#I do think he came out too thin - I dunno know what happened

[cowardlykrow]

"Hah, dude doesn't even know he's in my tamagotchi."

[gay-dorito-dust]

Hey hi so I just have this flash of an idea: Reader saving Ford / Stan out of a danger they’re facing. Like I’m talking reader carrying them bridal style and gently putting them down and being all “Are you alright, my love?” Hehehehhehehehe blushy boys

Stanley was a punch first, ask questions at a later date type of guy, he was use to being the protector of the family no matter if the guy he was up against was bigger. He always came out on top in the end.

So when he found himself being lifted into your arms and you brought him out of the line of danger and looked at him with a face full of concern before asking; ‘are you alright my love?’ He knew he watched too much of that sappy romance drama Mabel got him into as he felt his cheeks burn hotter then ever.

‘I’m fine now toots thanks to you.’ He replies, trying to keep his cool when his heart was hammering in his chest and all he could think about was how attractive you were in his eyes, then again you were always attractive in his eyes but there was something about being saved by you that made him conflicted.

On one hand, Stan was the man in the relationship, he’s meant to keep you safe from all harm -paranormal or otherwise- and if he didn’t do that, then he wasn’t a man. But he also felt relieved that he didn’t have to always look out for himself anymore when he’s with you, knowing you had his back as much as he had yours no matter what. It was reassuring knowing that he could fall back on someone and know that they’ll catch him when he falls.

So while he still might think that he should still be the one protecting you and all, Stanley doesn’t mind it one bit when you’re looking at him with such caring eyes, hands holding his face as though he was the most precious thing in your life. (he was, he very much was)

‘I’m glad.’ You said with a smile, ‘now let’s stay as far away from here as we can from now on.’ You added as you grabbed his hand to walk back to the mystery shack.

‘I dunno doll face, I might just get myself into a bit of trouble more often if it means having you come save me.’ Stanley teased with a wink.

‘Don’t push it. I might not always be there to save you.’ You said playfully as you nudged him with your elbow to his side.

Ford’s face was as red as cherry tomatoes the second he recognised he was in your arms, carried away from the skeletal deer anomaly that had seemingly lost all interest in both of you, but yet his face somehow got even more redder when you put him down on a nearby fallen tree stump to hold his face in your hands as you said:

‘Are you alright my love?’

He’s suddenly finding the fungi growing on the side of the tree trunk more interesting than meeting your eyes as the words caught in his throat. Ford always though it’s be him carrying you away from danger, keeping you safe and making sure that you weren’t hurt in any way, he could handle them thanks to the survival skills he built up whilst in the multiverse; and yet here he was feeling as though he was developing his first crush on you all over again.

‘I’m fine dear, apologise for being caught off guard.’ He tells you as he couldn’t help but be ashamed that he allowed himself to get lost in the excitement of seeing a new anomaly. You literally him while he was still mid sketching the cryptid!

‘It’s okay Ford, I know how you get with new anomalies but I often wish you didn’t almost risk certain death just to finish sketching them.’ You said softly as you gingerly brushed your thumb against a thin cut he had gotten on his cheek from the skeletal deer anomaly, you knew this man has survived worse but you couldn’t help but worry every time he got hurt somehow. After all it was better to admire something form far rather then within it’s territory, and the anomaly happened to be hostile and territorial.

Ford sighed as he lent into your touch, still getting use to your tendency for physical contact after going so long without it, closing his eyes as he took this moment to cherish your unconditional love and affection for him. After all his dad only started giving a shit about him the moment he figured he could gain money from exploiting his own son’s intelligence. ‘Apologise once again my dear-‘ you cut him off by pressing a kiss to his forehead, thumbs caressing his face as though he were made of porcelain.

‘It’s okay my love, I just worry about your safety and want you to do what you love safely.’ You tell him as you pull away from him before offering him your hand with a smile. ‘Now let’s go find an anomaly that won’t hunt us down for sport.’ You add as Ford grabbed your hand and smiled.

‘I’m sure I spotted some mushroom people not too far from here having a dispute with some gnomes not too far from here, shall we take a look?’ He asks you and you gestured to the vastness of the forest in front of you both with your free hand. ‘By all means lead the way mr Pines.’ You replied softly as you both searched high and low for disputing mushroom people and gnomes.

[billthedrake]

SUGAR DADDY (PART TWO)

The next day I was a little bit of a wreck. Still coming down from the high of my fantasy time with Mike Keenan. Sucking his cock. Kissing him. Enjoying the privacy and the deep conversation. I thought of texting him but decided that wouldn't be welcome. It hadn't been a date, it had ust been something that had happened. A combination of Mike taking pity on me and wanting to get his rocks off. We both got something out of it, but it was surely a one-time thing.

I had class that next morning and baseball practice that afternoon, then weightlifting. It was early evening when I got done and saw I had a text from Mike.

"Hi Luke, sorry no contact, I had a long day here. Enjoyed last night. Any chance for a repeat some time?"

My heart pounded. Maybe I was the one overthinking things. Mr. Keenan just wanted his cock sucked again.

"I'd love that," I wrote.

"Nice," came the reply. "You around to talk?"

I said good night to my buddies and told them I had to get back to study for a test. Then I texted a "yes" to Mike. A second later my phone rang.

"Hey," I said. God, I was majorly crushed out on the guy.

"Hey Luke," he said. His voice was sexy as fuck. "What are you up to?"

"Just getting out of practice. Bout to grab some dinner."

"I haven't eaten either. Want to come over? We can get dinner in the hotel bar."

"I probably need to change," I said. I was still in my workout clothes.

"I bet you look sexy as fuck," he growled. It was a trip to hear him lust for another man. "But take your time."

"Yeah, I probably shouldn't go to some fancy bar in my gym clothes."

"They don't give a fuck," he said. "But do what you feel comfortable with."

"All right," I said. "I'll text you when I'm on my way."

"Take an Uber," he said. "I'll pay."

"OK." Then I hung up. I was going to object, but I was eager to see the man. And truth be told I was hungry, real hungry. Maybe that's what made me decided to head right over, underdressed as I was.

"OK, I'm getting in my Uber," I typed to him five minutes later.

He sent a smiley face reply.

The man was in his suit, without tie, on one of the bar stools and his eyes lit up as I walked in. He had a smirk as I set down my backpack and pulled out the adjacent stool to sit. "I was right," he said softly. "Sexy as fuck."

I blushed. "I didn't think you went for guys that way," I whispered.

His blue eyes twinkled some as he patted my back. "No labels, remember?"

I was getting hard in my shorts. Unfortunately the thin fabric wasn't going to hide my boner, but fortunately, it was hidden by the bar. And my hunger was going to win out.

"The steak here is great," the man said as he handed me a menu.

"I dunno," I said as I looked over the option. "A burger is fine." Of course I was concerned about the price.

Mr. K could read me, though. "Get the steak," he grunted.

I felt a little chastised and said something I instantly regretted. "Is that how the Sugar Daddy treatment works?"

Mike gave me a quick glance then replied without missing a beat. "Buddy, you don't eye me up like a cash machine like those girls do. You don't know how nice a change that is."

I blushed and I felt his hand pat my bare thigh.

"I like that I can be honest with you, Luke, for real." His bossy tone was gone, replaced with the old Mr. Keenan charm.

I gulped. "I like being honest with you, too," I said. Until Mr. Keenan re-entered my life six months prior, I hadn't realized how rare it was I could be honest about things. I gave him a smile and saw him smile in return.

"Since I'm being honest," I started, but just then the bartender came over to take our order.

"Two steaks," Mr. Keenan said, ordering for me. "And another scotch and..." he turned to me.

"An IPA?" I asked. The bartender nodded and named off some brewery. Sounded good. We watched as he poured our drinks in front of us and placed them on the bar before going off to ring up our order.

"So..." Mike picked up. "Since you're being honest..."

I lowered my voice. "It's like I said before. You don't need to pay for anything, Mike. Or be a sugar daddy or anything."

He grinned. "There's always trade offs," he said. "And maybe I enjoy the control."

"Control?" I asked dumbly.

"If you're paying, you get your say in a lot of things," he said. He paused and watched me blush. "You think less of me."

"Honesty, right? You don't know how crushed out I am on you."

He smiled. "I have an idea. It's flattering." He took a sip of his scotch and looked over at me like a wolf eyeing up his prey. "I'm hoping you stay over tonight."

I was in over my head. Emotionally, but also with a man like Keenan. Decisive. "If you want, I will," I said.

"Good," he said, satisfied.

***

Mike Keenan surprised me that evening. After we ate and he paid the check, we went up to our room. We showered together, making out, feeling each other up. I was surprised how much this straight man was into my very male body and my cock. Well, he was probably bi and in any case had his no-labels motto. I was gonna embrace it.

Particularly as we made out on the bed, me beneath his middle aged, fit hairy body. I'd eventually find a real boyfriend, I knew, but I also knew it was going to be hard for any man to live up to hot how Mr. K was. His cock felt hard and even bigger as we humped our bodies together and kissed.

"So, Luke... you up for me being inside you?"

I nodded, hungrily. "God yeah, Mr. Keenan."

He grinned. "You have much experience?" That concern coming in.

"A couple of guys, yeah," I said. Then with deep candor, I added, "I wish you'd taken my cherry, Mike."

His voice got husky. "I've done anal a couple of times. With an ex-girlfriend."

His words made me actually break out into goosebumps. For some reason the idea of Mr. K doing some woman in the backdoor seemed kinky as fuck. But also the way he unmistakeably was communicating that he knew how to fuck me. "You liked it, I bet," I said with a lusty smile.

He nodded and winked just as he leaned up and knelt on the bed. His hardon looked magnificent, the thickness perfectly framed by his hairy, DILF-y body. I decided then and there I'd have a hard time sleeping with a man under 40. "Oh, yeah, buddy," he said. Then my body shivered again as I watched the confidence with which he picked up the lube he'd set out next to the bed. As he returned his focus, I pulled back my legs and spread them some, letting his slick hand in to lube up my hole. "It's probably my favorite thing. Hard to talk a woman into it, though."

"I can imagine," I hissed, enjoying the cool contact of the lubed finger on my ring. "I bet that costs extra huh?" Maybe that sounded accusatory, but from my tone it was clear that it was a joke, and Mr. Keenan picked up on that.

He laughed. "I don't hire hookers, but don't think I haven't thought about it." His cock jerked, and I was relieved that being with a dude seemed to work for him as much as fucking a chick.

He pressed in and worked me open some. "That feel OK, buddy?"

I looked at him excitedly and nodded. I kept expecting resistance as the man fingered me but there was none. At all. "Feels amazing Mr. K." My longtime nickname for him just slipped off my tongue, but the man seemed excited to hear it. His cock actually jerked.

He now slipped in a third finger, twisting me open and working in and out. "You're ready," he said, though I knew there was a questioning behind his assured tone.

"Yes, sir," I hissed.

Mike was horny, too, I realized as he scooted in to place and nudged his meaty cock right into place. I don't know the approach he took with women, but he angled his finger to let his prick push in just as he withdrew his hand. Kind of a shoehorn move that slid his meaty cock right into me. Three solid inches inside me in one go.

"There ya go," he said with satisfaction. Then he moved forward, his hips driving more meat into me, as he leaned his upper body forward. I was getting well and truly penetrated.

The thing was, my insides were starting their natural resistance, my guts clenching down on the invader and trying to repel it. Mr. Keenan mistook my discomfort for a natural stimulation of an ass on his cock. "That's goddamn nice, buddy," he hissed and like that he was kissing me, hard and possessively.

I met his tongue as well as I could, but there was something that clicked in me. I was a dude, a masculine dude. I didn't like to think of myself as feminine, and I got offended by the way people would associate gay sex with being feminized. And yet, I was pinned down beneath Mike Keenan and all I could think was to compare myself to those college chicks Mike banged. My hole relaxed around him and I wrapped my legs around his waist. Not slutty or anything, but damn I needed and wanted a Mike Keenan fuck.

He must have sensed the change but in any case pulled back from the kiss. "I guess I didn't even ask about protection," he hissed, his hips slowly pumping me.

