#Buy Homes In Duck Creek

[buystgeorgehomes]

Find Real Estate Agents in Saint George | Buy Homes In Duck Creek, UT- Kelly L. Martin

I have been a successful licensed Real Estate Agent/Broker in Utah for over 30 years! Besides experience in all aspects of Residential Real Estate, I have expertise in Commercial Sales and Leasing, Mortgage Sales and Management, extensive New Construction knowledge, and Staging and Decorating.

[fullofgutsndopamine]

put me back in (i would do it again)

or; re-visiting old ghosts

more wcbah here (not mandatory to read other parts. doesn’t necessarily follow the timeline either so)

TW: cursing, mention of past abuse, PTSD, bad coping skills, mention of alcohol/alcoholism (not charlie or r)

For a long time, the street was forbidden.

like some kind of imaginary barrier forbid you from crossing that section of the street, some physical force putting a hand against your chest and forcing you to stop, to reevaluate, to think this through

usually it comes in the form of charlie.

for awhile, a mystery problem would come up; the pain that radiates down his leg that only seems to come up when close to this block would flare up, the sky would turn darker and charlie would insist it was time to come home, promising a warm mug of tea.

charlie could tell the hesitation.

his hand tangled in yours, he’s whistling as his head is up, looking high into the trees, the reds and greens and purples that only a midwest fall can promise you.

they get to the stop sign. you wait for charlie to open his mouth, to come up with an excuse, to fake an injury.

instead, he squeezes your hand: “i think the Marshall’s put their boat up last week, finally. I was working on their pier-“

your breathing is as timed as the beating in your chest. charlie is obviously making small talk, trying to make this less frightening-as if you hadn’t tossed and turned and lost sleep over this house and the monsters that roamed the too small four walls.

charlie’s grip on your hand tightens as the old house comes into view. you aren’t sure if it’s for your benefit or his. his voice never wavers, and he’s talking nonsense, just talking to be able to talk, but it’s comforting.

“fuck.”

the for sale sign creeks as it flips in the wind.

the house is just as you left it; the peeling paint, the mailbox on the ground. it’s like you and charlie never existed, never made it out, never did anything, ghosts dancing on the lawn between the houses.

you only realize charlie let go of your hand when you feel the empty space.

“charlie.”

your voice is harsher than it needs to be, and your whispering, which is unnecessary as everyone is gone, ghosts don’t haunt this part of town anymore.

“cmon. just want to see.”

leaves crumble under his boots and he kicks some away as if for confirmation, seeing his and yours initials in the old pavement by the mailbox, as if the nightmares aren’t enough to confirm this is the place.

“charlie!”

your practically yelling but he can’t hear you as he walks towards the door, his fingers linger behind as he traces over the peeling paint of the house, how some chips and gets stuck under his nails, how he’ll carry that with him

“do you think the lock is still broken?”

his hand rests on the door.

“shouldn’t we let the dead rest?”

it’s heavy in the air, because no one’s actually dead-you both just wish, most of the time. this house has seen it all, you’ve both seen it all, and it would only make sense.

his hand rests on the door handle before a gust of wind makes something in the front fall over.

you and charlie race back home, feet flying you to your sanctuary breathless as charlie yells, “go, go, go.”

charlie waits a few days to bring it up.

dark bags are under his eyes. he’s back to not sleeping-most nights you find his place in the bed cold, grabbing an old shirt of his off the floor as you walk downstairs in search of him.

“i was thinking.” he says carefully a few days later. he’s talking to his plate, his head ducked and he’s the nervous boy you grew up with again, always saying the wrong thing, always in the way.

“hm?”

it’s a half committed response, flipping through a newspaper you borrowed from the neighbor. they’re gone for the fall, but can afford to leave the subscription going, the least of their problems, so it continues.

“your old house,” he says, making your head whip up, “we could buy it.”

your hand grips the nightgown you’re wearing.

“charlie.”

“make it a home,” he says, using his knuckle to push his glasses up his face. they’re still broken, lean towards the left, “i already called. we can set up a meeting.”

“make it a home.” you repeat, “charlie, we got scared by the wind-“

“i won’t be scared,” he shakes his head, “not with you there. go with me?”

his voice drops and it almost sounds like begging, on the verge of tears.

“please.”

the days to the visit crawl and run at the same time. you find yourself busy with projects that aren’t necessary: raking the same leaves, watering half dead flowers-charlie takes the time off from the small projects he makes himself busy with around town, doesn’t leave your side.

it feels like a death march.

guilt and dread gnaws at your stomach, rips through you-but charlie is humming, smiling, as he walks hand in hand to a place you both memorized.

“and this here is the kitchen-“

it’s weird, having a stranger show you a house you grew up in. can see the marks on the wall by the stairs where charlie would mark how tall he was in comparison to you, the creaking stairs with the railing that falls if you grip it too hard-the sink that still leaks-

how the realtor would constantly be trying to get you two back on this tour, finding something to try and make this house appetizing

the stairs creak and groan as you follow upstairs, bow you hesitate until charlie steps in front, puts one foot in front of the other and offers his hand:

“i got us.”

the twin sized bed in the bedroom right off the stairs, that charlie never truly fit into, the nights he’d practically roll off the bed. the windows that creeked with the wind, flooded in the fall-

the first night is spent in the too small room. charlie insisted he could throw the twin sized mattress in the trash, buy a new mattress in a few weeks, that the pillows and blankets on the floor would be like a sleepover when you both were kids and the shadows scared you still, chased you to his front door.

you sit on the edge of the mattress as charlie walks around the room, his fingers trialing behind everything.

kelly, the realtor, has long given up. said to meet her downstairs when you’re both done, to give you space, explore the “rich history of the house.” you and charlie both hold in the laughs.

hands are shaken and papers are signed that day.

the move doesn’t take long; you both don’t own much and charlie keeps falling this a fresh start, trying to throw away anything that feels wrong. insists this time will be different, that he’ll make this right.

during the day, the house doesn’t seem too nefarious. you’re able to wash dishes at the sink, charlie hammers at the stair case, a cracking radio in the back-it feels like the house on the hill, for most of the day.

until night falls. shadows creep and bolt as you make your way around the house, hand in hand with charlie, even for the restroom. anxiety rips at your throat. but every time you look at charlie, he’s smiling. it’s all teeth, a genuine smile you haven’t seen in awhile, and his voice is low, borders on a hum as he talks:

“we’ll get it right, this time.”

charlie wakes you up from the floor. the front room doesn’t have much; spent most of the day dreaming up where things could go-a television, eventually, a small couch-charlie had a hand full of your paintings he insisted you brought with, spent the day with an arm full of them-holding them against the walls, tilting his head, trying to get it right-a nail between his teeth until he found the perfect place-marks the spot.

you were hoping to get away with it, sleeping in the front room. it was like before, when exhaustion finally took over and you two passed out wherever you could, only until the other woke you up, marched upstairs.

instead, you crawl into the twin sized mattress, back against the wall. it’s scary for only a moment-suddenly you’re a kid holding your breath waiting for your father to come home again-

until-

until

charlie slides into the mattress. it creeks and dips wit him but your hand is tangled in his against his chest and you can feel the steady beat from his chest to talk you off the ledge.

“tell me a story.”

charlie laughs from behind you. it gets captured in the too small room, makes itself louder. you imagine it chases away the ghosts that hide and peak and linger behind the doors

“i think i’m all out of stories, honey.”

“one more,” you’re all but begging, “for old times sake.”

this time, he isn’t drowning out noises. not the refrigerator slamming shut and the sound of a bottle cap hitting aluminum floor. the yelling, the “i’ll find you. you know i will.” charlie’s lips don’t need to be pressed against your ear to be the only sound you hear now. you’re a kid and you believe in princess’ and far away lands and happy endings again-

“once upon a time,” charlie drawls, “in a place far, far away-“

when you wake up, the sun is shining through the windows and you can hear the waves being chased to the shore, crash, build themselves up again

the spot where charlie laid is cold. you can smell coffee in the air, and the radio cracks downstairs.

he’s smiling, as you walk downstairs. a handful of nails again, but the sink isn’t leaking anymore, can’t hear the drip drip drip that you swore would drive you insane.

“morning, honey.” charlie smiles in the home he made, “made you coffee. figured we could get started outside today-“

and as you curl up next to him, the cup of coffee burning your hand, you’re home.

[that-punk-adam]

The largest ever lottery winning was around $2 billion. The average (American) person will only make around $3 million in their entire life. The take home of that lottery was around $265 million if I’m remembering correctly, totaling to around 88 lifetimes worth of bills, rent, mortgage, groceries, events, etc. What do you think the average person is going to spend $265,000,000 on if given the chance?

I’d straight buy a house. Not a mansion, but a house that has enough space for me and husband and a dog. If I’m feeling spicy, 2 dogs. Shelter dogs or from really ethical breeders, not whatever breed is popular. We’d have lots of land with a stream crossing through.

I’m funding my own mini farm. Goats and chickens and ducks. Maybe I’d get those really fuckin cute sheep with the black faces. A small flock, for the wool and meat. A lamb shank on special occasions is heavenly. A huge hoop house for crops that would benefit from the protection. A small orchard for the seasonal blessings that are Fuji apples… the trees would come from this small orchard called Lynn’s. I’d fight for those damn apples.

I’d host parties that would embarrass the hobbits of the shire. Imagine tending to a party that’s equal to those massive marriage parties. Fresh cheese and wine for all! Free leftovers for all! Yes, you can come by for some free food at any point if you find yourself to be struggling!

That’s a snapshot of the lifestyle I would live if I won the lotto. That leaves out all of the donations and the good deeds that I would do with my free time. I could leave the work force permanently and do good for the rest of my life.

What do people who have even MORE then that do with their time and (near endless) resource access? Will I see someone who has built up over $3 million waste deep in some hidden creek with burning determination to get as much of it cleaned out before the sun sets? Will I see them walking along the side of the road picking up trash to just do it? Will I see them planting wild native seeds in areas where it desperately needs it? Will I see if hear about them joining the common folk in person to speak out on the rights of humanity?

Will they do good for the world? Are they doing good for the sake of doing good already?

Will you?

[salternateunreality2]

Miscellaneous Neurodivergent (ND) AGSZC Headcanons/Alternate Universe

Disclaimer: not an expert

AU setup: all the boys are neuro-spicy except Angeal, who has depression/anxiety. I HC that GZ are more ADHD-leaning and SC are more Autism (ASD)-leaning

From: the archives of my convos with @strayheartless

--------------------------------

Fidgets

Everyone has a fondness for really dense, tiny objects. Cloud has a heavy, cold wolf charm that has tiny shards of ice-type materia for eyes. It's always cold and reminds him of home.

Zack definitely has a slap bracelet that doubles as one of those reversible sequin thingies. It has a frog head. He either violently slaps it on things when he's wound up, or meticulously makes all the sequins go the same direction when he's hyper focusing on it, or roughly pets it up and down to change colors rapidly, or digs the sequins under his fingernails. He also fiddles with the felt tongue and makes it go floopfloopfloop and lick his friends.

Sephiroth doesn't understand at first, and Zack's the one who buys him a plethora of toys. Some of them he hates, some he loves, and most of them he keeps in a basket for his friends at his flat. There are a couple noisy ones he hides from Zack, or "accidentally" lets Zack steal. I think his favorite would have to be something that goes with his uniform, probably the ornate belt buckle he has in canon. He can trace the design with his fingers or fiddle with the tassels. I'm mostly thinking of the round one, but it could be other parts of his uniform too.

Genesis has puzzles of all sorts around him at all times. He prefers quieter ones made of wood and string that he can carry around, but has loud metal ones, large boxes, etc. He sadly broke the water ring puzzle Zack gave him in a fit of rage and never solved it. It's just as well, the thing was tacky. (It is not just as well, he still gets angry thinking about it and wants to beat it SO BADLY, feels guilty for breaking it, and feels ashamed for letting it best him).

Angeal enjoys solving Gen's puzzles from time to time.

----------------------------

TINY SPOONS

Angeal: is bewildered, but bought extra to keep on hand

Genesis: LOVES THEM, and won't say so in those exact words; rather, he has a myriad of scientific evidence to back his opinion up

Sephiroth: every spoon is a tiny spoon to the lorg boi

Zack: likes them, but also needs normal and big spoons to shovel food in

Cloud: secretly really likes them, but also likes comically large, inappropriate spoons, like wooden stirring spoons

------------------------------

Living Spaces

Filled to overflowing, but mostly tastefully arranged: Genesis

Spartan by choice: Sephiroth

Spartan by necessity: Cloud

Neurotypical: Angeal

Messiest apartment: Zack

------------------------------

Stims

One of Seph's subtle stims is swishing his hair. Idk if you've ever done that with like a high ponytail or something, but you just very subtly move your body and all the hair goes whoosh whoosh.

Zack starts squatting subconsciously.

Cloud likes ducking his head into his shirt/scarf.

Genesis is very rhythmic, he likes tapping, humming, whistling, and reciting certain poems.

Angeal will find himself tapping along to Gen sometimes.

---------------------------------

Food

Angeal makes an absurd amount of buttered noodles with milk for Cloud when he's suffering with mako, and figures out how to make bland enough noodles from scratch because he's a legend.

(yeah, this is a bit of a stereotype, but have you HAD buttered noodles when you can't eat anything else?!)

-

Meanwhile, sensory-seeking Genesis and Zack bring home the weirdest, most flavorful things they can find.

Zack: Cloud! Look at this! I have crawdad claw fingers now!!! RAWWRRR!!!!

Cloud: ...enjoy your creek bug.

-

Not that Cloud can't eat almost anything; growing up poor forced him into many sensory experiences with food he Did Not Enjoy, but now that he has more of a choice, he saves the DEMON SPAWN FIRE SAUCE HOT WINGS foods for Zack.

-

Genesis pretends to be a snob, so his weird food has fancy names and costs a pretty penny, like escargot.

