#Maryland home search

[reasonsforhope]

"A newly formed group of women is creating a map of community fridges and neighborhood pantries across Baltimore, the Bmore Community Fridge Network. 

"I am one of four women," said Elizabeth Miller, one of the network organizers. "We are career women, and we just want to see Baltimore do well."

They hope to highlight neighbors looking to serve others, hoping residents living nearby can get connected to the free food being offered to them. Miller said sometimes it can be hard for some residents to travel to local food pantries.

"Some people who are struggling with food insecurity have a lot going on, and it's really hard to get to a pantry on the days that they're open, on the days of the giveaway, navigating bus lines and bringing that food back home with them," Miller said. "Some people simply don't drive."

Miller said the group has connected with about four community fridges and has put them on the network map. However, the group plans to add more locations to the map. They will be at organizations already serving the community.

"...we will provide food for you."

"We provide resources, therapy, and outpatient services," said Nikki Smith, the CEO of The Journey Mental Health and Wellness.

"I don't care who you are, where you are," Smith said. "If you ring the doorbell and you're hungry, we will provide food for you."

The Bmore Community Fridge Network secured a donated refrigerator, which will sit outside of Smith's center, adding it to the community fridge map. Smith adds that other organizations are looking to chip in with donations to keep the fridge stocked.

"I'm hoping that everyone will pay it forward and they will understand that 'Hey wait, there's somebody here that's helping. Maybe I can help too," she said.

The Food Project will also receive a donated refrigerator, which will sit outside of their center.

"I think it's wonderful to have this additional access to food," said The Food Project Executive Director Michelle Suavo. "At the end of the day, we have a pop-up market three times a week, and it's still not enough...Throughout the night, there are so many people coming through that this is really going to help to service that additional need."

As the network grows, they are reminding families of the many neighbors across the city who truly care.

"There's no real rules about how much you can take," Miller said. "Take what you need. You never know what mouths are waiting at home."

Miller said the Bmore Community Fridge Network is trying to get more fridges and searching for more locations to house them.

She encourages everyone to donate to these community fridges by dropping off what you can to a fridge.

"It's spring," she said. "Go through your closet. Do you have canned goods or shelf-stable items that you can donate to one of these pantries? Do you have extra items in your freezer?"

Food insecurity in Baltimore

Maryland Food Bank data shows more than 90,000 city residents are food insecure. The Food Bank said 1 in 3 Marylanders face food insecurity.

The Baltimore Area Survey  (BAS) found 28% of Baltimore area residents experienced food insecurity in 2024, down from 36% in 2023. 

However, the survey showed the region's rate of food insecurity remained nearly twice as high as the national average.

If you or anyone you know are struggling with food insecurity, click here for an additional resource."

-via CBS News, March 28, 2025

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

I am Sage's mother, better known as Nana. I adopted Sage after my son died when she was still a baby. She's been through six foster homes by then, but we loved her and she blossomed into a joyful, lively girl who made music and art.

Puberty began and COVID hit, and she was treated for depression and anxiety, at times very severe. Her teachers shared any concerns with me so her treatment could be adapted.

The transparency ended in August of 2021 when Sage started high school. She started a public high school and she told me that all the girls there were bi, trans, lesbian, emo and she wanted to wear boy's clothes and be emo. Because I saw it as just a phase, it was fine with me.

But at school, she told them something different: she was now a boy named Draco with male pronouns. Sage asked the school not to tell me, and they did not tell me even though I informed them of her mental health history and medication. If I had known, this would be a much different story.

She was terribly bullied. No one told me. But boys followed her, touched her, threatened violence and rape. Something happened in the boy's bathroom but for two days, the school told me nothing. They kept meeting with Sage alone and she became so distraught they called me to pick her up.

That evening, I found a hallpass labeled 'Draco' and Sage told me she was identifying as a boy, and that her counselor said she could use the boy's bathroom. She'd been jacked up against the wall by a group of boys. She was crying, terrified. I said just stay home, we'll figure it out. That was my last conversation with Sage for five months.

The night she ran, she thought, to a young friend she'd met online, she left a note saying she was scared of what would happen if she stayed. The sheriff, FBI, search dogs were called in. I dropped to my knees in prayer. Nine days later the FBI found her in Baltimore. My baby had been lured online, sex trafficked by DC then Maryland. She was locked in a room, drugged, gang raped and brutalized by countless men. It was night. The FBI told us to pick her up in Maryland the next morning.

