#Get Started on Your U.S. Journey

[comradecowplant]

Goal for 2024/j113 is to convince every one of my followers who like & reblog my gay jokes and art images but never interact with the communist posts to consider the possibility that the DPRK isn't an evil comic book villian country, and if we can achive that & open our minds enough, maybe even convince you that stalwart resistance to global imperial hegemony that has survived for decades despite the world's superpowers doing everything to literally starve them out of existence is actually pretty damn cool 🇰🇵

[carriesthewind]

Oh dear.

So as some of you may know, I love to point and laugh at bad legal arguments. And as fun as legal dumpster fires are when they are made by people who aren’t lawyers but think this whole “law” thing seems pretty simple, it’s even funnier when an actual, barred attorney is the person dumping gallons of kerosene into the dumpster.

And oh boy folks, do I have a fun ride for y’all today. Come with me on this journey, as we watch a lawyer climb into the dumpster and deliberately pour kerosene all over himself, while a judge holds a match over his head.

The court listener link is here, for those who want to grab a few bowls of popcorn and read along.

For those of you who don’t enjoy reading legal briefs for cases you aren’t involved with on your day off (I can’t relate), I will go through the highlights here. I will screenshot and/or paraphrase the relevant portion of the briefs, and include a brief explainer of what’s going on (and why it’s very bad, but also extremely funny). (Also, I’m not going to repeat this throughout the whole write-up, so for the record: any statements I make about how the law or legal system works is referring exclusively to the U.S. (And since this is a federal case, we are even more specifically looking at U.S. federal law.) Also, I don’t know how you could construe any of this to be legal advice, but just in case: none of this is, is intended to be, or should be taken as, legal advice.)

First, let’s get just a quick background on the case, to help us follow along. In brief, this is a civil tort suit for personal injury based on defendant’s (alleged) negligence. The plaintiff is suing the defendant (an airline), because he says that he was injured when a flight attendant struck his knee with a metal cart, and the airline was negligent in letting this happen. The airline filed a motion to dismiss on the grounds that there is an international treaty that imposes a time bar for when these kind of cases can be brought against an airline, and the plaintiff filed this case too many years after the incident.

The fun begins when the plaintiff’s attorney filed an opposition to the motion to dismiss. (So far, a good and normal thing to do.) The opposition argues that the claim is not time-barred because 1) the time bar was tolled by the defendant’s bankruptcy proceedings (that is, the timer for the time limitation was paused when the defendant was in bankruptcy, and started again afterwords), and 2) the treaty’s time limit doesn’t apply to this case because the case was filed in state court before the state statute of limitations expired, and the state court has concurrent jurisdiction over this kind of case.

I’m struggling a bit to succinctly explain the second reason, and there’s a reason for that.

You see, the whole opposition reads a bit…oddly.

This is how the opposition begins its argument, and it’s…weird. The basic principle is...mostly correct here, but the actual standard is that when reviewing a motion to dismiss for failure to state a claim (which is what the defendant filed) the court must draw all reasonable factual inferences in the plaintiff’s favor. But even then, you don’t just put that standard in your opposition. You cite to a case that lays out the standard.

Because that’s how courts and the law work. The courts don’t operate just based on vibes. They follow statutory law (laws made by legislature) and case law (the decisions made by courts interpreting what those laws mean). You don't just submit a filing saying, "here's what the law is," without citing some authority to demonstrate that the law is what you say (or are arguing) it is.

Again, this isn’t wrong (although I'm not sure what it means by new arguments?), but it’s weird! And part of the reason it’s weird is that it is irrelevant to the defendant’s motion to dismiss. The defendant filed a motion stating that based on the facts in the complaint, the plaintiff has not stated a claim based on which relief can be granted, because the complaint is time barred by a treaty. There is no reason for this language to be in the opposition. It’s almost like they just asked a chatbot what the legal standards are for a motion to dismiss for a failure to state a claim, and just copied the answer into their brief without bother to double-check it.

The opposition then cites a bunch of cases which it claims support its position. We will skip them for now, as the defendant will respond to those citations in its reply brief.

The last thing in the brief is the signature of the lawyer who submitted the brief affirming that everything in the brief is true and correct. An extremely normal - required, even! - thing to do. This will surely not cause any problems for him later.

The next relevant filing is the defendant’s reply brief. Again, the existence of a reply brief in response to an opposition is extremely normal. The contents of this brief are…less so.

Beg pardon?

Just to be clear, this is not normal. It is normal to argue that the plaintiff’s cases are not relevant, or they aren’t applicable to this case, or you disagree with the interpretations, or whatever. It is not normal for the cases to appear to not exist.

Some highlights from the brief:

Quick lesson in how to read U.S. case citations! The italicized (or underlined) part at the beginning is the name of the case. If it is a trial court case, the plaintiff is listed first and the defendant second; if the case has been appealed, the person who lost at the lower court level (the petitioner/appellant) will be listed first, and the person who won at the lower level (the respondent/appellee) will be listed second. There are extremely specific rules about which words in these names are abbreviated, and how they are abbreviated. Next, you list the volume number and name of the reporter (the place where the case is published), again abbreviated according to very specific rules, then the page number that the case starts on. If you are citing a case for a specific quote or proposition, you then put a comma after the beginning page number, and list the page number(s) on which the quote or language you are relying on is located (this is called a “pincite”). Finally, you put in parenthesis the name of the court (if needed)(and again, abbreviated according to extremely specific rules) and the year the case was decided.

So the plaintiff’s response cited to Zicherman, which they said was a case from 2008 that was decided by the 11th Circuit Court of Appeals. However, the defendant was not able to find such a case. They were able to find a case with the same name (the same petitioner and respondent), but that case was decided by the U.S. Supreme Court in 1996, and the lower court cases associated with that case weren’t in the 11th circuit either. (The United States Reports is the only official reporter for the U.S. Supreme Court, and only includes SCOTUS decisions, so it’s not necessary to include the name of the court before the year it was decided.)

Just to be clear. The defendant’s brief is saying: the plaintiff cited and extensively quoted from these cases, and neither the cases nor the quotations appear to exist. These “cases” were not ancillary citations in the plaintiff’s brief. They were the authority it relied upon to make its arguments.

This is as close a lawyer can come, at this point in the proceedings, to saying, “opposing counsel made up a bunch of fake cases to lie to the court and pretend the law is something different than it is.”

That, “Putting aside that here is no page 598 in Kaiser Steel,” is delightfully petty lawyer speak for, “you are wrong on every possible thing there is to be wrong about.”

By page 5, the defendant has resorted to just listing all of the (apparently) made up cases in a footnote:

(skipping the citations to support this proposition)

This is where I return to my struggle to explain the opposition’s second reason why the motion to dismiss should not be granted. I struggled to explain the argument, because they failed to explain why the argument they were making (that plaintiffs can bring lawsuits against airlines in state court, and the state court have specific statutes of limitations for general negligence claims) was relevant to the question of whether the plaintiff’s specific claim against the airline was time barred by the treaty. Because 1) this case is in federal court, not state court, and 2) federal law - including treaties - preempts state law. Again, it’s almost like plaintiff’s attorney just typed a question about the time bar into a chatbot or something, and the machine, which wasn’t able to reason or actually analyze the issues, saw a question about the time to bring a lawsuit and just wrote up an answer about the statute of limitations.

We also end with a nice little lawyerly version of “you fucked up and we are going to destroy you.” The relief requested in the defendant’s original motion to dismiss was:

In their reply to the opposition, however:

“The circumstances” in this case, being the apparent fabrication of entire cases. Because courts tend to take that pretty seriously.

And the court took it seriously indeed. The defendant’s reply was docketed on March 15th of this year. On April 11th:

AKA: you have one week (an extremely prompt time frame for federal court) to prove to me that you didn’t just make up these cases.

On April 12th, the plaintiff’s attorney requests more time because he’s on vacation:

The judge grants the motion, but adds in another case that he forgot to include in his first order.

On April 25th, the plaintiff’s attorney files the following:

(And he lists the cases, with one exception, which he says is an unpublished decision.)

But he says of all of the cases except two, that the opinions…

Which is…nonsense?

First of all: if you cited a case, you had to get it from somewhere. Even unpublished opinions, if you are citing them in a brief, you are citing them because you pulled them off of westlaw or whatever. Which means you have access to the case and can annex it for the court. (There are even formal rules for how you cite unpublished opinions! And those rules include citing to where you pulled the damn case from!)

Secondly: remember that long digression I went into about how to read case citations? Remember that bit about how you include the name of the reporter (the place the case was published)? Yes, cases are published. They are printed in physical books, and they are published online in databases (e.g. lexis or westlaw). If the specific online database you are looking in does not have the case, you look somewhere else. If you have a judge telling you to get them a copy of the case Or Else, you track down a physical copy of the reporter if you need to and scan the damn thing yourself. You - literally - can’t just not have a copy of the case! (Especially published federal circuit court opinions, which multiple of these cases are! Those aren’t hard to find!)

And what kind of “online database” doesn’t include the entire opinion anyway? I’ve literally never heard of a case research database that only included partial opinions, because that wouldn’t be useful.

Maybe if we look at the attached annexed copies of the cases, that might give us some answers.

...

My friends, these things are just bizarre. With two exceptions, they aren’t submitted in any sort of conventional format. Even if you’ve never seen a legal opinion before, I think you can see the difference if you just glance through the filings. They are located at Docket entry #29 on Court Listener (April 25, 2023). Compare Attachments 6 and 8 (the real cases submitted in conventional format) to the other cases. Turning to the contents of the cases:

In the first one, the factual background is that a passenger sued an airline, then the airline filed a motion to dismiss (on grounds unrelated to the treaty's time bar), then the airline went into bankruptcy, then the airline won the motion to dismiss, then the passenger appealed. And the court is now considering that appeal. But then the opinion starts talking about how the passenger was in arbitration, and it seems to be treating the passenger like he is the one who filed for bankruptcy? It’s hallucinatory, even before you get to the legal arguments. The “Court of Appeals” is making a ruling overruling the district court’s dismissal based on the time bar, but according to the factual background, the case wasn’t dismissed based on the time bar, but on entirely other grounds? Was there some other proceeding where the claim was dismissed as time barred, and it’s just not mentioned in the factual background? How? Why? What is happening? Also it says Congress enacted the treaty? But, no? That’s…that’s not how treaties work? I mean, Congress did ratify the treaty? But they didn’t unilaterally make it!

In the second case, there’s an extended discussion of which treaty applies to the appellants claims, which is bizarre because there are two relevant treaties, and one replaced the other before the conduct at issue, so only the new treaty applies? There isn’t any discussion of the issue beyond that basic principle, so there is no reason there should be multiple paragraphs in the opinion explaining it over and over? Also, it keeps referring to the appellant as the plaintiff, for some reason? And it includes this absolutely hallucinatory sentence:

…the only part this that makes sense is that the argument is without merit. I’m not going to discuss the actual merits of the legal arguments in the opinion, because they are so bizarre and disjointed that even trying to describe them would require a Pepe Silvia-sized conspiracy board. Like the previous case, both the facts and the legal posture of the case change constantly, with seemingly no rhyme or reason.

The third one…oh boy. First, large portions of the “opinion” are individual paragraphs with quotations around the whole paragraph. What’s happening there? As far as the content of the opinion itself - I can’t. I mean that, I literally can’t. What is being discussed seems to change from paragraph to paragraph, much of it contradicting. It makes the first case seem linear and rational by comparison. The court finds it doesn’t have personal jurisdiction over the defendant so dismisses the case based on a lack of subject matter jurisdiction? But also the defendant hasn’t contested jurisdiction? And also the court does hold that it has both subject matter and personal jurisdiction over the defendant? And then it denies the motion to dismiss the case? Also, at one point it cites itself?

…also, even if this was a real case, it doesn’t stand for the propositions the plaintiff cited it for in their opposition? I’m not going to go into the weeds (honestly it’s so hallucinatory I’m not sure I could if I tried), but, for example, the plaintiff’s reply brief states that the court held “that the plaintiff was not required to bring their claim in federal court.” The U.S. District Court for the District of Columbia is a federal court, and there is no discussion of any filings in state courts. The closest the “opinion” comes is with the statement, “Therefore, Petersen’s argument that the state courts of Washington have concurrent jurisdiction is unavailing.” (This statement appears to be completely disconnected from anything before or after it, so I am unsure what it is supposed to mean.)

Moving on, case number four is allegedly a decision by the Court of Appeals of Texas. It includes the following line:

Honestly, the plaintiff’s attorney best defense at this point is that he wasn’t intentionally trying to mislead the court, because if he was doing this on purpose, he would have edited the cases to make them slightly more believable. (Context in case you’ve lost track: these documents are supposed to be copies of the opinions he is citing. The screenshoted line makes it clear that what he is actually citing is, at best, someone else’s summary of an "opinion". It would be like if a teacher asked a student to photocopy a chapter of a book and bring it into class, and instead the student brought in a copy of the cliffs notes summary of that chapter. Except that the book doesn’t even exist.)

The actual contents of the “opinion” are, as is now standard, absolutely bonkers. First, the court decides that it doesn’t have personal jurisdiction over Delta because “Delta did not purposefully avail itself of the benefits of conducting business in Texas.” This was despite the fact that the factual background already included that the appellant (sorry, the plaintiff, according to the “opinion”) flew on a Delta flight originating in Texas. Like, this is just wrong? It’s not even hallucinatory nonsense, it’s just facially incorrect legal analysis. Then the court starts discussing the treaty’s time bar, for some reason? Then it goes back to talking about personal jurisdiction, but now the trial court denied the defendant’s motion to dismiss for lack of personal jurisdiction, and the appellate court agrees with the trial court that it does have personal jurisdiction, even though this is the plaintiff’s appeal from the dismissal for lack of personal jurisdiction and the court already ruled it didn’t have personal jurisdiction? And even though on page 1, the plaintiff was injured during a flight from Texas to California, now on page 7 she was injured on a flight from Shanghai to Texas? Also the trial court has gone back in time (again) to grant the motion to dismiss that it previously denied?

Also, I’ve been trying to avoid pointing out the wonky text of these submissions, but:

Everything ok there?

Case number five is similar enough to number four that it’s not worth repeating myself.

Thank god, cases six and eight, as noted above, are real cases, so I’m going to skip them. The defendant alleges that the cases do not stand for the propositions the plaintiff cited them for, and I’m going to assume that is true, given the rest of this nonsense.

Case number seven looks legitimate on the surface. But neither the defendant nor I could find the case through any legitimate search mechanisms. The defendant looked up the purported docket numbers on PACER and found completely different cases; I was able to find a case with the name “Miller v. United Airlines, Inc.,” but it was for a different Ms. Miller, it was a California state case (not a Second Circuit federal case), it was decided on a different year, and the substance of the case was entirely different from the alleged opinion filed with the court.

On top of that, this might be the most morally reprehensible fake citation of them all? Because it is about the crash of United Airlines Flight 585, a real plane crash. Everyone on board - 25 people in total - was killed. 

The individual cited in this fake court case was not one of them.

I cannot imagine conducting myself in such a way where I would have to explain to a judge that I made up a fake case exploiting a real tragedy because I couldn’t be bothered to do actual legal research.

Now, I know you all have figured out what’s going on by now. And I want you to know that if your instincts are saying, “it seems like the lawyer should have just fallen on his sword and confessed that he relied on ChatGPT to write his original brief, rather than digging himself further into this hole”? Your instincts are absolutely correct.

Because obviously, the court was having none of this b.s. On May 4th, the court issued an order, beginning with the following sentence:

That is one of the worst possible opening sentences you can see in an order by the court in a situation like this. The only thing worse is when judges start quoting classic literature. If I was Mr. Peter LoDuca, counsel for the plaintiff, I would already be shitting my pants.

“I gave you an opportunity to either clear things up or come clean. Now I’m going to give you an opportunity to show why I should only come down on you like a pile of brinks, instead of a whole building.”

We are getting dangerously close to “quoting classic lit” territory here.

If I learned that the judge in my case called up the clerk of a circuit court just to confirm how full of shit I was, I would leave the legal profession forever. Also, the judge is now also putting quotes around “opinion.” When judges start getting openly sarcastic in their briefs, that means very very bad things are about to happen to someone.

