve been listening to the Moana soundtrack ever since we left the airport” 

37. “Here be mermaids” 

38. The gang wearing plastic shark fins on their heads at the hotel pool and playing the JAWS theme to scare troublemakers and or snobs 

39. Playing games on the beach

40. “Screw it, my ass is in a beach chair, I’m not moving and nobody can tell me otherwise!” 

41. Wild parties on the beach

42. The one in the group that everybody thinks is the old fart, showing off their bartending skills at the pool bar

43. What’s on the menu?? 

44. Staying at the Atlantis resort and hotel

45. Beach bonfire and playing their favorite songs on a ukulele

46. Plane ride

47. Their kid(s) naming the little hermit crabs

48. Walking on the beach under the full moon and the water seems to be glowing

49. Beach picnics

50. Bubble bath at the hotel

#top gun maverick #pete maverick mitchell #bradley rooster bradshaw #robert bob floyd #natasha phoenix trace #mickey fanboy garcia #jake hangman seresin #javy coyote machado #reuben payback fitch #dagger squad #outer range #rhett abbott #bad times at the el royale #miles miller #catch 22 hulu #major major #salem's lot #ben mears #press play #harrison knot