-

Sephiroth, much like Cloud, can choke down almost anything in the name of ingesting calories, but he likes simple, tasty things that aren't mushy.

Angeal will try most things and is a member of the clean plate club.

-----------------------------------------

Deep Pressure

All the boys love hugs from their partners, and these 5 gentlemen give the best deep pressure hugs ever. The strength in their arms makes the pressure so strong, satisfying, and secure. They can also be found laying on each other just to get smooshed and feel grounded.

----------------------------------

Meow (Echolalia)

Zack wanders around meowing, setting off Cloud and Sephiroth.

Angeal joins in because he thinks he hears a cat, and he's a good sport.

Genesis: Angeal. Why are you meowing.

Angeal: just talking to the cat, don't mind me 🙂

Genesis: ....YOU DON'T HAVE A CAT

Angeal: ...I don't have a cat, what the heck?

Zack, Cloud, Sephiroth: meow

-

Sephiroth is very good at imitating sounds; it makes sense though with his alien shapeshifter genes. He also chirps, like, a LOT, like a cat luring in his prey

See also: why he quotes Loveless.

-

Genesis: *spiraling about something, overstimulated, self esteem in the toilet, pacing, babbling*

Sephiroth: My friend, do you fly away now?

Genesis: *instantly snaps out of it, comes over for snuggles*

Sephiroth: *purrs*

[handeaux]

Cincinnati’s Domestic Servants Endured Long Hours And Harassment For A Pittance

With the dawn of the new century in 1901, Cincinnati housemaids attempted to organize a union. That collective bargaining initiative didn’t last the year but offered some insight into the lives of domestic servants at that time.

According to Jesse Partlon, pioneering woman reporter for the Cincinnati Post [26 March 1901], the president of the nascent union was Maria “Maggie” Schuler, who was employed by the family of confectioner Samuel E. Elliott at their home on Gilbert Avenue. Nora Murphy, who boarded on Hackberry Street, was vice president. Mollie Dougherty, the treasurer, “did for” Matilda Besuden, wife of tobacconist Henry J. Besuden out on Duck Creek Road.

The union organizers were hardly inflammatory radicals. Their demands involved being treated with respect, reasonable sleeping accommodations, a fair wage ($2.50 weekly!) and permission to meet suitors indoors:

“Rule 6. Members must have an agreement with their employers about receiving company. Every girl is entitled to a beau, else she will never get married, and she owes it to her self-respect not to meet him at the corner.”

According to reporter Partlon, there were about 30 members of the Housemaids Union, a minuscule sample of the women employed locally as domestic servants in 1901. The United States Census recorded more than 8,000 domestic servants in Cincinnati in 1900, about evenly split between housemaids and cooks and almost exclusively female. A weekly salary of $2.50 was typical, with room and board included. The hours were grueling, from 5:00 a.m. to 10:00 p.m. at night. Partlon went undercover and got herself hired at a middle-class home. On reporting for duty, the household cook outlined her duties:

“The first thing you do in the morning is fill up the furnace and take out the ashes; then you take the snow shovel and clean the walks around the house and the front pavement; then you blacken the shoes, there are two men in this house, and then brush their coats and the Missus’ skirts – you’ll find them outside their doors. After that you dust the halls. About that time I have breakfast ready and you must wait on the tables.”

You heard right – all of that was before breakfast! After breakfast was a round of sweeping, making the beds, dusting and polishing, laundry, mending, picking up after the children and pampering the pets. Despite this backbreaking agenda, the “Missus” rarely trusted the help. According to Partlon:

“My employer insisted on following me all over the house the first day I was there, and never let me out of her sight for a moment. She locked every drawer and closet in the house right before my eyes, putting the keys in her pocket. ‘You see, I don’t know a thing about you,’ she said, in answer to my look of astonishment. ‘One can’t be too careful.’”

It is no wonder that so many young women departed domestic service at the soonest opportunity. Partlon interviewed a couple of housemaids who confessed that they would prefer to work in a factory or a store, primarily because they would have evenings off. They were reluctant to leave domestic service, however, because factory pay wasn’t much better and room and board wasn’t covered.

Partlon’s exposé touched some nerves in Cincinnati. One “Missus,” writing pseudonymously as “Nanette Napoleon,” chastised the Post for printing a series of articles supporting the grievances of housemaids who were unlikely to return the favor by buying a subscription.

“In hundreds of homes incompetent girls are taken in at HIGH wages, have to be taught how to work, are trained by careful housewives whose patience never ceases, who think all the while that for their labor they will finally have a good servant, only to find that they are met with impertinence and that they have trained them for someone else, for as soon as the girl thinks she knows it all, off she goes without a moment’s warning.”

In contrast, a housemaid congratulated the Post on the articles and complained about the tricks used by employers to undercut attempts by their servants to locate better positions.

“When one woman telephones to another about a girl who has applied for employment, this is the reference that is often heard: ‘She is all right, except for something I cannot tell just at present.’ That is worse than slander, and sends many a loyal woman to ruin or an early grave.”

In general, the housemaids told the Post, women employed by Cincinnati’s wealthier families were treated fairly well. It was the parvenus who earned the ire of servants.

“Girls in middle-class families who do general housework are subjected to treatment that makes them long for other employment. Often they have to sleep in cold rooms in the bitterest weather. Often – far more often than you would believe – they are stinted in their food.”

By 1909, changes in household management and improvements in factory conditions encouraged so many young women to find work other than domestic service that Cincinnati society women complained “no one wants to work anymore.” Carrie B. Haworth, who ran an employment agency on Ninth Street, told the Post [9 July 1909]:

“The average American girl doesn’t want positions as house servant. She has too many beaus, and, besides, she doesn’t like the work.”

Still, there were enough servants employed in Cincinnati in 1909 that new apartment houses were designed with servants’ quarters on the top floor. That arrangement led to its own unique complaints, according to the Post [29 December 1909]:

“This system was considered most ideal when started, but it is now considered the most diabolical agency for gossip ever invented, say the flat-dwellers who own servants. The result is that every family in the house knows what’s going on in every other family, via the servants, who get the news from each other when they go to their own apartments in the evening.”

Among the apartment buildings cited as the worst gossip mills was the Navarre Flats, still located today on Gilbert Avenue in Walnut Hills.

According to the U.S. Census, Cincinnati’s servant population declined from 8,000 in 1900 to 3,000 in 1920 and to just over 1,000 in 1950.

[grievousdearu]

No Bully Zone

The sound of rain falling into the creek leaves the bridge area shrouded in a white noise that lets me feel at ease- more so than the white noise of the crowd in the markets outside the house.

Mama was once again out somewhere doing something, so I’d been left with money to buy some bread for lunch.

The last crumbs fall to the ground and dissolve away in the mud of the creekbank under the bridge as I finish off my bread roll.

That boy found me the other day, but I don’t know where else to go so I wound up coming back here again anyways.

I often wonder if I found somewhere else that was this secluded if I’d go to it instead of here. But where can you find somewhere like this in the market district of Helmholtz? Most places will have people going through it all day.

Maybe now that I’ve eaten, I can go back and try reading that book about magic that’s on the bookshelf in the bedroom at home. Mama bought it last week for something, but she hasn’t opened it since. Would she get mad if I looked at it?

I let out a deep sigh, then lean back against the stone foundation of the bridge, thinking about what to do.

Eventually, I decided to go back home and look around there for something to do.

I take about five steps up the creek bank before I see a couple of other kids walk past me. Hurriedly, I try to get by them, but just as I’m about to pass, I feel a tug at my hood, and it’s removed from my head before I have a chance to stop it.

“Freak!”

I knew it.

I try to pull up my hood again, but the kids try to forcefully remove the entire cloak from my body, which is tied around my neck. Their pulling starts to choke me, and I reach for the knot to untie it, but I can’t undo it because of the pressure being applied.

“What, are you gonna cry now? Can freaks like you even cry?” The largest boy taunts me as he pulls on my cloak.

They were pulling on my hood even harder now, leaving me gasping for air. I try to call out to someone for help, but I can’t bring myself to- not only because I can’t breathe, but because I know nobody will help anyways.

“Who-!?”

The sound of a sack hitting the ground rings out behind me, and suddenly I feel the tugging at my hood stop.

“What’s your problem!? Get lost! You aren’t involved in this!” One of the other kids yells out.

“And you aren’t either, not anymore.” A fourth kid says. However… that voice sounds familiar, but I struggle to place who it belongs to.

“What are you planning to do about it, then?!” The first, largest boy says.

“Make you leave.”

I can’t bring myself to turn around. So instead, I simply cower on the ground, waiting for everything to be over. I don’t want to be involved. I don’t want anyone to yell anymore.

“Go ahead and try!”

I hear the sound of a fist hitting flesh echo out slightly. But for some reason, it sounded… solid?

“The hell are you?!?”

A full-blown fight then breaks out, from what I can tell based on sound alone. Though, somehow something sounded distinctly one-sided.

I felt fear wash over me, not just for myself now, but for the boy who I think was trying to defend me.

A few seconds pass, with the sound of people beating each other filling my ears, soon followed by the crying of children.

I duck my head down and try to get as close to the ground as possible, getting so close that some mud gets on my nose.

Eventually, I hear the sound of someone running.

The fighting had stopped.

Except now I heard two more sets of running feet. I had a feeling I knew what just happened, but I was still too scared to turn around to confirm for myself.

I’d left it too late to run myself, now. Now all I could do was sit here and wait for that boy to do whatever it was he was going to do, and I had no way to stop it from happening.

A tap on my back sends chills down my entire body, and I prepare myself.

“Are you okay?” I hear him say.

It’s too hard to say if the ground in front of my face was wet because of the rain, or if it was because of my tears, and I had too many emotions coursing through my body to know why or if I was crying.

The rain seemed like it’d stopped some time while the boy was waiting for my response, making the whole event feel like it’d lasted hours.

After a few seconds passed and I felt no further contact on my body, I slowly turned my head around to face the one boy who’d decided to fight three others for no reason.

His face had a few cuts and red spots, but otherwise, he seemed mostly okay.

“Wh-why d-did you do that?!” Instead of screaming at him, I can only raise my voice to a loud questioning one.

“Because they were bullying you. I don’t like bullies.”

How… can this boy say that with a straight face?...

Is it a lie? I can’t tell.

All I know is that he’d beaten off three other kids, one who was larger than him, and he’d won.

Seemingly, at least.

If what he just said is true…

I think this is quite possibly the dumbest boy I have ever seen.

I don’t know how long I’d been staring at him, but he presents a smile at me and reaches out his hand.

“Need help up?”

How long was my mouth slightly open at him? Was his stupidity really that powerful?

Everything I have ever seen in my life— it goes against what this boy does.

No, that’s not right, rather… everything this boy does defies logic. It goes against everything I’ve learned here.

I just…

I can’t understand what he’s doing, why he’s doing it, or if he even understands what he’s doing at all.

Should I be afraid of him if he realizes what it is he’s doing?

Would he even care if he found out?

“Suit yourself, then,” he says to me.

Apparently, I’d been lost in thought trying to reason out his actions for so long, so much time had passed he’d taken my lack of response as a denial.

I slowly clamber to my feet and wipe my face of the mud and water that was on it.

I suddenly remember that the bullies had been tugging at my hood and cloak, at which I hastily check over it for damage, but I find none other than some mud on the fringes.

“Do you like it here or something?” He asks me yet another question.

“I-I don’t… know…”

“It’s the second time I’ve seen you here.”

I fall silent at his response. I still don’t know how to feel about him, so if he realized that this was my safe space, I will have lost it for certain.

“Why are you always here by yourself?”

“I d-don’t know…”

“Why not?”

“I j-just don’t k-know okay?!”

I try to rush off away from him, but I stop after just a few steps. I feel like he’s so dense he wouldn’t know, so I can’t help but try to warn him.

“Don’t do this again, for your safety.”

“Why?”

I wordlessly walk off without answering his question and start going back home.

“Maybe I’ll see you again sometime, then!” I hear him yell at me from a distance.

Something bad is going to happen to him because of me. I know it.

Or maybe it will be himself…

[kimberly40]

•The Grand Ole Folks of Yesterday•

Our great-grand folks were humble and poor,

In a little log cabin with cracks in the floor.

Carried their water up the hill from a spring,

In an old wooden bucket with a cup of tin.

Gathered in kindling from a brush patch,

Handmade lights and saved their scarce match.

Behind every stove was a strong wooden box

Filled with dry wood, carried and chopped.

Close to the fireplace, warmed their shins,

Goose-pimpled back when the draft blew in.

Read Bibles and few books on cold winter nights

By a dim little blaze of a dim little light.

Hunted for sport, a mess of wild meat.

Tanned the hides of a carcass to eat.

Knew every varmint by the print of his paw,

Tracked them down during the snow and spring thaw.

Children walked to school more than a mile,

Through drifted snow the wind had piled,

Struggled hard to get there and back,

With heavy feet wrapped in old feed sacks.

Loose straw beds that they stirred each night,

With homemade comforts tucked in tight.

Feather beds in each home plumped and plied

Covers so heavy the body grew tired.

Up bright and early to get the stove hot,

Cooked soup beans in an old iron pot.

Corn boiled in water with wood-made lye,

Made their hominy we now cheaply buy.

Their coffee strong, bitter and black

Roasted in ovens, then hand milled and cracked.

Boiled clothes in a kettle with lye soap,

No detergents, no bleach, no powdered soap.

Caught the rain in a big tub,

On a wash board they rubbed.

Used the wash water to scrub the board floors,

Then with a straw broom, swept it out the door.

The old family cows made milk for the churn.

For this tiresome chore each child took his turn.

Sliced peaches and apples, spread up high,

On a roof in the sun to wither and dry.

Cabbage and turnips buried in a hole

Safe from freeze of the weather cold.

Gathered their dry beans in coffee sacks

Beat with a stick until the hulls cracked.