So I’m guessing the delay between this filing and the court order was because the judge’s clerk was tasked with running down every single one of the additional fake citations included in the "opinions", just to make this sure this order (and the upcoming pile of bricks) are as thorough as possible.

If you are following along with Dracula Daily, the vibe here is roughly the same as the May 19th entry where Dracula demands Jonathan Harker write and pre-date letters stating he has left the castle and is on the way home.

Also, hey, what’s that footnote?

Wait, what?

Folks, it appears we may have notary fraud, on top of everything else! Anybody have bingo?

So on May 25, one day before the deadline, Mr. LoDuca filed his response. And oh boy, I hope ya’ll are ready for this.

Hey, what’s the name of that other attorney, “Steven Schwartz”? Where have I seen that name before…

...I ran out of room for images on this post. So I'm going to have to leave this as an accidental cliffhanger. Part 2 to follow once I refresh my tea.

[exeggcute]

interesting links roundup #2

reading

America’s dairy farms are disappearing

The Canary (forgive me for sharing a michael lewis wapo piece but it's about mineshaft engineering safety which is super neat I promise!!!)

‘The data on extreme human ageing is rotten from the inside out’

Diving lizard’s built-in ‘scuba tank’ allows it to breathe underwater

The Empathy Punishment

The Final Penalty

Gold Treasure Worth a Fortune Was Just Hidden in a Forest. The Hunt Starts Now

How a Scientific Dispute Spiralled Into a Defamation Lawsuit

How to succeed in MrBeast production

How Weed Strains Get Their (Amusing, Provocative, Downright Wacky) Names

Human cases of raccoon parasite may be your best excuse to buy a flamethrower

I sell onions on the Internet

Jawbreakers

Man Called Fran

Moral progress is annoying

The optimal amount of fraud is non-zero

Planet of Person Guys

Real-Estate Shopping for the Apocalypse

Some Notes on Attunement

U.S. overdose deaths plummet, saving thousands of lives

Why Is It So Hard to Go Back to the Moon?

Why We’re Turning Psychiatric Labels Into Identities

You are not a commercial for yourself

tools/reference

archive.is (this is the paywall remover I've been running all the paywalled links through (you're welcome) and pairs nicely with the news aggregators below)

Microsoft Activation Scripts

Radio Garden

Tom Paine Today and The Brutalist Report (both of these are news aggregators that let you quickly see what's in the headlines and how different outlets are reporting on it, although the latter is a bit more tech-focused)

Unclaimed Baggage

other

Observations - Journey (YouTube)

Shouting in the Datacenter (YouTube)

This American Life #839: Meet Me at the Fair

[icyg4l]

PAC: June 2024 Predictions

Hello beautiful people! Continuing on with my summer 2024, I am kicking off this upcoming June with predictions! I look forward to posting more content relating to this topic and many others. I also want to say that tomorrow, I will be having a Five Dollar Friday Sale so if you would like to receive a reading for a lower price, tomorrow is the day to do so! Without further ado, please choose the image that resonates with you!

Top Left-to-Bottom Right: (1-4)

Pile One: This pile is definitely geared towards femmes of the African diaspora. I feel like you will be more knowledgeable about your culture. You will take more pride in your identity this month. Happy Juneteenth in advance <3! I also feel like this month will be perfect for you to brush up on skills like crocheting, quilt making, jewelry making or sewing. I see that you’re a versatile person who has many sides so do not be afraid to show them. I feel like this month you will be rewarded with recognition due to your connections with women. If you are someone who struggles when it comes to intimacy with women, do not fear what can work for you. This month is crucial for you. I feel like you need to be paying close attention to cameras. People will be videoing you and taking pictures of you heavy this month. You might even go viral. People will also be more generous towards you this month. You may even notice people being more flirtatious with you, offering to pay for your drinks/food, etc. Some of you are going to be traveling down South, specifically Mississippi, Alabama and Georgia. If you have a sexual partner, you will get into an argument with them about something trivial. It will be blown out of proportion but I will say this. There is a reason why you feel the way you feel about them right now. Your gut never lies, love. And lastly, you may get invited to a surplus of dinner dates, picnic dates and family friendly places like Top Golf, Dave N Busters, etc. And be sure to keep your spiritual protection up!

Cards Used: Wheel of Fortune, 7 of Cups, 6 of Cups, 8 of Wands (RX), 5 of Wands, The Star, The Empress, Judgment, King of Wands.

extras: buying hair picks. reaching a fruit tree. jamaican flag. acorns. nature lover. egyptian goddess. play for keeps. buckaroos. monkey island.

Pile Two: Who lit a fire under your ass, Pile Two? I feel like this month will be about spoiling yourself and letting people know that you are not to be played with. It feels like you are finally standing up for yourself after being punked for so long. Think of this time as charging up and gaining your power. This is the era of reclaiming your power. You are going to be realizing your worth and it will feel so good. A lot of you guys are newly single and now you feel spiritually lighter. The weight of your past relationship turned you into someone you weren’t. Healing is not a linear journey so you need to be as patient with yourself as possible. Some of you will be taking up a pottery class, will start pole dancing or start gardening to help you cope with your situation. You are more in control of your situation than you think. It’s time to want better for yourself and to do better for yourself. Out with the old, in with the new is what I heard. If you’ve been talking about starting up a business or starting up a podcast, then get on it! Type up that business plan and brainstorm some topics to talk about (preferably some unrelenting to splitting the bill or the criteria of being a feminine). This month, you could also do some traveling. It could be in the Northern parts of the U.S. or even in the Caribbean. I feel like your main focus will definitely be getting rid of the dead weight though. Clearing up your face, cleaning up your diet, physically cleaning your room, all of that. Just do it!

Cards Used: 5 of Discs, King of Swords, Queen of Swords, Knight of Discs, 6 of Swords, Temperance, 9 of Discs, The Fool

extras: revenge body. health nut. being more strict. podcast listener. kendrick lamar fan. maracas. greece. puerto rico. haitian. fixing insecurities.

Pile Three: You guys are definitely under 5’4”, lol. I feel like you could be an aspiring model or dancer. You could even be an aspiring rapper. I feel like you guys have a resting bitch face and because of it a lot of people accuse you of being mean when you really aren’t. This month, you could find yourself trying to overcompensate for that, lol! You may find yourself doing yard work for your neighbors, putting up flyers for someone’s local business, taking out someone’s trash, moving someone’s car for them, picking up your s/o’s sibling/mother up from work/school. I also see you guys purchasing a new wig with color in it or a pair of Lady Gaga-esque heels from Poshmark or Depop. You guys have a gothic sense of style. During the month of June, you will definitely be partying with the gays (probably only on the weekends though depending on your schedule). Happy Pride Month <3! I think that you guys will be doing things that will get you out of your comfort zone, specifically going out at night. The nightlife will be calling your name, dear. You will be bombarded with attention when this does happen. You are socially awkward but it’s okay, they won’t bite. The environments where you’ll be at will be filled with welcoming characters that make you feel safe. I feel like some of you will be trading services with another business owner (i.e., hairstyle for nail set, reading for reading, etc). Lastly, you guys need to go to karaoke bars, gay bars, go bar diving! Your self-esteem will go up, lol!

Cards Used: The Hermit, King of Cups, 7 of Cups, The Star, 2 of Swords (RX), Strength, 6 of Wands, The Tower.

extras: studded heels. drunk selfies. smoked out eyeliner. dragged. tea. money-hungry. marge simpson. katniss everdeen. facts about the royal kingdom.

Pile Four: This month will mark a special meeting between you and another person. A lot of you guys will be attending a wedding ceremony during this month, if you’re not already getting married. If you are getting married, just know that the stress is worth it dear. The ceremony will go great. But for the single folks, I feel like guys have been having a bad streak when it comes to dating/love. This will change at the wedding reception/ceremony. You will either meet someone who is exactly your type or you will catch the bouquet. I see that this person is tall, bright-eyed and very charming. This person will change your perspective on life. Outside of love, I feel like you guys will be working at some type of charity event. If you work somewhere with children involved, you will be assigned as the leader for the big task. You will handle it well. You could be in your 9H profection year or you could just be looking for your purpose in life. I feel like you will expand on your beliefs. You will visit different places of faith, travel to different neighborhoods and try new foods just to get a new perspective. I also think you will listen to music of different genres more often, specifically music with an island feel to it. If you have a science test coming up, you will pass it. And lastly, I feel like by the end of the month you will be on vacation. Whatever is going on at work will make you want to take a break. I see someone drinking RedBull to get through the day. I am also channeling the movie ‘The Last Holiday’. You should watch it! There is more to life than just working. You have some exploring to do, friend.

Cards Used: 9 of Wands, Temperance, 3 of Wands, The Hierophant, Queen of Cups, 3 of Discs.

extras: moonwalk. euphoria. small fry. tupperware. black lives matter. sagittarius placements. jupiter heavy. buoyancy. shameless (2011).

[squinch-depraved]

priest schlatt I beg

we're not gonna talk about how long this took me to get to

happy national clergy appreciation day (in the u.s.) !! sorry if this sucks i was raised southern baptist and even then i sucked at christianity there's a reason i practice witchcraft now lol

hanging your head low as you ducked into the confessional wouldn't save you. sure, there was no one around to see you, but knowing that god had witnessed what you had done was reason enough to try and hide from the world as much as you could. but still you tucked yourself away into the corner of the booth, clutching your purse in your trembling hands.

religion was a something of a sore spot for you; growing up in a hyper-christian family was one way to ensure you didn't feel comfortable in a house of worship. you had always viewed god as an inevitable outcome, a fact that awaited you whenever you happened to reach the end of your journey here on earth. once you graduated high school and locked yourself into a four year program at a catholic college one state over, you came to realize that the reason you couldn't stand your religion wasn't because of overbearing relatives. no, it was the very idea of god himself. you found him sadistic, an egotistical prick who had nothing better to do than let horrible things happen to his creations. maybe it was true that most of the teachings you had heard were lost on you, that you didn't even make an effort to understand the lessons passed down for thousands of years. but so what? nobody had ever made an effort to understand you or what you were going through, why should you waste your energy extending that courtesy to a church that obviously didn't care about you?

but you know who did make you feel understood? the guys you had dated in the three years since you arrived at this prison. at least, for a few weeks, in the beginning. the first one was fine. he was the one who convinced you virginity was an outdated concept- which you still agreed with to this day, you decided. he was surprisingly "woke" about the whole religion thing, which was what drew you to him in the first place.

"my parents made me study here too," he sympathized. "i totally wish i could've gone on a mission trip instead of getting a degree. like, college will be here in a few years! those impoverished people might not, y'know? i just feel like god is totally calling me to go serve. like, 'troy, man, go feed those guys! tell them how cool i am!'" he stopped tossing a miniature foam basketball against your bedroom wall for a moment to look at you.

you smiled weakly at his sentiments and glanced up from your laptop to nod. "totally, troy."

turns out, (unsurprisingly) troy was a fucking douche. he stayed around just long enough to get into your pants a couple times, but then you caught him with the girl who lived in the dorm across from you, so he had to go. nobody ever found out who stole his clothes from the men's showers, but the videos of him streaking down the hallways while he ran to his room were sent around campus for months after that.

guys two and three were more painful than troy; you had actually grown attached to them. guy two lasted almost a year, and three was only a few months, but he felt special. and the half dozen guys you slept with while trying to get over them just added to the tally of sins you were keeping subconsciously.

so when your grades started to slip from depression in the winter of your junior year, and your counselor called you to her office for an appointment, it was no surprise that her words got under your skin as easily as they did. how could they not? getting students to go to church was part of her job. she was concerned that your grades were slipping because she hadn't seen you at mass in a long time, and the absence of the lord will do that to a young girl, you know.

so later that night, after drinking by yourself at a bar a few miles from the school, you stumbled into the church on campus and slunk into the confessional. realizing that the wooden box was incredibly uncomfortable, you winced and pulled off your heels, rubbing your feet gently as you waited to be listened to.

you shrieked quietly when a small lattice window on the wall next to you slid open. "oh, fuck... sorry! um, it's my turn, right?... yeah, i think so. okay, so, um. bless me father for i have... sinned? it's been, like," you paused as you counted back the time on your fingers. "almost two years since my last confession. oh, jeez, that makes me sound awful." you were hiccupping as you rambled, and you could have sworn you heard the faintest exhale of amusement if you weren't plastered.

"whatever, it's too late to stop now," you sighed, crossing your legs. "i let some guys sleep with me and now i'm all unpure and like. i'm supposed to show up here a couple times every week now but i don't wanna, i don't care enough about this whole god thing to waste the rest of my college life becoming a nun. i'm already worried i wasted three years coming here instead of a school where i could have felt like myself," you trailed off.

it was quiet for a moment before a gruff voice with a new york accent asked, "how many guys?"

you snorted. "9, i think," you said with a smirk, rolling your eyes.

the man on the other side of the panel felt his face heat up as he mumbled, "jesus." you couldn't hold in your laugh at how absurd this was. this was what you deserved for coming to confess at 2 in the morning.

"i know it's been a while since i've been here and all, but i'm pretty sure that's not what you're supposed to say," you giggled.

a chuckle was heard before he answered, "sorry. you're right, it's not. tell me more, what led you to sleeping with them?" at least now he was trying.

the two of you talked for about an hour, until it no longer felt like a confession and you were sure you had fallen for this priest you couldn't even see. eventually, he tried to dismiss you without giving you your penance, but something in your gut drove you to bring it up yourself.

he stepped out of the booth first, and you hesitated for a second before following him, freezing when you saw what he looked like. tall, scary, with gorgeous brown eyes framed by aviator glasses and fluffy chops adorning his cheeks. by some miracle, he also felt immobilized by his view of you hopping out of the wooden compartment- dress disheveled, fishnets ripped, heels in one hand and your purse slung over one shoulder. you were his worst nightmare, a temptation he simply could not resist. god had just placed a vulnerable young lamb like you in his midst; who was he to deny himself of the simple pleasures his lord had provided for him?

"father? father, my penance," you waved your hand in front of his face (after a bit of trying to get his attention), which had just gone dark. his eyes now looked hungry and cold.

"hmm?" he blinked and tilted his head towards you slightly. "oh. uhm," he let out a deep exhale, as if contemplating something. "y-y'know what? just come with me," he spoke gently, taking your hand and leading you to a back room with some spare furniture scattered about.

a part of you knew what was coming, and a different part of you never could have guessed the situation you were about to find yourself in. once you were alone in the room together, he pulled you close and pressed you against a wall, letting his hot breath waft over your neck as he bent down to whisper in your ear.

"god's telling me we should make it 10 men you've been with," he murmured, voice velvet smooth as it coated your eardrums. "so you can say at least one of them was a real man of the lord, hmm, doll?"

your breath, caught in your throat, sped up as he slowly, gently, tenderly took your wrists in one of his hands, bringing them to rest above your head. "father..."

"schlatt. my name's schlatt. but that's just a courtesy, hm? stick to callin' me father." you felt him smirk against your skin as he sunk his teeth into the flesh of your neck, drawing out a frantic moan from you.

"careful with your noises, angel, there's two other guys here tonight, and if we get caught, i'm gonna have to share you," schlatt warned. he used his other free hand to pull down the top of your dress, smiling greedily at the sight of your exposed breasts. "no bra?"

"i-it didn't go with the outfit," you tried to defend yourself, but he just shushed you and fondled your chest lovingly, like he really was just appreciating one of god's creations. pathetic noises spilled from your lips as you watched him admire you, a hypnotized look on your face.

"you're so beautiful, doll. wha's your name?" he asked, glancing up at your face to meet your gaze.

you stammered out your response and he repeated it, running over the name in his mind.