"This is perfect, Mr. K," I growled. His dick was rubbing right over my prostate, not punching the button, but playing it like a violin string. It was a surprisingly new sensation for me.

The man liked my answer. He pulled back, further back, and pushed all the way. Then again. Not rushing it, but definitely claiming me with this cock. All the while his blue eyes bore down on mine. "How do you normally like it, Luke?" he asked.

I racked my brain. It was actually hard to think with the man's cock pressing in and out. And I'd only had a few experiences bottoming. "Slow, I guess," I replied. But then as I felt up the man's naked torso and strong arms, I wanted more. "But this is weird to ask... but I'd like you to show me how I like it."

THAT turned Mike on like crazy. "Yeah?" His nostrils flared. "I can do that buddy."

He pulled back and I felt his prick punch into me. In retrospect it probably wasn't rough, but I'd never been fucked with that much force. Then another. Slow, steady, and hard.

The fact that it was Rich's dad doing this drove me wild. I looked up into his handsome face and imagined him rough fucking some sugar baby who'd have to work for her apartment money.

"Shit!" I gasped. My prick was dripping already, a telltale sign that I was about to cum. I gripped it, just in time to let the pleasure boil to a full orgasm, all while Mr. Keenan pounded it out of me.

His own face was scrunching into a clear sign of pleasure. The man was ejaculating into my guts, and good.

"Well, fuck me," he sighed as he lay his forehead against mine. We lay like that, my hands on him and my legs wrapped around him. His more mature, fit body resting on top of me as he caught his breath. "Please tell me you liked that buddy," he hissed.

I felt weirdly emotional. I don't know, it wasn't just the crush I had on Mr. K. It was the hormonal rush on top of the mind fuck of having had such hot sex. "A little too much," I admitted.

That made him smile.

He finally leaned up and slid out of me, and off me. His dick was thick and plump but softening, and very wet. He looked down on me with a mix of surprise, paternal-like affection, and pride in conquest. I loved it all, and it was then that I realized I was hooked on the Mike Keenan experience.

"I thought I was pushing my luck asking you to meet me again," he said as he stepped off the bed and down some water from a water bottle. His middle-aged muscle was covered in a sheen of sweat. The man was sexy as fuck. His eyes barely left my nakedness. "But I guess not," he continued.

I felt all sorts of weird, and more than a little cheap now that the endorphins were wearing off. I sat up in bed, my hole feeling used and wet now. "You really do like being on control, don't you, Mike?"

My words caught him by surprise. "I guess I come on strong, huh?"

"A little," I admitted. "I should probably go," I said as I searched for my briefs.

"Will it make you feel better to stay over?" he asked.

It was my turn to be surprised. "You think I'm like a chick?" I asked. I wasn't sure I was upset he was stereotyping me as a gay guy. Or upset because maybe he was right.

"It's just a question, Luke," he replied. "I'll give you Uber money."

I swallowed my pride. "I'd love to stay. Sorry I was giving you grief."

He smiled. "It's fine buddy. I'm used to game playing. But you're a straight shooter. I like that." Then matter of factly, he added, "I get up early."

"That's cool," I said.

****

I gave Mr. K a blowjob early the next morning. And he stroked me off. I guess I was leaning toward being a bottom before Mike Keenan, but I'd never embraced the label. What the fuck, the man was making me realize the shoe fit.

I was happy and content all day. I kind of wanted a text from Mr. K, but I didn't need one. Even being young and naive, I knew I had to take this for what it was, or not at all.

Around 5:30 I got a text. "Dinner?"

I had a late game and plans with my buddies. "I'm tied up, Mike," I wrote. "Sorry."

"What time you done?" came that reply.

"I don't know. 10?"

"Come over then. You know the room number."

Maybe it should have rubbed me the wrong way, but it didn't. I was horny for this man. So bad.

Only after I replied with an OK, I got a Venmo alert. Mr. K had sent me money. Not an exhorbitant amount. But a lot.

Oh shit.

***

I was nervous as Mike ushered me in. The worst part was how fucking handsome he looked, even in his readers and plush hotel bathrobe. He didn't look exactly sleepy, but he seemed in a relaxed, tired state as he looked me up and down.

"Thanks for coming, Luke," he said. That easygoing charm I remember from going over to his place when I was visiting my buddy Rich.

"Sure," I said. Looking around, I wondered what it was like to live in a hotel like this a few nights a week, always being on the road. I smelled Mr. Keenan's cologne before I felt his hand on my shoulder and his warm body press against my back. Already he was kissing softly at my neck.

"Listen, Mr. K... can we talk about the money thing?"

His voice had a throaty growl. Maybe he'd been thinking all evening, all day about sex, because he seemed to be in a horny mode. "Sure. Was it not enough?"

"No, Jesus," I hissed, feeling his fingers already running beneath the hem of my T-shirt tracking my abs. "I don't need anything. For real."

OK, now his fingers stopped their seductive movement. I guess the man was getting it. "You offended?" he asked.

I blushed. "I dunno," I replied. "It didn't make me feel great."

I felt his breath against my neck. "You deserve the money more than Kimberly," he said. "Or the others. It's just a little something, Luke. Use it to have fun. Or save it for a rainy day."

I don't know how Mike Keenan was so persuasive a man, but he was. Maybe because those fingers are once again tracing up my abs and pulling my shirt with them. "Come on, buddy, let me see that hot baseball jock body," he urged.

I went with it. I knew I was good looking, and even if I had some bulking goals for the off season, I knew I had a solid body. But the fact Mr. Keenan was into it had me so turned on. I turned around to see a smile on his five-o-clock-shadowed face.

"Nice," he said, eyes sweeping up and down my build. "Lose the shorts, Luke," he said.

Mr. K had talked about enjoying being in control. I was now wrestling with the fact that I enjoyed being bossed around, at least by this man. I stepped back and undid my shorts, stripping down completely for him. I was rock hard.

My heart pounded as I watched Mike get a more serious look on his face, as his hands reached down to undo the tie on the robe. The white terry cloth flapped open to show off his furry fit torso and, beneath that, his thick boner. "Come on buddy," he said in a deep whisper, nodding down at his crotch in an unmistakable signal.

I gulped. I assumed my normal catcher's squat, a position which made my hard dick stick up at an angle.

"Fuck yeah," Mike said. He scooted up to offer me his prick. It was fat and veiny, and while not porn-long that dick was pretty damn big.

I leaned forward just an inch to start licking him. Top to bottom. Along his furry nuts. Tasting every inch of Mike Keenan. Maybe his relaxed vibe gave me the implicit permission to take my time.

Only by the time I actually began sucking him, working my mouth up and down on him and doing my best to coordinate suction and tongue along his shaft, the man was starting to get worked up.

"Easy there, buddy," he hissed, gently pushing me off his dick, which throbbed and jerked a little, wet with my saliva. "I almost blew there."

I grinned. I felt so fucking proud. I didn't have a ton of sexual experience and it was good to know I was doing something right to get Mike so close so soon. "Why don't you?" I asked, sitting back on my haunches and looking up at him. I was getting more confident in having sex with this older man.

He let out a heavy sigh, like he was fighting off the urge to do just that. A smile crossed his lips, though. "Guess I'm like a kid with a new toy," he explained.

It took me a second to get it. "You wanna fuck me again." Half statement, half question.

Mike nodded. "Been thinking about it all fucking day, man. Your ass is so fucking tight."

I knew this was a possibility, and I wondered if I should be giving my hole some rest. But I also knew it was going to be hard to turn down a Mr. Keenan fuck. I stood up, my dick riding that crest between pure excited hardness and nervous flagging.

"Ok if we kiss a little, Mike?" I asked feeling almost embarrassed to ask. "You know, make out a little?"

My buddy's dad nodded and grinned as he stepped up to me, placing his hands on my waist. "I guess I can come on strong, huh?" he asked.

God, feeling his dick press against mine and the heat and the soft-hard combo of fur and muscle against me was going to drive me wild. "Some, yeah," I admitted with a laugh. Then blushing, I added, "Part of me really likes it, but fuck it's intimidating too, you know?"

Mike didn't reply but just gave a sympathetic nod and leaned in for a soft kiss. We made out some, and it was incredible to feel the contrast between the gentle approach kissing and the mauling of his hands on my jock body, particularly my butt. Mr. K wasn't kidding about having a new toy. He seemed to really love my ass.

He walked me back to the bed and I went back down on the mattress with a motion of his that was between guiding and pushing. He quickly lost his bathrobe and joined me, covering my body with his older, more experienced one, feeling me up and kissing along my neck, my ear, my upper chest. Mike was in full-on horny mode and bring me there right with him.

Finally he lifted off and rolled to the side. His erection was dripping and rock hard and looked amazing against all that body hair. "All right buddy, get on all fours."

I was primed for Mike Keenan in full on control mode. I scrambled to do as the man asked, facing the headboard and feeling the man settle in behind me. Already his hands were cupping my glutes and feeling the smooth muscle.

"You got a hot fucking ass, Luke," he growled. He pawed at me another few seconds then reached for some lube. The first wet finger felt great, and went in pretty easy.

"You're looser today, buddy," Mike hissed. A second finger popped in.

"Yeah, probably," I responded. "After yesterday."

"I wanna keep you this way," came his deep voice. "Ready for me."

"Oh fuck, Mr. K," I whined. There was an edge to his tone that drove me wild. And as his prick pushed in, I felt a welcome pleasure, even with my residual tightness.

"Fuck yeah," Mike grunted as he felt my insides and pushed to bottom out. "Right back in the saddle."

His grip clenched roughly on my waist. Just as quickly as that thick cock pulled out, it barreled back in. And again. One hard thrust right after the other as Mr. K grunted deeply. "Ung. Ungh. Ung."

The man was fucking for his pleasure, not mine. Still I felt an excited thrill. I wouldn't say I enjoyed this nearly as much as the missionary mating the night before but it felt new to me. Animalistic and raw. I was hard even with the discomfort of the shafting.

Wham. Wham. Wham. That thick piece of hard dad meat was drilling steadily. Then the cadence went off. Mr. Keenan's rhythm was getting more spasmodic and jerky as he pounded me. Then I felt those fingers dig into my hips.

"FUCK!"

From his cry and the sudden stop of his thrusts, I knew the man was seeding me.

I loved every part of the experience, but I now regretted that I hadn't gotten off. The fuck had been too hard and too quick.

Thankfully I felt the man shift behind me and, prick still buried inside me, he leaned forward to press against, my back.

I loved the feeling of his kiss on my neck, but even more I loved the slickness of his palm as he wrapped his hand around my hardon. Mike didn't even need to do much. Just give slow soft pumps in and out of my guts while his fingers ran along my dick. I fired off, heavy and hard. I felt lightheaded when I came.

We were quiet as we uncoupled. The shame was coming back to me as I showered off. Shame that I enjoyed what others might see as a dominant, selfish fuck. Shame that there were funds in my Venmo account. Shame that I was falling for Mr. Keenan so hard. I knew I couldn't stay over in this hotel room, not tonight. I needed some space to think.

Mike had his robe back on. To this day a white terry bathrobe is a fetish for me. His tone was more serious. "You mad at me Luke?" he asked as he sat in the hotel chair and watched me get dressed.

I grimaced but shook my head no. "I didn't think I'd like sex that rough," I said softly.

I could see a sly grin from on his lips. But he continued. "I wasn't talking about the fuck."

God, the man could be intense, behind the suave businessman outgoingness and the friendly paternal vibe. It was like I was seeing the real Mr. Keenan. Intimidating, sure, but I also wondered if he had a hard time with real relationships. His marriage hadn't worked out, he was clearly estranged from his son, and he basically hired dates instead of having real girlfriends.

I paused, just holding the T shirt I was going to put back on. "Can I be blunt, Mr. K? You say you don't want a hooker, and yet have a way of treating me like one."

He was prepared for that. "You're not that, Luke. But I'm not ready for anything serious. I figure I can help you out, and you can help me out." He looked at me and could tell I still didn't get it. "Listen, it's not just sex. I love spending time with you buddy. You're a hell of a lot more fun than those sugar babies, I'll tell ya." He cracked a smile, and I had to as well.

