If you're under 18, then go on and git.




Tuesday, February 14, 2017

HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY!

Well, I'd planned to have something special today, but...let me tell you, this anniversary vacation has been something else. Storms, tornado warnings, hail...

And yesterday, the hubs ended up in the ER. He got the boat stuck in shallow water, got out, started to push, and ripped his biceps from his elbow on the right arm. He can't even lift a pill bottle. He will need surgery, and tomorrow, we meet with a surgeon. So, you know. What the hell.

Anyway. I will have installments up this week, but probably not until a little later. See what the surgeon says tomorrow, and spend today with the Hubs and doing all the stuff for him that he can't do now.

I hope y'all are having a fabulous day! <3

Thursday, February 9, 2017

Metamorphoses Ch. 9

Copyright 2016
Bailey Bradford





Chapter Nine


“Come on, we’re going to the hospital,” Chellie said after shaking hands with Gladys.
“No.” Raider made sure he spoke firmly, strong as he could. Otherwise, Chellie wouldn’t listen to him on this matter. “No, I am not going to the hospital.”
“Maybe you should go,” Clyde suggested, frowning before nibbling on his bottom lip.
A very inappropriate zing of lust went right to Raider’s balls. He was in no position to be getting turned on by anyone, and really, he should have better self-control than to do so.
But Clyde’s lip and the glimpse of white teeth, the arc of his top lip, the plumpness of the bottom—all worked against Raider’s pain and fear and common sense.
“Yeah, even our enemy agrees,” Chellie said. There was a distinctly smug tip to her tips. “You’re broken, or at least battered. Concussions are now known to be long-term dangers, and—“
“I’m not the enemy,” Clyde protested. “Sheesh! I want to kiss him, not hurt—“ Clyde sputtered and seemed to choke on his words, spit, or air—there was no telling for certain.
Then his last few words bounced around Raider’s brain. I want to kiss him, not hurt—he wants to kiss me? I look like shit!
“Raider? Raid? Bug-Boy?” Chellie laughed. “You want to kiss Raider? Like I’m letting any of you nut bags near him?”
“Huh?” Raider noted the dark blush streaking down Clyde’s neck, the beads of sweat that broke out above his lip and on his brow. “Kiss me?” Maybe Chellie was right and he had a dangerous concussion. Raider was confused as hell.
“I mean—“ Clyde huffed, then actually stomped one foot. “Damn it! Yes! I meant it. I want to kiss Raider, er, well, I’m sticking with the name Raider.” He giggled as if he was very amused, though Raider hadn’t a clue why that would be the case.
“What are you, like a twelve-year old stuck in an almost-adult’s body?” Chellie snapped. “Jesus. Come on, Raid, you don’t need to worry. We’ll lie about your name at the hospital.”
Raider blinked. “Do you have another fake ID for me?”
Chellie hissed at him. “Sh!”
Clyde bounded up on his toes. “I’m not going to narc on you! I justI just want—“
“You are not kissing Raider,” Chellie stated firmly.
Clyde tilted his head to the left. “Do you always have to approve his dates?”
Chellie snorted. “And now it’s a date that you’re wanting? That’s a big leap from a kiss!”
“I’m not sure—“ Raider began, intending on pointing out that a kiss could be a much bigger leap than a date, depending on the people involved. Chellie didn’t give him a chance to finish.
“I just decided to start guarding the goods.” Chellie gestured to Raider. “Have you hear the song, These Are My No-No Squares? Because these are his.” She began framing his groin.
Raider yelped. “Cut it out!” His head throbbed. “Chellie, stop it!”
“There’s something strange about him—“ She pointed at Clyde quite indiscreetly. “And his family. They aren’t right.”
Clyde’s jaw dropped.
Raider couldn’t blame him. Chellie was uncouth, loud and proud, and Raider loved her even when she overstepped societal boundaries.
“This whole story they’ve fed us is suspicious,” she continued. “A pet lion? A pet—whatever else they might have. A trained lion grabbed you? Really? And you aren’t dead? Yeah, right!”
“That’s what happened!” Clyde protested after stuttering for a second. “We can show you the lion.” Then he winced.
“Whatever, weirdo.” Chellie tugged Raider’s arm gently. “We are going to get you checked out. Remember, you were at the party as, you know.”
“Someone with a fake ID,” Clyde said.
Chellie bared her teeth at him.
Clyde took a half-step back. “I promised I wouldn’t narc.” He cleared his throat. “Actually, I didn’t mean to say that out loud.”
“See?” Chellie asked. “Weirdo.”
Raider didn’t think that was the case. He figured Clyde was startled by the attraction that Raider, even injured, could feel between them.
Before Raider could think of anything to say, Chellie was leading him out of the room.
Raider wanted to look back over his shoulder, but knew his ribs wouldn’t have any of that kind of movement.
“Chellie, I think you’re being harsh,” Raider managed to say before they got much further.
Chellie grunted. “Don’t trust ‘em.”
“Yeah, well we don’t trust you either,” Murphy grumbled as they passed him.
“Whatever, you loser. You can scrub the toilets first thing in the morning when you get to our place.” Chellie kept them moving.
And Raider, his head spinning, was relieved to know this wouldn’t be the last interaction he had with Clyde, not if he could help it. He’d forgotten that Murphy had to come clean their place.
That meant Raider would have time to ask questions, to find out more about Clyde. It wasn’t as if he were walking away forever.
He intended to keep track of where they lived, and made a mental note to ask Chellie for the address.