"pretty," he said simply. "i'm gonna make you feel good now, okay?" it was more of a statement than a question, and you nodded with a gulp as he knelt down and slid his head under your dress. you felt your pupils dilate as you leaned your head back against the wall and let your eyes fall closed. schlatt ripped a bigger hole into your fishnets and pulled your skimpy panties to the side, licking a long stripe up your folds and tracing circles with his tongue on your clit. it was hard to keep your whorish noises contained, but clamping your hand over your mouth did a good enough job.

he ate you until you were frantically scratching at his head through the fabric of your dress as you came all over his face, sobbing from how good you felt. you didn't even know it was possible to feel this euphoric, but here this priest was to show you how. once he was satisfied, he pulled away from your cunt and rose to tower over you again. he reached into his robes and opened them enough so that his crotch was visible. you watched as he pulled out his length, stunned at the size of it, and let him pick you up and position you around his waist.

"father, i'm scared, i don't know if it's gonna fit," you admitted guiltily. schlatt locked eyes with you while he replied.

"it's okay to be scared. but you have to do it anyways." with that, he slid into you, stretching you out more than you ever had been before. you bit onto him in an effort to keep quiet; his robes did a good job of muffling the sound. after a generous amount of time to let you get used to him, he started moving.

he was gentle at first, but gradually got rougher and rougher. there wasn't a moment where he wasn't focused on making you feel good. his eyes pierced through you as he rammed into you at a relentless pace, and the attention he was giving you didn't make you feel objectified like it did when the other guys fucked you. it made you feel divine, ethereal almost.

grunts and pants, along with the occasional squeal, were all that could be heard as he rolled his hips into you time and time again. he coaxed another orgasm out of you just with his cock, and once he felt like he had pleasured you enough, he sped up, now thrusting at a frenzied pace.

"when i tell you, you're gonna get on your knees and take me in your mouth, okay angel?" he instructed, out of breath. you nodded, eager to please.

"yes, father," you gasped as he reached deeper and deeper inside you with every thrust. schlatt's eyes rolled back slightly at the title and he went impossibly faster for a few seconds before speaking.

"n-now! now!" he ordered desperately. he set you down hurriedly and you slammed down onto your knees to take him in your mouth, letting him burrow deep into your throat before he finished with a loud groan and grabbed your hair roughly.

he remained in your throat for a moment while he caught his breath, sliding out once his chest had stopped heaving.

"there's your penance, doll. i better see you here for a 2 a.m. confession next monday as well, yeah? i think that's what the lord's callin' me to do," schlatt said as he buttoned his robes. you straightened your clothes as much as you could and looked up at him sheepishly.

"looking forward to it. but, uh, is there a back door i could leave through? because i do not want to walk through the church like this." you gestured to your outfit, tattered and wrinkled, and winced.

he chuckled and nodded. "yeah, i'll show you to it. maybe it could be our secret entrance," he joked.

"oh, of course. i'll knock three times whenever i need to be let in," you retort with a grin.

maybe coming to church wouldn't be so bad, after all.

[ollie-monster]

In Gaza, a child is not really a child. Our eight-year-old son, Yazzan, has been talking about fetching his toys from the ruins of our house. He should be learning how to draw, how to play soccer, how to take a family photo. Instead, he is learning how to hide when bombs fall.

I don’t want to hug anyone, because I don’t want to believe that I am leaving them. I kiss my parents and shake hands with my siblings, as though I am only going on a short trip. What I am feeling is not guilt but a sense of unfairness. Why can I leave and they cannot? We are lucky that Mostafa was born in the U.S. Does it make them less human, less worthy of protection, that their children were not? I think about how, when we go, I may not be able to call them, or even find out whether they are alive or dead. Every step we take will take us away from them.

We are about to pass the checkpoint when a soldier starts to call out, seemingly at random. “The young man with the blue plastic bag and the yellow jacket, put everything down and come here.” ... They’re not going to pull me out of the line, I think. I am holding Mostafa and flashing his American passport. Then the soldier says, “The young man with the black backpack who is carrying a red-haired boy. Put the boy down and come my way.” He is talking to me.

The soldiers blindfold me and attach a numbered bracelet to one wrist. I wonder how Israelis would feel if they were known by a number. Then someone grabs the back of my neck and shoves me forward, as though we are sheep on our way to be slaughtered. I keep asking for someone to talk to, but no one responds. The earth is muddy and cold and strewn with rubble. I am pushed onto my knees, and then made to stand, and then ordered to kneel again. Soldiers keep asking in Arabic, “What’s your name? What’s your I.D. number?”

One by one, we are forced into a truck. Someone who is not moving lands on my lap. I fear that a soldier has thrown a corpse onto me, as a form of torture, but I am scared to speak. I whisper, “Are you alive?” “Yes, man,” the person says, and I sigh with relief. When the truck stops, we hear what sound like gunshots. I no longer feel my body. The soldiers give off a smell that reminds me of coffins. I find myself wishing that a heart attack would kill me.

Another man, maybe talking to himself, says quietly, “I need to be with my daughter and pregnant wife. Please.” My eyes fill with tears. I imagine Maram and our kids on the other side of the checkpoint. They don’t have blankets or even enough clothes. I can hear female soldiers, chatting and laughing. Suddenly, someone kicks me in the stomach. I fly back and hit the ground, breathless. I cry out in Arabic for my mother. I am forced back onto my knees. There is no time to feel scared. A boot kicks me in the nose and mouth. I feel that I am almost finished, but the nightmare is not over.

When we exit the truck and my name is called, I am temporarily given my I.D. card. I feel a prick of hope. Maybe they are going to release us. Inside a building, my blindfold is pulled off. A soldier is aiming an M-16 at my head. Another soldier, behind a computer, asks questions and takes a photo of me. Another numbered badge is fastened to my left arm. Then I see the doctor, who asks whether I suffer from chronic diseases or feel sick. He does not seem interested in my pain. Back at the detention center, blindfolded again, we kneel painfully for hours. I try to sleep. A man moans nearby; another is hopeful that he will get to go back to the doctor. Late in the evening, a soldier calls my name. The shawish leads me to the gate, and a jeep comes to take me away.

When I wake, a soldier says something in English that I cannot believe. “We are sorry about the mistake. You are going home.” “Are you serious?” Silence. “I will go back to Gaza and be with my family?” “Why wouldn’t I be serious?” Another voice chimes in: “Isn’t this the writer?” Back at the detention center, as I fall asleep, I think about the words “We are sorry about the mistake.” I wonder how many mistakes the Israeli Army has made, and whether they will say sorry to anyone else.

On Tuesday, about two days after I left the school, the man with the megaphone teaches us how to say good morning in Hebrew. “Boker Tov, Captain,” we say in unison. Some new detainees have arrived in an enclosure nearby, and the soldiers overseeing them seem to be having fun. They sing part of an Arabic children’s song, “Oh, my sheep!,” and order the detainees to say “Baa” in response.

After an hour, some soldiers approach. One has my I.D., and another drops a pair of slippers for me and tells me to walk. Then one of them says, “Release!” I am so overjoyed that I thank him. I think about my wife and children. I hope that my parents and siblings are alive. I spend about two hours at the place where I was interrogated, with the Hebrew music. I am given some food and water, but the soldiers never find my family’s passports. I climb into a jeep, surrounded by soldiers. After two hours, I can see around my blindfold that we are getting close to Gaza.

The soldiers get out, smoke, and return fully armed, wearing their vests and helmets. I am thinking about the man I recognized in line, and what he said about human shields. I am starting to wish that I could go back to the detention center when they give me my I.D. card. Standing against a wall, I tell the closest soldier that I am scared. “Do not feel scared. You will leave soon.” My handcuffs are cut, and the blindfold is removed. I see the place where I had to take my clothes off. When I see new detainees waiting there, sadness overwhelms me.

I take off my slippers and start to run. Passersby are staring, but I don’t care. Suddenly, I spot an old friend, Mahdi, who once was the goalkeeper on my soccer team. “Mahdi! I’m lost—help me.” “Mosab!” We hug each other. “Your wife and kids are at the school next to the college,” he says. “Just turn left and walk for about two hundred metres.” I cry as I run. Just when I start to worry that I have lost my way, I hear Yaffa’s voice. “Daddy!” She is the first piece of my puzzle. She seems healthy, and is eating an orange. When I ask where the rest of the family is, she takes my hand and pulls me as if I were a child.

I learn from Maram how lucky I was. She used my phone to inform friends around the world, who demanded my safe release. I think about the hundreds or thousands of Palestinians, many of them likely more talented than me, who were taken from the checkpoint. Their friends could not help them.

[novlr]

okay, this is complicated, but I'm trying to write a scene that features two characters that have the same gender but neither of their names are revealed yet. so it's getting really weird. do you have any advice on how to possibly do this?

There are definitely ways to describe unrevealed characters (or a character without the use of their names). You’ll find it among classic literature, poetry, and even shorter fiction–all dependent on the author.

What makes your character notable?

When thinking about how to describe and/or narrate your character without using their name, ask yourself what makes them stand out the most. This isn’t just asking “who” your character is; this is asking what makes them who they are. And there are multiple ways to do this.

Personality

To start, maybe your character has a very distinctive personality. Are they extra grumpy or happy? Usually, that’s one of the first things we notice when interacting with other people. We notice first if our family member seems grouchy one particular morning or if a friend looks like they’re about to share the best news of the world during lunch hour.

When telling a story, narrating about a woman being mean to another can be as simple as dubbing her “the mean woman” or “the mean lady.” That’s just as we would start describing someone in real life without knowing who they are. The same can be said about “a nice man” who enters the story and tries to calmly interact with the mean woman who’s making a fuss.

Narrate a character without using their name, but use their personality, mannerisms, or even mood. And this works with using different pronouns, genders, and/or identities; as well as whether the POV of your character (or narrator) knows the other character in question or not.

Appearance

Something else we notice as people while first interacting with others is their appearance. And this involves more than simply what they’re wearing. Again, it must be notable enough as a feature.

Rather than writing a laundry list of what a character is wearing in prose, focus on what pieces of their attire make them stand out in a scene or situation. Take, for example, someone wearing winter layers in the middle of summer and vice versa. Or someone with neon pink hair. Or a really tall person among the crowd.

If you have two characters speaking with each other, such as two women, it can be as simple as a difference in hair color. “The blonde spoke to the brunette.” Yet there are ways to be more creative with your descriptors. Maybe one of them is “the lady in pink” (or “pink lady” for easier word flow) because their entire outfit is pink from head to toe. Sit down and truly consider all attributes of your character(s).

Utilizing appearance and personality to form monikers also works in a setting where all characters dress the same. In The Red Badge of Courage by Stephen Crane, the story takes place during the U.S. Civil War and follows the main character on his journey of being a soldier. Therefore, he and the other characters are all in uniform. Per Crane’s writing style, their names are only utilized in dialogue.

Henry, the main character, is dubbed as “the youth.” Then, other characters are further named as the tall soldier, the loud soldier, the blatant soldier, the sergeant, and even the fat soldier.

Profession/Activity

Consider what your character does, or is currently doing, in your scene. Addressing them as part of their profession is another option for creating a moniker.

Here's an example for a more realistic setting: You have a character walking inside a big corporate building for a job interview–maybe the CEO themself. If the CEO’s name isn’t revealed yet for any reason, or you prefer not to use their name in narrative at a particular moment, referring to the person as “the CEO” is still a way to give them a moniker in narrative.

Or, perhaps you have a character meeting an artist, such as a painter, to collect a piece for their home. In this case, “the painter” or “the artist” also works in prose.

Use other senses

You may have noticed that we discussed a lot of visual attributes of a character that would make great monikers in narration. But don’t forget about the other senses! It is just as efficient to come across a smelly boy or a loud girl and dub them as such. For touch, perhaps a character emerged from a sewer covered in grime, and they feel extra slimy!

Once again, think about how you notice and interact with others during day-to-day life. We may first notice things about other people like “messy hair,” “dressed formally,” or “weirdest outfit ever,” but all your senses are put to work when you are present in any situation. A girl sings off-key in the distance, or the new date your character meets smells like they haven’t showered in a week. These are all great descriptors to use in creating monikers!

Consider point of view and narrator

By now, you should have ideas on how to tackle narrating your characters without using their names, but I do want to add a final note! Keep in mind your character’s POV (or narrator) when writing about another character. Does your character/narrator know this person? Monikers like “the stranger” work just as well in prose, and even add some mystery or tension to the mix!

First person can make it simple with prose like, “I stared at the tall stranger. I never met him before, but this is now the second time he’s shown up. Just who is he? Will I ever find out?”

Third person could be, “The figure standing before the boy turned to face him, a complete stranger. Yet the boy did notice the colors on the figure’s uniform–a captain. He stiffened to attention.”

This accomplishes a fun way to introduce characters, where the reader is meeting a new character at the same time the character POV/narrator is. This also allows you to control the pace of bringing in new characters to your story too, versus dumping a list of names and descriptions all at once to overwhelm your reader. From a total stranger in one chapter to realizing a military uniform in another, and eventually learning the new character’s name via dialogue later.

You can read the full post with additional examples at the link below!

[leveloneandup]

Christen Press Is Determined to Reimagine the Way Female Athletes Are Seen

For two-time World Cup winner Christen Press, who made her debut in the U.S. Women’s National Team in 2013, it’s no surprise that women’s sports have been having their moment—both before and throughout these Paris Summer Olympics.

Press, along with her teammate and partner Tobin Heath, have bet big on the public’s love of women’s sports. The duo launched their podcast, The Re-Cap Show, during the 2023 Women’s World Cup—the highest attended in history. It wasn’t their first foray into entrepreneurship in the women’s sports space; they are co-CEOs of Re-Inc, a global community for sports fans and changemakers, which launched ahead of the 2019 World Cup. The Re-Cap Show has amassed a dedicated online fan base, with video clips circulated among Re-Inc's 49,000 YouTube subscribers and 123,000-strong Instagram following.

On The Re-Cap Show, the duo bring fans behind the scenes of professional women’s soccer, both at the international level and in the National Women’s Soccer League (NWSL). They debrief games with high-profile guests such as defender Ali Krieger, previous national team head coach Jill Ellis, current national team captain at the Olympics Lindsey Horan, and Angel City FC co-founder Kara Nortman. Press and Heath also break down and share their own perspectives on buzzy topics like scandals in the NWSL, what it’s like to date your teammate, and the recent cheating saga with the Canadian team.

Press and Heath launched Season 3 of the podcast in June, just in time to document the national soccer team’s journey at the Paris Summer Olympics. For Press—who returned to the pitch for Angel City FC on Thursday for the first time in over two years, after four surgeries to repair her torn ACL—it's up to women’s media to meet this moment and capitalize on it.

TIME delved into the Olympics, The Re-Cap Show, and why this moment in women’s sports is so important during a video interview with Press.

TIME: The momentum for women’s sports right now is immense. Caitlin Clark and Angel Reese enjoyed record-breaking performances in the NCAA last year, and the WNBA opened their 2024 season with their highest attendance in 26 years. This is also the first Olympics with gender parity. How is all of this impacting the way you cover the Paris Olympics with The Re-Cap Show?

Press: You're spot-on that women's sports are having insane momentum right now. For us, all the attention has really increased our mission to reimagine the way women are seen and experienced in sports. We started our show during the World Cup because we’re women soccer players, and that's when we committed to turning on a spotlight [and] never turning it off.

But the Olympics is this huge opportunity to inspire and reveal what's already there: lots of leagues, athletes, and players that are doing their job all-year round, but they get to be at the highest stage this summer. From a business perspective, [it’s about] bringing those supporters, fans, and community members into the women's sports world, which is the most inclusive, diverse, and interesting community that uses sport as a vehicle for change.

Take us back to creating Re-Inc with your teammates Tobin Heath, Megan Rapinoe, and Meghan Klingenberg. How far have you all come since then?

We started Re-Inc in 2019 with a single T-shirt before we went to the World Cup and it said “Liberté, Égalité, Défendez.” It was a play on the French motto [“Liberté, Égalité, Fraternité”] as we had headed to France, so we switched the word “fraternity” to “defend” because as the U.S. Women's National Team, we were defending our title, but we were also defending the principles of liberty and equality.

But since then, it’s grown into a community. Watching women play sports is an act of revolution. Not so long ago, women were not allowed to play sports, and until recently, we were not paid to play sports or paid very well. And so I think as women's sports get heightened, it is just the living and breathing symbol of progress in society that women can rise and be stars on the court and on the field. With launching our media division, we saw how the coverage was failing to represent the lifestyle and culture of us, and it was just a copy and paste from the men's side. The broadcast and the commentary was so off-putting that it was spoiling the sport for us. No one knew how to talk about gal culture.