"I guess," I said. Remembering Kimberly, I could imagine she'd be more work than fun.

My conciliatory tone made him happy, and I was glad to see the friendly Mr. Keenan return. "Well, it's just I don't always have the time or interest for all the other boyfriend bullshit. Checking in, looking after emotional needs, dealing with jealousy."

I gulped. I was starting to get a better picture of Mike. The side Rich hated. The side I should hate more.

He watched my reaction but continued. "I know that wouldn't be fun for you to deal with, so I want to make it worth your while."

"Make what worth my while?" I asked. Again, as persuasive as he was, I felt he kept talking around the sex part.

He laughed, almost amused at how astute I was. "Luke, I'm not going to pay you per sex act. Or per night. But..." his voice got conspiratorial. I wondered if he knew what that supportive dad-figure tone did for me, and just weaponized it to get his way. Honestly I think it just came naturally to him. "Well, bud, I'd love an arrangement when you're able to keep me company when I'm in DC." His blue eyes got an impish cast to them, and I knew he was in seal-the-deal mode. "I'm pretty sure we could have a lot of fun together."

"You wanna be my sugar daddy?" I asked, point blank. It's not that I was dumb, but I actually didn't think Mr. Keenan was outright going there.

He nodded. But his face had a caution to it. "Would it better if we ditched the labels?" he asked, a smirk on his face reminding me of his own no-labels policy.

"It would," I answered. Then. "OK if I think on it, Mike?"

"Of course," he said.

He stood up as I finished putting on my shoes. Seeing how handsome he was I almost asked if I could stay over again. But the vibe wasn't right for that.

As I made my way to the room door, Mr. K patted my shoulder. "You're a fine young man, Luke," he said. His fingers gave my muscle a little squeeze before letting go. "I mean that."

"Thanks, Mr. Keenan," I said.

***

The Uber ride was quick at that time of night. I'd have to come up with an excuse to my roommate while I was out again. I'd probably have to come up with a lot more excuses if I hung out more with Mr. K. Or, if he got me my own apartment, things would be easier. Meeting up with him. Having sex with him.

I pulled out my phone. I thought I'd hesitate before sending but I knew I knew my answer.

"You'll have to let me know how it works Mr. K," I texted. "But I'm in."

No labels. But if Mike Keenan was going to call himself my sugar daddy that was probably OK too.

I got a quick reply. "That makes me happy Luke. Talk tomorrow sexy."

I felt warm inside. Mike Keenan was going to make this worth my while. But I was determined to make it worth his, too.

[k-dokja]

Wow, it has been a year since I last wrote something for him.

Summary: Your relationship is strange and perplexing. Neither of you mind it, it's no one else's business.

There is a line.

A clear line between you and Jonggun that you’ve accepted from the day you were introduced to him. The line which serves to be an invisible barrier between the two of you, thinner than thread but thick enough to keep the two of you from crossing it.

You can’t say you care for it. Not when you have no intention of crossing the line. Jonggun, however, does whatever he wants and he seldom thinks about the consequences of his actions if what he does bring him personal gratification. Because of that, on more than one occasion, you’ve seen him toeing the line, having a whole foot over even. You always patiently watched to see what he will do next, but after the third time this happened, you came to the conclusion that he only wanted to see you hold your breath in anticipation.

Afterwards, you stop caring.

While formality dictates that the two of you need to be faithful during your engagement, he cannot care less about it and the idea is appalling for you. Neither of you cares enough about the other to need some misguided loyalty. Even if you did, you doubt you’d ever receive it from him. You save yourself the grief by never bothering to care about it. He doesn’t have a problem with his freedom either. All is well in the world.

Until it isn’t.

“So, what are you to him, anyway?”

Joongoo, too nosy for his own good, always has a way to squirm his way into matters that shouldn’t be his to care about. You don’t really mind. You never bother to make sense of him, he’s useful enough that all of his downsides stop being a problem.

Tolerable enough that sometimes it amuses you to entertain him.

“Business partners,” you reply without glancing up from your phone. It wouldn't be your first choice to spend your free time lounging around with Joongoo, but there are worse options, you guess.

“Naur,” Joongoo says, “I’m business partner with him, business nemeses-with-benefits depending on days, but you are not his business partner.”

You glance at him. Trying to figure out what’s going on his pretty little head is a fool’s errand. You don’t even know where his nonsense begins and where his sense ends. At least, you aren’t so busy that his probing would become a bother.

“Pardon?” You say. “Him and I, we have common business ventures and same goals for expansion. What would we be if not business partners?”

Joongoo clicks his tongue, “You people sleep with your business partners?”

You snort, more amused by his misunderstanding than offended. “We aren’t sleeping together.” If this has been a year ago, you’d have said you don’t know where he gets the idea from. At this point in time, however, you’ve weathered enough people getting the wrong idea that his assumption sounds trivial to your ears.

“Aren’t you?” Joongoo asks, “Then what’s this weird vibe I’m getting from you two?”

“I don’t know, you tell me,” you resist smirking, you truly do, “what’s this exact vibe you see in us?”

He shrugs, “Dunno, like, you’re too comfortable with each other and shit,” he says, “either you’ve done the tango naked or something else is going on here.”

“I like your imagination. Very vivid.” You narrow your eyes at him but say nothing more about it. The discussion alone is silly and entertaining him for this long is the extent of your generosity.

"You know I'm right," he grumbles, "Even if you aren't sleeping together, there's something there. You'd be lying if you said there isn't."

You've returned to your phone by this point, and your attention to him is torn in half but at least you continue to answer, "Well, of course there's something there. We're engaged to be wed and until either of us found it enough of a nuisance to break the engagement off, we're bound by this thin thread of obligation we cannot care less for."

"Is that what you think?"

A third voice. Masculine. Familiar, and deeper than Joongoo's. You don't even need to look up to see Jonggun entering the room. You don't have to see him to know what face he's making either. Utterly impartial and mildly amused, the bare minimum of expression.

"Isn't it the truth?" You say. "Pretending otherwise would only be kidding ourselves."

Jonggun stops behind you, his hand is set on the back of your chair. He dips low enough that when he speaks, you feel his breath fan against your ears. The only indication that it affects you is the slightest twitch at the corner of your mouth. One you doubt he can see but know it's there anyway.

"And what if I want otherwise?"

You turn to level your eyes with his, your smile saccharine sweet. "If you wish for an early death then you should take the matter into your own hands, don't involve me in it." With that said and done, you go back to your phone, and your interest in the entire conversation vanishes.

"You're sure she's the nicest one out of us?" Joongoo drawls.

You don't need to see to know Jonggun is smiling when he says next, "Was there ever a doubt?"

[metallicaislife]

Childhood Friends

A/N: omg this is the longest fic I've written so far. It flowed so smoothly out of my brain I'm gonna cry. 🥹💚

Genre: Fluff, suggestive themes and brief mentions of smut but not explicit

Word Count: 2,180

Warnings: Smoking

When I was young I had a neighbor. He was my best friend. From dawn until dusk we hung out. Whether we wandered the neighborhood on an adventure or at his house as he practiced the bass. He was the kind of person we didn’t need to have constant conversation with to be comfortable. I was absolutely heartbroken at age 14 when my family moved to be closer to my dad’s parents. We called each other every once in a while, but that soon stopped as we got busy with the lives we had going on around us. I’m now in my 20’s and I think about him every so often, I hope he’s doing well, and that all his dreams came true.

It was a typical night, I came home from work. Had a small dinner and curled up on the couch to watch my favorite sitcom. The phone started ringing so I got up to answer it.

“Hello?” 

“Is this, Y/N?” A deep calm voice came over the receiver. 

“Speaking. Who is this?” I asked.

“It’s Cliff.” He spoke. My eyes widened. 

“Cliff? Like Cliff Burton?” I asked. He chuckled. 

“Yeah, it’s me. How are you?” He asked. My heart was thrumming against my chest. 

“I’m doing well. How are you? How did you get my number?” 

“Glad to hear. I’m doing great. I took a chance and looked in a phone book.” He answered me. I laughed. 

“I dunno why I never thought of that.” I said. 

“I called because my band is going to be in your neck of the woods, I’d love it if you came to our show.” 

“You’re in a band?” I asked excitedly. Cliff chuckled.

“Yeah, I am. We’re called Metallica. Do you know where the bar on Main Street and 9th is?” He asked. 

“Sure do. When is the show?” I grinned, feeling giddy. 

“Tomorrow night. Sorry it’s short notice.” He said. 

“Don’t worry about it, I’m just glad you called. What time is it?” 

“8. I’ll buy you a drink after.” He said. 

“God, last time I saw you we were kids. Where’d the time go?” I leaned against my wall. 

“It’s been far too long. I’m excited to see you.” He said, I could hear the smile in his voice. 

“Me too.” I replied. 

“I gotta go, but I’ll see you tomorrow. Have a good night.” 

“Thanks, see ya tomorrow Cliff.” I said and hung up. 

I pinched myself. Yup that happened. I didn’t fall asleep watching ‘Cheers’ and dreamed of that conversation. I squealed in excitement. 

The following day went by quickly, which I was super grateful for. When I knew Cliff he was playing Thin Lizzy on his bass. I’m curious to see what kind of music he plays. I found a comfortable but cute outfit and left to go to the bar. 

I got a cocktail and waited around. Soon the band Metallica was announced. I spotted him straightaway. It was hard not to. I thought he was tall when we were young. He grew so much more. He was tall and lanky yet toned, his auburn hair long and unruly. His hazel eyes met mine and he grinned. The same smile that brightened my days all those years ago. I smiled back and gave a small wave. 

I’d never heard anything like their music before. It was loud and fast. Absolutely electrifying. I was mesmerized by Cliff, his head banging and the passion emanated off him. 

“Thanks everyone!” The lead singer and rhythm guitarist waved. Cliff caught my eye again and motioned for me to head backstage. I gave a nod and made my way back. He was leaning against a wall with his hands in his pockets. He looked up and grinned. He pushed off the wall and walked toward me pulling me into a bone crushing hug. I hugged him back tightly, uncaring that he was sweaty from his performance. He pulled back and held my shoulders studying me. I grinned staring back up at him. 

“Come on, I’ll introduce you to my bandmates then we’ll get a drink and catch up.” He shifted, placing his arm around my shoulder as he took me back to the green room. 

The drummer was sprawled on a couch fanning himself, the guitarist was drinking some water while sitting on a chair and the lead singer was packing up his equipment.

“Hey guys, I want to introduce you to my childhood friend.” Cliff said. They all looked in our direction and I gave a small wave. 

“Y/N, this is Lars.” He pointed to the drummer, “Kirk,” then to the guitarist, “and James.” He motioned to the lead singer. “Guys this is Y/N, we used to be neighbors growing up.” He introduced. 

“Nice to meet you guys.” I smiled at them. 

“Nice to finally meet you, we’ve heard so much about you. Our guy Cliff here talks about you a lot.” James said. Cliff shot him a look and I stifled a small laugh as my cheeks heated up. 

“Anyways, I already packed my things. We’re gonna go get a drink and catch up.” Cliff said steering me out of the dressing room before any of the others had a chance to say anything. I turned back to wave at them before we exited the room. 

“So you talk about me, huh?” I asked, jabbing him in the ribs playfully. 

“I mean, yeah. You’re really the only person I hung out with until I started playing in bands.” He confessed. I smiled but didn’t say anything further. 

He got us a couple beers and we found a place to sit. 

I was a little worried it would be awkward, we hadn’t seen each other or even talked in years. It was so comfortable though, telling Cliff what I’d been up to, and listening to his stories about how he’s gotten to where he’s at. 

The night was coming to a close and there was a part of me that wondered if this was it. Would I only see him if he came to town for a show? The kind of friends that saw each other maybe once a year to catch up. I didn’t want that. 

“I wanna see you again, soon.” Cliff said as we walked in the crisp night air. 

“Me too.” I responded. 

“You know I thought you moving away was the end of the world. You’re only 45 minutes away though.” He chuckled. 