Cleaned by the wind from pan to pan

And carefully sorted each mess by hand.

Children’s toys were all handmade,

Crooked limbs made runs for the sled,

Baby had spools threaded on a string,

A pie pan and stick to make it ring,

They could bend small trees for a pony ride,

Behind a clay ditch play hoop-in-hide.

Wade down the creek in summertime,

Old fashioned fun didn’t cost a dime.

Fuel was made with strong muscles and ax,

And tobacco was free from all state tax.

Raised all they ate, nothing refined,

Our great granddads had a hard time.

Old-time folks would borrow and lend,

A shovel of fire, anything to a settin’ hen,

Thinned their blood with sassafras tea,

Used skunk oil when the colds and sneeze.

Broke leafy twigs to shoo out the flies

That crawled on the baby and made it cry.

Sad irons were heated on smoky cookstoves,

Rubbed clean on paper before ironing the clothes.

Baked their own bread, raised food and sewed

Each had his duties, each carried his load.

Butchered their hogs and rendered their lard,

Raised ducks and chickens in their backyard.

Dried green beans on long strings of twine,

Made kraut in a barrel, corn soaked in brine.

Raised sorghum cane, stripped off the leaves,

Precious juice from the stalk was squeezed.

The sorghums cooked in a large pan,

For fritters, flapjacks, candy and jam.

We owe a great debt we can never repay,

To the Grand Ole Folks of yesterday.

~Author unknown

[jonasbridger]

Everything I did these three days

First half day, not much to tell really we got to the cabin it was late when we got there so all we really did was hang out there and talk.

First full day, we went down to a another town for food, then stopped at fishing hole , we then Went back to the cabin and hung out there and walked up this small creek that went through the town and by my uncle's cabin. We then went to this trail up near a falls (small) and hiked up there (the pictures) I caught a butterfly whilst climbing up the trail , it's pretty high up (as shown in one of the pictures) we Then drove back to the fishing hole , it was very close to the trail, just a little drive to get to it. We went back to the cabin and my aunt and uncle were at an auction just across the bridge in the town. We walked back to the cabin and let my uncles dog out, my father was grilling hot dogs the entire time. My aunt and uncle soon returned. Later that night we had a fire and we just talked. Second day (today), we got up early because they were have community breakfast at the senior center. It wasn't too bad. There was a rubber duck race also happening that day, and you can buy a duck to race so we did. We then went back to the cabin and hung out until the duck race started. We walked to the bridge and there was alot of others there for the race. The race happened. After the race happened we went to the area where they were giving out the prizes. My aunt ended up winning one. it was a painting. We then walk back to the cabin and started packing our stuff. When we were finished packing we decided to stop at the gas station we saw my other aunt there. She was there cuz of the band that was going to happen tonight. After the gas station we started heading home. I'm home now I'm helping get everything out of the car after that I'm going to try and reorganize my room or just organize it cuz it's kind of messy, not in the sense that there's trash everywhere but in the sense that I have so much stuff that it kind of makes it look messy

[our-flag-means-death-ao3feed]

the happiest place on earth

by medievil

“What are you having?”

The man blinks. “What?”

“I’m buying your drink to make up for the shitty company. What’re you having?”

The non-bald twin scoffs. “Who the fuck are you?”

Ed ignores him; he doesn’t look away from his—hopefully—new drinking companion.

(How could he? A bright smile stretching across his face, blond curls tousled from wind and sweat. Another short-sleeved button down, the blue of an April sky, the cuffs and collar revealing navy interior embellishments—a floral print, maybe? Tough to say in this light. Pants tonight, flat-front khakis that do nothing to hide the curving musculature of his thighs. Ed has a wild urge to bite them, to see what kind of sound comes out of his mouth.)

He says, “Nothing too hoppy.”

Ed lifts the rope between them with his cane. The guy smiles back and ducks under the rope and now they’re—well. They’re standing together in line, and Ed doesn't know what to say.

This guy’s so fucking pretty, is the thing.

He says, “You work for Blackbeard?”

Ed frowns a second, then looks down at the Blackbeard’s Home Renovation and Restoration logo on his t-shirt. He says, “Yeah. Yeah, suppose I do.” He sticks out his hand. “Name’s Ed.”

Words: 675, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Fandoms: Our Flag Means Death (TV)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Blackbeard | Edward Teach, Stede Bonnet, The Badminton Twins, Fang (Our Flag Means Death)

Relationships: Blackbeard | Edward Teach/Stede Bonnet

Additional Tags: Autistic Blackbeard | Edward Teach, Blackbeard | Edward Teach Has ADHD, Autistic Stede Bonnet, Blackbeard's Home Renovation and Restoration, Bonnet Creek, Warning: Badminton Twins, Slow Burn, because they're both idiots (affectionate), Indigenous Blackbeard | Edward Teach, Kiwi Stede Bonnet, Blackbeard | Edward Rides a Motorcycle, Stede Bonnet Has a Motorcycle Fetish, Disney World, Epcot, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Work In Progress, no beta we die dramatically like Spaniards, Disabled Blackbeard | Edward Teach

source https://archiveofourown.org/works/47173750

[greenwoodbettercarbureau]

Places To See Animals When In Greenwood, IN

Greenwood, Indiana may not be known for its wildlife, but the city and its surrounding areas offer several opportunities to observe and interact with a diverse range of animals. Whether you're a nature enthusiast or a family looking for a fun day out, here are some places to see animals when in Greenwood, IN.

Freedom Park

Located in the heart of Greenwood, Freedom Park offers visitors the chance to observe several species of birds and waterfowl. The park has several ponds and wetlands that are home to ducks, geese, herons, and egrets. Visitors can also spot songbirds such as finches and cardinals while walking along the park's trails.

Kelsay Farms

For a more interactive animal experience, Kelsay Farms is a must-visit. This working dairy farm in Whiteland, just outside of Greenwood, offers tours that give visitors a behind-the-scenes look at the farm's operations. Guests can pet and feed the cows, learn about milking and milk processing, and even sample the farm's fresh ice cream.

Hoosier National Forest

Located just a short drive from Greenwood, the Hoosier National Forest covers over 200,000 acres and is home to a wide variety of wildlife. Visitors can spot deer, wild turkey, coyotes, and even black bears in the forest's dense woodlands. The forest also has several hiking trails that offer stunning views of the surrounding landscape.

Eagle Creek Park

While technically located in Indianapolis, Eagle Creek Park is only a 20-minute drive from Greenwood and is well worth the trip. The park is home to over 200 species of birds, including bald eagles, ospreys, and great blue herons. Visitors can also observe white-tailed deer, foxes, and beavers in the park's woodlands and wetlands.

IndyHumane Animal Welfare Center

For animal lovers looking to make a difference, the IndyHumane Animal Welfare Center in Indianapolis is a great place to volunteer. The center offers several opportunities to work with animals, including dog walking, cat socialization, and animal transport. Volunteers can also assist with adoption events and community outreach programs.

While these places can bring you wonderful experiences, Ray Skillman Ford can assure those who are looking for buying a car, brand new or second hand, will be given a buying experience they will never regret. Being recommended by the Greenwood Better Car Bureau, only ensures you that they are one of the best in the greater Greenwood providing such service. This family owned business will ensure that anything that a buyer is looking for when buying a car will be provided, from vehicle itself, new or pre owned, or parts and any other services.

Contact us

Ray Skillman Ford

1250 U.S. 31 South, Greenwood, IN, 46143

Phone: 317-885-9800

Map Driving Directions

[duckburgsgreatesttreasures]

Oh, he said a great many things, he likes to give long and detailed answers (which I/the fans love, but which con organisers hate :') ) and I wrote 4,5 pages of notes (A6 size).

It's very late rn and I'm meant to be asleep, but I'll try and summarize as best I can (I also wrote a bit more in depth about one of his answers here):

He told a bit about how he rolled into his carreer as a duck artist (most of us already know this or read it somewhere). That Son of The Son was his first story and how it got nominated for Best Story of the Year of the Harvey (Kurtzman) Awards the same year.

He sees himself more as a fanartist than a professional artist.

He also kept saying he's bad at art, but I never really understood that, I think his pages look great, they read well and are full of detail and passion! He said that people can at least see that he had fun making it and that keeps them publishing and reading, despite his "bad art".

He talked a bit about his old publishers, how they resented adult duck comic fans and one publisher even made a comment to Don Rosa calling adult fans "freaks" and he thought to himself "he's calling me a freak!" (Because he's one of us, a fellow adult duck fan)

He identifies strongest with the nephews because of the junior woodchucks, though he continued his answer by saying he gave Scrooge some of his own beliefs too, mostly in regards to the original Barks characterisation of Scrooge: some European duck artists depict him as greedy, but he's not greedy according to him & Barks, Scrooge is CHEAP! His bin is filled with essentially pocket change! His years and years of memories that he collected! In most european duck comics and some other iterations the money in the bin is colored yellow/gold (devils advocate tho, euro coins are kinda gold colored (except for the 5, 1 and 2 cents...)) and there's stuff like diamonds or other treasures in the bin, but according to Don Rosa it's supposed to be pocket change. Scrooge doesn't spend it, he saves it. He is a collector of memories.

Rosa also talked about why he stopped making duck comics. It's a variety of reasons but mainly because the system and publishers broke his passion. They used his passion against him, or rather, for themselves, for many years. He never even got any royalties for the millions of copies sold and reprinted. He got to go to Europe yes, but meanwhile his colleages were able to keep working at home and making money and he wasn't making Any money.. But the money thing wasn't the main reason, the main reason was being abused basically by his publishers in this way, he got fed up and decided to quit after what he considered his best work, the Prisoner of White Agony Creek.

He goes to every con he is invited to, so I guess I gotta try and contact Comic Con Holland to get him to go here lol :')

He talked a bit about how he doesn't really feel much for doing any original work with his own original characters. He doesn't care about that, he cares about the Barks comics and canon, That is personal to him.

One of the audience members asked a question I'd been meaning to ask him myself, concerning the many details he puts into his work and backgrounds. Don Rosa talked about how time consuming it is drawing backgrounds (*fellow artist nod of agreement*), but how readers barely ever pay attention to them, because they focus on the characters! He then started putting details and little jokes into his backgrounds to basically force his readers to pay attention to the backgrounds, haha! Smart move! He very much enjoys abusing Mickey Mouse in the background :p

The first time he put in the D.U.C.K. dedication into one of his stories, his publisher/editor made him take it out, because it looked too much like a signature and they couldn't have that (god forbid you credit the people who actually make the thing you're selling!!). Having a name connected to a story and art style means the audience has someone to connect to, which Actually makes people buy the thing more! But the editors didn't understand that, so Rosa started hiding his dedications in such a way that he knew his editors wouldn't find it, but his readers would! Because, in his words: the readers are much smarter than the editors!

As a child he read the duck comics thanks to his older sister, who collected them. As he got older and reread them he felt like he had outgrown the comics.. so at some point he got rid of all of them, except two that he just couldn't let go: The Golden Helmet and Only A Poor Old Man (both by Carl Barks, but he didn't realise it at the time). He told us how Barks was the first to put adult emotions into a duck comic, specifically into scrooge mcduck (Scrooge was his own creation after all). He wrote the stories to be interesting for both kids and adults - at some point his editors even told him to dumb downs his stories! Anyway, Rosa mentioned one of the final panels of Only A Poor Old Man, that shows Scrooge's reaction to Donalds words and has him looking kind of defeated/staring into space, those are way more adult emotions than your usual kids story.

Someone asked about the difference in his popularity here vs in the USA and if it might be a culture thing. He responded by saying in America kids tend to reject everything their parents like, whereas here, parents get their kids a subscription to the Donald Duck weekly as soon as the kid can read, so they (the parents) can also read the stories themselves, ha!

He described his own style as "needless and irritating detail". He used to make comics together with a friend, just for his own amusement that nobody would see, they were amusing themselves. The more detail he put into them, the longer it took to make, the more time he could spend on makig comics! They were in essence "detailed humor comics"

And that's the last I wrote and the last thing I remember as they were being rushed off the stage for already talking for too long haha!

I already mentioned it in my other post, but I would've loved to hear him talk for A Bunch more hours, easily! He gave very in-depth answers, thoughtful and very appreciative of his fans. He got a little emotional at the final applause he got from us, understandably so.

My biggest take away is just what a kind and thoughtful man he is, very approachable and truly just as much of a duck fan as anyone there was!

At the request of @okaystoptellingmetomakeanaccount

Here you go:

Listen to 'em braggin' down there! Braggin' because they outsmarted Scrooge McDuck!

I'm only an old man, I guess! Too old to keep up with the new tricks!

Just a poor old man that remembers the old tricks!

Yes! I remember the old tricks!-----Like the time in Bagdad—

Well, never mind! Let's go down there and congratulate our my new-rich neighbors!

I'd congratulate 'em with a box of spoiled eggs!

Unca Scrooge is up to something!

Hadn't we better go into town and file a claim on this money?

Yeah — but wait! Here comes old Scrooge! Let's see what's on his mind!

Boys, I came to offer my best regards! You outsmarted me – and did it fair!

You mean you ain't mad at us?

Certainly not! I admire brains —and you boys have got 'em!

I had brains, too — in the old days! But now I've got a head like a soft tomato

Hee! Hee!

Could you find it in your hearts to grant a poor old man one little favor?

Well — maybe!

It's just that I'd like to have one last swim in this money before you haul it away!

You swam in that stuff?

Every day for years! It's the only pleasure I ever had!

Well, if that ain't one for the book! Go right ahead!

Zoom

If I didn't see it, I wouldn't believe it!

Watch how I dive around in it like a porpoise!

And see how I burrow through it like a gopher!

And toss it up and let it hit me on the head!

Say, that looks like it'd be fun!

It is! It's your money now! Why don't you dive into it and learn how to enjoy it?

The old boy's got something there!