What kinds of commentary were you used to hearing while you were playing with the U.S. Women’s National Team?

Sometimes, when I'm watching people commentate, I feel like they’re a kindergarten teacher explaining the basics of soccer with the assumption that the person who's watching has no idea what they’re watching.

I think there's a lot that needs to be improved. Also, when it comes to addressing social issues and the institutional prejudice that happens within sports, especially how we talk about Black athletes… The media should make sure you're seeing this vision of a woman athlete in a way that can be a badass—not self-conscious, but laughing loud and really proud of her success. So I think all of those lifestyle and social issues are baked into the game.

And then obviously, as the game grows, we're going to have more expertise and fundamental knowledge and that will just make the broadcast so much better. Part of why the Olympics is so great is because you get the best—the best commentators, the best camera angles—and that's another reason why people will fall in love with all the sports, since it's not, you know, just an iPhone shot of the last 50 meters of a race.

Your former teammate Kelley O’Hara is working with Just Women's Sports. Megan Rapinoe and Sue Bird are bringing back their podcast, A Touch More, and your former teammate Sam Mewis is also hosting her own show, The Women’s Game. Why do you think this is the moment where so many female athletes are working in media?

I haven't heard of another market that people are talking about that is successful right now, other than AI and women's sports. I feel very proud to have started this business five years ago and kind of be positioned as ready for the moment as opposed to reacting to the moment. As athletes, we're all inspiring each other and the businesses that are cropping up are inspired by a desire for all of us to raise the game and continue to have an impact. I'm very proud to be about it, to be a part of it, and to be alongside pioneering women. I think the competition is healthy, and it's necessary. It pushes us and I love that.

Many people view women’s sports as a sacred, safe space—something you talk a lot about on your podcast. Is there any fear that as the women’s game becomes more popular and more fans join, that other energies will enter into the space?

I always say the air gets thinner at the top. I think women's sports is a very diverse, inclusive space. And I actually know that members of the community feel very protective of the space. We have our membership community and our members often speak about protecting the space. There will always be challenges as it gets more mainstream.

That’s why I love doing our show: every week, we're talking about the challenges. We’re talking about how the women's sports community feels about someone's bigoted comment or someone who misrepresented them. And it's a two-way dialogue. I think that's really essential to maintain the integrity.

I remember when the social media scandal with midfielder Korbin Albert—who’s currently on the Olympic roster—came out earlier this year. You and Tobin went straight into talking about it. I think a lot of fans were curious to hear from you about it.

It was hard to talk about that, because we were afraid of someone just clipping a tiny piece of the conversation and, like, missing all the nuance and kind of misconstruing our language, but we thought it was important enough to do it anyway. Nuance is something that's consistently missing from the echo chambers.

What are you hoping the Olympics brings to the world of women’s sports?

Kara Nortman, who is the co-founder of Angel City, always tells a story that she was at the 2015 Women’s World Cup, and was completely moved and inspired by us winning. Then, she came home to try to watch us play, and couldn’t find any games, and she couldn't find jerseys. That’s why she started a women's soccer team. I think that story is so beautiful, because it really emulates what's so special at the Olympics.

I think there's a huge opportunity to uplift sports—even the sports that aren't as popular as women's soccer—and for people to go home and become lifelong fans.

[reasonsforhope]

"While mainstream media increasingly cover violence and legislative attacks against trans people, many scholars and activists worry that focusing just on violence and discrimination fails to capture the full experience of being trans.

Drawing on the success of movements like the Black Joy Project, which uses art to promote Black healing and community-building, trans activists are challenging one-dimensional depictions of their community by highlighting the unique joys of being transgender.

My research on trans parents affirms the reality of trans joy. From 2019 to 2021, I interviewed 54 transgender women — both current and prospective parents — from diverse racial and class backgrounds across the country.

I found that while many have navigated discrimination in their parenting journeys, they also have fulfilling parent-child relationships, often with the support of partners, families of origin and their communities.

Gender euphoria

Scholars and community members use the term gender euphoria to describe a “joyful feeling of rightness in one’s gender/sex.”

It diverges from the diagnosis of gender dysphoria, or a sense of conflict between assigned sex and gender identity typically associated with feelings of distress and discomfort.

Gender euphoria celebrates feeling comfortable with who you are and how you are perceived by the world.

Some people transition with a specific set of goals, while others discover new sources of joy and new facets of their identity over time.

Many of the trans women I interviewed expressed their gender euphoria in relation to their role as mothers. A Black trans woman in her 20s, whom I will call Gloria, experiences joy in being recognized as a mother.

“I love being called Mom. That’s the greatest thing,” she told me. “I love waking up every morning to see [my child’s] beautiful face. It keeps me motivated.” ...

For many trans people, transitioning opens up a new set of possibilities. When I asked Adriana, a trans Latina in her 30s, what it was like to come out as trans, she told me,

“I’ve never been happier. The happiest day of my life was when my daughter was born, and the second happiest day of my life was when I [started transitioning].”

Family and community connections

While some trans people do experience rejection from their families of origin, that is not true for the majority of the community.

In a 2015 national survey of over 27,700 trans adults, the U.S. Trans Survey, 60% of respondents reported having families who are supportive of their trans identity.

Trans women also form chosen families with friends, co-workers and other community members. Relationships with other trans people can have particularly positive effects on identity development and overall well-being, including emotional resilience, self-acceptance and a sense of connection.

Trans community care

In addition to caring for their biological and adopted children, the trans women I interviewed felt a responsibility to take care of their community.

Sometimes this care manifested as parent-child relationships, in which respondents provide financial or emotional support to LGBTQ+ youth.

Maggie, a white woman in her 50s, didn’t know she was a parental figure for her “queer kids” until they tagged her on Instagram to celebrate Mother’s Day.

“Someone might go, ‘Hey, can I stay on your sofa tonight? I’m having a hard time.’ Well, yeah, of course,” she said.

“Or they might hang around the shop [I work at], and only later it dawns on me, ‘Oh, this was the only place they could come and get affirmed and not feel weird.’” ...

Miriam, a white trans woman in her 60s, agreed that she has a lot to learn from younger trans people.

“A lot of my community today, people who I count as family and my beloveds, are not of my generation,” she said. ‘Beloveds’ is the term she uses to describe her platonic loved ones.

“I learn a lot from my beloveds in their 20s and 30s, who don’t have the same baggage I [dealt with] about how I could be and who I could be.”"

-via GoodGoodGood via The Conversation, July 14, 2023

[bad268]

Passport (Max Fewtrell X Reader)

Fandom: RPF/Youtubers

Requested: Day 6 of Writing Inktober prompts instead of drawing!

Warnings: none.

POV: Third Person (They/them)

W.C. 465

As always, my requests are OPEN

MASTERLIST // HITLIST

Writing Inktober 2024 Materlist

~~(^Pinterest)

“We are racing to Texas for the U.S. Grand Prix. In order to get to Austin, both teams are taking very different routes. Ria and Aarava are getting on the first flights out to Dublin, then to Philidelphia, before landing at Austin-Bergstrom International Airport and driving to the circuit. Max and Y/n, on the other hand, are waiting for 5 hours before their nonstop flight straight to Austin. Then, they are renting a car to take them to the track. Come along for the journey as they try and not get lost.”

“Wait, our passports have to have at least six months left?” Y/n asked as the video cut to them, still standing in Max’s apartment. The plan was to get breakfast or something before heading to the airport and have a chill journey to America. Clearly, it looked like their plans would change.

“It’s international travel, of course. You need at least six months,” Max answered, but completely missed Y/n’s blank expression until he felt them go rigid. “You do have at least six months left, right?”

“I don’t think I do,” Y/n trailed off, looking back at him before staring directly at the camera.

“Well, looks like our plan of a chill break before our flight is a no-go,” Max clapped as he walked toward the front of the apartment to grab his car keys. “Let’s go get you an emergency passport. I don’t know how long that’s gonna take, so we should go now.”

Y/n turned off the camera as they grabbed their passport and bags while Max started up the car.  Y/n put the stuff in the boot before going around to sit in the passenger seat. Max started to drive to the nearest passport office. He reached an arm over and held Y/n’s hand, almost sensing their thoughts. 

“Hey, don’t worry about it,” He comforted, running his thumb over their knuckles. “At least you caught it before we got to the airport. We have time to get a new passport.”

“I just feel stupid,” Y/n muttered with a sigh, “I should’ve seen it before today, and we wouldn’t be in this last-minute situation. I’m sorry.”

“Again, don’t worry about it,” Max said as he looked over at them as he pulled into the car park. “Now, pull it out and make sure all of the other information is still accurate. That’ll make this go a little quicker.”

Y/n pulled the passport from their pocket and quickly glanced at it, “Looks right to me.”