We packed our cars with blankets and stuffed animals and arrived by 8 am, but we were told we couldn't see her, and were summoned before Judge Robert Kershaw late that afternoon. They didn't even tell Sage that we came for her. We finally entered the courtroom and Sage appears on a huge Zoom screen from a prison cell. She looks tiny and broken, and I cry out 'I love you Sage.' Sage responds 'I love you too, Nana.' But attorney Anisa Khan rebukes us. She is a 'he' and his name is 'Draco' not Sage. We were floored.

Khan accuses us of emotional and physical abuse, that we are misgendering her, even though we just learned she claims to be trans and we're willing to use any name and pronouns to bring her home. My husband was so tearful he kept forgetting the new pronouns, so the judge had the bailiff remove him from the courtroom. I was pleading for my child to be returned and treated for her unspeakable trauma. Judge Kershaw told me, if I use the word 'trauma' again, he would throw me out too.

For over two months, he withheld custody. He housed Sage in the male quarters of a children's home. Sage told me she was the only girl and repeatedly assaulted. She was given street drugs by the other kids and Khan told her she didn't care. She just wanted to win the case and all the way to the Supreme Court if necessary. Khan tried to prove abuse, but we were eventually cleared by both states of all charges.

Sage later told me Khan had told her to lie that we hit her. Khan even had Sage's school counselors testify against us, though they barely knew Sage and they didn't know us at all. Khan told my precious child I didn't want her anymore. I found out Sage never received any of the letters I sent her.

Sage ran from the Children's Home and disappeared for months. They told me she might already be gone forever, but I couldn't give up and I finally found a tip on her social media that led the marshals to her in Texas. She had been drugged, raped, beaten and exploited. This time I was able to be with her for the traumatic rape exam, and to bring her home.

Back in Virginia, she entered the mental health facility that Judge Kershaw had ordered, as it would affirm her as a male. The therapist began pressuring her to have her healthy breasts removed. Sage was too scared to protest, but she asked me to secretly buy her girl's clothes because she wanted to be a girl, but keep them in the car. It took a kind lawyer, Josh Hetzler to secure her discharge.

After almost a year. Sage was finally home. Safe. Alive. Sage is receiving professional trauma care. The first trafficker has already been convicted. Sage has nightmares, panic attacks, rape-related medical issues, but there's hope. I tell her she's not broken she's just scarred. And part of that hope is that in courageously sharing her story, others will be saved.

Sage said she doesn't know who she was back then. She wasn't a boy, she just wanted to have friends. But her school, the judge, the attorney and the doctor were all blinded by their ideology. The consequences for Sage were unspeakable.

Please don't let ideology harm another child. Let parents do our jobs. We know our children best and we love them a million times more.

Thank you.

==

Jesus Christ. This girl was exploited by everybody, except for her parents, who were villainized for literally nothing. It's opposite world.

And the fact that everybody with authority prioritized stupid shit like pronouns and trying to coax her further down into a fake identity, even against her will, and other ideological bullshit over her actual wellbeing is disgraceful.

The judge and attorney need to be disbarred, the therapist stripped of their license, and everyone who conspired to separate Sage from her parents fired.

[acexsmhking]

𝐃𝐞𝐟𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞

(𝘃.) 𝘁𝗼 𝘁𝗵𝗿𝗼𝘄 𝘀𝗼𝗺𝗲𝗼𝗻𝗲 𝗼𝗿 𝘀𝗼𝗺𝗲𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗼𝘂𝘁 𝗼𝗳 𝗮 𝘄𝗶𝗻𝗱𝗼𝘄

╰┈➤ Data Content: Jeffery Woods “Jeff the Killer”

Summary: General Content of Jeff’s personalized lore and facts from yours truly, hopefully this will help me flush out his character more and grow more comfortable writing future content!