Last one in's an honest man!

Zoom!

C r a c k

How odd! The Beagle Boys bounced like they'd hit a solid wall!

And feel those heads — like soft tomatoes! They'll be unconscious for weeks!

Months! And to think it happened to them before they could go to court and claim my money! Tsk! Tsk!

Unca Scrooge, how come you dived all the way from the bluff, and you didn't get hurt?

Well, I'll admit — it's a trick!

Now let's get bulldozers and trucks and haul this money back onto my land! Hi-de-ho!

So uncle Scrooge gets all his money back, and things are again as they were!

If you don't mind, uncle Scrooge, the kids and I would like to get paid off now and go home!

Oh, no! Not yet!

I haven't had time to tell you what comfort you'd get out of a fortune like mine!

If you've got comfort, I'll take vanilla! Shut up and pay off!

You may not know it, uncle Scrooge, but your billions are a pain in the neck! You're only a poor old man! Good-bye!

Bah! Kid talk! No man is poor who can do what he likes to do once in a while!

And I like to dive around in my money like a porpoise!

And burrow through it like a gopher!

And toss it up and let it hit me on the head!

[tingleparker]

Reap the rewards

Arvin Russell x Fem!Reader

Requested?: Yes! Thank you @Iwant2combust <3 hope it did your request justice.

• Warnings: Religious themes, Being followed? If you have watched the film, preachers a bit of a nonce :)) but nothing full on. Slow paced in the beginning. No spoilers. 

• Summary: You were no longer the new comers in town, though you find the new Preacher making you feel uneasy. That is until you notice him following you, so you make a quick plan to get some help from a Russell boy. 

• Word count: 1.7k

A/n: lads, Arvin is just phew 🥵 anyways, writings a bit rusty but enjoy! <3

Check out my other works here! or send a request here!

Though only moving into town a week ago, you were no longer the newcomers; a new preacher had come into the small town of Coal Creek. This had sent your mother into a frenzy, stressing out about the dishes needed to be cooked for this reverend for the upcoming sermon. You weren’t into the whole praising God and thanking the lord, kind of thing; you had seen what it had done to your mother. Your father leaving early into your life, your mother praying constantly and heavily but it did her no good. Years of continuous praying for the return of your father or blessings to come down onto your small family were engraved into your mind but it did absolutely nothing but maintain that dark cloud over the pair of you. Your father never returned and with becoming short with money, your mother had planned to move you two slightly down south; selling your current house before buying a cheaper one down in Coal Creek.

The sunny day had come, the sermon was being held in the town's church; families lining up to meet the reverend as well as bring the offering of meals. You stood next to your mother, huffing at the sundress you were forced into by her, as she glared at you before putting on a smile looking forward. As you waited in line, you studied the building as well as the townsfolk. Plates of food slowly racked up onto the front tables as each family brought an offering to the Reverend, his wife alongside him as you snuck a peek over the family in front to see the new folks in town. Shifting your gaze over your shoulder, your eyes find a boy in an off-white button-down, hands in pockets and a similar non-caring expression you had on. A smile begins to form on your lips as he realises your staring, making eye contact before he gives a slight nod. With this your mother harshly grabs your arm pulling you forward as you realise he had been nodding for you to move forward.

“Lovely to meet you Reverend” Your mother politely greets, a nervous smile on her face as she offers her plate.

As the preacher begins to taste the meal your mother had worked hard on, his eyes flickered to you. The look in his eyes along with how he had licked at his fingers made you increasingly uncomfortable, finding your shoes more pleasing than to stare into the man's eyes.

“I’m going off for a walk Ma!” You yell out before walking out the door.

You needed to get out of the house, wanting to explore the town as well as get away from the constant murmurs of your mother praying. Your feet began moving as you walked into town, a calming breeze around you and you felt at peace with your own thoughts at that moment. Walking around the small town, you don't realise the time as the sun began to sink; the sky dusked. Though it wasn't too late where you would be surrounded by the darkness, you knew it would be a good time to start heading back home. Passing back through the town, it had become distinctively quieter than before. Your ears perked up at the constant sound of an engine rumbling nearby, which was unusual as there were only cars which drove past in a swift speed but only ever so often. 

Taking a quick look behind you, you spot a slow driving car; a flashy white vehicle. The same expensive-looking vehicle that you had often seen parked near the church, the same car that Preacher Teagardin owns. You whip your head back around to look forward before picking up your pace. Like hell did you trust this man, the same look he gave you during the sermon flashed through your mind as goosebumps formed along your arms. You looked around trying to spot somewhere to duck into and hide out or at least feel safe, the low rumble of the car still following at a leisurely pace behind you. As you notice bright lights through the increasingly darker world, you let out a sigh of relief before hastily making your way over to the store. It wasn't much, a small grocery store but it would do; there would be workers there at least. As you push the glass door open and walk in, you notice a bored-looking employee up at the front counter as well as a single customer in the small isle. You see through the store's windows that the Reverend parked outside the building, peering in; causing you to briskly look away from him hopefully without getting noticed. You took a deep breath as you approached the single customer, dressed in an open white button-up, blue cap adorning his head. There was a grimy feeling you could feel as you knew the Reverend's eyes were on you through the glass. This made you make a rash decision; you hoped this man was better than the Preacher. 

As you come to stand beside the man, your hands creep along his waist as your arm comes to wrap around his body. 

“Hi there, I’m Y/n. Sorry, this is a bit weird, I just need some help. Only for a couple of minutes, I promise.” You greet and plead as you lean up to the stranger's ear, seeing that the Reverend has come into the store. 

“And what kinda’ help do you need?” The man asks, finally tilting his gaze towards you, you realise it was the same Russell boy from the sermon.

“I-I know it might sound stupid.. but I just- I get an off feeling with the new Reverend is all. He’s been behind me all this time, just uneasy is all” Looking down towards the ground as you respond, feeling dumber as you say it out loud. 

Hell, this was a Preacher after all. This man was supposed to be a minister sent by the Lord. You didn’t believe all that but growing up with a heavily religious mother you knew some things, and those facts could not be filtered out.

“And what’s in it for me?” The question snapped you back to the reality of being in the store, your mind ticking for ideas.

A smile emerges on your lips as your hands move away from his torso. Only to move facing the boy, hands snaking up behind his neck to clasp together. The movement gaining you a questioning eyebrow raise by him. Though a curious stare, his arms also wind around you; resting on your hips.

“How ‘bout I get you some dinner some time? Just you and I, no creepy Preacher around.” You offer, unconsciously playing the nape of his neck.

“Arvin Russell, at your service ma’am” He teases, though you let out a sigh of relief bringing his body even closer to yours for a grateful hug. 

“So what brings you to this store, this lovely evening, Arvin Russell?” 

The pair of you stand there intertwined for a few minutes, getting to know each other. He was cute, the way he spoke lovingly of his family and his determined personality he had made you feel at ease; almost forgetting about the older man wandering around the store as well. That is until you see the man dressed in his suit walk past the two of you, making eye contact with him causes you to hide into Arvin's neck. 

“How ‘bout I give you a ride home huh?” Feeling the vibrations when he had spoken this question, you were not going back outside to walk home so it was a simple choice.

You give a slight hum of approval before placing a gentle kiss on the skin of his neck. You pull away from him, watching a light blush rise onto Arvin's skin as you smile. Starting to walk away from him and towards the door. Before you could make it out though, you’re tugged back.

Arvin's fingers clasping yours, holding your hand as well as holding the door open for you to walk out. You let out a slight giggle before the two of you walk out the store hand in hand.

Though just before you get to Arvin’s car, he spins you around. Back coming into contact with the side of his red vehicle, a small laugh leaves your lips as you forget about the grimy man in the suit who had followed the pair of you out the store. Without another word, you feel his hands fall onto your cheeks as his lips press against yours. Unconsciously your eyes flutter shut, hands moving around Arvin's neck and lips moving in sync to his. You don't notice the time that passed as the two of you lock lips until you're only slightly parting for air. 

“What was that for?” You ask out of breath, forehead still pressed against his.

“Putting on a show darlin’” Arvin responds with a smirk, before you have any time to wonder what he meant when you hear a car ignite its engine.

You peer around Arvin to watch Preacher Teagardin reverse out of the parking lot and drive away into the distance. You let out a relieved laugh as you lean slightly forward to peck those lips that were recently on yours.

“So about that dinner?” The young boy cheekily asks, a smirk on his face.

“Well, we got time now don’t we?” You slyly respond as you take the blue cap off his head and place it on top of your own. 

You move out from under Arvin and open the passenger's side door, letting yourself fall into the seat. You smile as you watch the boy stand there for a moment grinning before jogging around the vehicle and entering the driver's side. As the two of you drive down to the town's diner, you couldn’t bear to imagine if you ended up in the Preacher's car instead. Though you looked over to the side, seeing the boy driving, taking in his stunning side profile. The golden light of the sunset bouncing off his skin, as he looked ethereal. 

You know Arvin notices your staring though without taking his eyes off the road, he slips one of his hands into yours; intertwining your fingers.

For the first time in a long time, you thank god. 

[that-house]

The Thief and the Gun: Prologue part 1

The Thief and the Gun is going to be a pretty lengthy work if it’s ever finished. This is the first quarter or so of the prologue. Enjoy!

The front gate was too heavily guarded, so they’d elected to blast through the wall instead. In hindsight, it wasn’t the greatest plan, and would have doomed the mission if it weren’t for Virgil. Of course, Virgil doomed the mission himself shortly afterwards, but, to be fair, the gun had been quite persuasive.

A few weeks before the now-infamous Redwater Job, Virgil Hayes had just ducked into a saloon to avoid the gaze of a lawman across the road when a man at the bar caught his eye and beckoned him over. The man was wearing a fine suit which did very little to conceal the gun under his coat. Virgil pointed at himself and gave the man his best “you’ve got the wrong guy” face (a raised eyebrow, a friendly-but-awkward half-smile, and a head shake). The man patted the stool next to him. If it weren’t for the warrant on his head and the lawman in the street, Virgil would have made a run for it, but at least he could get a drink while this stranger said whatever horseshit he was about to spew.

Virgil took a seat. “Look, I don’t know who you’re looking for, but I ain’t him.” Hopefully.

The man pulled out a wanted poster. “This you?” Virgil gave it a quick once-over. It was unmistakably him. A very good likeness. He leaned forward to examine it better. By all the demons in the West, it was like looking in the mirror.

“Nope. Never seen him in my life. Good luck on your search!” Virgil turned away from the man to face the barkeeper with a grin. “I’ll have a whiskey.” From the look of the saloon, it wouldn’t be any good. The floorboards were rough, the paint on the walls was peeling, and the room couldn’t be any darker if the lone gas lamp were to stop guttering and finally go out. It looked like a place that had never seen money or happiness, let alone a good drink.

The air in the saloon was stagnant and reeked of cheap alcohol and sweat. A little evening sunlight found its way in through the door but only served to illuminate the dust gently drifting through the air in the wake of drunk patrons stumbling back to their homes or inns. Like everything in Dry Creek, the saloon felt ancient but impermanent. It may have stood here for decades, but if the mines ran out it would be gone and forgotten in a matter of days. Virgil suspected no one would miss it.

The man cleared his throat. “I’m not here to arrest you, Mr. Hayes. I have a proposition for you.”

“I have a whiskey to drink. I never feel like I can get my money’s worth out of a drink with some asshole talking my ear off. Maybe if you paid for it I’d be inclined to listen to you.” This was, of course, a lie. Virgil would enjoy the whiskey, shitty as it was, regardless of the man next to him. He just wanted a free drink.

“My employer can make you a rich man, Mr. Hayes. Rich enough that you’d be able to afford to pay for your own drinks and finally finish drinking yourself to death.” The man brushed some nonexistent dust off of his jacket in an attempt to demonstrate the benefits of working for whoever paid his salary. All of his clothes were obnoxiously fine, perfectly tailored and spotlessly clean. His perfectly polished boots reflected the dim glow of the lamp like a fine mirror. He looked like the sort of man who woke up with perfect hair, or, failing that, spent three hours marshalling every strand into place. The man’s gun was mostly hidden by his coat, but Virgil thought he saw flashes of gold inlaid into the grip. The overall impression was that of a fairly wealthy man doing his best to look even richer.

“I’m listening.” Remarkably, he actually was. As the West grew more and more established, Virgil’s lifestyle of good, honest banditry was looking less and less profitable.

“I’m going to assume you’ve heard the name Sylas Clayton?” 

Like everyone else, Virgil knew the name, but he wasn’t going to make this easy for the man. “Can’t say I have.”

“Clayton Transportation? The richest man in the West?”

“Doesn’t ring a bell, no.”

“There’s a statue of him in the center of town!”

“Thought that was an outhouse.”

“The trains, the towns, the lighthouses, they all exist through the benevolence of Mr. Clayton! Show some fucking respect.” He was angry, defensive of Clayton. Virgil had met people like him before, defining themselves by their proximity to a powerful individual. Anything to distract themselves from the fact that they didn’t matter.

“Why should I care about some rich bastard?”

“The question you should be asking is why Mr. Clayton cares about some broke outlaw like you.”

“Well, mister, why does Mr. Clayton care about some broke outlaw like me?”

“You’re a morally bankrupt rat who’s never made an honest dollar in his life. Your only skills are murder and robbery. You’ve made a name for yourself by being a slippery good-for-nothing thief.”

“Aw, thanks. That’s the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

“While I’d sooner shoot my fingers off than work with you, Mr. Clayton has a job that needs doing, and you’re one of his prime candidates.”

“I have to work with you? I’ll pass.”

“Ten thousand dollars upon completion of the job. You’ll be set for life.”

“Ten thousand?”

“Ten thousand, and I’ll pay for your drink.”