“Let me check it,” Max said as he took the booklet and scanned the page before stopping and looking back at Y/n. “Your passport expires the third of November 2025, not the eleventh of March 2025.”

~~~~~

© BAD268 2024. DO NOT REPOST WITHOUT PERMISSION.

[starkstruck27]

My seventh fill for @harringrovesummerbingo!! This is the one that I've worked the hardest on so far, and it might be my favorite, so I hope everyone enjoys!! Prompt + Space: Roadtrip, B3 Title: Please Stay (As Long As You Need) Major Tags: Graphic Depictions of Violence Rating: Mature Word Count: 8893 words Additional Tags: Cowboys, Road trips, Murder, Stealing, Alternate universe - Western, Falling in love, Slow burn (kinda), Drinking, There was only one bed, Horseback riding Summary: Looking for a fortune and a change of pace, Steve Harrington decides to leave home in the city to travel West, where one could strike it rich if he played his cards right. Along the way, he meets another traveler, one looking to find his way back home after being away for years, and the two decide to take the journey together. After all, the real treasure might be the friends they made along the way… Also on: Ao3

As the late afternoon sun beat down on their backs, a lowly cowboy and his trusty mare finally found a nice place to stop for the night. They were somewhere in the north of one of the latest acquired U.S. territories (Texas, they were calling it), and trying to get out to California. Apparently, one could strike it rich out there, and honestly, Steve had just needed a change of pace. He wasn’t cut out for city life, so he left home and used his savings to buy himself a horse, a good amount of food, and a cheap, lightweight bedroll that would last him at least until he could scrounge up enough money for a new one. He’d traveled far, and while he still had a long journey ahead, he was enjoying every moment in the open air, and right now, was just relieved to be settling down for the evening.

Or, so he thought. Just as he and Minerva had found a good spot, a little open area with a few trees for shade and a stream nearby for water, they heard a loud noise, specifically that of a frightened horse and the ‘Oomph!’ of someone falling to the ground after it. Just as they turned to see what was happening, a large black mass ran by, clearly panicked, followed by the shouts and curses of its thrown rider. Steve saw him trying to catch up to the animal, but there was no way he would be able to catch it like this, so without a second thought, Steve kicked Minnie to get her to run after the creature, the two of them chasing it into the trees just beyond their campsite.

It only took a few minutes for Minnie to catch up to the stallion, and after a few more, she and Steve had it cornered at the base of a rocky hill. Steve slowly and gently dismounted his horse and slowly approached the stranger’s, making sure to stay in its line of sight so as not to scare it again.

“Whoa there, boy,” he said, reaching out his hand to gently stroke the animal’s neck, “Something must’ve spooked you good. Let’s get you back with your rider, huh?”

He made sure the horse was calmed down enough that he could get its reins over its head, and, with an accomplished smile, started to lead the horse out of the woods. He clicked his tongue to get Minnie to follow, and she did, like the good girl she was. 

Just as they emerged from the trees, the stranger caught up to them, out of breath and sweating profusely as he fanned himself with his hat. He was handsome, had a head full of blonde curls and skin that clearly showed how much time he spent in the sun. His eyes were a stunning blue, and they seemed to sparkle in the near-evening. And despite the run making him look flushed and frail, Steve could tell he was anything but.

“You alright, partner?” Steve asked as he handed the horse’s reins back to its owner. 

“After being thrown and near trampled to death? Peachy,” the man said, replacing his hat on his head and giving his horse a look.

“Well there’s no need for sarcasm,” Steve said, “But I suppose after your ordeal it feels pretty good to use it. And speakin’ of, what was it that spooked him so bad?”

“A rattlesnake felt he got a might too close and started gettin’ ready to bite. Dumb ol’ bastards, the both of us. Neither one of us was payin’ attention, that damn reptile coulda killed us both,” the man lamented, shaking his head.

“Then I suppose you should just be grateful it didn’t. I’m Steve, by the way, and this is my girl, Minnie. We were just about to make camp over by them trees over there if you’d care to join us. After your experience it might be a good idea for you to rest awhile,” Steve said, nodding over to where they were going to stay for the night. 

“You seem mighty trustin’ of me, seein’ as how we just met and all. How do you know I won’t kill you in your sleep and steal all your things?”

“I got your horse back for you. The way I figure it, you owe me a kindness for helping you out.”

“Folks have been shot for less, y’know.”

“True that. But you haven’t shot me yet, so I think my chances are pretty good. Besides, I ain’t got nothin’ you’d wanna steal, anyway.”

“You got food?”

“Well, sure. But I’m perfectly content with giving you some if you’re hungry. Not like I can’t get more the next town I come across.”

“You are one odd duck, Cowboy. Not like anybody I’ve ever come across out here.”

“You never came across someone willin’ to help you when you need it? Damn, that must be a lonely, cold little world you live in. I don’t wanna live in a world like that.”

“No kiddin’. Well, then I suppose I’ll take you up on your offer, partner,” the man smiled brightly, extending a hand. “The name’s Billy.”

“Nice to meet you, Billy,” Steve smiled back as he shook his hand. He put his hands on his hips then and squinted to the horizon, watching the sun get even lower. “Well, I suppose we should actually set up camp before the sun disappears completely. Or at least get a decent fire goin’.” He turned and grabbed Minnie’s reins, then turned back to ask, “You comin’?”

With the two of them working together, it seemed like it took no time at all for them to set up camp. Steve started a fire and caught a few fish from the stream to cook up for supper, while Billy tended the horses and set up their bedrolls. Pretty soon, the sun was almost completely gone, only a sliver was left hanging on above the horizon, and the moon was starting to glow as the two settled down to eat.

“That Minnie, she’s a good girl, not like my Camaro,” Billy said, the ‘o’ at the end of the name sounding more like an ‘uh’. “I wish he would take a lesson from her.”

“Aw, he’s not all bad,” Steve said, smiling as he watched the two horses grazing next to each other.

“Naw, he ain’t. Really I love him, even though he acts a fool more often than not. And he’s stubborn. But I raised him since the day he was born, so I guess he just learned by example,” Billy shrugged, smiling as he watched his horse turn onto its back and start rolling around on the cool ground.

“So how’d you two end up way out here?” Steve asked through a mouthful.

“Well, we came from my daddy’s ranch out in the middle of nowhere, California. See, my folks was heading to Oregon, but somewhere along the way they got lost and ended up there, instead. Instead of sayin’ he was wrong and leavin’ again, my grandaddy settled the family right there. My daddy was just a young man then, and he met my mama, and a few years later, they had me. Then my mama died, and I was really broken up about it, but I couldn’t do nothin’ to fix it. So I started devotin’ myself to the horses, cuz they were her favorite. 

“Meanwhile, my daddy got himself a new wife, who already had a daughter of her own, and he also picked up a nasty drinkin’ habit. And when he drank, he got mean. To me especially, since I reminded him of mama. It got so bad that I made myself a promise to get outta there as soon as I could. And I started practicin’ shootin’ just in case I ever needed to defend my family and kill the bastard. It never came to that, but I got mighty close a few times. And anyway, I was able to help keep the farm safe and kill us some dinner a couple of times, so I guess my practicin’ paid off anyway.

“Then one of our horses had Camaro, and died deliverin’ him. We still ain’t sure what happened, but either way, she died, and I started takin’ care of Camaro as if he were my own. It sounds silly, but I felt like we were tied together, what with us both havin’ lost our mamas, so it just felt right to do what I could to help him. That was five years ago, and we just left last year. I heard about how folks could make good money workin’ in a big city, so I went out east to look for a job, but nobody wanted a dumb country boy who couldn’t read or write too well. I kept tryin’, but then my sister wrote me about how people were startin’ to find gold in the riverbeds back home, and I decided it was time for us to come home. We’ve been on the road since the day I got that letter.”

“And how long you been travelin’ that rough ol’ road of yours?” Steve asked, taking a sip of water and eyeing his companion.

“About four months, give or take. Still got two or three left, but I’m gonna enjoy the ride. Ain’t no reason to rush the journey knowin’ the shit that awaits you when it’s finally done,” Billy said, drinking and eyeing right back.

“What is waitin’ for you?” 

“When my sister wrote me that letter, she said my daddy was dyin’. Dumb ol’ bastard drank himself to death, or that’s what they think. Either way, he didn’t leave hardly any money for any of us, so it’s my job to get home and take care of my family whether I want to or not.”

“What about your sister and stepmama? How’re they makin’ ends meet?”

“Well, we got a farm, that takes care of most of their food and they can trade some crops for cloth and other such things. And I sent ‘em the bits and pieces I could while I was workin’ in the city. Problem is, money just don’t go as far as it used to, and if Susan and Max are tendin’ the farm, someone’s gotta get a job that’ll pay ‘em some real money. Besides, I don’t want Max havin’ the same kinda life I did. Workin’ all the time, never learnin’ much, and the small bit I did learn just goin’ to waste. Nah, she’s gotta go to school and learn, and someday, she’ll either marry rich or get a good job all her own, one that pays her to think, not to bust her ass.”

“That’s mighty thoughtful of you,” Steve smiled, “I guess I misjudged you, partner.”

“How so?” Billy asked, giving Steve a quizzical and slightly amused look as he crossed his arms.

“Well, at first I thought you were a bit of an asshole, what with you threatenin’ to kill me after I did you a good deed, but now I see somethin’ else. You’re kind hearted, you want what’s best for your folks, and for yourself. You really ain’t as bad as you seemed, at first.”

“Well, if we’re talkin’ about bein’ kind hearted, I’d say you got me beat there, considerin’ you offered to share your food and your campsite with me,” Billy said, flashing a smile as bright as lightning during a summer storm. “And what about you, Cowboy? What’s your story?”

“Well, I suppose it ain’t that different from yours. My mama and daddy died when I was just young, and I spent a few years livin’ either in orphanages or on the streets. One winter, I nearly froze to death, but a wealthy woman found me, and since she and her husband couldn’t have children, they brought me home to live with them. Problem was, I had two older sisters, and they weren’t allowed to come with me, so I kept tryin’ to get back to my real family. That same winter, my middle sister died of influenza, and my eldest sister got herself married off to whoever would take her. Anything was better than livin’ on the streets. 

“She and her ol’ man would let me come around every once in a while, but then she had a baby, and her husband said he didn’t want me around no more. Don’t know why, but I think he never liked me in the first place, so the new baby was just the excuse he used to get me to stop comin’. And by then I was gettin’ older, so the people that took me in seemed to be gettin’ a little bored of me. They wanted a child, not a young man, so I went back to my old routine, stealin’ from rich folks on the street and hidin’ the money where only I could find it. 

“And as soon as I got enough saved, I bought myself some supplies, I got my Minnie, and I left. I’ve been travelin’ ever since, and I heard there’s gold out in them California hills. I plan to make myself a fortune, buy myself some land, and finally get my family back. I won’t even hold a grudge against my sister’s husband, no, she and him and their little boy can come and live the life we never had growin’ up. But first things first, I gotta find me some gold.”

“Seems like you got it all figured out, Cowboy. Here’s hopin’ you actually make it,” Billy said, raising his cup.

“I sure hope I do,” Steve said, raising his cup, too. They were quiet for a moment as they both continued eating, but soon the conversation picked back up as they finished their meal and laid out their bedrolls. They settled down as the sounds of the night set it, the moon glowing bright above them, and the stars twinkling as they drifted off to sleep.

When they woke the next morning, the fire had been reduced to embers and the sun was barely half risen. Minnie and Camaro were both awake and grazing by then, starting to whine to be taken to the stream for a drink. Billy got up and guided them over to it while Steve packed up their things and started to make coffee, then started looking through his saddlebags for some kind of breakfast. He was almost out of food, he’d need to find a town soon to stock up, but for now, some stale cornbread and a jar of peaches would do well enough. 

“So, I been thinkin’,” he said as he handed Billy his portion and started pouring coffee, “Since we’re both headin’ in the same direction, maybe the two of us should travel together. I know now that you won’t kill me in my sleep, so I s’pose I trust you. And with me bein’ a good thief and you bein’ a sharpshooter and all, I figure it could be mighty beneficial for the both of us if we were to go the same way.”

“Do you, now?” Billy said, sipping his coffee with a smile. “And what if I say no?”

“Then I’ll probably follow you, anyway. I mean, I don’t know where the hell I’m goin’, and it ain’t like you could have a problem with it since we're headin’ the same way, anyway. But if that’s the case, I’d like to be able to talk to you while we’re ridin’ instead of just trailin’ behind you like a lost child,” Steve said through a mouthful of bread as he shrugged.

“You make a good point there,” Billy grinned. “Alrighty then, Cowboy. We can ride together. California ain’t that far away now, I suppose I can tolerate you for a couple of months ‘til we get there.”

Steve snorted at the remark, but found himself smiling into his coffee, charmed by his new ally. He was looking forward to the next few weeks. Even if Billy turned out to be a less than ideal travel companion, by the time they got to California, they would be able to part ways and they’d both still be where they needed to be. And if he turned out to be a friend, well, that would be even better. Only time would tell.

It took a day or two for the pair to get used to having someone along with them on their ride out west, but by the end of the second day, they acted just like old friends. They talked and made plans and helped each other when needed, and before they knew it, they came upon a town somewhere just inside the Texas border. They were about to travel into what was still technically Mexican territory, and they didn’t know when they’d find another town, so they decided to stop and get some supplies from the general store on their way through.

“How much money you got?” Billy asked as he slowed Camaro down and started to look for a place to hitch him up.

“Not much, but don’t you worry. I got a plan,” Steve said, winking before he pulled on Minnie’s reins and dismounted from her back.

“Care to let me in on it, Cowboy?” 

“Sure. You go in first, and strike up a conversation with the shopkeeper. Ask him some mundane questions that could get you a long answer, like for some directions or what kind of material is best for a horse blanket. He’ll be distracted, so I’ll go in and get what I can for us. I’ll buy a few things so as not to raise suspicion, but I’ll just take most of it. That ol’ shopkeeper looks like he can afford to replace it just fine, anyway. Then we’ll both leave, and before he knows anything’s missin’, we’ll be on our way, understand?” Steve explained, counting off the tasks like he’d done this a million times before.

“I s’pose. Just make sure to get everything we need to last us a while. Who knows when we’ll find another shop?”

“I will, I promise. Now get on in there and befriend that ol’ shopkeeper.”

Billy did as he was told and went inside the little shop, taking a quick glance around at the shelf displays and the barrels of penny candy. The entire place smelled like sawdust and smoke from the wood stove, but it looked like everything they’d need for their next few days of travel could be found amongst the shelves. After he’d looked his fill, he approached the old shopkeeper, a stout, balding man with spectacles and suspenders that kept slipping down his shoulders. He also seemed to be losing his hearing, as he didn’t notice when Billy approached, even though the floorboards were groaning under his weight.

“‘Scuse me, sir,” Billy asked as he finally stood in front of the man, “I was wonderin’ if you could help me, my friend and I are travelin’ to California, and we got a little turned around. Do you happen to know which direction we should be headin’ in?”

“Well, I s’pose if you want California, you should be goin’ west,” the man said, stroking his mustache thoughtfully. “My boy went out that way a year ago when he heard there was gold to be found. Never came back, neither. He still writes, though, askin’ me to uproot his mama and I and join him out there, but I won’t go, no siree! Still, he wrote one letter with a whole list of directions on it, I believe I have it upstairs somewhere. If you’d care to wait, I can go find it for you.”

“I would greatly appreciate that, sir. Thank you,” Billy said, tipping his hat to the man and smiling. The old man didn’t smile back, but he nodded and got off his stool to head into a door that must’ve led to wherever he had that letter from his son. He was gone for a while, ten minutes at least, and by the time he came back, Steve was waiting next to Billy at the counter, holding two cans of beans, a tub of lard, and a bag of onions. 

“And give me two packs of smoking tobacco and some papers,” Steve said as the man totaled up the cost of his items. 

“That’ll be eighty one cents, please,” the man said as he retrieved the tobacco from the shelves behind him and finished totaling the items.

“That’s outrageous. You’d think money grows on trees with the way prices are goin’ up all the time. I don’t know what this country’s comin’ to,” Steve said, smiling at the man and shaking his head as he forked over the money.

“If I were on the other side of the counter, I’d share that sentiment, son, but from where I’m standin’, eighty one cents ain’t nothin’,” the old man laughed, handing the items back to Steve and handing another paper to Billy. “Here’s those directions I promised. You all have a safe trip now.”

“Thank you kindly,” Billy and Steve said at the same time, both of them going outside and over to their horses.

“I hope you got more than lard and onions for us,” Billy said as he untied Camaro and hopped up into his saddle.

“Just wait until we get a few miles outta town, then I’ll show you,” Steve said, flashing a grin. 

As promised, when they got a few miles outside of the town and were about ready to stop for the night, Steve took the bag he’d taken into the shop from where it had been tied to Minnie’s saddle and opened it, taking out the things he’d gotten them.

Billy couldn’t believe how much Steve had been able to get for them. Cornmeal, flour, a couple of different kinds of canned fruits, pickles, some dried beef, oranges, a pound or so of bacon, two thick steaks, a bag of sugar, some carrots, a couple potatoes, and a head of cabbage.

“How in the world did you manage to get all that without that man noticin’?” Billy asked, his eyes wide and his stomach suddenly rumbling.

“He was gone for almost ten minutes, there was nothin’ to it. Besides, with the way those prices were, he’s lucky I didn’t steal the shirt off his back, too. But I figure that if I make us some cornbread tonight and we maybe find a deer or rabbit or somethin’ one of these nights, this should last us for a week or so. And if worst comes to worst, we can always keep huntin’ until we can find us another store. For now, let’s get us a fire goin’. We’re gonna celebrate a successful day with some steak and onions, how’s that sound?” Steve asked, already standing to go find them some firewood while Billy set up camp. 

Just as it began to get dark, Steve was removing the steaks from the fire and serving them up with onions. Billy thanked him as he was given his portion, and Steve set the hot pan aside to cool down so they could use it again in the morning. After that, they dug in, famished from the day of travel and from the work they'd put into getting this luxurious meal in the first place. They barely spoke as they ate, at least not until they were nearly finished, when Steve groaned, tossing his hand up in annoyance.