“As kids that might as well be across the country.” I laughed, he laughed too. 

“Well now we aren’t kids.” He said.

“No we aren’t.” I replied, “So I'll see you soon then?” I asked. He nodded. “Good.” I smiled. He hugged me again and we parted ways.

True to his word, Cliff called the following night, and we made plans to see each other again. Over the course of a few months, we saw each other as much as we could and talked almost every night. Sometimes we didn’t even talk. He’d call and play the bass for me. I knew that I had missed him, but I hadn’t realized how much until he was in my life again. 

“We’re having a party on Saturday, I want you to come.” Cliff said over the phone. 

“Yeah, I can make that. What’s the address?” I asked. I wrote it down as he relayed it to me, and the time, but he said I could come over whenever. 

I took a bus to El Cerrito. I was lucky enough to find the house pretty easily. The party was in full swing. Cliff was on the porch as I walked up. He saw me and his eyebrow furrowed. 

“Where’s your car?” He asked and exhaled his cigarette smoke. 

“In the shop, it’s been giving me trouble so I caught a bus here. I don’t mind, I'll take one home too.” I replied and stuck my hand out. He placed a cigarette in it, I placed it in my lips and he flicked his lighter so I could light it. 

“Don’t be silly, I’ll take you home.” He said. 

“No, it’s okay.” I said. I looked up and his face was stern. 

“Yes, I will drive you home.” Cliff said with finality. I nodded. 

“Thanks.” I replied. Lars came bounding out of the house. 

“I know you like keeping Y/N all to yourself but it’s a party Burton!” Lars said and grabbed my wrist. I laughed as he dragged me into the house. Cliff rolled his eyes and followed after us. 

The night was filled with laughter as we made memories I will carry with me until the end of my days. 

The party wound down and people were falling asleep. 

“Ready to go?” Cliff asked me as I leaned against the porch smoking a cigarette.

“Yup.” I smiled and put the cigarette out. 

Neither of us got obliterated like the others so we were good for travel. 

“Next time I’ll spend the night so we can party a little harder.” I said. 

“You’re always welcome to.” Cliff grinned and opened the car door for me. I slid in and buckled up. Cliff got in and started the car. 

“There are some tapes in the glovebox.” He said. I opened it up and looked through them. I smiled seeing the first Thin Lizzy album he shared with me, ‘Vagabonds of the Western World’. I put it in, his face lit up as the music played through the speakers. 

The car ride was mostly silent, occasionally singing along to the music. I stared out the window, and I could feel what I’ve been wanting to say to him for a couple weeks bubbling beneath the surface. 

“I love you.” I said aloud as I continued staring at the darkness outside. 

“I love you, too.” Cliff replied. 

“No, Cliff, I’m in love with you.” I said refusing to look in his direction. I don’t think my heart could handle it if I saw a look of disgust pass across his features. His hand came to rest on my thigh and gave it a comforting squeeze. I finally tore my gaze from the darkness and looked over feeling completely vulnerable. He kept his gaze on the road, but he glanced over, the look on his face the opposite of what I had imagined. 

“I’m in love with you, too.” He replied. I smiled and placed my hand on his, giving it a squeeze as I looked back out the window. A huge weight felt as if it had been lifted from my shoulders. 

We arrived at my place not long after and he walked me to the door. 

“Why don’t you spend the night, it’d be silly to drive all the way here just to head back.” I offered as I unlocked my door. 

“I think you’re just trying to get into my pants.” He teased me as he moved my hair out the way so he could place a kiss on my neck. 

“Maybe a little of both.” I teased back. I opened the door and he followed me in. He shut and locked my door. He turned around and placed his hands on my waist. We stared at one another. The only sound is our even breathing. Cliff tucked my hair behind my ear, he cupped my face and brought his lips down to meet mine. I’ve been kissed before, but never like this. It took my breath away. 

We stumbled clumsily through my apartment giggling and losing clothes along the way. We laid in bed and worshiped each other for hours. Learning each other's bodies inside and out. 

We laid in each other's arms, sweaty and worn. I traced soft shapes on his chest as he tickled my back. 

“How are you feeling?” Cliff asked softly. 

“Content.” I replied and kissed his chest. Cliff chuckled. 

“Thank you for telling me how you feel.” He said. 

“If I held it in any longer I think I would’ve combust.” I replied and placed my chin on his chest so I could look at him. His hazel eyes in the dim light held so much love and adoration. I hoped as he looked back he could see that same look mirrored in my eyes. “Thanks for reaching out and inviting me to your show. If you hadn’t, we probably wouldn’t be here.” I said. 

“It was a long shot, but I really missed you. I loved you back then, ya know. But I never could have imagined how much further I could have fallen for you.” He said. My heart skipped a beat and buried my head in his chest. He chuckled and kissed my head. 

I wish I had a Time Machine so I could go back and tell the heartbroken girl that had to move away from her best friend that it wouldn’t be that way forever. She was able to grow up and fall deeply in love with the quiet boy next door who played his bass so passionately.

Thank you for reading! Feel free to request or chat :)

-Isa

[tiikerikani]

Throwback Not-Thursday (2012 v 2024)

Gerrin Goblinkicker, Dwarf Hero (sculpted by Bob Olley)

This was the last figure I painted before starting up again in 2020.

I'm known to be insufferably/irredeemably stuck in the past, so unlike normal people who might strip and repaint their earlier figures, I painted a whole other copy. This dwarf figure is still in production, so I didn't need to wrangle one from eBay at stupid prices. I even happened to have a matching base (they had come in a 3-pack and I still had the other 2—these are discontinued).

On the old version the middle of the shield is just off-center if you look at the model from that corner and it just feels like something is wrong. For the new version I decided to place him along the diagonal of the base instead of the side. I think this way it is clearer which direction he's facing—though it's actually the feet that are aligned to the diagonal and not his face, so it's still kind of off.

I considered painting a whole pattern onto the shield instead of leaving it plain wood, but I didn't want it to be too different from the old version, so I just changed the shield boss to brass/bronze for contrast.

I had placed him too far forward too; I think I was trying to center the feet on the base instead of the figure overall.

I used the same static grass from a plastic film container of it that I got from somebody. I have no memory of where it's from and this is the only figure I have that uses it. I wonder if it's from 2000/1 when I'd just learned to paint, since a pinch of grass on the base appears to have been typical on Warhammer figures from that era. Maybe I used it on Battletech figures I painted for my classmates at $5 a pop. Anyway, it sits on a bed of green stuff instead of a thick layer of PVA glue (which shrinks so you'd need a lot of it to fill up the hollow base, but that's how I did things back then. didn't know any better).

Recipes

The base blue paint on the old model was Ral Partha's Dragon Blue (highlights in Sky Blue). I still have the Dragon Blue pot and wanted to use it but the paint doesn't stick to the primer anymore so I guess it's dead. It's a bit drowned in black wash on the 2012 model, and here's what I did on the new one:

Speedpaint Beowulf Blue (as you do because, you know, vikings). I didn't shake it enough so it came out a bit purple

Thin layer of Ultramarine Blue

Wet blend Wolf Grey into Ultramarine for first highlight

Gorgon Hide for second highlight

The green base was a bit trickier since the Army Painter Warpaints do not have a match for it (maybe the new Fanatic line does, dunno). But I made it work with a solid coat of Greenskin and then Speedpaint Shamrock Green (the latter of which is a decent match).

P.S. The old Ral Partha Bronze paint is really more of a brassy color. It's not orange-ish at all.

Bonus: Super-black background tutorial (kind of)

When you take the photos, use a sheet of black velour / flocking as the backdrop; Green Stuff World sells these in various sizes but the material is originally used in other things that need to be super dark, like telescopes, so you can probably find it in places where astronomy stuff is sold.

You'll never get all the dust and speckles out of it with a tape roller so just remove as much as you can.

Editing the pictures—I use GIMP:

(Optional) Crop your image. You can do it now, or at the end like I do.

Adjust levels and do color corrections as needed.

Fuzzy select the black area around the figures. 10% tolerance worked for me, but go lower if the figures are dark. You want to avoid picking up parts of the miniatures.

Invert the selection.

Copy and paste to a new layer and put it at the top. This layer will be transparent and contain just the figures and a lot of dust speckles.

Create a new white layer and put it under the transparent layer. Now you can see all the speckles against the white background.

Clean up background with eraser tool.

Hide the white layer and create a black layer. (Or just put the black layer above the white one.)

Clean up any stray dust with eraser tool.

If fuzzy select was overzealous and took out too much (you can flip the solid layers on and off to check), copy/paste those areas back in from the original picture.

[sannes-reincarnation-saga]

Chapter two: Ivar.

CW: Slaves in a medieval society,  abuse, 

The only thing keeping Ivar alive in this hellhole was his desperate desire to kill Katherine Blackthorne.

It was a freezing November night and Ivar knew he was supposed to die here, trapped in this narrow kennel in the middle of the castle's courtyard.

During the day, he was on perfect display, stripped of his clothes and dignity for the English to gawk at. But now, the night engulfed him in darkness as thick as the northern sea during a night dive.

Pain pulsed through Ivar’s legs. They twitched, unable to straighten in the cramped space.

The kennel's icy bars warmed as they pressed into his shins and he leaned his clammy forehead against them. They felt almost good against the burn of his fever.

His back must have gotten infected after the last whipping. The soiled hay in his kennel stuck to the dried blood on his back, irritating the crisscross of partly crusted wounds. Every twitch pulled his skin painfully, and he trembled violently in the frigid air.

Somewhere to his right, a heavy metal door slammed shut. The servants’'s entrance? It was too loud for a wooden door and not loud enough for a castle gate. But this late at night?

A pair of heavy steps rushed towards the courtyard, joined by a couple lighter ones. Nervous whispers echoed through the cloister walk as they drew near.

“Does Lady Blackthorne know of this?” asked an older maid. Ivar strained to listen. Nothing ever happened in Blackthorn castle without the bitch’tes knowledge. And explicit permission.

“Not yet,” came the gruff reply.

“But- you can’t bring a stranger inside! Who even is this girl? Oh gods, what if she's a witch?”

“Doubtful. Found her out in the woods, totally out of it.”

“But- The woods? At this time? A girl shouldn’t be in the woods at night. And why- why is she naked?” The woman's voice pitched high within discomfort on the last question.

“Dunno. Should I have left her to freeze to death?”

“No! But- but I have nothing to do with this, you hear. Nothing.”

A lone lantern flame cast their long shadows onto the courtyard as they rounded a corner. Hissing, Ivar shifted onto his side to see them set foot on the wet cobblestones. They glittered in the light.

The head of housemaids hurried ahead, head turning hectic on her long neck to spot any possible witnesses lurking in the dark. Her bonnet sat askew on graying brown hair, thrown on in a rush no doubt, but her black servants dress fell straight down to her ankles, the dark linen pristine and bar any wrinkles.  In stark contrast to the bulky, mud smeared appearance of the huntsman following her. 

His boots and leather trousers were crusted in late autumn slush. A thick scarf and hat obscured half his face. Only his frostbitten red nose and grim eyes were visible, looking down at the person he carried bundled in his coat. 

“By the gods, did you hear that?”  Ivar could see the woman's face now, her sharp features drawn tight in displeasure. Her thin lips pursed as she spat out:  “I think that Norse pig is awake.”

The huntsman didn’t answer. Instead he wrapped his brown leather coat tighter around the unconscious girl in his arms. Pale, dangling legs and a shock of blond hair stuck out of it.

“How can you be this calm?” The woman spat, black skirt swishing as she faced him. “What if he rats us out for some extra food?”

The huntsman's bushy brows furrowed.  “The Norse are too proud to bargain for food scraps.”

Ivars dry lips cracked in a smile, when a sudden burst of wind whipped across the courtyard, its howl drowning out the servants' protests and extinguishing the lantern flame. When it hit him, his black salt-sweaty hair blew into his gray eyes, hay flying everywhere.

“A bad omen,” hissed the maid. Cloth rustled and a match scraped against a matchbox’s striking strip. Once. Twice. “I tell you all this is a bad omen.” It lit with a crackling sizzle.