With a sigh, Virgil stuck out his hand. The man looked at it with some distaste, eyeing the grime under Virgil’s nails and the pistol grip calluses as if they might be infectious. Finally, letting out a similarly dissatisfied sigh, he took Virgil’s hand and shook it as quickly as he could. Virgil did his best to draw the handshake out, relishing the man’s discomfort. “Never caught your name.”

The man’s reply was curt. “Vernon. Vernon Poole.” Now that he’d gotten Virgil’s cooperation, Vernon seemed to have lost any desire to continue pretending to enjoy Virgil’s company.

“Well, Vernon Poole, I think this is the start of a truly wonderful friendship.” It wasn’t, and they both knew it. Virgil had had his hand near his gun from the moment the man beckoned him over, and, while Vernon wasn’t quite so obvious, his hand had been floating by his side ever since Virgil had compared the Clayton statue to an outhouse. To be honest, Virgil didn’t see the both of them walking away from this job alive. He’d pushed his luck a little too far irritating the man. “So, when do I meet this Mr. Clayton fellow?”

“We’re taking the morning train to Coalstead.”

“I don’t know if you remember that poster you’ve got, but I’m a wanted man. The wrong eyes fall on me and I go right to the pyre.”

“Mr. Clayton owns that train and everyone on it. You won’t be facing justice just yet.”

“If you get me killed I have every intention of haunting you.”

“I could say the same to you, Mr. Hayes.”

“Fair ‘nough. Any chance I could convince you to buy me another drink?”

“I’d reckon the odds are about the same as you taking up farming.”

“Ah well, figured I’d try.”

[howtosingit]

Fic: Ice in My Veins, Fire in My Heart

An unexpected, once-in-a-lifetime ice storm in Austin leads to a chaotic day for Carlos and the 126. 

*

Written for @911giftexchange | For @charlie-bradburyss

6K | Also on AO3

A/N: Happy Holidays, Holly! I hope this fulfills all of your “tarlos + fire fam/found family + hurt/comfort (emphasis on the hurt)” wishes. May the New Year bring you all the love and light that you deserve! 

❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️

The thing is, no one’s really expecting Austin to be pummeled by a once-in-a-lifetime freak ice storm.

Though rare, it’s not unheard of for the Texas panhandle to get hit by the southern tip of major storm systems that move across the Midwest, but Austin is typically too far south to really experience that kind of intense winter weather. Sometimes, they’ll have icy nights that lead to dangerous morning commutes, but that’s mostly because the majority of Austinites aren’t experienced with driving on ice-covered roads. There’s always a surplus of vehicular accidents to respond to on those mornings.

But, this is way more than that.

When TK first looks out the kitchen window, he has to do a double-take to confirm what he’s seeing, his coffee burning the back of his throat as he swallows quickly in shock. Every single inch of the world outside is covered in a shimmering layer of ice - every tree branch and leaf, every fence post and door handle; individual blades of grass find themselves trapped inside a shell of frozen water, and the back patio has turned into a miniature ice skating rink, complete with furniture coated in long, thin icicles.

He takes a moment to admire the ethereal beauty of a rare, wintery Austin, how the early morning sunlight dances across the rooftops of the neighboring houses. Then, realizing what all this ice is going to mean for the rest of his day, he glances down at his watch, cursing when he realizes what time it is.

“Babe!” he calls, grabbing two thermoses from the cupboard. He transfers his coffee into one, then fills the other. “Move faster, we’ve gotta get to work!” He quickly preps Carlos’s coffee the way he knows he likes it, then grabs a few protein bars for each of them to eat on the way to work. “Babe!” he calls again when he doesn’t hear anything from the bedroom.

“What the hell are you yelling for, TK? We still have an hour before our shifts,” Carlos gripes as he comes around the corner, uniform already on and shoes in hand. He gives TK a look of mild annoyance, his signature sass on display, and TK honestly adores him even if he is being obtuse at the moment.

Instead of answering, TK just points out the window, watching as Carlos takes in the icy spectacle, his eyes widening as his jaw drops. “Wow,” his husband breathes out, clearly in awe. Then, having the same realization that TK did, he glances down at his own watch. “Oh, fuck.”

“Yeah, I thought you might say that,” TK laughs, moving towards the hall closet to grab their coats. He reaches towards the back, finding the ice scraper that Carlos kind of made fun of him for buying a few years ago. 

“You made me coffee?” Carlos asks when he reappears, holding his green thermos.

“Of course I did.”

“Have I mentioned that I really love you?” his husband questions, pulling on his coat.

“If this is your way of apologizing for getting sassy with me, I’m going to need you to work a little harder, babe,” TK jokes, sliding up next to him and raising his chin. Carlos rolls his eyes, a smile pulling at his lips as he ducks down to press their mouths together in a gentle kiss.

“How about I give you a ride to work?” Carlos suggests, still close enough that his lips drag against TK’s as he speaks.

“That’s a very sweet offer,” TK says, staring into his husband’s twinkling brown eyes, “but you were going to do that anyway.” Carlos’s police cruiser drives better on ice, so he always drives TK to work if there are hazardous conditions. “Try again.”

“How about,” Carlos starts, his voice going deeper as he trails his lips along TK’s jaw and up to his ear, “I drive you to work now, and then when we get home later, I run you a bath to help warm you up?”

TK hums, his heart rate picking up. “Make it a bath for two, and I’ll consider all of your indiscretions forgiven.”

Carlos huffs out a laugh, moving to press another kiss to his lips. “You are quite the negotiator,�� he says, stepping away and grabbing two protein bars off the counter. “I accept your terms.”

The drive to work takes twice as long as usual, Carlos driving as carefully as possible through Austin towards the fire station. The roads seem somewhat deserted, and TK wonders if most people got stuck in their driveways before they could get far enough to cause mayhem in the streets. For the most part, the ice seems to be sticking around longer than it usually does. Carlos pulls to a stop outside Ladder 126. 

“See you later?” TK asks, leaning over the console to give him another kiss.

“Probably sooner than that, I’d guess,” Carlos says, knocking their foreheads together gently, the way he always does when they’re saying goodbye at the start of a workday. TK smiles, reaching for the door and climbing out onto the slick pavement. “Be careful out there.”

“You too, officer,” TK responds, giving him a wink before closing the door. He turns, heading into the station to being what will no doubt be a non-stop day.

❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️

Carlos is right. 

Almost immediately after his husband texts him that he made it safely to the police station, they’re called out to an accident on Lakewood Drive. When they arrive, TK spots Carlos in the distance, directing cars to use an alternate route.

A large semi-truck takes up the middle of the bridge, the trailer sitting nearly perpendicular to the tractor section. It still seems to be standing upright, so TK doesn’t immediately understand what accident they’re responding to.

“Officer,” his dad calls when Carlos spots them and starts moving their way, careful on the patches of ice that still remain on the bridge. “What’ve we got here?”

“Semi swerved a bit on the ice into the lane of oncoming traffic. Passenger car coming from the north then swerved to avoid it, completely lost control on the ice, and hit the guardrail on the passenger side,” Carlos reports, pointing in the direction of a mangled section of the barrier. “Car flipped and slid down the embankment.”

“How many passengers?” his dad clarifies, and TK can tell the way he tenses, his brain already working on a plan of action.

“Just the driver, an adult woman,” Carlos answers, his breath visible in the cold morning air. “My partner made it down to her and she’s responsive, but definitely stuck.”

“Okay,” Owen says, turning to face his team, jaw tight. “Jaws of life, everyone down. Medical will be here in a minute, let’s try to have her out for them.”

There’s a near-collective nod from all of them, but before they can move, they hear a crash in the distance. Turning, TK watches as the line of traffic becomes a danger zone of its own when an approaching car is unable to stop before it runs into the car ahead of it. Like, dominoes, the line begins to splay, cars trying to move to avoid being hit. 

“Damn,” his dad sighs, shaking his head. “Change of plan. Ryder, Strickland, Strand-Reyes, you’re down with the jaws of life. Marwani and Chavez, let’s see if we can keep things from getting worse up here.”

TK follows Judd and Paul to the truck, grabbing everything that they might need. As they head towards the damaged guardrail, he passes close to Carlos, nudging him in the side. 

“Have I ever told you how much I love to watch you work?” he says, giving his husband a wink as he moves past him. Carlos follows after him, laughing softly.

“TK, for God’s sake, will you stop flirting with your husband for one day,” Judd cries, and TK looks over to find him smiling at him, his eyes dancing with mirth. 

“Now, come on, Judd,” Paul adds, his tone teasing. “They’re just being newlyweds.”

“Newlyweds?” Judd scoffs, rolling his eyes. “They’ve been married for two years!”

“Oh, wait, you’re right,” Paul says exaggeratedly, like he’s just remembered. He turns back to TK and Carlos, now walking side-by-side, his face morphing into a look of disgust. “Stop being so in-love, it’s getting weird now.”

TK huffs out a fake laugh, his breath swirling through the air as he sticks his tongue out at his friends. They reach the top of the embankment, looking down at the wreckage. The car still seems to be pretty intact, so TK is hoping this won’t be too bad. He feels a solid hand on his back, turning to find Carlos looking at him, his face serious.

“Don’t do anything reckless down there, or I will arrest you,” he jokes, beginning to walk away.

“On what grounds?” TK gasps, his jaw dropping.

Carlos pauses, his eyebrows furrowing as he thinks about it. “Trying to give me a heart attack before I’m 35,” he finally decides, shooting TK a wink before leaving them to go help with the traffic pile-up.

It’s slow-going, but TK, Paul, and Judd finally make it down the hill to the overturned car. Paul moves over to the window, speaking to the woman, while TK and Judd set down their bags. From what he can see, it looks like it’ll be a pretty straightforward removal.

They’re just prying the door open when his dad radios that medical has arrived. TK moves back to one of his bags over by the bridge, looking for more gauze to press to their patient’s shallow head wound, when there’s a loud crack to the right. He looks over, watching as a somewhat large icicle drops from the bridge and shatters onto the frozen creek below. Looking up, he watches another icicle detach itself and rapidly fall to the ground. 

“Shit,” he says, jerking to the side to avoid another one. He feels his feet slide out from under him, unable to gain traction on the ice, and before he knows it, he’s falling flat on his back, his head slamming hard against the solid ground beneath him.

His vision swims, pain coursing through him. His stomach turns, and he feels like he’s going to be sick. He closes his eyes, trying to breath. He thinks he hears a voice in the distance, maybe Paul or Judd calling to him, but he can’t make it out. There’s another loud crack from above, and he opens his eyes just in time to watch a rather large icicle grow larger as it flies towards him.

Pain bursts from his abdomen as he lets out a gasp, his vision swimming once more as his body tries to handle all of the trauma it’s currently experiencing. He clenches his jaw tightly, refusing to let out a yell. He can handle this, he’s done pain before. Between a gunshot and falling through the floor of a house and then falling off the roof of a house just last year, he can handle this. It’s no big deal, so he’s not going to make it one.

He lifts his head, blinking to clear his vision. There are voices around him, fuzzy shapes moving in his peripherals, coming closer. He ignores them, instead looking down towards his stomach. The sight causes him to gasp again, the pain coming back full force now that he has eyes on the source.

There’s an icicle buried inside of his abdomen.

From what he can see, it looks to be as round as his fist and about two feet long, the top of it gleaming threateningly in the sunlight, almost as if it’s proud of itself for the damage it’s just done.

“Fuck,” TK moans, lowering his head as Paul and Judd finally reach his side. He still can’t hear what they’re saying, so he just looks up at the clear blue sky instead. A thought pops into his head, almost making him laugh.

Carlos is totally going to kill him for this.

❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️

Sometimes, Carlos really hates living in Texas.

Well, that’s an oversimplification. It’s more that he hates the kind of stereotypical attitude that many straight men from Texas possess. The kind of “I’m built Texas tough” mentality that leads to reckless, dangerous, and truly annoying behavior. The kind of attitude that causes a fully-grown man responsible for a six-car pile-up to scream in his father-in-law’s face about how stupid and moronic everyone else is, including the firefighters currently fixing the mess he’s made, forcing Carlos to handcuff him and stick him in the back of his cruiser just so that they can all get a moment of peace. 

“Did you see the size of that vein in his neck?” Mateo asks as they move from car to car, making sure that everyone’s okay. “I thought he was going to collapse or something, his face was so red.”

“TK’s gonna be so upset that he missed you wrestling him to the ground,” Marjan pipes in from his other side, elbowing him in the ribs. Carlos just rolls his eyes, shaking his head.

“You know that’s not a turn-on for him, right?” 

Marjan scoffs. “Sure, okay, I definitely believe that.”

Captain Strand approaches the three of them, effectively ending the conversation. “No one’s injured in those three cars, so I told them all to sit tight until the tow truck gets here. We may be able to help them once we’ve got the driver down there stabilized.” They all nod in agreement. “Marjan, Mateo, why don’t you keep making the rounds, keep people from trying to get out of their cars. We don’t need any unexpected accidents or falls.” The two firefighters accept their orders, moving away. “You’ve got someone directing traffic further down the road?” Owen asks Carlos.

“Yeah, at Lakewood and Carpenter,” Carlos says, pointing in that direction. “We shouldn’t have any traffic through here from now on.”

Before Owen can respond, they hear a sound from the bridge. They both turn to see the ambulance arrive and begin to walk towards it, eager to fill Michelle and her team in on what’s happening. At his side, Owen radios to his team that medical has arrived and will be down soon. 

They’ve just made it onto the bridge, Michelle already making her way towards them, when they hear a shout from down below. They both freeze, trying to listen, but then can’t make out the words. Then, Owen’s radio crackles to life, Judd’s voice coming through, his words rushed.

“We need medical down here ASAP, I’ve got a firefighter down.”

Carlos feels the blood rush from his face, his heart slamming into his ribcage. He shares a look with his father-in-law, and it’s clear that they both know who Judd’s talking about.

“Talk to me, Judd. What’s going on?” Owen says, already heading to the edge of the bridge, Carlos following right behind him. 