“Damn, you know what I forgot to get at that shop? Eggs. I can't make cornbread without eggs. We'll have to just settle for bacon and oranges for breakfast tomorrow,” he said, shaking his head. 

“That's alright with me, Cowboy, don't worry about it. We'll stop somewhere tomorrow and get some eggs,” Billy replied, shrugging. Steve grunted some sort of agreement and went back to eating, and so did Billy, but he wasn't so focused on his meal anymore. He was planning something, but Steve didn't need to know about it yet, so he kept it to himself. 

The next morning, when the sun was still hiding away and Steve was still sleeping, Billy got up and stretched, careful to keep quiet so as not to wake his companion. He grabbed his hat and a bandana from his saddlebags, then quietly took off in the direction they’d come from yesterday. He’d seen a farm about a mile back as they were riding away from the town, and now he was on his way back there, going on foot so he could be more quiet about it. A mile wasn’t very far to go, anyway, so there was no point in saddling up Camaro just to come back, take it off, and have to saddle him again an hour or so later. Besides, Billy could use the exercise. 

It only took ten minutes to get to the farm, and Billy was glad to see that there were no lights on in the large house that stood at the front of the property. It was going to be easier than he thought to get what he needed and hightail it out of there. 

As soon as he got what he needed, he took off back towards their campsite just as the sun began to rise. By the time he got there, things were starting to glow a warm orangey-gold, and Steve was just getting up, stretching and yawning.

“Where did you run off to?” He asked Billy as he approached, carrying his hat. 

“Had to run an errand. Here,” Billy replied, holding his hat out to Steve. He gave him a curious look, but he took it, and when he lifted the edge of the bandana that was lining the inside, he smiled. There were six fresh eggs inside, cushioned by the bandana so they wouldn’t break.

“Where did you get these?” Steve asked, picking up an egg and examining it.

“I saw a farm about a mile back while we were ridin’ out here yesterday. You seemed so upset about not havin’ eggs, so I went and got some for us. There’s enough there for cornbread and for us to eat for breakfast.”

Steve didn’t say anything for a minute, just looked between Billy and his hat full of eggs, his smile growing more and more by the second until it was practically splitting his face apart. He looked at Billy as if he were the most amazing person in the world, and while Billy hadn’t thought the gesture was really worth this much gratitude, if Steve were to give him this smile every time he did him a favor, he’d spend the rest of his life doing them.

After breakfast that day, they headed out again, starting their trek through Mexico. Once they cleared the country’s Northwestern border, they’d be in California, and the home stretch to their final destinations. But until then, they had almost 1,600 miles to go. 

They had been traveling for about another five weeks without incident, and were almost halfway through the Mexican territory, when they decided to stop and rest for a night a little ways out from a small village. They set up camp and tied up the horses for the night, and while Steve made a fire, Billy started getting their food out to make supper.

“Damn,” Steve cursed from where he was crouched next to a pile of sticks. “This wood won’t catch, it’s too wet. That ol’ creek must’ve just gone down after the rains a few days ago, and the wood was left on the banks. I can’t make a fire with wet wood, I’ll go out and get some somewhere else.”

“Not by yourself you ain’t,” Billy said, shaking his head. “This area’s notorious for thieves, and since the sun’s goin’ down, they’d jump you so quick you wouldn’t know what hit you or where you’d come from. There’s some safety in numbers, if we need firewood, we’re goin’ to get it together.”

“I can take care of myself, y’know,” Steve chuckled.

“I know, but who says I wanna be alone out here?” Billy laughed back, getting up and making sure he had his pistols in his holsters as he followed Steve away from their campsite. 

Billy must’ve been really paranoid, because he wouldn’t let Steve go more than a stone’s throw away from their site, but they didn’t need to go much farther than that, anyway. They found enough dry wood by sundown that they could make a decent fire, and just before the sun disappeared completely, they headed back to camp. As they approached though, Billy suddenly stopped, slapped a hand over Steve’s mouth, and dragged him behind a boulder about thirty yards away from their campsite.

“What’re you doin’?!” Steve whispered harshly as Billy forced him into a crouch behind the rock.

“There’s a couple of men over there about to try and steal our horses,” Billy whispered back, but Steve only heard half the sentence, as just then, Minnie and Camaro both squealed loudly. Steve and Billy peered over the top of the boulder and were upset to see their equine companions both freaking out, their ears pinned back and their body language showing distress.

“What do we do?!” Steve whispered, worried for his girl.

“Just stay here, I’ll take care of this,” Billy said, taking his gun out of his holster and pointing the barrel just around the side of the rock.

“No, wait, you might hit Minnie! Or Camaro!”

“Just trust me, Cowboy! I won’t hit ‘em, just trust me.”

Steve couldn’t bring himself to look as Billy pulled the trigger twice, two shots tearing through the air and spooking the horses even more, but after a few minutes, everything was calm. The horses were still groaning and neighing, but once the dust settled, there were no other noises. 

When the two finally came out from their hiding place, Steve couldn’t help but be baffled at the sight of the two men sprawled on the ground next to their now calm animals. Both had been hit square in the chest, making them drop like flies where they’d been standing. They probably hadn’t even had time to react to the sounds of the shots, let alone try to get away from them, and neither of the horses had even a scratch on them.

“That was incredible,” Steve said once he’d gotten Minnie fully calmed and gave her a treat. “How’d you manage to get them both so easily?”

“Lots and lots of practice. I’m just glad it wasn’t wolves or nothin’. Animals are always harder to shoot,” Billy replied. 

“How come?”

“Well, if an animal attacks you, it ain’t really their fault. It’s in their nature, or there’s somethin’ wrong with ‘em, most don’t attack just to attack. But humans are different. They do it to see if they can, or to be a jackass on purpose, or because they’re bad people who lead a bad life. They could choose not to be like that, but they don’t, so gettin’ shot is just the consequences of their actions. Animals don’t know right from wrong, so they shouldn’t have to die for doin’ what it’s in their nature to do.”

“I suppose I never thought of it like that, you make a good point.”

“I s’pose I do. Now, help me move them so we don’t get charged for murder.”

They didn’t have to drag them far, just behind the boulder they’d hidden behind earlier, and when they found that one of them had a gun on him, too, Billy took it and replaced it with his own pistol. He put it in the man’s hand, making it look like a murder-suicide, and kept the man’s gun for himself. 

They didn’t say much to each other as they went back to camp, neither of them quite knowing what to say after that ordeal. They ate in silence, and when it was time to turn in and sleep, they barely uttered even a simple ‘goodnight’ to each other. It wasn’t so much that they didn’t want to talk, they just didn’t know what should be said at this point. 

They laid down to sleep, and while Billy was so exhausted he was out almost immediately, Steve just couldn’t doze. He was restless, and something in him just wouldn’t settle down. He knew it wasn’t guilt, because he knew how it felt to be guilty over someone’s death after his sister had passed a few years ago. He also knew it wasn’t necessarily fear, because the problem was dealt with, and now more than ever he felt completely safe around Billy, so that wasn’t it. Still, whatever this feeling was, it wasn’t going to let him sleep anytime soon, so instead, he sat up, made a pot of coffee, and found something to busy his hands with.

Despite the coffee he had, at some point that night, Steve finally did fall asleep. He must’ve been really exhausted, because he didn’t dream that night, just seemed to blink and then it was morning, and as he cleared the crust from his eyes, he saw Billy rooting around their things, looking for something.

“What’re you doin’?” Steve asked as he sat up and yawned. 

“I’m lookin’ for my guns. I coulda sworn I left ‘em right next to me last night,” Billy replied, continuing his search.

“You did, but they’re right here,” Steve said, producing the weapons, “I couldn’t sleep last night, so I cleaned ‘em for you.”

Billy thanked Steve and took the weapons back from him, but as he sat back down again to relax while they ate breakfast, Steve caught the odd looks Billy was giving him out of the corners of his eyes.

“What is it?” Steve asked finally, drinking more coffee now that it was made. 

“You told me you never learned how to shoot,” Billy said, as if that explained the look.

“I didn’t,” Steve replied.

“So how’d you know how to clean these?” He asked.

“Just cuz I never learned to shoot doesn’t mean I didn’t learn how to handle a gun. The man who took me in when I was younger kept guns, he liked to hunt for sport, and sometimes he didn’t want to pay his servants extra to have them clean ‘em, so he taught me how. Never taught me to shoot, though,” Steve explained, shrugging. 

Billy smiled as he thanked Steve again, shaking his head as he started to drink his own coffee. Steve liked the way that smile looked on his face, like he was giddy that someone had even thought to do him a favor, let alone actually go through with it. If this was his reaction at just a simple act of courtesy, Steve could only imagine the way he’d react if he ever did something bigger for him.

The next two weeks went by smoothly, though as they got closer and closer to California, so did the clouds get darker and darker. They were in the middle of the rainy season, and it was actually surprising that they hadn’t woken up drenched and scrambling to find shelter yet. Somehow they had just managed to avoid the rains so far, and only once or twice did they get caught in it while traveling, but both times they were near a town or a cave in which they could take shelter until it passed. But this time it looked like it was going to be going on through the night and well into the next day, and they were scrambling to find shelter before the rain started coming down.

Just as the sky started to roar with lightning and thunder, the pair came across a town, and one which, luckily, had a small hotel in the middle of it. It looked to be only two floors, but it had a stable in the back for the horses and advertised hot meals cooked daily, so the two pooled what little money they had and went inside just as the first drops fell.

“Hello there, how may I help you?” The woman working the front desk asked.

“How much for two rooms and some supper for the both of us?” Steve asked as he approached the desk, leaning on it and smiling nicely at the woman.

“A dollar twenty five for the room, and twenty five cents each for supper. And I’m sorry, we only have one room left available, with the storm coming, we’re booked to capacity,” The woman said, “But if you’d like the room, I’ll give it to you for a dollar. My way of apologizing for the inconvenience.”

“That’ll work just fine, ma’am, thank you,” Steve grinned, handing over the money. The woman double counted it, then handed them a key to a room on the second floor. They thanked her again and trudged up the stairs as the rain really got started, pouring heavily down and drumming patterns on the roof and windows. They found their room and went inside, setting down their bags and sighing in relief.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m lookin’ forward to a warm bath, a warm meal, and especially a warm bed,” Billy said as he took his hat off and hung it on the hooks by the door. 

“I’m lookin’ forward to being able to sleep with my boots off for once and not having to worry about snakes or spiders,” Steve said, taking off said boots and setting them by the door. “Maybe I’ll even send my clothes to be washed with some actual soap for once.”

“Oh, you’re really tryin’ to live it up, ain’t you? Remember, we only got so much money left, Cowboy,” Billy teased, taking his boots off as well and carrying his bag further into the room, far enough that he cleared the first wall and saw into the bedroom of the place, and the singular queen bed that was sitting at the center of the room.

“You went awful quiet all of a sudden, what’s wrong?” Steve asked as he followed him a few seconds later, taking in the sight but barely even noticing that there was only one bed.

“I can put my bedroll on the floor tonight if you want,” Billy said when Steve didn’t seem to understand.

“Why would you do that? You worried I’m gonna hog the covers?” Steve teased, sitting on the edge of the bed. 

“Naw, but I don’t wanna crowd you, either.”

“Oh, please! I shared a bed a lot smaller than this one with my two sisters until we ran away from the orphanage, this is more than enough space for the both of us. Besides, why would we go from sleepin’ on the ground outside to sleepin’ on the ground inside, especially when we get to sit in the lap of luxury for a night? That don’t make any sense.”

“Alright, I guess. If you insist. But I am gonna take that bath and meal first,” Billy said, his nerves eased for the time being. He didn’t really know why he was nervous in the first place, anyway. This was Steve, his closest friend and most trusted companion, he didn’t have anything to be nervous about.

After they’d both bathed and sent their dirty clothes down to the laundry, they got dressed in the cleanest clothes they still had and went down to supper, taking fifty cents and a pack of playing cards with them. They paid their dues on the way into the dining room, and sat down with the other patrons as the rain continued to hammer down from the sky. Most of the other people were travelers, like themselves, having come to the establishment to escape the storm and rest comfortably for a night, and with so much in common, the dinner conversation was anything but dull. Each person told stories from their travels and shared tidbits of advice for everyone else depending on which direction they were heading, and by the time supper was over, they were all very well acquainted. 

As the dishes were being cleared for them, a couple of people invited Billy and Steve to join them in the parlor for a drink and a game of cards, and of course, they agreed. After a few hours, a couple of drinks and many rounds of poker, though, they decided to head back to their room to get some sleep. They’d need to press on tomorrow, they only had a few more weeks of traveling to go, and they needed to sleep off the booze before they could even think about climbing back on their horses.

When they got to their room, they found their clothes neatly folded on the edge of the bed, and they stripped off the ones they were wearing to tuck them all back into their travel bags before going to bed. By now, neither of them were thinking about their earlier conversation, nor could they really remember it in general, but either way, when they pulled the covers back and climbed into either side of the bed, they just settled down and went to sleep.

They couldn’t have been out for more than a couple of hours when Billy was jolted awake by a loud crack of thunder and a sudden pressure keeping him pinned in place. His vision was still blurred from sleep and they hadn’t adjusted to the dark yet, but he opened them anyway, getting ready to try and fight whatever it was that was keeping him down. He never got the chance though, as whatever it was loosened its grip, and a moment later, common sense set in, and he realized it wasn’t a threat to him. After all, there was only one person it could possibly be, and Steve had yet to do anything that was in any way threatening to him. 

As soon as he realized it could only be Steve though, a whole new wave of panic set in. Why was Steve holding onto him like that? His arm was thrown over Billy’s side, and now that Billy could shift onto his back, Steve was also shifting, keeping his arm thrown over him and snuggling into his side, even resting his head on Billy’s shoulder. But once again, Billy’s panic was  quickly calmed. Steve wasn’t awake, he didn’t know what he was doing, and even if he did, what was so bad about it? It felt nice to be held after so many years of being on his own, and he liked Steve. As long as he didn’t mind it, Billy didn’t either. Steve could hold him forever and he’d be perfectly fine with it.

When Billy woke up for real the next morning, Steve was already awake and puttering around their room, getting dressed and ready as quietly as possible so as not to wake him up. When he saw that he was starting to stir, he smiled, and stopped trying so hard to be quiet, instead just going about his morning like everything was normal. The sun was shining in the sky and only a few clouds remained, so they’d be able to press on today, but they could worry about that after breakfast.

“What time is it?” Billy asked as he stretched and got dressed in his newly cleaned clothes. 

“Almost half past seven. You looked like you could use the rest, so I didn’t wake you,” Steve answered, sitting in the armchair in the corner of the room to pull on his boots. 

“Thanks, you were right. They’re still servin’ breakfast though, right?” 

“‘Course. I already got our quarters ready. As soon as you’re dressed we’ll head on down,” Steve said, winking, and Billy didn’t know why exactly it made his chest ache. “Oh, and I checked on the horses. Looks like they’re livin’ in luxury, too. They were groomed and fed and watered, and some blacksmith’s apprentice even offered to shoe ‘em for free so he could get some practice doin’ it.”

“Here’s hopin’ Camaro doesn’t kick him in the head before he finishes,” Billy snarked, but Steve smiled at the joke, and it made him smile, too.

“C’mon, let’s get downstairs before they quit servin’. I’m guessin’ you could use a cup of coffee right about now.”

After breakfast, they set out again, their freshly shoed horses walking along easier than they had been and moving quicker, too. At the rate they were going, they’d be in California in no time. So long as they could escape the rains.

They only got caught in them twice more over the next three weeks, and both times they found little places to hunker down for the night and stay dry. The first time, it was a farmhouse, and since they helped the woman of the house bring in her laundry before the storm hit, she said they could sleep out in the barn for the night and she’d give them supper that night and breakfast the next morning as thanks. 

The second time, there were no buildings or towns around for miles, and though there very well could’ve been bears to attack them, they decided to take their chances on spending the night in a cave they found along their path. Luckily for them, there were no bears, and they were able to sleep peacefully through the night, just like at the hotel and the farmhouse. 

And just like those nights, while they were sleeping, one of them inevitably started cozying up to the other, holding them through the night while the thunder and lightning raged outside. And the next morning, there might be a few flushed faces and sheepish smiles, but neither of them would mention it outright, nor did they feel the need to. What did it matter if they were out there by themselves and they both enjoyed it? It made them feel secure and comfortable, and there was no reason to ruin it by saying it out loud.

Finally, at the end of another week, halfway through a hot, humid Friday afternoon, they rode up on a farm in the Southern region of California, where a red-headed girl and her mother were working, and at last, their journey came to an end. As soon as the girl saw them approaching, she threw down her gardening tools and took off towards them, shouting happily as Billy got off his horse and caught her in his arms, swinging her around.

“Hey there, squirt,” he said as he hugged her, “Long time no see.”

“I’ll say! I missed you! Things have been so boring here without you. I can’t believe you’re home!” The girl said, bouncing on her toes as Billy set her down.

“I can’t either,” Billy said, ruffling her hair before picking her back up. He let her take his spot on Camaro’s back and then took his reins, ready to lead him in the direction the girl had just come from.

“I assume you’re Max,” Steve said, noticing the little girl eyeing him as Minnie kept pace with Camaro. “Billy’s told me a lot about you. It’s a real pleasure to finally get to meet you in person.”

“He told you about me? Usually he’s reluctant to even say my name at home, let alone to someone else. And who’re you, anyway?” Max asked, earning a sharp nudge from her brother, which she promptly ignored.

“I’m Steve. Your brother and I have been travelin’ together for the past few months. We were headin’ in the same direction, so it seemed only logical.”

“Huh. You must really be somethin’ then, I guess. Billy usually doesn’t trust easily, and he’s anything but logical, so if you got him to agree to travel with you, you must’ve made a big impression on him.”