The wind carried a smell that sent goosebumps down Ivar’s back.

The stench of angels.

The sweet decay of death hit him like a battering ram, catapulting his thoughts to abandoned battlefields full of angels sprouting from the ground, decomposing the corpses of his comrades.

Why would the huntsman haul an angel touched corpse from the woods? Ivar wondered, swallowing down bile.

After some fumbling the maid’s lantern flickered back to life and Ivar noticed the small puffs of warm breath escaping from the unconscious girl. So she wasn’t dead?

A draugr perhaps? No, Ivar doubted it. Never would the huntsman make such a mistake.

But angels only took the living. And never let go of the dead.

Whatever this girl was, a living corpse or a human, Ivar knew at least one thing for sure:

She was an unplanned disturbance in Katherine’s meticulously run machinery of a castle.

And during war, disturbances meant chances. 

Ivar curled up in his frigid kennel, back burning at the stretch. For the first time since his capture, he smiled. 

Taglist:

@ashintheairlikesnow @vickytokio @newbornwhumperfly @kira-the-whump-enthusiast @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @studyofwhump @dragyouthroughthewhump @studyofwhump @secretwhumplair @whump-queen @whump-captain

[ace-din-djarin]

Let it Go, eh?

Another Ted Lasso oneshot for you all! This one is a convo between Jamie and Roy. Warning for canon-typical salty language. Enjoy!

Read on AO3

He doesn’t know why he brings it up. He and Roy are out for coffee, the way they do now sometimes, which is still fucking mental if he thinks too hard about it. Roy’s draining the last of his black coffee – god forbid he give up the theme, even in his fucking food – and something in Jamie just kind of – forces its way through.

“D’you remember,” he blurts, and Roy stops, lowers his cup, watches Jamie expectantly over the lid. Jamie swallows. His words stick in his throat, and he has to swallow again to get the feeling to go away. He hates this; every instinct screams at him to shut up, stop being so fucking weak, in the voice in his head that sounds like his dad, the one he’s been trying and trying to ignore.

“D’you remember,” he tries again, and Roy’s still watching him, eyebrows furrowed, that intense fucking gaze that’s always made Jamie feel like Roy’s x-raying his bones or some shit. “D’you remember, back when Cartrick were still here and we were shit –” Roy snorts at that, but it’s true, innit, they were fucking terrible – “When Cartrick were here, and we were shit, and we played that away match at Liverpool?”

Roy grunts. Jamie’s gonna assume it means yes. “Yeah, and I fucked up, I – tripped, I dunno, tripped over thin fucking air, yeah? And I lost the ball and lost us the match.”

Roy frowns and nods, and his eyebrows haven’t moved an inch, angry caterpillars settling in and making their fucking cock-coons. Jamie shakes his head, a rough jerk, trying to clear that image from his brain.

“Anyway. You – after the match, we were all in the dressing room all sad and shit. And you came up to me and – and said –”

“Let it go, lad,” Roy mutters, under his breath, like he’s repeating the words straight from Jamie’s brain. Jamie nods.

“Yeah. That’s it, just ‘let it go.’ But Roy –” Jamie’s words stick in his throat yet again and he huffs, half annoyed and half filled with this – this echo of astonishment that still sometimes catches him by surprise. “Fuck, Roy, you hated me.” Roy doesn’t even try to disagree, and that makes Jamie grin. “See, y’did, not even denying it. You hated me, and you still said that. Still tried to make it better.”

Roy shrugs, something self conscious in the scrunch of his shoulders. “Just being a captain, weren’t I?”

“Yeah, but like, you’ve seen my dad.”

Roy looks like he just bit into a lemon. “Unfortunately.”

“Right. And how many times d’you think he's ever told me to let something like that go?” And he’s supposed to love him, Jamie doesn’t say. That thought is a little too close to painful at the moment. “All I’m saying is, it meant a lot. Even if you still hated me after.”

Roy’s silent for what feels like ages but is probably less than a minute. Jamie’s hands are shaking just slightly, enough that his own almost-empty cup rattles against the table when he goes to pick it up. Stupid, his fucking brain says, fucking idiot, made it all weird, why’d you go and –

“Thanks, Jamie,” Roy says, breaking through Jamie’s spiral. His voice has gone all soft, and there’s a smile playing at the edge of his mouth, like he’s trying not to let it escape and it’s happening anyway. “Y’know, Phoebe was going through a ‘Frozen’ phase back then.”

It takes Jamie a few beats to connect the dots. “Fuck off,” he groans, and chucks his coffee cup at Roy, who catches it easily. He’s definitely grinning now. “I get all sentimental and shit, and now you’re saying your fucking motivational bullshit was from a fucking Disney movie?”

Roy shrugs, unrepentant. “It’s a good fucking movie, to be fair. And I still meant it.”

It is a good movie. Ted brought it out for movie night once and the room had, predictably, been full of crying grown men by the end.

“Yeah, well,” Jamie mutters, slumping down in his seat and crossing his arms over his chest. He’s not mad, not really, but he still feels like Roy’s taking the piss a bit, and something in his chest stings at that. Roy seems to know it, because he stands up and prods at Jamie’s shoulder until he gets to his feet as well.

“Come on, gotta get back to it,” he says, and his voice is soft again, still with that hint of a smile. “Just let it go, eh?”

Jamie snorts despite himself, and that little twinge eases. “Yeah, yeah. After you, Grandad,” he says, and grins when Roy punches him lightly in the shoulder as he passes by.

[impossibleprincess35]

[WIP Wednesday]

A little peek at an upcoming chapter of "REPUTATION," my modern AU Obitine fic, where a coup d'état has happened in a modern-day Mandalore, and he's part of an organization called CLERIC (Clandestine Espionage and Rogue Intelligence Command) assigned to protect her:

It was a thin gold chain with a medallion no bigger than a dime dangling from his neck and coming to rest upon hers as he hovered above. She reached up to take the medallion in her fingers, inspecting it in the moonlight that shined dimly in the room. The silhouette of a woman was present and words in a language she didn’t know, and as she ran the pad of her thumb over the detail, Satine asked softly, “Will you tell me about this?” Obi-Wan quietly revealed, “She’s Saint Philomena. Patron saint of children and lost causes. Or,” his brows furrowed for a moment as he looked down at the medallion in her grasp, “I think she was, I dunno.” He shrugged. Satine knew very little about Catholic saints, so she could do nothing but take his word for it. She was a bit surprised, as she had never seen him read a religious text or pray openly, and quietly, she wondered if he was Catholic. Her eyes slowly moved upward to his and she asked, “Why do you wear this?” “It was a gift when I was a boy,” he recalled softly. “A nun gave it to me. She said I needed it, you know, being a child and a bit of a lost cause. It brings me a little bit of peace, I suppose. It’s silly." Memories of his early years sitting in church and listening to tales of the saints came to him, and Obi-Wan smiled as he recalled what he knew about Philomena. Strangely, the girl lying beneath him bore slight similarities to his patron saint, and he disclosed, “She was just a girl when the Roman emperor threatened her father with war. Her family went to the emperor to advocate for peace, and when he saw Philomena, he wanted to marry her but she refused him out of her devotion to God.” Satine listened quietly as one hand held the medallion in her grasp and her other hand lightly traced the chain as it drifted up and towards his neck. As her fingers brushed over the chain where it pressed into his neck, she could see gooseflesh form below her touch. “He tried to have her killed, but she survived multiple attempts on her life,” Obi-Wan continued as he reached down to brush her golden hair from her face, taking in the way that she raised her chin to look up at him with a determination in her eyes that made his pulse race. “Her faith in the face of danger led many Romans to embrace Christianity. You remind me of her a little bit, actually.” The look on her face became curious and she asked, “What happened to her?” There was a tense pause from him as he hesitated to speak of Philomena’s demise. “She lost her head,” he murmured, “but I won’t let you lose yours.” The hand of hers that held the medallion gently grasped it and as her heart was pounding in her chest, her eyes scanned his face. She was scared, but at the same time, Satine had never felt so certain about anything in her life as she tugged on the chain and it brought him closer until he was delicately balancing his weight upon her. Her fingers at his neck slowly snaked their way into his shoulder length hair, and as his eyes closed in a moment of peace, she whispered, “It’s too late for that.”

If I could just get these WIPs done.. :/

[awheckery]

DEATH TW and mentions of murder so if that is triggering for you don’t read, but if it’s not then i’d like to ask if you’ve heard of forensic genealogy? while i am uneasy at the prospect of using it to find suspects, it can also be used to find the identities of unidentified decedents, who die of accidental causes or are murdered, and often it’s the only hope to identify those who have been unidentified for decades. the dna doe project is a nonprofit that’s mostly volunteer run, and i think that your research skills could be useful there or somewhere like there. i know this is kind of a random ask to receive, identification of unidentified remains is my special interest but i don’t have the time or training to get better at researching beyond a few tricks here and there.

I feel like we've read the same articles recently; did you see the tumblr post (and linked articles) about Joseph Augustus Zarelli, the Boy in the Box?

Which is to say, yes, I am aware of forensic genealogy and the DNA Doe Project, because like many white American women, I'm a true crime junkie.* My big Thing is investigative procedure tho, so I'm also deeply interested in plane & train crash investigations, medical mysteries, archaeology, anthropology... basically 'what happened, and by which processes and methods do we figure out what happened?'

So far as getting into the game myself, I dunno. I assume there's probably some sort of required formal training, along with the expectation of reliability and sustained effort, and I'm a chronically ill autodidact with ADHD. I'm the research equivalent of a sprinter; investigative genealogy requires a marathoner, because there's so much exhausting, grinding work involved.

Something I've never seen brought up before in any investigation is how many extant family trees are just wrong. Genealogical sites make it too easy to crib notes from other users, and all it takes is one person deciding 'eh that's probably the right guy' for dozens of other amateur researchers to make the same mistake, and then somebody ties that erroneous information to their DNA profile. I don't know how the forensic genealogists deal with that.

You also have to take into account how many people throughout history have just gone missing, or otherwise fallen off the historical record. Just because someone's date of death is absent doesn't mean something nefarious happened to them. (Just because someone's date of death is present doesn't mean it's correct.) People emigrate. They marry. They change their names. They die alone and unknown in a ditch**, or they die somewhere that doesn't make those records public***. Paper records can burn or flood out, and family stories rarely make it down more than one or two generations. History is messy.

I've only done serious research into my family background for two years, in fits and starts interrupted by illness flare ups. Half the time it feels like I find more questions to ask than I get answers. I've found a pair of illegitimate daughters and a handful of adoptees. I've found some two dozen 'missing persons' who may as well have disappeared into thin air, for how suddenly they dropped out of the historical record. I've found a murder victim and a (maybe) would-be murderess.

And four months ago, I found the answer to another family's 150 year old missing person case, and it changed everything I thought I knew about my mother's family.

This is how.

Five months ago, I thought I knew everything there was that could be known about John Robert McDowell.

I knew he was born July 1st of either 1868 or 1869, in Belfast, Northern Ireland. According to his naturalization petition, he came to the United States in April of 1883, when the absolute oldest he could have been was fourteen, and at the time of his naturalization in 1896 he claimed his nationality was English, presumably due to anti-Irish sentiments at the time.

I knew John's handwriting was idiosyncratic: he wrote the J in his name with a rightward upper loop that scooped up again before curving back around the center staff, and his uppercase R was a mess of curlicues. I've never seen the like before or since.

I knew that despite living in America for ten years longer than he'd lived outside it, John still had an accent in 1908 when his second son was born. Spelling is incredibly inconsistent across historical records because up until very recently, it was the practice of the record keepers to write down their best guess at what they heard, and in 1908 a midwife heard and recorded John's surname as McDoul.

John's life was actually remarkably well-documented, in comparison to his contemporaries. I bought myself access to Newspapers.com along with my Ancestry subscription, and he made semi-regular appearances in the Newport News Daily Press for the better part of thirty years as a Navy veteran, successful entrepreneur, and president of a labor union that later became the United Steelworkers Local 8888. (A seemingly throwaway notice in the Daily Press was the only record I've yet been able to find for his divorce, which eventually led me to find out whatever happened to his wife, which is another saga entirely. Pauline, you dirty rotten cheater.)