He stops short when his eyes land on the scene below. He doesn’t even need Judd's report to confirm what he’s seeing. At the bottom of the embankment, almost under the bridge itself, he sees TK laying on the ground, unmoving, a giant shard of ice sticking out of his midsection.

He doesn’t even think before he takes off down the slope, moving as quickly as he can without falling.

“TK!” he shouts, not even sure if the other man can hear him. He finally gets to the bottom, rushing over to his side. “TK!”

Paul moves aside, allowing him to kneel down by his head. He takes his face gently in his hands, watching as TK’s eyes blink dazily, his pupils unfocused and his mouth slack. 

“Nobody jostle him,” Michelle yells, and Carlos looks up to find her and her team closing in. “We don’t want that thing to shift an inch. Paul, hold it steady for me if you can.”

Carlos stares down at the two-foot icicle currently buried in his husband’s gut. Every time TK breathes, it pulses, almost threatening to fall over. Paul reaches out and wraps his hands around the top, keeping it vertical.

“What happened?” Michelle asks, kneeling on TK’s other side as she assesses the situation.

“He slipped on the ice and fell, then the icicle came down on him before he could move out of the way,” Judd explains. 

“He might have a concussion from the fall,” Michelle mutters, moving to shine a light in TK’s drooping eyes. “Seems likely. Rosewater, take over for Paul, Gillian, see if you can stabilize our patient in the car over there. Carlos,” she says, and his eyes snap up to look at her. “I need you to talk to him okay, try to keep him awake and responding. He could go into shock at any minute, and that’s not going to help us.”

He nods, ducking down to press his face closer to the one that he gets to wake up to every day. “Hey, baby,” he says softly, stroking TK’s forehead. “Hey, it’s me. Can you open your eyes for me? Just open your eyes for a minute, okay?”

TK moans, his eyes blinking rapidly a few times before he opens them enough for Carlos to see those green irises that he loves so much. “Carlos?” he mumbles.

“Yeah, hey, it’s me, I’m right here,” Carlos says, his voice a little unsteady as he tries to stay calm. “How are you feeling?”

“Cold,” TK mutters, his breath creating wisps of steam in the air above him. 

“Any pain?” Carlos asks, his eyes shifting down to glare at the icicle for a moment. 

“My head hurts,” TK admits, letting out a small gasp. 

“Anywhere else?”

TK shakes his head, his eyes darting everywhere.

“That’s probably the adrenaline,” Michelle interjects. She stands up, surveying the bridge above them. “I’m worried his body heat’s going to start melting that icicle faster than we want it to. We’ve gotta get him up there.”

“I don’t think we can get him up the slope without jostling him too much, there’s too much ice,” Tim says. 

Michelle turns to Owen, her face grave. “Get the ladder ready, Captain, we’re gonna have to lift him.”

With only a quick, wide-eyed glance down at his son, Owen shoots back up the hill, Judd following him. Off to the side, Carlos sees that Paul and Nancy have managed to remove the driver from the vehicle.

“Carlos?” TK says, and he quickly looks back down at his husband, running his thumbs along his cheek. 

“Yeah, Ty, I’m right here,” Carlos assures him, his bottom lip wavering. 

“I’m a little scared,” TK admits, his eyes glassy as he stares up at him. “It looks pretty bad, doesn’t it?”

“You’re gonna be okay, cariño,” he says, his voice hard and clear. 

“You look scared,” TK tells him, raising a hand to touch Carlos’s mouth.

“I’m not scared, I promise,” Carlos lies, leaning in to press a kiss to his forehead. “I’m never scared when I’m with you.”

TK doesn’t respond. He just stares up at Carlos, eyes still unfocused, a wide smile taking over his face. 

Minutes later, the team loads TK up on a stretcher with no major problems, and for one shining moment, Carlos thinks everything’s going to be fine. 

He climbs up the embankment as fast as he can to meet him at the top, Michelle at his side. She’s telling him that she’s called for another medical team to come for the driver, who thankfully doesn’t appear to be in critical condition, when they hear a shout from Tim.

“Damn it,” Michelle says, running towards where TK’s stretcher is now laying on the pavement. Carlos follows, his heart back in his throat, and the sight that greets them nearly causes him to collapse. 

“Tim, apply as much pressure as you can,” Michelle says, throwing her hands on TK’s abdomen, blood rushing from where the icicle has shifted. “We have to get him in the van, we’ll have a better chance of stabilizing him there.” 

Carlos watches as TK’s head lists to the side, his eyes dropping closed.

“He’s crashing, let’s move people!” Michelle shouts.

There’s a mad rush all around him, but Carlos barely comprehends it. All he can do is stare at his husband, his unmoving body, the blood draining from his face while simultaneously gushing from the wound in his stomach. 

He doesn’t feel the way his knees hit the pavement, or Marjan’s arms around him. He doesn’t feel the tears falling on his cheeks, or the way he starts to shake. He doesn’t even feel the cold, unfamiliar Austin air. 

As TK is pulled away from him, he doesn’t feel anything at all. 

❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️

TK wakes up in the hospital.

At this point, it all feels very familiar. Every hospital room seems to smell the same, sterile and uninviting. The sheets are scratchy, which coordinates nicely with the scratchy hospital gown they have him wearing. He can hear the gentle beeping from the monitor next to him, and feel the pinch of an IV in his left arm. 

TK opens his eyes slowly, staring up at the ceiling as he assesses his current state. The lights are low, but it still takes him a minute to adjust, his head faintly throbbing. He recalls how much his head hurt on the scene, how his vision went blurry, and assumes he got a concussion from his fall.

He shifts slightly, gasping as the movement pulls at his midsection and an intense pain radiates throughout his entire body. The sound causes a weight against his right arm to shift, and he looks down, his eyes immediately softening at the sight before him.

Carlos is seated next to the bed, his body bent so that he can rest his head against TK’s arm, which he’s also gripping with one of his hands. His other hand is awkwardly linked with TK’s own, their fingers threaded tightly together. Carlos’s face is turned towards him, his eyes closed as he rests. TK notices how puffy his eyes are, and how his skin is more pale than usual. His heart sinks in his chest, an intense guilt masking his own pain as he stares down at the man he loves more than anything.

Before he can even think about how much pain it might cause, he lifts his left arm across his body to run his fingers through Carlos’s dark brown curls. It’s his favorite thing to do on the rare occasions where he’s the first one to wake up in the morning, and he knows his husband absolutely loves it. Sure enough, Carlos lets out a soft moan, unconsciously tilting his head towards TK’s fingers.

He can tell the minute that Carlos realizes what’s happening by the way his whole body tenses. His eyes fly open, his brown eyes wide as he sits up straight. His gaze finds TK, drinking him in, and TK can’t do anything but smile back at him, squeezing their hands together.

“Ty,” Carlos breathes, his eyes filling with tears.

“Hey, baby,” TK says, pulling gently on Carlos’s hand until he gets the hint.

His husband stands, shifting closer to the head of the bed, before bending down to press a soft kiss to his waiting lips. Carlos tries to make the kiss quick, but TK reaches up to grip the back of his neck, keeping him close.

“How long has it been?” TK asks when they separate, rubbing their noses together. At this point, it’s their traditional question when one of them is in the hospital. 

“They rushed you to surgery when you first got here, which took about four hours,” Carlos explains, his voice shaking as he runs his fingers soothingly through TK’s hair. “You’ve been sleeping for about five.”

“So, still the same day?” TK confirms. It’s an odd question, but after going through one multi-day coma in his life, he’s hoping to never have to do another. Besides, he knows Carlos wouldn’t handle it well.

“Still the same day,” his husband confirms, the first sign of a smile pulling at his lips. 

“That’s good.”

“Very good,” Carlos agrees, leaning in to kiss him. This one feels a little more heated than the last one. “You know how I get when I don’t get to kiss you goodnight.”

“You become the equivalent of a child who’s told he can’t have ice cream right before bed,” TK supplies, enjoying the shocked look that appears on Carlos’s face. “Or so I’m told.”

“Told?” Carlos cries. “Who told you that? Give me the traitors’ names, Tyler!”

“Just for that, I’m not going to,” he laughs, gasping for air when the movement sends a flare of pain through him. 

“Are you okay?” Carlos asks, worry written clearly on his face. He reaches out, his hands fluttering around him but too afraid to touch. 

“Yeah, I just,” TK grits out, holding his side. “Fuck, that does not feel good.”

It takes a few minutes of deep breathing for him to finally settle back down, reaching for Carlos’s hand when he’s sure that his grip won’t break his fingers. Carlos gingerly takes a seat next to him on the bed, running his free hand through his hair to soothe him.

TK’s just about to ask exactly what the damage is when there’s a knock on the door. They both turn to find his dad poking his head through, an apologetic smile on his face.

“Hey boys, sorry to interrupt,” he says, glancing behind him at something they can’t see. “There’s just some people here who wanted to say a quick hello.”

TK rolls his eyes, sharing a smile with Carlos. This happens every time someone from the firehouse ends up in the hospital - though to be fair, it’s usually him.

“You know you can always let them in, Dad,” he says, his fondness clear in his tone. Carlos just scoots a little closer, pressing one last kiss to his lips. 

“I love you,” he mutters, his eyes shining.

“I love you, too,” TK whispers back as the door is thrown wide open and the equivalent of a clown car files into his room.

Judd and Grace lead the way, followed by Paul, Marjan, and Mateo, then Michelle, Tim, and Nancy. His dad, the last one, closes the door behind him. Strictly speaking, this is way too many visitors to have in a single room at a time, but there are nurses at every hospital who are willing to bend the rules a bit for familiar first responders, as long as they’re discreet about it.

TK looks around at them all - Grace, with her hand on Carlos’s shoulder, and Michelle at the foot of his bed, her eyes glinting with happiness; his dad standing next to her; Mateo, Marjan, and Paul all standing to his left, Paul reaching out to punch him lightly on the shoulder, a bright smile on his face. 

They’re his family, all of them. And they all saved his life today.

“I, um,” he starts, his voice thick with emotion as he looks around at them all. He feels Carlos’s hand slide up his arm, his thumb gently caressing his bicep in support. He turns to look at him, noticing how Carlos still has his back to most of the room as he faces him on the bed. They share a look, just between the two of them, and Carlos nods, a tear falling down his cheek as he squeezes TK’s arm.

“I, um, I wanted to thank you all,” TK says, looking around the room again, his eyes hovering over every face that makes him feel safe and loved and whole, “for saving me today. I - we - will never be able to tell you how much it means to know that we have all of you by our side, looking out for us.”

He feels a tear fall onto his cheek, but before he can reach up to brush it away, Michelle shifts from the end of his bed, coming around the side to stand next to him. She reaches out for him and Carlos, drying his face and gripping his husband’s arm tightly.

“Don’t be silly. You boys are our family,” Michelle says, “so we’re always going to be here for you. No matter what. It’s as simple as that.”

“She’s right,” Judd pipes in, his arm around Grace. “Though, full disclosure, we are gifting you a bulk-size roll of bubble wrap this Christmas.”

“Hey now, c’mon Judd,” Paul says, his hands buried in his pockets. “You weren’t supposed to tell him.”

“Ignore Judd, y’all,” Grace adds, rolling her eyes as she pats her husband’s chest. “He doesn’t do Christmas shopping, and I have much better taste, trust me on that.”

TK huffs out a laugh, wincing at the way it pulls at his injury. No one else catches it, too busy laughing at Grace’s comment and Judd’s offended expression. He glances over at Carlos, seeing a tightness behind his eyes, and knows that his pain didn’t go completely unnoticed. TK reaches over, squeezing his thigh where it’s pressed against his own. Carlos gives him a small smile, grabbing his hand to press a kiss to his fingertips.

The tightness in his eyes doesn’t go anywhere, though, and TK’s heart caves.

❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️

The team stays until visiting hours are over, laughing and joking as they fill TK and Carlos in about the rest of the work day. It seems that much of the ice started to melt by the middle of the afternoon, making the end of the day much easier than the beginning. Finally, a nurse comes in, shocked to find so many people in one room, and tells them that visiting hours are over. One-by-one, they come over to hug TK and Carlos, Grace even pressing a kiss to each of their foreheads. 

When only Carlos and his dad remain, the nurse checks his vitals, telling him that everything appears to be normal. Carlos stands by his side, hand on his shoulder, as TK honestly answers her questions about his pain levels. She helps him to adjust his position on the bed, showing Carlos how to help him so he’ll feel the least amount of pain. His husband listens closely, his face set and serious.

She leaves, and Carlos excuses himself to the bathroom, leaving him alone with his dad.

“How’re you feeling, kid?” his dad asks, sitting next to him. 

“A little tender,” he admits, running his hand lightly over the thick bandage on his stomach. They’re quiet for a moment, TK biting his bottom lip. “It was pretty bad, wasn’t it?” he finally asks.

His dad looks at him, his eyes softening, before reaching out and taking his hand. “You crashed right before they got you in the ambulance. The icicle hit a pretty major blood vessel near your liver, and you lost a lot of blood when it shifted unexpectedly.”

TK is quiet, thoughts rolling through his mind. “He saw, didn’t he?” he confirms, his voice barely more than a hushed whisper. 

“Yeah,” his dad admits, his tone heavy. “He wasn’t in a good place when you left, so his partner drove him here and Michelle stayed with him until I could come.” TK nods, his eyes filling with tears. “He’s gonna be okay, though, TK. You both are.”

His dad stands again, looking around the room. “I’m going to head home,” he says, reaching out to run his fingers through TK’s hair. “I know you’re in good hands for the night. I’ll come back first thing in the morning, okay?”

“Yeah,” TK says. Then, he gets an idea. “Can you help me shift a little?”

His dad smiles knowingly before reaching out again to help move him to the left side of the bed, TK breathing deeply through the pain. 