Warning(s): 18+ content, canonical information, personal information, mentions of murder, descriptions of disemboweled bodies, mentions of cannibalism, mentions of gore, descriptions of tragic murder, mentions of mental disorders

Subject: SCP-xxxx-s

Full name: Jeffery Daniel Woods

Date of Birth: 8/18/1993

Place of Birth: Salem, Massachusetts, U.S.A

Height: 5ft, 8in

Weight: 126 lbs

Name of Origins: Great Britain - God’s Peace

Zodiac: Leo

Origins in Salem, MA before moving to Stratford, CT in 2008 at the age of 15 with parental family (Father, Mother, Brother)

Multiple detected Physical Disabilities: Third-degree Burns, Cheshire Grin, Color Blind: Protanopia, Astigmatism (distorted vision)

Multiple detected Mental Disorders: PTSD, Depression, Social Anxiety Disorder, Comorbidity: Histrionic and Narcissistic personality disorder, ODD (Oppositional Defiant Disorder), ADD (Attention Deflect Disorder), AVPD (Avoidant Personality Disorder), Stuttering

SCP-xxxx-S has been seen located around Southern and Mideastern states such as Alabama, Arkansas, Delaware, Florida, Georgia, Kentucky, Louisiana, Maryland, Mississippi, and North Carolina

Avoiding cold seasons most likely due to Subject’s burns, Subject tries visiting Northern states during Spring and Summer.

Despite multiple sightings, SCP-xxxx-S has never been contained. MTF Jane Richardson, still is out on containment search for Subject, only having a number of 20 interactions with SCP-xxxx-S.

The origins of SCP-xxxx-S is!’t fixed together with an inability to capture Subject for questioning. From known knowledge provided by MTF Jane R., SCP-xxxx-S does not have a habit of conversing. However, there have been instances where Subject was muttering to self, where Jane reported mentions of Stuttering.

Stuttering can commonly be caused by physical and mental damage, and by SCP-xxxx-S track record of both, this is expected.

While Subject appears to have an exceptional level of bloodlust, SCP-xxxx-S also has an increasing almost fear-like avoidance of actual social interactions. Despite SCP-xxxx-S being older than SCP-524-S, he has a surprisingly smaller body count.

This most likely could be to the different mental reasonings of the killing. While SCP-xxxx-S kills in moments of episodes, panic or just boredom. SCP-524-S does so for feeding, including feeding multiple other subjects.

During hotter summers in Southern states, Subject will migrate to more Northern states. There was a brief interaction between SCP-xxxx-S and SCP-xxxx-S known as ‘The Chaser’. The usually hostile Subjects made no move to physically harm the other. Besides fainting growling (?) SCP-xxxx-S was able to make it to California safely.

SCP-xxxx-S also has had multiple interactions of SCP-524-S. Unlike the previous altercation, SCP-524-S almost immediately attacked Subject upon sight. SCP-524-S has a habit of attacking other hostile Subjects.

When questioned SCP-524-S states: “They’re like foxes in my chicken coop, stealing my food. They aren’t clean or precise, they just make a mess of a meal.”

SCP-xxxx-S certainly is anything BUT clean with it’s kills. Most victims are found completely torn apart limb from limb in very certain patterns, as if Subject has a specific method and place for each part.

This was later confirmed as MTF Jane R. reported that Subject was found very carefully (brutally) ripping and placing limbs, organs and intestines around victim’s home.

She also reported Subject would mutter (often stuttering over themself) and laugh to themself.

So at least precise can be a talent SCP-xxxx-S has. Even if it isn’t in the traditional sense.

Despite unusual interactions with other Subjects, it is unclear if Subject might be in some sort of contract or possession of higher force much like the case for ‘The Chaser’.

However, Subject does have a.. unusual relationship with SCP-225-S also known as ‘Njegovo Blaženstvo’ by the cult that transitioned it.

SCP-xxxx-S has a strange ability to seek SCP-225-S out. However, these are not friendly altercations. Despite SCP-225-S being significantly stronger, SCP-xxxx-S will try as much as possible to ruin the creatures meals, either by stealing some or just the whole carcasses. SCP-xxxx-S is quite determined to irrate SCP-225-S as much as often, as possible.

Most likely for fun.

In under no circumstances is normal personal allowed near the Subject, it expresses challenging bloodlust behavior and surprising combat intelligence.

Despite Subject’s horrific burns, SCP-xxxx-S seems to have no grasp of physical pain. Understandable as Subject most likely has destroyed nerves. After altercations it appears SCP-xxxx-S skin will break and crack, causing bleeding. Though, Subject appears to be more aware of blood loss than SCP-524-S.

SCP-xxxx-S will often sleep in trees or small holes that it can fit in. Subject expresses surprising abilities in flexibility. Subject also has talent for being able to sleep whistle standing upright, almost like a horse.