He might have done both of those things had Chellie not hit a pothole while she was driving about forty miles per hour. The seatbelt locked and when Raider was jolted, pain radiated out from his ribs and darkness smothered him.

Wednesday, February 8, 2017

Quick Babble!

PNut, Guardian of The Back Seat
Today Mom and I delivered a vehicle to Midland, Texas-- a place I've mentioned in a story or two. It was a 700+ roundtrip drive, and I'm really loving that I can spend these times with my mom. We laugh, a lot. Friday, we have to deliver a truck even further away.

Then...

Then, the Hubs and I embark on our week-long anniversary vacation. I'll try to write installments, though, and post pics of fishies or something. We're going to Rockport to fish, boat, and beach, etc.

Look at my Mom and PNut (hiding behind the tree). Aren't they adorable??




And hopefully, write. Maybe the downtime away from home will be conducive to writing. I've got so many stories, started and in my head, and they need to be told. 

On a totally different and probably gross note, I swear to whatever that I have never seen so many dead skunks in my entire life as I did on the drive today. Are skunks extinct now? Because holy shit, there were over a hundred of them. It was weird! And sad. Okay, and it kind of made me think of a story, or part of a plot for one, rather. 

How is everything going for y'all? Oh! If you're a member of my FB group, there are contests going on there-- and I am going to start contests here again, too. Screw ARe screwing us, we are NOT giving up our fun! 

*mwah* Sweet dreams, y'all! 