“Maxine!” Billy hissed at his sister as he helped her off of Camaro’s back now that they were at the house. She didn’t even flinch at the harsh tone, just smiled and ran off somewhere else, leaving Billy a blushing mess and Steve in a slightly confused, slightly charmed state. 

“Sorry about her,” Billy said as he led Steve, Minnie and Camaro back to the stables. “She has a big mouth, and she likes to tell stories out of school, but she’s alright once you get to know her.”

“She’s got her own kind of charm about her, I’m sure we’ll get along just fine by suppertime,” Steve said, starting to take Minnie’s saddle off so she could rest a while.

“You’re a better man than I, then. I didn’t think the two of us would ever get along when we first met, but after a while we realized that we didn’t have any other choice.”

“Well, if you remember, I try to see the best in people. Sometimes it doesn’t work out, but sometimes it does, like with you.”

“I remember. And I’m mighty glad you decided to take a chance on me, Cowboy. I really enjoyed these past few months travelin’ with you. I’m gonna miss you when you’re gone.”

“I’m gonna miss you, too. It was nice to have someone with me all that time. It made the journey easier, and it was a hell of a lot less lonely. I don’t know how I’m gonna keep goin’ without you,” Steve said, looking up from the ground and giving Billy a sad, forced smile. It made his heart ache, and he almost couldn’t stand it.

“Well, y’know, maybe you shouldn’t leave, then,” he said, stepping closer, “I mean, if it’ll be so hard to go. And I heard that people ain’t havin’ much luck finding gold up North anymore, maybe… maybe you could stay here, and maybe we’ll strike it rich down here.”

“And what if we don’t? Then what? I still need to try and put my family back together, and I can’t do that if I don’t make some money, and soon. So what if there ain’t no gold to find down here?”

“Then the two of us will get jobs, and we’ll send for your family, and they can live out here with us, too. We got a big house, plenty of room, and more than enough food for all of us. We could all be happy out here, I know it,” Billy sighed, looking Steve in the eyes and taking his hat off so he could busy his hands. “You don’t have to say yes, but at least wait to say no until tomorrow mornin’, alright? Then at least I can enjoy one more night with you.”

“I don’t wanna wait, I’ve got an answer for you right now and I’m gonna give it to you whether you want to hear it or not,” Steve said, taking a breath and stepping closer as well, leaving hardly any space left between them. He lifted his hand and placed it gently on Billy’s face, cupping his cheek and gently brushing some of his beautiful hair behind his ear. The gesture made him blush, and Steve felt a little part of him light up inside until his entire body felt as if it were on fire. “I’ve never been as happy in my entire life as I’ve been for the past three months I spent with you. I care for you deeply, probably more than anybody else on Earth, and I don’t want to leave you, but I can’t stay with you if you don’t care for me that way, too. If I did, we’d only both get hurt, and I don’t want that. So if you can look me in the eye and tell me you care for me, too, then I’ll stay. But if you can’t, I’m packin’ up and I’m leavin’ at the break of dawn tomorrow, and I ain’t ever lookin’ back.”

The two stood frozen in place for what might’ve been an eternity, just looking at each other with nervous eyes and racing hearts, until finally, Billy realized that he only had one chance to get this right, and he had to take it before it passed. He didn’t even think twice about it before he dropped his hat and put his hands on Steve, dragging him forward by the neck and kissing him. He closed his eyes and held Steve close, not letting him go until he said everything he wanted to with actions first. He’d say it again with words later, but first he had to show it, or he felt he might burst.

“I hope that answers your question, Cowboy,” he finally said as they parted gently, staying close enough to hear the other even if they were only speaking in whispers.

“I s’pose so,” Steve said, a chuckle hidden in his voice, “Though you weren’t really lookin’ me in the eyes.”

“But still, you’ll stay?” Billy asked, his eyes lighting up, “Please say yes, Steve. I do care for you. Please tell me you’ll stay.”

“Of course I’m stayin’, Darlin’,” Steve said, grinning as he leaned their foreheads together and closed his eyes, “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be than right here with you.”

[sunlightmurdock]

The Dawn Patrol | Prologue | Bradley Bradshaw

Masterlist | Next Chapter | PLS VOTE

Arriving a day late, with a broken taillight, in the middle of the night, Bradley shows up to his new posting in the Florida Keys and finds himself mixed up with something sinister.

Warnings: themes of kidnapping, murder and death as well as predatory male characters, age gap: reader is 24, Bradley is 32. All chapters detailing sensitive topics will have more detailed warnings. Kind of unhinged reader, she’s a little feral but we love her. Will be smutty from literally the get go but as always specific warnings will apply — minors dni.

May 2nd 1986

Lottie is last seen on the Sugarloaf Marina at twelve-oh-six. Just after midnight, already a while past her curfew. It’s well lit, visible from the Sugarloaf Channel Bridge which leads down through the keys.

She is wearing a yellow halter top, white shorts, denim jacket. Some reports say that she‘s barefoot on the marina, others say that she was wearing some white sneakers. Took them off, lost them, wasn’t wearing them in the first place; she was right by the beach, the detail doesn’t matter in the beginning. Those kind of crossed wires aren’t the kind that are easily tripped over. She was wearing the shoes, but that won’t ever matter.

That bridge is almost always busy, especially so at this time of year, tourists moving from one key to another or heading down from Miami or central Florida.

By this point in the journey, people tend to start checking their surroundings again. The Overseas Highway has been refurbished into a main coastal highway between the cities of Miami and Key West — its been like that since the fifties. Offering travellers a roadway through a tropical savanna environment and access to the largest area of coral reefs on the U.S. mainland.

If Bradley Bradshaw had looked to his left at exactly midnight on that night in May, as he crossed the mile marker on the Overseas Highway, he would have been the second to last person to have seen Lottie Rivera. Alive, standing at the payphone at the edge of the beach, tears streaming down her face and blood on her knees.

He hadn’t looked. It’s something heavy to consider, all of the things in your peripherals that you’ll never know where there. What would have happened if he had seen her. He isn’t sure that he would have stopped. He isn’t sure that she wouldn’t have gone missing if he did.

The radio is playing Tears for Fears’ hit from last summer, Bradley’s still wide awake; he has been driving for six hours straight and he doesn’t feel ready to stop. His destination is coming up. There’s something so melancholy in the synth pop, he hasn’t really ever listened to the words as much as he does that night.

Going fifty-five, the ocean passes him by on either side. Steady streams of traffic, tourists pouring into town for the summer. Nothing ever lasts forever. He almost scoffs, wanting to spit back at the radio, wondering if some sick DJ is out there sending him this message just to spite him. Instead, he tousles his hand through his curls, resting his head against his hand.

The reminder that he has crossed the threshold and now resides on the wrong side of thirty sits in his knees, more so in the dull ache that has come to rest in them at some point over the last six hours.

He’d trade in his soul before he’d ever consider trading in this truck, but he has to admit that the bronco has its downsides. ‘75 model, fresh blue paint job, wagon style with a removable hard top and a freshly detailed white leather interior. Bradley paid sticker price for it back in ‘81; it remains his pride and joy today.

The leather looks pretty but his ass has been numb since he passed Fort Pierce. On the highway like this, the gears are steady as they are, he can stretch out his left leg a little but the right has a job to do.

Even with all of these aches and pains, his gut would let him keep on driving until the front wheels hit the Gulf of Mexico. Running sway’s funny like that — it all feels so definite when you’re getting in the car. Knowing when to stop’s the harder part. This time around, he has a destination.

Seems a little too close for his liking. He hasn’t ever been here before, never this far south in the US. But Navy? — That’s someone fucking with him. His dog tags rest around his neck now, tangling with the chain that holds his badge.

Six years of service, nothing to show for it but the chain around his neck and a couple of bad dreams now and again. This work suits him better than the Navy ever did. He’s got Admiral Simpson to thank for where he is now. Yet, the thought of looking that man in the eye and shaking his hand makes Bradley’s stomach churn.

Rooster passes by the Sugarloaf Marina at twelve-oh-six. The moon’s sitting high in the sky, it’s full and it’s a dazzling white. Too bright to not notice that tonight’s a full moon. Rooster’s eyes are on it as he passes right by the marina. He never once notices Carlota Rivera in her abundantly clean, white reebok club c’s or her little yellow halter neck that her mom had told her that she would be too cold in.

No, the first time that Bradley will see her, she’ll be missing one of those sneakers and her left ankle will be bloated and twisted abnormally. Her tanned, Italian skin will be a sullen grey and her naturally slim body will be bloated from the days in the water.

But for tonight, she’s alive, at twelve-oh-six, standing beside a payphone with a smile on her face.

His posting isn’t anything to do with Lottie. It’s a simple strangulation in a Navy barracks. Someone taking hazing a little too far. It’s shut and closed but it gets Bradley out of the city, and that’s all that had mattered. It’s none of his business tomorrow morning, when her Mom calls the Monroe County police department, bawling her way through a missing person’s report. It’s none of his business until six days later.

For tonight, his only business is getting to his new apartment and the remaining thirty minutes that'll take. He rubs his calloused hands over his eye, feeling it pulse in complaint under his fingertips. Sitting up straighter, he exhales slowly and blinks until he feels a little more awake.

Grabbing his suitcase and duffel from the back of his truck, and the keys that he had mailed to him two days ago, he sees his apartment for the first time as he’s setting foot inside of it. He knows that his landlord thinks he’s insane, putting a deposit down and four months upfront for a place that he had apparently no interest in seeing. That doesn’t matter. It’s better than he was expecting.

Two bedrooms and open-plan living space, pre-furnished, first floor with a balcony that faces the Garrison Bight Marina. He pulls open the sliding door and steps out onto the beige tile, leaning his palms on the wooden slatted railing that brackets the front of his balcony.

A perfect view of all of the yachts he’ll never be able to afford. Sea air, salty and thick. He heard that there was a small storm here the last night that carried through into this morning. Even if he hadn’t heard that, he would know. He can feel it surrounding him, like it’s holding him in place. Maybe fate.

A police siren whoops once and he looks up to the end of the road. He can just about see the police cruiser marked Key West Police, its lights are on but it isn’t after anybody. Not at first glance anyway. The aging, sunburnt driver leans out of the window and holds the radio to his mouth, “Make the right decision, Finch.”

And then the perpetrator comes into view. Police description would mark her as early-twenties, curly perm in a large denim jacket and a denim skirt with the same kind of faded wash to it, advancing on foot — well, heel, westward towards… Rooster glances to his left, having to squint to read the road sign under the dim-neon of the street light. Not alone, there’s another girl with her. Female. Early-twenties too. Laughing her ass off.

“Come catch us, Marshall!” She calls back towards the cop in the car. He looks exhasperated and already out of breath, but not surprised. This isn’t the first time he has chased the two of you. You’re intoxictated. Rooster can tell from the perpetual squinting grin on your face, the bubbly laughter — and most prevalently, the brown paper bag and glass wine bottle peaking out of it in your hand. He doesn’t have to be a detective to figure that one out.

Briefly, you glance upwards. You follow the feeling of eyes on you and land on him, the handsome brunette on the first floor balcony. Tired looking but pretty, bathed in a pink flush and wearing a barely buttoned cream over shirt. Your grin widens as you give a nod of acknowledgement to your solitary audience member.

“Yeah, if you can run that fast!” You call back to the cop in the car. Hayward Marshall, the shiniest turd of the Key West police department. Not a bad guy, but a narc nonetheless. “Fuckin’ pig!”

At that, the cop at the end of the road growls loudly in annoyance and finally pops open the driver’s side door. Rooster’s lips quirk softly as he watches the two of you turn and run. The cop waits for a beat, then quickly catches on. There’s no point in chasing you.

Rooster hears the door to the police cruiser slam as he steps back into his apartment. Without turning the lights on, he closes the patio door and drops down onto the couch. Exhausted to the point that even closing his eyes hurts, sleep comes for him much more quickly than the usual tossing and turning, ebb and flow of consciousness. Carlota Rivera takes her last breath at 1:49am. Rooster’s laying on his back on an uncomfortable could that might’ve been new in ‘73, just about asleep. The blinding sun streaming through the window wakes him again at dawn.

His first shift with the Monroe County PD is tomorrow morning, an 8am start. Lottie’s whereabouts remain unknown from that morning. She was already dead, but she wasn’t in the water yet.

Rooster has today for himself. First, is a shower. He doesn’t bother to shave, that can wait until tomorrow. Second, he unpacks the essentials. Not that he packed much more than that.

Finally, he walks outside into the morning sun with a pair of gold ray-ban caravans and a faded baseball cap. It’s already warming up, in the high seventies before Rooster’s watch even ticks past seven. He walks over to the railing and looks out over the docks. It hosts a fleet of about eighty yachts, big ones that could easily make the trip across the ocean to Europe. He’s surprised to see as many of them as there are.

Taking off his sunglasses, he’s even more surprised to see the feral minx that was outside of his window last night, howling laughter like a damn coyote, now standing on the deck of a thirty-five thousand dollar boat. You’re showered and dressed, and flushed with a remarkably healthy glow considering how drunk you were a couple of hours ago.

Hair tied back into a loose ponytail, curls decorating the sides of your face, wearing a white tank top and classic blue denim cut offs. Resting his elbows against the railing, he thinks back to your treatment of the police officer from last night and finds himself glad to have left his badge in his bedroom. He’s technically still a cop, even if he tries to distance himself from all of that.

If he wasn’t alone and unobserved, he would pretend that he knows what you’re doing. Fiddling with different canisters and wires. All that crap has never made too much sense to him. He likes fancy cars and cool boats, he just doesn’t really get them. Now, planes? — They were much easier to understand than cars ever were.

Salty, warm morning air and half a packet of mints in, your sinuses are more than clear and your eyes have only just stopped streaming from under your sunglasses. As much as you know you shouldn’t have been out last night, drinking as much as you were, it helps to know that you’re got access to the best freshly squeezed orange juice known to man on this boat.

Usually, you’re pretty aware of your surroundings. A young lady has to be in this day and age — that’s what your grandmother would say, right before you’d teasingly remind her that there’s little that’s ladylike about you. But, you don’t notice the handsome brunette that’s watching you until you turn with a heavy canister in your hand, grunting softly.

It’s clear that he’s been there for a while, he’s settled in against that old railing like a statue, just studying you. It’s almost refreshing that it’s not some sun-spotted, viagra fuelled retiree standing there and slobbering all over the path as he watches you work. But, it’s still a random guy that makes no effort to look away, even as you narrow your eyes at him through your sunglasses.

“You got a staring problem, or something?”

Rooster’s lips quirk upwards as you confirm every suspicion in his mind that you’re the girl from last night. He gives you a slow shake of his head and nothing else. He’s handsome. Tanned with pink cheeks, sunglasses that fit his face well and a shirt that’s pleasantly tight around his biceps. You’re seeing him for the first time now, last night is too much of a drunken haze for you to remember the brief encounter that you had.

If he came up to you in a bar, you’d let him buy you a drink and maybe fuck you in the backseat of his car. Truck, he probably drives a truck. He’s probably Navy. It’s growing increasingly easy to identify the men that turn up around here for a summer or two.

“Y’know, to most people, that means stop staring.” You tell him, setting the empty gas canister down onto the dock for you to carry back later. His lips quirk up further. Almost really smiling at you now.

“‘M looking at the boat.” Rooster shrugs calmly, still smiling softly. You push your sunglasses up onto the top of your head, swiping several tight curls with them. He’s not looking at the damn boat. You’re pretty when you’re glaring at him like that. All riled up like a pissed off kitten.

“You wanna see it up close? — Can wipe the deck with your face if you’re feeling brave.” You bite back at him. This time he grins at you, truly amused and still leaning on that rickety old railing. That’s the thing about working at Garrison Bight — you spend just as much time fending off slimy old men as you do actually working.

This guy doesn’t look that old. Or that slimy. He’s older than you, certainly. You can see that from the nice watch he’s wearing, the sunglasses, the dated baseball cap. Definitely Navy. Poor fella picked the wrong place to approach you, anywhere other than work and you’d happily play along.

He gives you a small shake of his head, settling back into that comfortable, amused smirk. “Not that brave,” He teases, turning his head finally to actually take a look over the yacht. Three floors, not including below deck. Huge. Beyond impressive. “I’ll keep on looking from right here, if that’s alright with you. Got a pretty nice vantage point from over here.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, lifting your palm to shield your eyes from the glaring morning sun. “Have you got a wife or something that I need to know about?”

“Not that you need to know about,” He shrugs, “She keeps herself occupied most days.”

Finally, he gets you to break. You smile across the gap between the yacht and the railing, amused by his joke. You set your sunglasses back on the bridge of your nose and tilt your head at him, giving him a quick look up and down.

“You ever had your dick sucked on a yacht?”

…

tags:

@thedroneranger @cherrycola27 @perpetuelledaydreaming @raisehailpraisedale @khaylin27 @sharpsapphic666 @fudge13 @slutfordw @averyhotchner @hangmanscoming @bradshawseresinbabe @diorrfairy @phoenix1388 @alm334 @princess76179 @cherrycola27 @wkndwlff @xoxabs88xox @galaxy-moon @itsmytimetoodream @sugarcoated-lame

[septembriseur]

“After two years as a refugee, my former student M. has received his U.S. resettlement paperwork and is ready to start his new life in America!

I taught M. when I worked at the American University of Afghanistan (AUAF) in Kabul. The eldest son of a large, loving, but poor family, he spent his earliest years in a refugee camp in Pakistan. Like many Afghan boys, he grew up working to help support his family. But thanks to his obvious intelligence and his family's commitment to education, he was able to attend school and pursue his bachelor's degree.

When Afghanistan fell to the Taliban in August 2021, M.'s family faced danger and persecution as a result of his father's work with the American military. They were eligible for U.S. Special Immigrant Visas, but the process was slow and almost nonfunctional. AUAF was able to evacuate M. to a third country where he could continue his education and wait for his refugee resettlement to the USA to be processed. While finishing his BA as a refugee, he was also supporting his family in Kabul and searching for ways to help them: pursuing their SIV application through the vast maze of American bureaucracy and working with my sister Heather, who filed to sponsor them for Humanitarian Parole.