I knew that John was in and out of the hospital with thyroid cancer, but he was such a tough old bastard it took the better part of fifteen years to kill him, and he died in 1954 at the age of 86.****

According to John's death certificate (and the U.S. Government records at the VA hospital where he died), his parents' names were Thomas McDowell and Isabell Rabb (or possibly Robb, the Accent strikes again.)

This is the only record linked to either of them on Ancestry.com at all.

I have most of a history degree, so I wasn't surprised. There are next to no records of the 1890 census of the United States, and that was down to a fire in the National Archives. Ireland was dragged backwards through hell by the ankles for centuries by a succession of British monarchs and governments, and Belfast was in the prime of especially conflicted territory for much of it. No census records from John's lifetime were kept, and the likelihood his parents would show up in the surviving fragments from 1841 and 1851 was slim to none.

There were transcribed indexes from birth and marriage records available, at least, and I scoured them through, looking for a John McDowell, and there wasn't a single damn one born to a Thomas or Isabelle McDowell in a decade on either side of 1868. There wasn't any record I could find at all of a Thomas McDowell marrying an Isabelle Rabb until well after John left Ireland.

Five months ago, as far as I knew, John Robert McDowell was probably a bastard, who'd either been left out of whatever records were taken at the time, or he was one of the unfortunate ones whose birth record had been lost.

Four months ago, I realized that the record indexes on Ancestry included film numbers, which meant there were pictures of those records to be found somewhere. If they were organized chronologically, I could try to find his birth registration that way. Googling "ireland civil registration records" brought me to the Civil Records search page of a genealogy site run by, of all things, the Irish government's tourism department.

Once again, there wasn't a John McDowell born to the right parents during the right time period, so I went looking for his parents' marriage. And found it.

If they married in 1872, John would probably still technically be a bastard, but I had a point to start from. Once I clicked into the actual scan of the record I nearly snapped myself in half sitting upright in attention, because Thomas McDowell's father's name was Duncan, John named his eldest son Duncan, Isabella's father's name was John, I had to have the right two people, this couldn't be a coincidence.

And then I noticed Isabella was a widow. Isabella was a widow.

Who was your husband, and when did he die, Isabella? I searched again, and found her marriage to a Thomas Logan July 30th, 1866. No men named Thomas Logan died in Belfast between 1866 and 1870, which meant he was probably still alive when John was born. It meant I had been looking in the wrong direction the entire time.

John Robb Logan came into the world on July 1st, 1868, in the Ballymacarrett district of Belfast, the second child of four born to Thomas Logan and Isabella Robb. Once I knew what I was looking for the rest came easy.

John's early life was riddled with tragedies. His younger brother Joseph was six months old when he died in March of 1870. His father died of smallpox in December of the same year, exactly one month after the birth of his sister Mary. Three months before his fifth birthday, his first half-sibling Bella died, at just five months old. And in 1879, his older brother William died after a long, miserably drawn-out illness from spinal tuberculosis.

(As an aside, god, poor Isabella. She had four children with Thomas Logan, and a further nine with Thomas McDowell, and before her early death from a long respiratory illness she buried a husband, two sons, and two daughters. How do you go on after that, how are you not forever shattered?)

If I hadn't been sure I'd found the right family, I was after William died. Thomas McDowell was the person who reported William's death to the registrar's office after sitting by his deathbed. The registrar recorded William as a "child of [the] baker" that Thomas was by profession; Thomas McDowell claimed his stepson as his own.

Duncan McDowell, John's step-grandfather, had a family burial plot in Ballygowan, and he named William Adam Logan as his grandson, with no qualifiers, when they buried him.

All the evidence suggests that the McDowells loved John Robb Logan and his siblings, and he loved them back every bit as much. You don't choose to take on the surname of people you hate, and it seems very much the case that John chose to go by McDowell when he came to America. I'm honestly not sure there was a way for Thomas McDowell to bequeath his name to his stepchildren, given John's brother William died a Logan and his sister Mary married as one.

John Robb Logan disappeared from history after his baptism, and John Robert McDowell made his first confirmed appearance in the historical record in 1883, but I was certain they were one and the same. The problem was proving it to my mother, because McDowell was her family name. She'd grown up with it, as had her sisters and her dozens of cousins and her father and his siblings and her father's father; I only had a paper trail arguing the name she knew didn't belong to any of them by blood.

So I went for blood.

I refuse to give my DNA to Ancestry.com on a principle born from paranoia and ethics concerns. It's absolutely not happening, ever, like hell do I expect a corporation to do the right thing with my genetic material. My mother doesn't share my concerns, either now or four years ago, when she bought an Ancestry DNA kit and then did absolutely nothing with her results besides marvel at the unexpected Swedish heritage in her 'Ethnicity Estimate' because doing anything else looked like too much work.

It took a few days to figure out how to hook my mother's DNA results into the tree I've built, and a few more for all the features to populate, but all told it took less than a week between learning the truth about my great-great-grandfather's parentage and proving it irrefutably with DNA, via several descendants of his full-blooded sister Mary and a grandson of his half-brother Wallace.

Ancestry doesn't tell you when new DNA matches are found, or when someone adds you to their tree (and thank god for that, my mother has somewhere in the neighborhood of twenty thousand matches). To those descendants of Mary Thomasina Logan, the handful of John's descendants who've shelled out for Ancestry DNA kits could be any random person. Frequently the relationships between matches aren't clear, because of all the folks like my mom who never add a tree to their results, or those who don't try to go any further back than their grandparents.

As far as Mary Logan's descendants know, the sons of Thomas Logan dead-ended his line, and when I do find John in their trees there's never more than a birth year and a blank space where there would usually be a year of death. (They all have the wrong Isabella Robb too, but I don't really blame them; apparently Isabella was one of the most popular names for girls for well over a century, and Robbs weren't exactly thin on the ground.)

Someday soon, I'm going to reach out. People who study genealogy do it because they're looking for something: long lost relatives, answers to questions asked too late, or even a better, more personal understanding of history by learning about the people who were there when it happened. Every family has its mysteries and this one, at least, could be solved.

John's story doesn't end here. Here is where it begins.

~

*I'm aware of the problematic nature of White Lady True Crime Brain Poisoning, but I'm gonna have to pull the 'I'm not like other girls' card. I'm incredibly discerning about my crime shows, I hate the fucking cops, and I'm realistic about how unbelievably low my chances are of ever being the victim of a violent crime. I'm white, I'm broke as shit, I'm built like a running back and walk like the Terminator, and most importantly, I'm single and planning to stay that way for the rest of my life. The only way I'm getting murdered is if I happen to get caught in a random mass shooting, which isn't outside the realm of possibility because America.

**In case anyone's gotten this far and is still interested, there's strong evidence that the mystery of the Somerton Man was finally solved last year. At some point I'd like to take a look at the tree the forensic genealogists built tho, because I have some Doubts. There was only one person in that family that fell off the map in the 40's? Just one? I was lightning-strike kinds of lucky enough to find John's real parentage, but I dug up more unanswered questions with it, because two of his half-brothers dropped out of the records after 1901. Completely setting aside the possibility of infidelity in the Webb family and how common inbreeding has been (both historically and in recent memory) in populations of European descent, I have a hard time buying that Carl Webb was the only person who could be the Somerton Man. It's still cool as shit that they have a strong possibility tho.

***Maryland and Kansas specifically can blow me, if somebody died in either of those states I have to find an obituary or a tombstone to get the mcfrickin' date, and I have to either pay money and prove a relationship to see a death certificate, or show up to an archive in person to search on their intranet, MARYLAND WHY DO YOU NOT WANT ME TO KNOW WHEN MY GREAT-GRANDMOTHER DIED. (Being fair, I don't know if she died in Maryland, that's just a great-uncle's best guess, because she ran away from her family in 1949 and nobody ever saw her again after the early 60's. Helen, where the hell did you go?)

****One of the big reasons why I got into genealogy in the first place was to see if I could find how far back the predisposition to early deaths and autoimmune disease went in my family. What I hadn't expected to find was a predisposition for extreme longevity on all sides. Longevity as in 'skewing the life expectancy bell curve' kinds of longevity. As long as someone didn't come down with a freak illness or make a looooooooong string of poor life choices, they were apparently immune to death, which honestly explains a few things about Crazy Grandma, god damn.

[the-whumpening]

My Own Worst Enemy, Part 2 [Son of Bat]

Prev | Masterpost | Next

This part is a little shorter. I tried to make the specifics of the medical stuff as accurate as I could, but I definitely could've made mistakes so . . . we'll call it "suspension of disbelief" lol

CW: abusive parents, medical content, hospital setting

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

The weeks that followed were a living hell.

James’ condition, as the doctor described it, was “unpredictable.” While they could set the bones and sew up the cuts, his body would have to set the pace for everything else. There was no telling whether or not his internal bleeding would heal on its own, how long he would have to be sedated, or how his brain would be affected.

-

(“I don’t know why you have to be so difficult all the time!”

I’m not! Why can’t you just leave me alone?!

“You don’t care about anyone but yourself, do you?”

Stop it!

“This is why you don’t have any friends.”

Shut up! Shutupshutupshutup!

“I have never met such an ungrateful, disrespectful child!”

What do I have to be grateful for?! To come home and be screamed at every day?

“Fine, I guess I’m just the worst parent in the world. I only clothed you and fed you and put a roof over your head—you’re both just better off without me!”

Mom!)

“Hi, sweetie. I don’t know if you can hear me . . . ” (Huh?) “I love you so, so much. You don’t deserve any of this. Please, wake up soon . . .”

(What is this? What’s going on?)

Debby rarely left his side; she couldn’t bear the thought of him being alone, especially if he awoke with no one around. Not that the others were much different—all three fought to stay with him as long as possible. They tried to take care of one another, made sure they all slept and ate and had time away from the dim hospital room, but it was difficult when all they could think about was James.

-

(“You’re killing your mother with this stupid acting out; why can’t you just behave like [----]?!”

Wait, who?

“Don’t get smart with me! If I was half this disrespectful to my parents, they’d have thrown me out to pick my own switch to beat me with!”

Dad? Where am I?)

Vince spoke little, withdrawing into himself. There were days he couldn’t even sit beside James, posting guard in the corner instead. The nurses encouraged him to engage with James—any stimulation was good for his brain, even if he can’t process it right now—so he took to reading aloud. It wasn’t talking, not exactly, but the sound of Vince’s voice seemed to have a positive effect on him either way. He started with bits and pieces from biographies and nature magazines he had saved to read on the work trip with Cass, then some of James’ books brought in from his room. One night, when he was the only one around, he brought a thin chapter book he’d read to James as a small child. He read it over and over again during those two long weeks.

“After James Henry Trotter had been living with his aunts for three whole years, there came a morning when something rather peculiar happened to him.”

(This can’t be right . . . Vince read me this story. When was it? Last night?

“What are you doing up?”

Can I sleep in your room tonight?

“I dunno . . . ”

Please! It’s too dark in there!)

“And trembling, James stood alone out in the open, wondering what to do. The night was all around him now, and high overhead a wild white moon was riding in the sky. There was not a sound, not a movement anywhere.”

(“Well . . . Okay. Come on, I’ll read you a story and maybe you’ll feel a little better.”

J-A-M-E-S . . . It’s got my name!

“Yeah, and he’s a smart kid, too. Just like you. But listen, we gotta be quiet, okay? Mom will be mad if she hears us.”

Okay, got it.

“Why are you two still awake? I told you to go to bed an hour ago!” But—! “James! Quit being a baby and go back to your room. You are too old to be scared of the dark and whining over a nightlight.”)

-

(“As long as you live under my roof, you obey my rules!”

I’m not cutting my hair.

“Did I phrase that as a question?”)