Tuesday, February 7, 2017

Metamorphoses Ch. 8

Copyright 2017
Bailey Bradford





Chapter Eight


Take a tornado, hurricane, earthquake, and a herd of rabid hyenas, and Raider imagined they’d make about as much of a ruckus as Chellie was.
Raider stumbled, his legs still unsteady when he stood.
Clyde was beside him in an instant. “Here, let me help.” He slipped an arm, oh so gently, around Raider’s waist, keeping Raider’s injured ribs close to but not touching Clyde’s side.
The protective gesture both pleased and perplexed Raider, not that he had time to dwell on it.
“Who are you? Why are you groping Raider?” Chellie demanded before she had the door all the way open. “Raider! Oh my god!”
The shock on her face and the way she went pale scared Raider. He started to touch his bottom lip. He had to look like shit warmed over—
“He’s hurt,” Clyde said, twisting until Raider was out of Chellie’s reach. “His ribs and face, yeah. So don’t, like, tackle him or anything.”
Chellie sized Clyde up with a cold inspection, not a spark of friendliness in her eyes. “And who the fuck are you?”
“Clyde.” Clyde offered his free hand to Chellie. “You must be Chellie, Raider’s girlfriend?”
Raider frowned. Did Clyde just ask a question? No, no he—wait! “No!” both Raider and Chellie burst out with.
“Gross,” Chellie added. “I don’t do dick.”
From the open doorway came a lot of sputtering and snickering. Raider wasn’t surprised to see Clyde’s parents and a herd of what had to be siblings of Clyde’s all hovering just outside the room.
“Clyde does a lot of it,” Murphy said. “In his dreams!”
Gladys reached back and punched his nose. “Why is it you act like you’re 13 instead of 31?”
“Cuz he’s Benjamin Butthole and he becomes more juvenile every day,” someone in the hallway group said.
“I don’t think that’s how the movie worked,” another person said.
“Who is this hussy?” yet a third person asked, this one a young lady perhaps no more than nineteen or twenty. “Barging in here, yelling and screaming.”
“Hussy?” Chellie snorted. “If that’s supposed to offend me, fail. And FYI, I will tear hell itself apart to help Raider. He’s my best buddy, and he and his family are my family.”
“Chellie, no one here is trying to hurt me.” Raider eased away from Clyde and almost fell over. “Oh.”
“Right,” Clyde muttered, carefully supporting Raider. “We were working at the event at LeHorne’s and saw them going after Raider. We helped him.”
“Except for Murphy. He’s the reason Raider got beat up.”
Whoever said that must have had it in for Murphy, Raider decided. Chellie’s expression went flat and she turned to Clyde’s family. Each step Chellie took send a shiver down Raider’s spine.
“Chellie, it’s not like that,” Raider began. “Don’t do anything violent.”
Gladys moved inside the room and folded her arms over her chest. “By all means, Chellie, don’t resort to violence. I’d have to wallop your ass then.”
“Ohhhhhh, fight fight fight!”
Raider blinked in surprise upon hearing the chant. “Your brothers and sisters are are
“Bloodthirsty turds,” Clyde finished for him.
“You think you can take me?” Chellie asked, stopping a few inches from Gladys. “What are you? Fifty? Sixty?”
Gladys’ smile held not even a hint of warmth. “Old enough to know how to teach you some manners.”
Chellie hesitated.
Raider felt his own mouth drop open. Chellie and restraint weren’t two things that went together. Not when Chellie was angry, scared, or felt challenged.
“I understand that this young man is your friend,” Gladys said with unmistakable kindness. “He seems to be a good person who simply got caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. We were trying to free a fri—er—“
“Our family pet,” Clyde filled in.
Raider thought it seemed suspicious, that pause on Gladys’ part and Clyde providing the rest of the sentence. Though, Raider couldn’t pinpoint why he thought it was suspicious.
He must have been hit in the face hard enough to crack a few of his marbles. Raider was reading things into words and shit he shouldn’t be.
His fear that Clyde and Clyde’s family were out to hurt him was obviously unfounded.
He was just a damned mess.
“Why did that chick say Murphy, whoever that is, was responsible for Raider’s injuries?” Chellie asked.
Gladys’ sighed. “Because Murphy broke our lion and another animal out of their cages, then pointed at Raider when security guards swarmed in. My oldest child doesn’t always think before acting.”
“I thought about not getting attacked by the guards,” Murphy said indignantly.
“Not helping your case, Murph,” Kurt muttered.
“So,” Chellie drawled. “That moron there sicced the guards on my best friend in the entire world, and got him beat up?”
“It sounds so bad when you put it like that,” Murphy protested. “I didn’t know they’d beat him up!”
“You obviously suspected something bad would happen or you wouldn’t have pawned the blame off on an innocent man,” Chellie half-yelled. “Ugh! Loser!”
Gladys arched one eyebrow. “Yes, he did something very stupid and selfish. Murphy panicked and didn’t think about the repercussions of what he was doing. Even so, he will make reparations for the pain and suffering he has caused Raider.”
“It’s fine,” Raider told her. “He doesn’t have to do anything.”
“I was thinking he could clean your apartment or house twice a week for a couple of months,” Gladys offered. “But if you don’t— “
“Deal,” Chellie interrupted. “Shake on it.”
“What? No way!” Murphy began.
Kurt grabbed him by the arm and dragged Murphy away.
Gladys lowered her hand after she shook with Chellie. “Oh, he’ll do it, and he’ll do it right. Murphy might be immature for his age, but he’s a clean-fanatic. Once he starts in on your place, he won’t be able to stop until it’s sparkling clean.”
Chellie glanced back at Raider. “If you had two black eyes, we could probably get six months of cleaning.”

Best friends. Nothing else like them in the whole world.