Over the past two years, M. has become like a member of my family. He's helped my nephew with a school presentation; my niece baked him a cake to celebrate his university graduation. I've talked to his baby niece on the phone. He's helped me learn to read and write Dari Persian, putting up with my endless mistakes and questions. We text each other animal pictures and political frustrations.

Though M.'s family have now received their Humanitarian Parole and SIV petition approvals, they are still waiting for State Department evacuation from Kabul for their visa interview. But for M., good news has finally come: he has received his resettlement paperwork and is arriving in America the day before Thanksgiving!

He could use some help: when he was evacuated from Afghanistan, he was only allowed to take one bag of stuff with him. In America, he'll need more: weather-appropriate clothes, a phone, bus fare, and enough money to continue supporting his family in Kabul while he looks for a job.

This is an opportunity to help give a solid start to a gifted young man who has overcome incredible odds to make it this far— and to help repay an Afghan family who risked it all for America and American values.

Whatever you can give will help M. get started on his American journey!”

[lavendershowcase]

Pink Pony Club: LGBT books with pink covers (that was the whole criteria this month, starting chill)

Paul Takes the Form of a Mortal Girl by Andrea Lawlor

It’s 1993 and Paul Polydoris tends bar at the only gay club in a university town thrumming with politics and partying. He studies queer theory, has a dyke best friend, makes zines, and is a flaneur with a rich dating life. But Paul’s also got a secret: he’s a shapeshifter. Oscillating wildly from Riot Grrrl to leather cub, Paul transforms his body and his gender at will as he crossed the country––a journey and adventure through the deep queer archives of struggle and pleasure.

Of note: 90s queer culture, debut novel, Lawlor received the Whiting award for this novel

Your Driver is Waiting by Priya Guns

Damani is tired. Her father just died on the job at a fast-food joint, and now she lives paycheck to paycheck in a basement, caring for her mom and driving for an app that is constantly cutting her take. The city is roiling in protests–everybody’s in solidarity with somebody–but while she keeps hearing that they’re fighting for change on behalf of people like her, she literally can’t afford to pay attention.     Then she gives a ride to Jolene (five stars, obviously). Jolene seems like she could be the perfect girlfriend–attentive, attractive, an ally–and their chemistry is off the charts. Jolene’s done the reading, she goes to every protest, and she says all the right things. So maybe Damani can look past the one thing that’s holding her back: she’s never dated anyone with money before, not to mention a white girl with money. But just as their romance intensifies and Damani finally lets her guard down, Jolene does something unforgivable, setting off an explosive chain of events.

Of note: satire, "gender-flipped Taxi Driver"

Gwen and Art Are Not in Love by Lex Croucher*

It’s been hundreds of years since King Arthur’s reign. His descendant, Arthur, a future Lord and general gadabout, has been betrothed to Gwendoline, the quick-witted, short-tempered princess of England, since birth. The only thing they can agree on is that they despise each other. They’re forced to spend the summer together at Camelot in the run up to their nuptials, and within 24 hours, Gwen has discovered Arthur kissing a boy and Arthur has gone digging for Gwen's childhood diary and found confessions about her crush on the kingdom's only lady knight, Bridget Leclair. Realizing they might make better allies than enemies, they make a reluctant pact to cover for each other, and as things heat up at the annual royal tournament, Gwen is swept off her feet by her knight and Arthur takes an interest in Gwen's royal brother.

Of note: YA, historical

*I personally recommend this book! There's interesting world building, playing with Arthurian legends. It's fun and tropey but not without genuinely emotional moments. And it's just such a good read. Bonus points for a character having an unnamed medical condition that shares symptoms with endometriosis.

Red, White, and Royal Blue by Casey McQuinston

When his mother became President, Alex Claremont-Diaz was promptly cast as the American equivalent of a young royal. Handsome, charismatic, genius―his image is pure millennial-marketing gold for the White House. There's only one problem: Alex has a beef with the actual prince, Henry, across the pond. And when the tabloids get hold of a photo involving an Alex-Henry altercation, U.S./British relations take a turn for the worse. Heads of family, state, and other handlers devise a plan for damage control: staging a truce between the two rivals. What at first begins as a fake, Instragramable friendship grows deeper, and more dangerous, than either Alex or Henry could have imagined. Soon Alex finds himself hurtling into a secret romance with a surprisingly unstuffy Henry that could derail the campaign and upend two nations and begs the question: Can love save the world after all? Where do we find the courage, and the power, to be the people we are meant to be? And how can we learn to let our true colors shine through?

Of note: adapted into a movie in 2023

We Were the Universe by Kimberly King Parsons

The trip was supposed to be fun. When Kit’s best friend gets dumped by his boyfriend, he begs her to ditch her family responsibilities for an idyllic weekend in the Montana mountains. They’ll soak in hot springs, then sneak a vape into a dive bar and drink too much, like old times. Instead, their getaway only reminds Kit of everything she’s lost lately: her wildness, her independence, and—most heartbreaking of all—her sister, Julie, who died a few years ago. When she returns home to the Dallas suburbs, Kit tries to settle in to her routine—long afternoons spent caring for her irrepressible daughter, going on therapist-advised dates with her concerned husband, and reluctantly taking her mother’s phone calls. But in the secret recesses of Kit’s mind, she’s reminiscing about the band she used to be in—and how they’d go out to the desert after shows and drop acid. She’s imagining an impossible threesome with her kid’s pretty gymnastics teacher and the cool playground mom. Keyed into everything that might distract from her surfacing pain, Kit spirals. As her already thin boundaries between reality and fantasy blur, she begins to wonder: Is Julie really gone?

Of note: considered "a most anticipated novel," released July 2024

[heliads]

And of course I am obliged to send in a Magnificent Seven request as your resident Magnificent Seven mutual! (Although if I wasn’t supposed to send in more than one I am sorry and you can feel free to get rid of whichever request you like least.)

Anyways, could I maybe ask for the Magnificent Seven as a group with a platonic female reader? They meet the teenage reader while on a mission where she offers to help them out with her sharpshooting skills, and after seeing how skilled she is an how she doesn’t really have anywhere to go they offer her a place with them. She has a good relationship with everyone and is either a daughter or younger sister figure to the rest of the Seven - or, rather, Eight with her on the team - but they all get the sense that there’s something she’s holding back. Finally, while gathering information for a mission, they notice her talking to another young woman and looking very flustered and manage to peace together what’s happening: the reader likes girls and was too scared to tell them for fear of getting kicked out of the group. So as a group, they all sit her down and talk to her and tell her that of course they accept her and would never leave her, and she admits they’re really the only family she’s ever had and it’s all really familial and sweet?

Again, thanks so much in advance if you do choose to write this, and I do hope you’re doing well!! <3

'eight of us' - the magnificent seven

masterlist

Sam Chisholm is starting to think that this whole journey may never end.

That’s not terrible, all things considered. A week or two ago, Sam was pretty certain that he would end up dead by daylight. Cowboys and outlaws, convicts and loners, don’t tend to stay alive long in these parts, and if they do manage to eke a living, it’ll be desperate and constantly challenged by nature and man alike. He’s alive. His traveling companions are alive. That should be all he needs to puff out his chest and say that he’s lived a good life.

Still, though. Questions plague him as they do any other man. Questions like if he should carry on in this fashion, for one thing, and with these people. He enjoys the other six men in what local legend has started to call the ‘Magnificent Seven,’ and although the title seems rather magnanimous for Sam’s taste, he can’t deny that it’s got a certain ring to it. Finding someone you truly trust to watch your back in a firefight is a rare thing. If Sam’s got it now, why should he give it up?

Maybe it’s the uncertainty of it all that really has Sam wondering where his life will lead him. When he was younger, the mystery of a life on the road called to him like an apple in the Garden of Eden. Sure, his childhood friends could find themselves something special by settling down with someone, or finding a stable job they knew would keep them fed, clothed, and out of trouble, but that had never attracted Sam like the allure of a bit of danger.

He’s got a job too, anyway. He’s a regular U.S. Marshal, against all odds. Not that Sam getting the job was any rare occurrence, just that he’s still got it. Sam is one of the rare men who seems to enjoy thrusting himself directly in the path of danger. The fact that he hasn’t ended up on the wrong side of a duel or bar brawl yet is a minor miracle.

If he were in the mood for some introspection, plain and simple, Sam would admit that he recently came pretty damn close to the end of the road for that front. In an effort to liberate the frontier town of Rose Creek from some mining tycoons, he had rallied up a group of fine men and women to fight greedy fools who’d become too attached to their own coin purses and not nearly fond enough of their own fellow man. The idea had been good. It had been done for the right reasons.

Still, as dawn came over the liberated town, Sam and the others nearly found themselves celebrating in a casket instead of an open bar. Sam can’t quite describe it, how the danger of it all still hangs over him like a foggy morning’s chill. He’s been in fights before, bad ones. He’s no stranger to the whistle of gunfire, the knowledge that he might not make it out alive. Still, there was never anything like this.

Maybe that’s why he hasn’t yet moved on to his typical life. He’ll still uphold the law, of course, you can take the man out of the office but you can’t take the office out of the man, but he can do it with several friends by his side. It’s a fine thing, not being alone. It tests your patience something terrible when you’ve got a chorus of snores going when you’re trying to catch forty winks, but it reminds you that you’re not alone in this great and glorious world of yours. It makes Sam think that he might have done something right beyond the requirements of duty. Sam found a family of sorts, and he’s got them no matter what.

No, he decides, he won’t leave. In fact, he might even test the boundaries of this band of brothers by adding another member. Sam has been the de facto leader of the bunch for a while now, perhaps because it sometimes feels like he’s the only one capable of making decisions with a clear head more than half the time, but the others respect his resolutions wholeheartedly whenever he goes to the trouble of pronouncing one.

So, when Sam announces late one night that he’d like to welcome a neighborhood stray into the group, no one objects. The decision has been a long time in the making, that much is clear. There’s been a girl hanging around their camp for a while now, a teenager out of school but not the least bit interested in a marriage proposal. 

From what Sam has observed, and he’s had plenty of time to do so, Y/N L/N is far more interested in the careful care and usage of her gun than any boy her age. Not that he can blame her; the scrubby adolescents in this small town, just like in any other identical village before or after it on the long road to salvation or at least the eastern seaboard, are a riotous mess of bad decisions and cracking voices. Shotguns are far more fascinating creatures, and at least they aim true if given proper care and attention.

Y/N’s offered to join their group a few times by now, the offers ranging wildly in nuance and discretion. The first time, she was extraordinarily cagey with her words, mentioning only that it wouldn’t be a bad thing if, you know, she was to spend a little more time with the wayward men than normal. A few days later, she brought up how useful her sharpshooting abilities would be on the road. Yesterday, she tracked Sam down and informed him none too cautiously that, on account of her family being nowhere to keep her tied down, she would have nothing stopping her from joining their ranks.

Sam had laughed and told her that he’d think about it. True to his word, Sam has been pondering the matter for a while. Y/N’s a fine fellow. Her conversation is good and her manners better, even when she’s trying to push the matter of her acceptance into the band of travelers. She wasn’t exaggerating when talking to Sam earlier, either; Y/N’s skill with a gun is nothing short of spectacular. If Sam was looking for additional people to join their party, she’d be the first on his list. And, since there’s nothing stopping him from swelling the ranks, he decides that they’ll take her on. Easy as that.

He tells her the next morning, after the men have had time to sit and ponder the nature of their new visitor. They were all accepting of this new condition, of course, but Sam didn’t really think there would be any problems. Heaven knows Goodnight’s been hinting awful heavy that it wouldn’t be all that bad were they to take on another poor soul in their quest to liberate small towns from tyranny.

Y/N, too, is thrilled. She does her best to play it down, of course, not wanting to seem needlessly exuberant, but Sam can see it in her eyes that she’s pleased. It doesn’t take long for her to pack up her belongings and sell the rest, which concerns him a little. In the end, any observation of her affairs makes him all the happier that they’ve taken her on.

And so the Magnificent Seven– no, make it eight now– leaves town once again, setting their sights for the long and restless road. Y/N’s got a horse of her own, and although it may be no champion thoroughbred, it’s got good legs and can keep up with the rest without getting tired, which is never something to scoff at. For the first few days or so, Y/N is overly careful to be polite and avoid offending anyone by accident, but then the shyness wears off and it’s like she’s been one of them all this time.

A few months in, Sam can hardly remember a time when Y/N wasn’t there. She’s laughing the hardest at Faraday’s jokes around the campfire, she’s an ace shot when they need firearm support, she’s just as much one of them as Sam himself.

Only–

Only, there’s something she still isn’t telling them. Sam can’t put a name on it for certain, but he’s devoted an awful lot of time to watching people for secrets, and he’s pretty sure she’s got one that she isn’t all that inclined to tell him. All of the signs are there:  shifting eyes, odd silence on certain topics, quick changes of conversation when one of them starts asking her questions she doesn’t want to answer. Normally, Sam wouldn’t begrudge anyone for their silence, they’ve all got things they’d rather not speak on, but Y/N has never been anything but open. This sort of wariness from her is unusual, and it makes Sam wonder just what sort of secret she’s so intent on keeping.

He carefully brings it up to Goodnight in private, just to ask the other man’s thoughts, but the former soldier agrees with him, says he’s noticed it on his own, too. Goodnight is sure the secret is harmless, but Sam has seen many a harmless secret turn into something quite harmful indeed under the blunt force of pressure and fear.

It’s not like he doesn’t trust Y/N. He does. She’s more than proven herself capable of watching his back in a fight. She’s one of the more honest people he’s ever met, but the weight of this secret has clearly been gnawing at her for a while, and sometimes that kind of force can wear a person thin before they least expect it.

He should ask her what it is. He should wait until she brings it up first. Sam’s mind is torn between methods of how to go about finding out this secret, but then when he’s least expecting it, the answer arrives to him in the form of a visit to a new town.

The party has been there for an hour or two before Sam finally gets what he’s been wanting:  some answers. They’ve split up a little to canvas the streets and get information. Supposedly, a band of thieves has been terrorizing this town, but since they wear masks, no one knows their true identities. Sam has just finished thanking an elderly gentleman for telling him all he knows about the attackers when he turns to see Y/N talking to a young woman about her age.

Well, talking is really an overstatement. The young lady is talking, to be sure. Y/N seems hardly able to get a sentence out. Her face looks hot and she’s stammering, more flustered than Sam has ever seen her. Funnily enough, it reminds Sam of a few boys from his hometown when they were talking to the girls they liked–

Oh.

And then it hits him. That’s the secret, then. Y/N manages to wrap up the conversation and starts walking back down the street, but she’s not gone far before she runs into Sam. They don’t even have to say anything for Y/N’s face to fall. Her eyes go wide with fright. When you’ve been holding a secret within yourself for so long, when you’ve been so terrified of discovery, you know when somebody’s found you out because you’ve imagined that very scenario happening hundreds of times before. Sam knows, and Y/N knows too.

He gestures for her to walk with him, and Y/N does, her footsteps uneven and unsteady. “Y/N,” Sam says pleasantly, “Is there something you’d like to tell me?”

“I think you already know,” she whispers. “It’s not– if you want me to leave the group, I would understand.”

This shocks Sam more than the revelation. “Why on earth would I do that? You’re a proud member of our little circle, Miss L/N, I’m not inclined to get rid of you unless you wish to be rid of us.”

Y/N casts him a quick, disbelieving glance. “Are you sure? I mean, now that you know that I– that I like girls.”

Sam chuckles. “So do many of the rest of us, and that hasn’t seemed to discourage anyone.”

A slow, careful smile blossoms on Y/N’s face. “You’re sure?”

“Very,” Sam answers her. “If you’d like to tell the others, I’m sure they’d have the same reaction as me. We’re a company, Y/N. We stick together.”

“That we do,” Y/N murmurs.

The rest of the group is waiting up ahead of them, ready to review the information they’ve learned. Sam meets Goodnight’s eyes and nods once, signaling that he’s found out what’s been keeping their youngest member so occupied. Y/N nods too. She’s got something to say, but for once, she isn’t afraid.

requested by @faerieroyal, i hope you enjoy!

magnificent seven tag list: message me to be added!

all tags list: @wordsarelife

[otrtbs]

Hi! First off I started AHB and I'm loving it so far! So thanks for writing it! I see that you're an art historian, and I'm going into college as a history major and I'm really nervous about it (even tho it's my passion) and I didn't know if you have any advice/encouragement? Idk I'm super freaking out about it. Anyways if you don't respond to this, thanks again for introducing me to my first Jegulus fic.

it is never a waste doing what you love !!!!!!!!!!!!! it is never a waste pursuing your passion !!!!!!!!!!!!!!

i had the best time in university !! the BEST time. i cared about what i was learning about, i looked forward to the readings, i loved my professors!!!!

that's worth everything !!! and maybe the job prospects will be a little bleak (a new study just came out that said art history majors are the most unemployed major and most underpaid major and most educated major with many of us having masters and phd degrees!! (at least in the u.s.) not slay!! trust me, post-grad me was in the PIT!!!!!! ) but i'm not saying this to scare you, because now I have a job in my field and im still pursuing my research interests and constantly learning,, that's invaluable. doing something that makes you want to keep learning, that makes you question, makes you want to contribute, inspires thoughts and critical engagement,,, even after school,,, that's rare. and that's what was important to me, and it was because i was passionate about my major!!

and also,,, if i can do it ,, trust me,, you can do it!! this is a promise!! cause i had zero idea what i was fucking doing 😭 and somehow still did it. (am doing it????)

do what you love, but also start early! make connections with your professors !!!!! get involved in clubs if you can !!!!! it is unfortunately about who you know a lot of the time,,, so get to yappin!!

i am wishing you all the best of luck with your university journey!! you've totally got this!! also, thank you for the kind words re: ahb! <33