There was an unspoken agreement among the group to respect James’ privacy as much as possible; of the four, Molly had been the only one to ever see him nude on purpose, after all. Although James wasn’t prudish per se, they knew he would’ve been embarrassed if his brothers had seen him be cleaned of his own filth, among other things. So Debby and Molly took the lead on caring for him, delegating less invasive tasks to the boys. Even Debby looked away when the nurses helped Molly clean his lower half.

(Get off of me! Let go!)

-

“Leave a light on for him. I know his eyes are closed, but . . . I think it makes him calmer.”

“It’s okay, J. You’ll be okay.”

“L . . . Love you, bro.”

Who . . . ? I know you. I know all these voices. But why . . . why are they so kind?

“We miss you.”

-

It took over two weeks for James' brain to recover from the swelling. Thankfully, the majority of his physical injuries had also been addressed in that time as well; he'd been in and out of surgeries to reset his fractured bones, which had also stopped swelling long enough to treat. His bleeding seemed to have quelled, and many of the lacerations were looking better.

As the doctor administered the medication into his IV, James was brought out of his deep sleep.

[grumpybreakfastfriend]

One thing really weird to me is the accusations that Bell only agreed to do QOS because "they whitewashed his allegations", there's a LOT to criticise about the way QOS set all of these interviews up, they misled a fair amount of people on what this doc was about and it's... the end result is very sensationalistic and it does make money off the backs of other people's trauma, but it also started a good conversation.

But the thing about like "they whitewashed his allegations"... Like I agree it's something people should talk about but the documentary was about nick and abuse allegations on the set of nick shows with child actors and nothing in any of his allegations have to do with any other former child actors, other survivors should have a chance to speak and talk about their experiences but.... I hardly think that the thing about him only agreeing to do it because "whitewashing of his allegations"

They had been in contact with him many times over a few years and he kept refusing because he wasn't ready to publicly talk about what happened to him, he had also rejected to speak on "An Open Secret" in 2014, long before allegations against him ever came to light, so I think the narrative is honestly, not to be mean sounding, but BS. but people say it like it's a confirmed thing or they have "insider information" on that whole situation.

Speaking of, how do you feel about QOS and what Alexa Nikolas is saying (suddenly) about how QOS is opportunistic and using trauma for their own gain because she recently appeared on a news segment or whatever talking about Drake Bell's trauma, so I... that feels a little hypocritical if I'm honest because isn't she doing the same thing? I can understand Lee Bolleau (All That, Amanda Show) being upset about being left in the dark about major reveals in the series that she had thought was just about workplace toxicity, not p*dophilia and SA. And she says she was super close with Drake when they were on Amanda Show so imagine how horrifying it was for her to find that out. I don't want to paint the creators of QOS in a bad light but there's some stuff that's 100% wrong with QOS and should be criticised... They -seemed- like they had good intentions but keeping people in the dark and lying to others and then kinda editing the scenes to be a shockumentary and also the complete lack of focus the entire doc seems to have, it goes from "Dan Schnider has a horrible work ethic" several times to "Convicted SO Brian Peck" and then skips to talking about Amanda Bynes without her consent and... idk, i don't know how to feel about it too much, I know every documentary does this, I know that An Open Secret did this as well, but it's just... I dunno.

Bolleau says that she was misled on the subject of the doc for over a year, and Marc Summers had dropped out of the project because they lied to him about what it was about and he was like "I don't know anything about whatever happened here wtf", add to that the fact that Drake consistently answers vaguely about what abuse he experienced and they plaster it all over the screen anyway, and then the fact that they took out some of what Alexa even talked about in her interview, like Alexa is a little easier to criticise on this because she seems like she's flip flopping on supporting the doc based on not being invited to the LA panel talk or being asked to come back for ep 5, but I believe her when she says that they had a narrative to paint, mostly about Dan but they didn't have enough so they just cobbled together whatever allegations and rumors they could find which is so skeevy.

and to give Alexa some grace, she does talk about how she went in with a little more information on the subject and background about the doc because of her Eat Predators movement, but finding out that other people were misled and lied to she feels regretful that she sat down with them, so maybe she's -not- flip flopping, but a lot of people don't like her and criticise her for things like this.

Bolleau and Nikolas say that the producers pressured them in the interviews even when they voiced hesitation, which lines up with Drake being pushed to talk about explicit details of the abuse, Bolleau and Nikolas also say that they were harassed by endless attempts of contact during pre-production.

And then of course the 5th episode drops and it's so weirdly out of tone and touch with the rest of the series and though it was a good "idea" i guess in theory to follow up with the people, it felt so rushed and like they were cashing in, Schwarts and Robertson, the two who created the doc were defacto interviewers off screen in the first four episodes but out of nowhere Soledad O'Brian is the one asking questions to people regarding this stuff, and of course she brings up Amanda Bynes to Drake over zoom even though he looked very uncomfortable being asked about her life and there's a moment O'Brian says something like "What happened there, what happened to people like Amanda Bynes" and it's clear she's trying to get a very specific answer to that question.

With all these criticisms and then episode 5 it really paints this picture of them using these stories for the salaciousness factor and the ratings, even though it DID start a good conversation about abuse in these places, but they claim that 5th episode was for talking about where the industry can go from here, and offered absolutely NO discussion on that theme.

Nikolas was talking about how they edited the like, intro sizzle reel to the 5th episode, taking the sexually suggestive clips and putting them in a montage, stripping them entirely of context and kinda turning it into… like, idk, like how those true crime youtubers sensationalize the hell out of the cases they talk about.

And they take Lee Bolleau's words on an amanda show sketch out of context, kinda editing it to make it seem like something else.

Lee and Nikolas were just not invited to the LA panel at all probably because the doc producers didn't like their talking back about the misleading and lies…. and I do feel for Lee, and maybe more so than Nikolas because although I know a lot of people try to question or judge her trauma and I am 100% not doing that here, I just feel like she wants to hitch herself onto the backs of the other kids and what they went through, specifically Drake, it's weird that she's speaking on his trauma after HE bared his soul for the documentary.

And again, the interviewers / creators pushing for certain details of their guests when they knew it was making them uncomfortable... Its just weird, I know that Brian's charges are public record but they seemed to want to get shock value out of Drake's answers.... it didn't sit right with me.

I guess I'll just parrot people saying "two things can be true" because this did start an impactful discussion not only for the industry but for abuse and SA victims who have not come out yet and felt inspired to do so after hearing these stories, and it DID shine a light on Brian Peck who has been living pretttyy damn easy since being arrested and before this doc he was able to lay low and attend horror conventions and I'm just not sure that's super possible for him right now because everyone knows his face, and it did shine a light on many many many industry professionals backing a convicted p*dophile, but at the end of the day the more stuff that QOS and it's team does afterwards feels super super exploitative.

It's just a lot to think about, sorry for the long message!

I appreciate the message! I'm going to try and respond to the overall theme, since I don't think I can hit every point covered.

I agree that objectively, the documentary isn't that good. It's very disjointed and sensationalized. It felt like I was watching an old YouTube compilation of "creepy Dan Schneider feet scenes" that have been around for years with no actual new information, a bit about workplace harassment, almost conspiracy-esque speculations about Amanda which have been around for years, and then an extremely moving and harrowing story from Drake.

I've found a lot of his follow-up podcasts to be even more compelling and haven't gone back much to the documentary itself. We can have a larger conversation about how kids are vulnerable in entertainment, but their focus on Schneider as the Big Bad, when the Brian Peck abuse had nothing to do with him just didn't hit right for me.

I think the doc is still a net good and I am glad it is shining a light on these issues and gave Drake a platform to tell his story. I was talking to an older coworker who didn't grow up with these shows, and she found the doc to be a powerful watch, so I'm glad that it is still having that impact on people.

If it's not evident from my dozens of Drake Asks, I was really moved by his story. Quite frankly, I am not very invested in whatever is going on with Alexa. I hadn't heard of her before this, and I feel like I would have to spend too long watching all of her content to come up with an informed opinion, when I would rather spend that time checking out Drake's discography. It's a shame she's getting dogpiled for supporting Drake now, even if I do not know all of her motivations or issues.

[mossyscavern]

Sunflower shirts and gravestones

___________________

When Sam awoke, the first thing he noticed was the urn.

He lifted his head and saw the pillow he slept on became damp. ‘Fell asleep crying again.’ He thought, not even trying to make the effort to get out of bed.

But unfortunately, fate had others plans. “Morning!” He heard, from the door frame of his room Duncan came in with some breakfast. “Hope you’re hungry.”

Sam groaned as he pulled his blanket over his head, this was supposed to be his depressive morning and his cousin decided it’d be a good day. “C’mon you, we’ve got a big day ahead!” Said the sandy brunette.

“… ‘m not hungry.” Sam said, keeping himself away from Duncan and stared at the closed curtains. “C’mon, you’ve gotta at least be-.” Duncan stopped mid sentence, seeing his tear stained face after removing the covers.

“… have you fallen asleep crying?” Duncan asked. Sam said nothing but crossed his arms, unreadable emotion and not responding. He heard Duncan sigh then mumbled. “Still better then Travis.”

Giving Sam some curiosity to turn his head and ask. “Who?”

“Just a friend… actually my best friend, we we’re there through thick and thin.” He answered, trying hard not to think about it too much, but it seemed he did cause his sad smile turned into a frown.

“He went missing for 5 days, on the 6th I thought everything would be fine and back to normal… then he started to never leave his house.” Duncan told him, slouching as he continued more to this story.

“I just.. don’t know what happened, or where he went that-.” Duncan was about to say, but cut himself off before he could finish. “I’m sorry, I can’t tell you.”

Is what he left before breaking down silently. Sam placed a hand on his shoulder, gave him his usual sad look before asking. “Did he die?” Making Duncan snort and shake his head.

“No, he’s still alive. I tend to do shopping for him in the mornings.” He answered wiping his eyes, stood up to leave and then stopped, turning to Sam.

“Sorry it’s not the same, but just know… you’re not going through it alone.” Then left the room for Sam to be with his thoughts. Sam looked at the tray of breakfast, then back to the door frame.

He had many second thoughts… but the one that stuck with him the most was how his cousin felt about loosing a friend like ‘Travis’ and what harm it can do.

Sam still didn’t eat the food. But he got changed, grabbed the silver urn, followed to where Duncan could be and saw he was already dressed, about to leave for the day. “You need anything from the market?”

He asked, hand on the door knob, waiting for sam to answer. All Sam did is shook his head. Before he turns away, thinking it was stupid to ask, Duncan said what he wanted to say. “Wanna help? I could use an extra hand.”

Sam sighed in relief and nodded, following Duncan out the door and still followed to where the markets are in the town. Duncan asked to leave the ‘vase’ inside but Sam refused.

He hopes whatever happens wouldn’t have dire consequences when he brings his mom with him.

I mean, what harm could an urn with his mom’s ashes do in pine town?

___________________

Ok, so apparently ashes do count as a deceased person so…

I’m definitely going to make that a problem for pine town. Anyways, I am back on this train again, hope I won’t derail from it like my other au’s hope it’s not too much…

I guess treat yourself to some food? I dunno.

[scoupshoops]

A short stray kids au

In which: Stray kids were a group of highly trained police officers sent on a dangerous mission

Full credits on my Twitter. Twitter tag is @Chans2LapTop

The eight men gathered in a line formation, facing their boss as they received orders.

“I have a very important mission for you. A shooter has been reported at a warehouse down by Maxident Boulevard. This isn’t the first time we’ve encountered this man, but he is very skilled in combat. I trust you all will be able to safely take care of this issue.”

They all looked at each other, exchanging looks of concern. Soon after, leader of the squad Christopher Bahng stood forward, “We won’t disappoint you, sir.” The other seven bowed their heads in agreement, making their way to the locker rooms to change into protective gear.

“What do you think this guy is like?” Lee Know asked.

“I dunno, but from what Boss said.. He’s not someone we should play around with,” Jeongin looked over at him.

“That doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters is that he trusted us in this, so we should give him back what he expects.” A determined Chris said.

“Wise words from a wise man,” Han sighed. Once they were all geared up, they made their way to the squad cars, heading out to the warehouse to find this man.