Carlos finally comes out of the bathroom and his dad gives them both a hug, TK watching as he whispers something in his husband’s ear before pressing a kiss to his temple. Then, with a final wave, they’re alone again.

“Hey,” TK says, breaking the silence.

“Hey,” Carlos parrots back, his voice thin and uneven.

“Come here,” TK says, patting the now open space beside him. Carlos moves across the room, glancing down at the spot doubtfully.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Ty,” he says, his eyes full of so much pain.

“Well, I don’t want to go another minute without you laying by my side, so get your ass up here.” The hard tone of his voice leaves no room for questions, so his husband sighs, sliding next to him as gently as possible.

They lay there for a moment, just breathing together. Then, like a dam breaking, Carlos turns onto his side, placing an arm over his chest as he tucks his face into TK’s neck. In no time at all, TK feels tears soaking the collar of his gown, and his own tears finally fall at the evidence of Carlos’s silent pain.

“I’m so sorry for scaring you today, baby,” he sobs, bringing his hand up to press against the dark curls near his cheek. “I’m so sorry.”

Carlos doesn’t respond except to shake his head, his sobs continuing. TK holds him through it, his heart shattering into a million pieces in his chest. Throughout the past four year, Carlos has had a few nightmares of TK bleeding out in front of him - caused by him getting shot before they even started dating - so he knows that today had to be especially brutal for his husband.

“I know it was an accident, and that you’re going to be okay now,” Carlos finally mumbles into his neck, “but I was so fucking scared that I had lost you there for a minute. I’ve never seen Michelle so intense before, and I really thought this was it.”

“I know, baby, I know,” TK says, trailing his fingers along the back of Carlos’s neck. He digs his nails in just a bit, knowing that the feeling will help ground Carlos. Sure enough, his husband shivers against him, letting out a shaky breath. “You didn’t lose me, though. I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

“You promise?” Carlos asks weakly.

“Babe, look at me,” TK says, pulling his head back to look down at him. Carlos’s eyes are red-rimmed, his face puffy from crying so much today. He looks so small, so cut open and raw, that TK wishes he could take all of his pain away. “I promise that I am going to do everything in my power to come home to you in one piece at the end of every day, okay?��

Carlos nods, his eyes falling closed. TK stares at his long, gorgeous eyelashes now soaked with tears. Leaning forward, he presses a kiss to each eyelid, feeling the way that Carlos relaxes further into his side. 

“I’m sorry that our bath plans got ruined for this evening,” he says after a few minutes, recalling their conversation from this morning. 

“That’s okay,” Carlos says, his fingers lightly tracing TK’s collarbone through his hospital gown. “Once I get you home, I’m probably never going to let you leave again, so there will be plenty of time for baths.”

TK laughs, ignoring the pain when Carlos joins him. “I like the sound of that,” he admits.

Their gazes lock for a moment before Carlos presses up until their lips meet, the kiss igniting a fire inside of him from head to toe. It doesn’t matter how many times he gets to kiss Carlos, TK thinks that each one feels new and different and life-affirming, his body and soul practically singing at the chance to connect with his husband in a way that no one else can. That no one else ever will.

It’s something that he knows he’ll never get tired of for as long as he lives.

Which will be a very, very long time.

He’s sure of it.

❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️

[starswornoaths]

Prompt 2: Sway

This is the story of how Serella Arcbane died. And how she got back up again.

(this is a tale of the Calamity, and what Serella was doing when it happened. Vesh is her pre-Calamity chocobo, and though she’s not referenced in recent post Calamity fics, rest assured Vesh is okay)

Word count: 2,788

Dalamud was falling.

The skies turned red. Creeks once flowing and brooks once babbling had turned ruddy, darkened by soot and blood. Even lacking a breeze, the Twelveswood seemed to sway even in the stillness as the world held its breath.

Gridania seemed to exist in constant contradiction in the days of darkness. Stillness and constant motion. The forest teemed with life, but the air was heavy with the scent of death. Few dared to leave the city-state for the Twelveswood out of fear of the voidesent that flooded it.

Dalamud was falling, and time was at a standstill.

Serella thought on her brother, gone to Limsa Lominsa years ago now, and prayed that he kept his head about him. She had no faith in the Twelve, but she begged them to keep him out of Carteneau. Her prayers contradicted the truth she knew, in her heart of hearts: he was a warrior down to his marrow. He was a helper. Provided he was as hale and healthy as his last letter had indicated, though he did not say so, she knew as surely as she knew the moon was falling, that he was on the battlefield.

Dalamud was falling, and her brother was at war.

A part of her hated that she wasn’t there. But there was no sense in her going, not when there were people here that needed help. Not for the first time, she had to remind herself that though she had learned much in her years under the tribe’s tutelage, she was hardly a soldier. The bow at her back wasn’t going to do much on the front lines. So she focused on what she could do here and now. Supply lines needed escorts, people needed tending, errands and messages needed to be ran. She did what she could of the thankless work, because she knew it was what kept the heroes going.

Dalamud was falling, and she was not enough.

Then the battle at Carteneau escalated. Fires began to spread throughout the forests. Already largely trapped in the city-state proper as so many were, it felt as though they were cornered animals watching their hunter close in. People cracked under the pressure, began to panic, began to try and flee into the flames.

Dalamud was falling, and the Twelveswood burned.

Serella, and many other adventurers, did what they could to ferry water— she and her own chocobo hauled much of it toward the brushes, wetting them against the flames and trying to douse what embers she could. It was not enough. It was not enough. The wood burned all the same.

What Adders remained in the city were clearly not made for risk taking. Those civilians that ran into the forests were largely left to die. Voidsent were only barely held back by the adventurers that were skilled enough to slay them. It was not enough.

“Please! My son!” Serella heard a woman cry. 

Scrubbing soot from her eyes, she turned to see the wailing Elezen, clinging to the arm of a Serpent lancer who seemed desperate to shake her off.

“I told you—” He tried to growl.

“He’s just a little boy, he’s scared! Please, you have to save him!” She begged. 

"I'm sorry, but he is lost to the wood."

Serella watched. And listened. This wasn’t the first person to beg for help from the Adders, was not the only one begging now. Help us, help our families. We’re scared. Help us, they begged of their protectors. 

What a fitting name, the Adders, she thought bitterly, and spat into the dirt. Snakes, the lot of them.

Dalamud was falling, and Gridiania did not care.

But Serella did. And she had water. And a cloth to douse and cover her mouth. And a bird swift enough to make it in and out.

She was moving toward the weeping mother before she had even made a conscious thought to act. Every muscle in her body pulled taught, a low roiling anger burned within her, but she had never been one to let herself be idle in her rage. Not when she could put it to good use. She could, so she must.

“Quickly, miss.” She called to her, and scrounged up every bit of softness she could manage to usher her to a nearby bench. “Your son. Tell me his name, what he was wearing, and which way he went.”

“T-Tam!” The woman replied, and when she began to sway from the stress, Serella helped her sit down. “He was wearing a yellow shirt, brown pants. He fled south from here, r-right through those trees!”

“My thanks.” Serella nodded to her. “I will try to find him.”

She had to be quick. With some of the water she had gathered, she soaked a bandana for herself and her trusty bird, and hastily tied them around face and beak alike.

“Vesh, let’s be swift, yeah?” She patted the bird’s neck.

Vesh trilled and bumped her forehead against Serella’s in answer.

She mounted her bird and took off into the burning brush before any of the Adders could even attempt to stop her. Ducked low against her galloping companion, eyes squinted against the smoke, she scanned the trees for any signs of anyone— she knew there were many that had run to try and get away. When she was deep enough in that she couldn’t make out where the city was, she pulled on Vesh’s reigns to make her stop.

“Anyone out there?” Serella called at the top of her lungs. “Tam? Anyone?”

A scream echoed to her right. She spurred Vesh to chase the sound. It took little time to find a young woman running from a voidsent, swaying and stumbling as she maneuvered around the charred forest remains.. 

“To me!” Serella shouted, and drew her bow.

She had seen many of these particular type of voidsent in recent days— wraiths with leathery wings, ashen scales, and fearsome claws. They looked more akin to gargoyles than living things. It shrieked, jaw distended as it bore its fangs, hungry for the woman’s aether.

The arrow she fired connected with the voidsent’s chest as the woman staggered toward her. It shrieked again, in agony this time, and dissipated before it could fall to the ground. 

“I’ve got you!” She reassured the woman, hauling her up onto Vesh’s saddle in front of her.

Retracing the path they had tore through the burning brush, Serella dropped the woman off at the safest edge of the wood, in clear view of the city. Once she saw her stagger toward the awaiting Adder, Serella wetted their cloth masks and was off into the fire again.

She felt a strange calm amongst the flames, the chaos. It wasn’t the soft, warm days full of birdsong, the kind where villages could be eradicated, and the birds would still sing through the destruction. This was some strange equal opposite to her trauma. She had never felt more aware of herself and her surroundings than she did in that moment.

Maybe that was the real reason why she kept going back in. Back and forth, back and forth, she would ferry what people she could find. Still, there was no sign of a little boy in yellow and brown.

Dalamud was falling, and Serella was on the move.

On the fifth run in, just when she thought she had run out of people she hadn’t failed, she was proven wrong.

“Help!” Cried the voice of a man. 

She followed his call, shouting at him to keep calling out to her, until she found a small group of people: three of them, two children, and a man, huddled together. One of the young ones— a boy in yellow and brown— stared at her in horror as she dismounted. 

“It’s alright, I’m here to get you out!” She reassured them. “Tam, is that you? Your mother sent me. Let’s go home, yeah?”

“B-but…” Tam wheezed, and when he stepped aside, she saw a chocobo egg almost as big as the boy who had shielded it. “We can’t leave it behind—” 

His words tapered weakly on a cough. The others were faring no better, and it was clear they wouldn’t last long breathing in this smoke. She tore bits of her own shirt off, wet them, and passed them around. 

“Here, cover your mouths, come now, that’s it!”

“There are others!” The man cried, even as she helped him atop Vesh’s saddle. “I...I tried to find them—!”

The man dissolved into coughing fits.

“You tried, and that’s what matters. I promise you, I’ll look for them.” She reassured him. “Come, we have to get out of here.” 

She scooped the little girl up with one arm, once she realized the poor little ones could only sway in shock and horror, and handed her to the man to situate on the saddle. Hastily, she plucked little Tam up in one arm and cradled the chocobo egg in the other, and once Tam was situated behind the little girl— Bev, she had croaked her name out— she slipped the chocobo egg in the soft, fur lined saddlebag for safekeeping.

Serella had intended to lead Vesh away on foot, back to Gridania, but they must have tarried too long. What glowing light there was from the fire became eclipsed in creeping shadows made solid, manifesting around them. Vesh tossed her head, startled, even as Serella’s grip on her reigns tightened. 

Dalamud was falling, and the voidsent hungered.

These were greater numbers than ever before. More than she knew she could handle. More than she knew Vesh could outrun, burdened as she was even without Serella. She would have to stay behind to buy them time, even knowing what it would cost her.

She didn’t even need to think on it. Fortunate, then, that she had no time to.

“Get them out of here!” She ordered the man still astride her bird. “I’ll cover your escape!”

Vesh tossed her head again, letting out a wark of despair.

“Hush now, Vesh. It’s alright. Go on. Keep them safe for me.” She patted her bird’s face affectionately before she hardened herself for what she knew was coming. “Go on now, go!”

They didn’t need to be told twice. As Vesh thundered off, wailing out a mournful cry of farewell as she went, Serella turned to the rapidly solidifying darkness. The swarm of voidsent. They clustered so closely she couldn’t discern their shapes, so she instead counted the eyes. Ten sets of them. More of them than anything she had ever fought. 

Dalamud was falling, and so, too, would she.

There was a strange calm to knowing death was approaching— but Serella refused to revel in it. Honing her focus, she quickly nocked an arrow and fired into the collective shadow.

Two eyes vanished. Nine voidsent left. The swarm descended. 

She fired a second arrow, nearly dancing to the rhythm of her hammering heart. Though her lungs burned and her eyes stung, she persisted. 

Two more eyes vanished. Eight left. They grew near enough to nearly grab her, but she leapt back to keep the distance and fired a third arrow as she landed on her feet again.

Seven left, but the flames were closing in. She was out of room to move. 

Her bow would do little here, with them coming so close. She glanced down when a glint caught the corner of her eye— a fallen Adder she had not seen before, with his blade stuck in the ground beside him. 

She had only ever seen the Wood Wailers train with them from afar. Though she would die flailing, at least she could buy them more time.

The blade's hilt was slick with blood, but she redoubled her grip and swung it upward as she ripped it from the earth. When the edge of the sword connected with the first voidsent, she nearly dropped her blade at the unexpected resistance she met: she had thought them less solid. Nevertheless, she had to rip the blade through and complete the arc. She caught two of them in her path. Five remaining.

One of them sunk it's scythe appendage into her arm, and she cried out at the stinging pain as it dug into her bicep.

At least it was her off hand, she mused darkly, and stabbed its black heart.

The motion left her vulnerable for another attack, however, and with another lunge, one of the remaining monstrosities slashed across her back. Shallow enough to keep her standing but deep enough to make her bleed. A cry of agony tore from her throat as she slashed wildly outward, and caught a two more in the stroke.

The last two voidsent, however, had her pinned. Diving in from either side, they swooped, graceful as black swans, and dug a bladed arm each into her chest. The impact stole the breath from her lungs, and she shuddered with the want to breathe. Even as her chest felt sticky and wet, she did not dare look down, knowing of the blood she would see.

Her mind and body hadn't quite caught up with what just happened, and with another swing of her limp arm to line up the beasts, and a strike with her blade, she'd managed fell them both with the last of her strength.

Her legs stopped working, and she sank to her knees in the blood soaked earth. As she lurched forward and managed to catch herself, just barely, by digging the blade into the earth and leaning on it, she wondered in dark humor whether or not this was how the blade's last bearer had died.