SCP-xxxx-S despite common grounds that it killed its family, Subject’s brother Liu Woods, is under SCP custody. Liu expresses multiple disorders however, is much.. much more reasonable than his brother.

There have been plans of possibly using Liu to lead SCP-xxxx-S into a possible trap, though evidence Subject would even remember it’s brother or fall for it is not concert.

: ̗̀➛ OMG here he is!! My very own personal Jeff.. or well personal as in me writing this. A special mention to @an-3moia as they did express interest in Jeffery content! I will admit, Jeff is not a CRP that I’ve ever had a very strong connection too, he just wasn’t ever as.. interesting as the others?? He didn’t seem as plausible or explanatory due to his constant editing of backstories. However, Jeffery is a huge icon for the CRP fandom. I want to be able to challenge myself to growing connections with these characters so I can more comfortably, write content for you all!

While sure, I could just write something with excuses of fanon information. I want to ensure I’m writing the best content for you all as possible, and writing has to come from passion. Passion that can only be formed via connection. So please, if you all have your own takes, opinions, HC for these characters, don’t be afraid to comment them on these sheets I make! I want us all to be comfortable and understanding of one another!!!

Also notice how I made Jeffery colorblind to red?? I THOUGHT THAT WAS HILARIOUS

All the love,

Ace

[probablyasocialecologist]

Each time you search for something like “how many rocks should I eat” and Google’s AI “snapshot” tells you “at least one small rock per day,” you’re consuming approximately three watt-hours of electricity, according to Alex de Vries, the founder of Digiconomist, a research company exploring the unintended consequences of digital trends. That’s ten times the power consumption of a traditional Google search, and roughly equivalent to the amount of power used when talking for an hour on a home phone. (Remember those?) Collectively, De Vries calculates that adding AI-generated answers to all Google searches could easily consume as much electricity as the country of Ireland.

[...]

This insatiable hunger for power is slowing the transition to green energy. When the owner of two coal-fired power plants in Maryland filed plans to close last year, PJM asked them to keep running till at least 2028 to ensure grid reliability. Meanwhile, AI is also being used to actively increase fossil fuel production. Shell, for example, has aggressively deployed AI to find and produce deep-sea oil. “The truth is that these AI models are contributing in a significant way to climate change, in both direct and indirect ways,” says Tom McBrien, counsel for the Electronic Privacy Information Center, a digital policy watchdog. Even before Google’s AI integration this spring, the average internet user’s digital activity generated 229 kilograms of carbon dioxide a year. That means the world’s current internet use already accounts for about 40 percent of the per capita carbon budget needed to keep global warming under 1.5 degrees Celsius.

20 June 2024

[acquariusgb]

I had never been more proud of her. Chelsea enrolled as a Master’s candidate in the fall of 2001, accepted by University College, Oxford, thirty-three years after I became a student there. In November 2002, in her second year, Hillary and I flew to England to celebrate Thanksgiving with her. She and her roommate, Jen Lee, a Harvard graduate and Juilliard-trained cellist, had moved into a small house in North Oxford for their final year and invited us to share a meal with more than twenty of their fellow students, including Americans who couldn’t go home and British and other students who’d never celebrated the holiday. We liked our daughter’s eclectic collection of friends, including two U.S. Army officers soon to go on active duty, who invited me to join in a game of touch football the afternoon before dinner. One of them, Wes Moore, won the Maryland governor’s race in 2022 and is one of our most promising young political leaders. The other, Seth Bodnar, is now the president of the University of Montana. A typical rainy Oxford fall morning had left the playing field slippery and muddy, but they were used to it. The conditions didn’t hamper their enthusiasm or their efforts. I still had a pretty good throwing arm back then but the other team cut me no slack. I left the field covered in mud and a few bruises, glad to have survived. The dinner was a great success, as we devoured the traditional Thanksgiving meal, tightly packed around tables in two small rooms, all the while carrying on vigorous conversations. I remembered how intimidated I was when I was a student at Oxford more than thirty years earlier whenever I was invited to tea at a women’s college. Sitting through their conversations was like being the ballboy at a fast- paced tennis match as the verbal serves and volleys flew across the net. It was hard to keep up and not get hit. The women and the men were impressive this night, too, so I tried to draw them out and speak only to answer the questions they asked. Chelsea has had good judgment and good fortune in her friends, from her early years to today. I’ve always enjoyed spending time with and learning from them. After Chelsea finished at Oxford, we moved Thanksgiving to our home in Chappaqua, where Chelsea began inviting longtime friends from New York and England to join us. They soon brought their spouses, significant others, and visiting parents. Before long, there were kids, too. We couldn’t do it at all in 2020 because of Covid, had only a small gathering in 2021, but in 2019, we had forty-three people. About that many came to the restart in 2022. Since that first celebration, everyone has been invited to say what he or she was grateful for. Some came just after or still in the midst of steep personal or professional challenges. Yet everybody always found something to be grateful for. In our family, the toughest task fell to Hillary after the 2016 election. She found her voice when most of us, me included, were still searching for ours.