They pulled into the driveway of a school that was nearby to avoid suspicion. Once they were out, they made their way to the warehouse. Once close enough. Chris signals his hand for them to split up and continue communication through their radios. They knew the shooter was somewhere within the empty building, but it was three stories; he could be anywhere.

After some searching, gunshots filled the large and hollow warehouse. They found him. The whole search became a full-on shootout just like that. The eight already knew of the man’s skills from their boss, but they didn’t realize how good he actually was.

It was a game of Modern Warfare at this point. They try to get him but they retreat to a lower floor huddling around to come up with a plan.

They come back together as eight, staying distant, but eyes all around each other. The eerie silence was disrupted by a loud, single gunshot, causing a reaction from the eight. What they didn’t notice was where the bullet came from, and where it went.

“Chris..” a heaving Felix whispered, causing the other seven to turn around.

Their faces went cold as they eyed the red hole in his vest, slowly being soaked in scarlet blood.

Felix looked up from the wound, pain and shock on his face before his knees gave in, causing him to collapse onto the concrete floor.

Before Felix’s head could make contact with the floor, Chris falls to his knees, cradling his head.

“It’s gonna be okay, Felix. Just keep breathing.” As Chris stayed by Felix, he ordered the other six to lure the gunman away. Heavy tears slid down red cheeks as he looked upon his dying friend.

“Don’t cry..” Felix muttered, “I’m okay.” He lets out a little laugh, “I knew this was going to happen. I’m not as strong as the rest of you guys.”

“That doesn’t matter, Felix. You can still make it out of here! Just keep breathing, okay? I’ll call an ambulance when we-”

“Shh..” Felix hushed the larger man above him, “Let me go. We’re both going to be okay.”

“I can’t,” Chris mouths, choking on sobs begging to come out.

Felix couldn’t help but just smile. He knew Chris wasn’t going to be okay, but he had to just keep reassuring him. “I love you so much. Protect them, okay?”

He nods, wiping tears from his eyes.

“Go on without me..” Those were his last words. At least the last of what Chris heard before he felt as Felix’s freckled skin, now cold and turning pale. The mission ended just like that. They were able to shoot down the gunman and arrest him, but a life was still lost. A pure, innocent life taken away from the once eight boys way too soon.

They knew they would never be the same. The young man’s memory lives on with them. Continuing on with their further missions, things will never be the same because the group that was once eight now remains as seven.

[awonderlandsystem]

Zoe didn't get enough sleep!!

It is NOT a good morning. Not enough sleep makes Zoe a crybaby! I don't wanna get out of bed. 3 hours isn't long enough. It isn't fair. I used to get to sleep till 9. I like 9. I dont like 7. 7 is the devils hour! RJ's new schedule gives him a day with no parent jobs. Nothing. He literally gets to duck out of parenting and chores now cause he works 3am-12. Bruh! What's frustrating is the things, stupids things we are stuck and confused on with making this household work is insurance and school. None of us understand it or can figure out how do that whole adult area. Had it figured out once! Something happened and everything went to hell. Super bad triggering stuff for Eva now. It puts her into a breakdown. Something in 2019 pushed her over the edge. The only thing I remember about 2019 is losing my- oof prolly shouldn't say that. I know Eva wants to move the kids to a different doctor cause the one they go to is really mean to her and she comes home and cries each time. I told her to call social services and maybe they would help, and help us too. She thinks they will come and take the kids away because she's not perfect even tho no one is perfect. Few more weeks and we'll be with mom. I dunno how I'm the only one happy with that. Mom buys me snacks and listens to my stories. Yeah sometimes she's kinda mean and there's the whole parentification part and having to call 911 on her before but people can change. You know what I'm NOT thinking about? Everything that comes after moving. That's a then problem. That's a if I think too much about all the responsibility coming I'll get scared and back out problem. I don't wanna sabotage this cause I get scared about the mom stuff. Honestly I wish someone woulda consulted me about that cause I woulda said no way. Nothing against them. They're cool kids and I like em. I don't think I'm any good at the mom role. Eva's good at it, even Halo. It's hard for me. Super hard. Ikelos too. We get overwhelmed. I don't have the patience Eva does. Tho with this schedule change everyone is wearing thin. We're gonna get out. Find a nice doctor for them like we had on the other side of the state. Get them in school and get the special needs services going again for them. Not the ABA, hated that stuff. Pretty sure that's made things worse with some stuff. We qualify for this thing called respite care or something. Cause the oldest is special needs, autistic. The youngest maybe too. Eva thinks it's something else with him. Oppositional something. Can't talk about that stuff with RJ the asshat cause everything is an argument or our fault. I'm trapped upstairs with the kids till he's done with work at noon so they don't bother him. I wanna go back to bed. What the hell am I supposed to do up here for that long with 3 kids? He could go into the office. That would make things so much easier. He could let us go to bed before he starts work at 2-3. Meh if he went back to the office tho he'd put cameras back up around the apartment to watch me. That's a whole nother creepy story. Coulda been sexy. Just saying. He makes everything feel wrong. Brittany always says if you can't say something nice don't say anything at all but he's an asshat. We were drowning long before TK came here, begging for help and instead helping he tried harder to erase us. How fucked is that?

[bbyquokka]

hello! i’ve seen a couple of your writings and i think you’ll become one of my fave blogs!! may i request though? where you lost something kinda expensive that changbin gave you accidentally (like it broke if it’s a bracelet and fell or smth while u’re walking home or it got stolen) it turns into an argument (where he says u’re so dumb n careless u lost it or he shouldn’t have bought u the thing, like that) and not talking for days???? fluff ending pls :))))))))(((((((( thank you so much if u’ll write this!! have a great day and write more beautiful fics!! luv ya!!

*anw, sorry for my eng it’s not my mother tounge and i’m a fem reader using she/her pronouns*

that's so nice to hear, anon! i hope you continue to love my works! thank you for requesting; i hope this is okay and what you wanted! pls lemme know your thoughts and opinions! 💭

⌢ : ⤹ 💕 im sorry

➥ pairing: Seo Changbin x fem!reader

➥ genre: angst | fluff

➥ synopsis: your promise ring got stolen. you tell Changbin hoping he'd understand for it to turn into an argument

➥ warnings: Changbin is kind of an ass at the beginning | pet names [baby, princess, darling]

➥ words: 1.2k

➥ have a request? send it to me here. read my rules to learn about my guidelines before submitting requests

➥ m.list – ➥ ao3

"No, no no! This cannot be happening!" You frantically rummaged through your bag, hand diving in and out of your coat pocket. You turn them inside out hoping for it to fall out but only empty candy wrappers and old receipts fell on the floor.

You press your lips together in a thin line, tears falling down your cheeks slowly. You went out to do your daily chores then went to get a massage. You placed all your belongings in your locker. It wasn't until you came back home you realized your ring was missing.

It's not just any ring, it's a promise ring. One that Changbin gifted you for your birthday. It's a very expensive gift with it being decorated in real diamonds. You vowed to protect it with your whole life – until now.

You know you wouldn't have misplaced it so the only logical explanation could be that it's been stolen. Should you tell changbin? You could lie and make up an excuse. However, that wouldn't work – Changbin knows you too well.

Taking a deep breath, you sat on the sofa to calm your nerves and anxiety. You have to tell Changbin, you cannot lie to him. He'll be more upset if you kept it a secret from him so it's best that you're just honest with him.

Speaking of the devil, a happy looking Changbin walks into your shared apartment, a smile plastered on his lips as he walks towards you with a bounce in his step.

"Hello baby." He spoke cheerfully. You gave him a weak smile, standing up and taking a deep breath. Changbin furrowed his brows together, noticing something was wrong.

"Binnie… I have something to tell you."

"What is it, babe?"

"The promise ring." You close your eyes, swallowing thickly before looking at him as tears fall down your cheeks. "I lost it."

The colour drained from Changbin's face, anger slowly rising to the surface. He looks at your hands, noticing your ring finger bare. You bite your bottom lip nervously, watching Changbin look at you, then your finger and back at you again.

"How can you be so careless?!" He snaps. You jump in shock, eyes widening a little.

"I-" 

"Do you know how much that cost me?!" Changbin cuts you off, hands flailing everywhere.

"I didn't lose it on purpose!" 

"How am I supposed to know that?! I know you're misplace a lot of things y/n, but I at least thought you'd be a bit more careful with this!" You glare at him, the air around you both becoming thick with tensions and emotions.

"Do you really think I would lose something that's so precious to me Changbin?" You spat. Changbin shrugs his shoulders

"I dunno. Maybe. You seem to not care about it that much to lose it. I can't believe you can be this stupid!" Changbin ran his fingers through his hair, his words going straight to your heart, breaking it slowly.

"I. Didn't. Lose. It!! It got fucking stolen when I went for my massage!" You scream, face heating up. Changbin looks at you, his anger slowly subsiding.

"Wait, it got stolen?" His voice was much calmer but you, on the other hand, wasn't.

"I can't believe you would think so little of me! You really believed I would be as careless as to lose something that's so precious to me!" Hot tears streaming down your cheeks. Changbin walks towards you, arms extended out for a hug. You take a step back, hastily wiping your cheeks with the back of your hand.

"y/n, I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking…" 

"Of course you fucking wasn't. I mean, why would you, huh? Clearly the ring meant that much to you because you wouldn't have said all that shit to me. It hurts Changbin! it hurts to think that the man I love thought that about me." 

"Darling, i-" You hold your hand up, cutting him off as you sniff.

"Save it. I don't want to hear your lame excuse. I'm going to stay at a friend's for a few days, give you a chance to cool off and possibly rethink your opinions about me because clearly you need to, Seo Changbin." You spoke, words laced with venom which made Changbin which a little.

◃───────────▹

It has been a few days since your bust up with changbin. Your ring never got found even though you reported it to the police and made the massage parlor know that something got stolen. You decided to give up hope on it being returned to you, you wouldn't be surprised if whoever stole it resold it for cheap.

Changbin had been calling and texting you non-stop, which you ignored. You need him to learn his lesson in that he cannot go around saying whatever he pleases about you. He needed to learn that words hurt.

A ring of the doorbell was brought to your attention. Standing from the couch, you walk towards it, peeping through the peephole. You sigh softly, opening the door.

"Hi.." Changbin whispers, a small, sad smile on his face. You look at him, not saying a single word. "Can we talk?" 

You step to the side to allow him in, closing the door behind him. You walked to the living area with Changbin trailing behind you like a child that just got into serious trouble from their parents.

"What do you want?" You ask, words holding no emotions. Changbin held up a single rose, to which you rolled your eyes. Not wanting to give up, he places the rose on the coffee table before approaching you.

"Princess, I'm so deeply sorry.." You hum, keeping your arms folded.

"Sorry for what?" You want to see if he had learnt his lesson and that he wasn't just saying sorry for the sake of it.

"Sorry for assuming. Sorry for judging you. I don't think that about you at all! I just –" A deep sigh left his lips, hands running through his curls. "I saw red and once the words came out, I couldn't stop them. No matter how bad it sounded."

"It hurts me Changbin. I thought you love me." You unfolded your arms allowing Changbin to gently hold your hand.

"I do! I love you so much! You're the most precious and beautiful woman on this planet y/n! I cannot live without you. These past days have been hell for me…" Tears fill up his eyes, making them glossy. You couldn't help but feel for him, your heart breaking as you watched them fall down his cheeks.

"Please forgive me, y/n… I understand now that it's all just material things and I don't care about that. What I care about is you. You're all that matters to me and I cannot live without you in my life. My life is meaningless without you, princess…" 

"Binnie…" You whimper, stroking away his tears. He leans into the palm of your hand, kissing it gently.

"Come home, y/n. I need you so much and I swear! This will never happen again. I promise you I will be more thoughtful in the things I say!" 

You gently peck his lips, heart thumping against your rib cage. You can't deny that you have also missed Changbin. He is your life and soul and you have never been apart for this long before. It's been killing you just as much as it has killed him. You had to be strong though for him to learn.

Good things come to those who wait.

"Promise?" You whisper against his lips.

"Cross my heart."

tags: @chaneomma | @purple-belle