It didn't matter. Vesh got away with the civilians. That was enough. She made that enough.

Dalamud fell, and so, too, did she.

When the scent of smoke and brimstone filled her nose, Serella had, at first, presumed she'd been condemned to one of the seven hells. Opening her eyes and taking in the smoke filled skies, the brittle, burned trees, and the near foot of ash that coated everything, she wasn't entirely sure she was wrong in that assumption.

Then she looked down. She lay centered in a perfect circle of preserved grass, unburned, untarnished, and verdant beneath the ashes. Peering down at herself, she lacked wounds to speak of the horror she endured, and yet, the blood still stained her clothes deeply. The tears, the holes, every other marker of her injuries remained on everything but her. 

She lifted her weary eyes, staring at the blade that had served her in the bitter end, still embedded in the grass. Her senses slowly returned to her, and she could hear the faint crooning of crows off in the distance, but little else. Her father's bow and pack slung on her shoulders were a familiar weight, and she drew comfort in that.

Her hand was enclosed around something, she realized. Confused, she looked at it and turned her palm up.

A bright, glowing blue crystal. Deep as the fathomless sea, bright as the surface of the ocean at midday, it was cool against her fingertips, and almost impossibly smooth. Every gleaming facet seemed to hold reflections of a face she almost thought she recognized, though they were all a little different from the others.

This is me. Some part of her whispered, and her mind lurched at the implication.

Hear...feel...think… a soft voice cooed from somewhere within her.

Serella decided she had done enough of all of those things for the moment. She had important things she had to do, if hell was too scared to take her now. She had to try and find Vesh, first. Gods willing, she could then take Vesh to track down her tribe again— Mina had taken them north, closer to Coerthas. She knew the path well. She had to know if they made it through this hellish nightmare, and if there was anyone that she could turn to with this weird...crystal, and this strange, intrusive voice in her head, it was Mina. 

After that, come what may...she needed proper training. She had to learn how to properly protect people. The Adders weren't  going to do it, and she wasn't about to hold her breath and expect anywhere else to really look out for their people, either. Someone had to be their shield.

Oh, huh. A shield would have been handy back there, she thought in a daze, brushing the ashes off of her clothes as she hauled herself up in a fit of sneezing and coughing. Something to look into. That's step four-or-so.

Dalamud had fallen, and in its ashes, Serella stood tall.

[fly-pow-bye]

What’s Airing On Cartoon Network? (July 2021)

While we’re in a rather empty spot for the network, Cartoon Network decided to add another show that was made for HBO Max to its television lineup: Looney Tunes Cartoons! Also, The Fungies continue their airing on television, and there’s new episodes of Total Dramarama and DC Super Hero Girls. More after the break.

Craig of the Creek

For completion’s sake, I’ll list the Craig of the Creek episodes here too.

June 28th:

Capture the Flag Part 1: The Candy - When mysterious circumstances cause issues at the Trading Tree, Craig tries to save the day! (10:00 AM)

June 29th:

Capture the Flag Part 2: The King - The Creek gets help from an unlikely friend. (10:00 AM)

June 30th:

Capture the Flag Part 3: The Legend - Craig goes in search of answers, and finds a legend. (10:00 AM)

July 1st:

Capture the Flag Part 4: The Plan - Craig puts a plan into motion to save the Creek. (10:00 AM)

July 2nd:

Capture the Flag Part 5: The Game - It all comes down to this, the fate of the Creek is at stake! (10:00 AM)

DC Super Hero Girls

July 4th:

#AngerManagement - When Jess coerces Kara into addressing her anger management issues, Supergirl's superhero abilities become seriously compromised! (8:00 AM)

#HappyBirthdayZee - Zatanna makes a birthday wish that forces her to confront the dark side of her magic. (8:15 AM)

July 11th:

#TheGreenRoom - When Jessica is faced with a Green Lantern Corps disciplinary hearing, Hal appoints himself to be her Peer Advocate. (8:00 AM)

#EnterNightSting - Karen is given a mission to prevent the apocalypse by DeathSting, a super-cool future version of herself. (8:15 AM)

July 18th:

#WorldsFinest - When PR whiz Max Lord tells Batgirl and Supergirl he can improve their image by doing publicity stunts, the two friends forget what being a hero is really about. (8:00 AM)

#WorkingStiff - After Babs hooks Karen up with a job at the Burrito Bucket, the two heroes encounter a new villain, the scourge of the fast-food underworld, the Condiment King! (8:15 AM)

July 25th:

#MultipliciZee - Zee magically duplicates herself so she can shirk work and watch TV. Things get out of hand when her copies start to make copies of themselves! (8:00 AM)

#TheMinus - Diana receives her first ever A-minus and becomes convinced that she needs to work harder, however, in order to do so, she resorts to rather drastic measures. (8:15 AM)

The Fungies

July 9th:

Sir Tree's Boy - Seth agrees to take care of Sir Tree's wooden boy, Boy Joy, but quickly pawns him off on Mertha. When Seth discovers that Sir Tree needs his boy back in order to survive, he must stage a heist to steal Boy Joy back before it's too late! (8:00 AM)

Commander Beefy - Seth, eager to explore the stars and find a fellow explorer, sends a signal to space. But the explorer who receives the message, Commander Beefy, has his own shady plans for Earth... (8:15 AM)

July 16th:

The Fanciest Fungie - Seth, frustrated that the Fancies are too caught up in the Fanciest Fancy pageant to listen to his warning about a fungus-eating bacteria, enters the pageant to get his message out. But when he gets sucked into the pageant, he'll have to face the consequences of getting distracted. (8:00 AM)

Snake It to the Limit - When Seth agrees to let an athletic snake replace his arm so he can finally be good at volleyball, he learns he doesn't need a fancy snake arm to make his teammates happy; he just needs to try. (8:15 AM)

July 23th:

Nevin's Cocoon - After a beautiful statue makes Nevin self-conscious about his own looks, Seth helps seal Nevin in a cocoon so that he may turn into a beautiful butterfly. (8:00 AM)

Cool Kids - When Pascal becomes obsessed with a group of cool kids, Seth promises to use his science skills to help Pascal become cool. But is coolness as cool as it seems? (8:15 AM)

July 30th:

Mermove Out - Seth is having a hard time sharing a room with messy Pascal and needs a change. But instead of being honest about the situation, Seth makes Pascal a mermaid tail so that his brother can finally move out-into the ocean! (8:00 AM)

Happy Birthday Nancy - Seth wants his mom to have the best birthday ever, so he creates his own currency in order to buy her an expensive gift. But he learns a little too late that counterfeiting is a crime, putting Nancy's birthday at risk of being ruined. (8:15 AM)

Looney Tunes Cartoons

July 5th:

Curse of the Monkeybird/Marvin Flag Gag: Deflating Planet/Harm Wrestling - Daffy Duck and Porky Pig search for hidden treasure. No one messes with arm-wrestling champ Yosemite Sam - until Bugs Bunny comes along. (9:00 AM)

Big League Beast/Hole Gag: Mini Elmer/Firehouse Frenzy -When Bugs overstays his welcome, an evil scientist unleashes Gossamer to get rid of him. Daffy Duck and Porky Pig make lousy firefighters. (9:15 AM)

July 6th:

Boo! Appetweet/Hole Gag: Plunger/Bubble Dum - Sweet victory turns into a nightmare when Sylvester fears he's haunted by Tweety's ghost. Daffy Duck faces off with a pesky piece of gum. (9:00 AM)

Pain in the Ice/Tunnel Vision/Pool Bunny - A hungry Sylvester sets his sights on Tweety, the ice skater. On a scorching hot day, Bugs Bunny makes himself at home in Elmer Fudd's pool. (9:15 AM)

July 7th:

Pest Coaster/Rhino Ya Don't - Bugs tries to ride a roller coaster, but Yosemite Sam is determined to stop him. At the zoo, Sylvester's lunch plans are foiled by a rhino. (9:00 AM)

Buzzard School/Marvin Flag Gag: Giant Alien Mouth/Wet Cement - Bugs Bunny enrolls Beaky Buzzard in Rabbit Hunting 101. Daffy wreaks havoc on Porky's wet cement. (9:15 AM)

July 8th:

Siberian Sam/Hole Gag: Fishing Pole/Fleece and Desist/Marvin Flag Gag: Mirror/Split Screen Marvin - In need of a new hat, Siberian Sam feasts his eyes on Bugs Bunny. Sam Sheepdog protects his herd from a hungry Ralph Wolf. (9:00 AM)

Grilled Rabbit/Cactus if You Can/Shower Shuffle - Elmer Fudd interrogates Bugs about a theft. Wile E. Coyote's plan to catch the Road Runner gets prickly. Daffy and Porky have shower troubles. (9:15 AM)

July 9th:

Overdue Duck/Hole Gag: Bees/Vincent Van Fudd - At the library, Porky Pig tries to silence a troublemaking Daffy Duck. Bugs Bunny interrupts Elmer Fudd's attempt to be a great artist. (9:00 AM)

Hare Restoration/TNT Trouble/Plumbers Quack - A self-interested Bugs gives Elmer Fudd dating advice. Wile E. Coyote runs into some dynamite problems. Elmer's leaky sink is no match for Daffy. (9:15 AM)

July 12th:

Daffuccino/Hole Gag: Moving Hole/Kitty Livin - Before his new coffee shop goes from grand opening to grand closing, Porky must impress an influential customer. Sylvester may have swallowed more than he can chew when he manages to trap Tweety... inside his stomach! (9:00 AM)

Chain Gangster/Telephone Pole Gag: Sylvester Car Jack Lift/Falling for It - Two bank robbers need Bugs' help to break out of jail. Daffy convinces Porky to go skydiving but forgets one important little thing... (9:15 AM)

July 13th:

Taziator/Marvin Flag Gag: Little Martian/Climate Control - Bugs faces off against Taz in a Roman coliseum. Wile E. Coyote orders a weather control kit, but his chances of catching the Road Runner remain cloudy. (9:00 AM)

Lepre-conned/Flag Won't Stay Straight/Brave New Home - Bugs is looking for Hawaii but finds Ireland and an angry leprechaun instead. Porky's new home has all the modern amenities anyone could hope for, including a computerized assistant - but the voice recognition software could use an update. (9:15 AM)

July 14th:

The Case of Porky's Pants/Fully Vetted - Detective Daffy takes on the case of Porky's missing pants. Tweety's trip to the veterinarian's office gives Sylvester the perfect opportunity for a lunchtime treat. (9:00 AM)

E-Rabbitcator/ Planet Split in 2/The Sales Duck - Bugs must outsmart a new technological foe. Elmer is ready for bed, but persistent salesman Daffy stands in the way of a good night's rest. (9:15 AM)

July 15th:

Pitcher Porky/Cherry Picker/Duck Duck Boom - Benchwarmer Porky finally gets his chance to shine on the pitching mound. With the game on the line, he needs all the help he can get - even if it's from Daffy. Elmer sets his sights on Daffy, but who's hunting whom? (9:00 AM)

Postal Geist/Anvil/Fudds Bunny - Porky and Daffy deliver packages to a haunted manor. Elmer's plan to disguise himself as a bunny to lure Bugs out of his hole doesn't quite go as planned. (9:15 AM)

July 16th:

Shoe Shine-nanigans/Multiply and Conquer/Parky Pig - Elmer visits Daffy for a quick shoeshine. Porky is running late for movie night but finding a parking spot is easier said than done. (9:00 AM)

Shell Shocked/Daffy Dentist - Bugs races against Cecil Turtle for the "fastest thing in New York City" title. The only thing more painful than Porky's sore tooth is a visit to dentist Daffy. (9:15 AM)

Total Dramarama

July 5th:

Breaking Bite - Beth becomes the big dog on campus after she bites Duncan, but being the big dog is a dangerous thing, especially when you didn't actually bite anybody! (5:00 PM)

July 6th:

I Dream of Meanie - When Cody keeps screaming in his sleep Gwen and Duncan take a trip into Cody's dreams to see what is scaring him. (5:00 PM)

July 7th:

Squirrels Squirrels Squirrels - Courtney's attempt to make Chef a better teacher fails when a squirrel gets his hands on her mind-control device. (5:00 PM)

July 8th:

Say Hello to my Little Friends - After telling the kids he will not miss them over the long weekend Chef locks himself into the school and finds out he was very, very wrong. (5:00 PM)

July 12th:

WaterHose-Five - The hottest day of the year and a broke air conditioner leads to a water battle of epic proportions to determine who controls the garden hose. (5:00 PM)

July 13th:

Cody the Barbarian - Cody is set to inherit a video game empire from his long-lost uncle, but only if he and his friends have what it takes to conquer a fantastical live-action video game. (5:00 PM)

July 14th:

TP2: Judgement Bidet - When the city experiences a toilet paper shortage Beth and Harold investigate and discover it's their old rival Sewer Mike who is the mastermind behind it all. (5:00 PM)

July 15th:

Dial B for Birder - Harold uncovers a secret plot that Chef's new parrot is hatching and tries to save his teacher only to discover that Sugar figured it out before him. Or did she? (5:00 PM)

July 19th:

A Hole Lot of Trouble - When rain derails an outside game of catch someone suggests they play it inside. This prompts Izzy to lead the group through her wildly imaginative worst-case scenario. It's an adventure so scary that the kids many never play again. (5:00 PM)

July 20th:

A Tell Tale - After Owen's BBF, Noah, goes through a growth spurt, Owen fears losing his friend and takes drastic action. (5:00 PM)

July 21st:

Chews Wisely - When the floor ends up covered in gum on the day of a big bubble blowing contest, Sugar decides she might help herself win by helping her friends get stuck to the floor. (5:00 PM)

July 22nd:

A Dingo Ate My Duncan - When all their classmates are replaced with well-behaved Australian doppelgangers in a school exchange program, Lightning and Cody start getting suspicious. (5:00 PM)