From Citizen- Bill Clinton quote about Thanksgiving

[saltsicklover]

Slamming Doors - BRB - Broken House

This was written as a oneshot but I have an idea on how to expand the story if there is interest for it! Please let me know what you think, I'd love to hear from you!

Title: Slamming Doors

Series: Broken House

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2700+

Rating: R

Warnings: Talks of death, sick parent, car crash, pet names, lots of crying, lots of yelling, ANGST, misunderstandings.

Doors aren't meant to raddle on their hinges. Doors aren't meant to be slammed that hard. 

Honey like to think it's always better to be on the in swing of the door, rather than on the out swing. 

If she is on the in swing, Bradley would be storming in. It is like this often, the picture frame hung next to the door perpetually crooked from how often that damn front door is slammed. The corners of that frame are even chipped from the time or two it hit the tile floor. 

At least, if he is coming home, she has a chance to calm him down. To take his face in her hands and comfort the man she loves. To kiss his lips and agree that the Captain is a dumbass who doesn't have a damn clue about how to do his job. She is always there to comfort him, to take the weight of the day off of his shoulders when things have been bad. 

Hell, it isn't even always bad. Sometimes, maybe more often than sometimes, Hangman or Phoenix would be toting Bradley in, his arm held tightly over their shoulder, and he would drunkenly kick the door shut, the front of the house rattling with the abrupt closure. He would slur his words and hiccup, but always be happy to leave his friend's arms the moment he spots her. 

It is different now, though. 

Now, Honey is on the out swing. Bradley has her walking out after a fight, too heated to work it out. 

The front door slams again, the picture frame rattling lightly against the wall. Bradley walks into the living room before dropping his duffle bag in front of the couch. It is filthy, he is filthy. The arms of his flight suit are tied low on his hips, his white t-shirt completely stained with grease and gear lubricant. It looks angry, deep brown and jet black against the stark white of the cotton. Days like this, Honey would be in his arms as soon as his bag hits the floor, but today is different. 

Honey stands on the other side of the room, her back to her lover. 

Bradley and Honey are somewhere between whole heartedly committed and casual. She practically lives in his small home with him when he isn't away on deployment and there to take care of his plants when he is. It has been this way for almost two years, a little house right down the road from the beach in Pensacola. 

NAS Pensacola isn't home to Bradley, and Florida isn't home to either of them. They met by happenstance, both stranded in a storm at a little bar-motel in Maryland. He was there for work, she was there trying to track down information on her father. One drink turned into three, one night turned into a long weekend, and the two have been intertwined ever since. Honey followed him to Florida, still on her search for her father, who she never called by name. She'd said it was too painful and she wasn't ready to talk about him until she could talk to him. They hadn't intended on dating, and Honey had intended on getting the information she was looking for and then be moving on. But they had to go and fall in love. 

"Honey?" Bradley finally looks up at her, taking in the slump of she shoulders. The whole energy in the house wrong. There is no candle burning on the coffee table, the blinds aren't open to let the sun in, and Honey hadn't found her way into his arms yet. Something is most definitely wrong. 

He bends down to untie his boots as he waits for his lover to answer his call. She doesn't move to turn around, nor does she say a word. Her eyes are locked on the photo of Bradley and Nick, his father, that is hanging up on the wall. In it, Bradley sits atop Nick's shoulders, both wearing grins so big she could practically see the ache in their cheeks. Her eyes trace over the frame, then Bradley, down to Nick, then back up again to repeat the process. Honey has been standing there, eyes glued to the photo for the better part of the last hour.  

Before she found herself in front of the photograph on the wall, she had been staring at the photo in her hand for much too long. She has been holding it so long that there are fingerprints on the glossy side of the photo, both in full and partial prints not kept to the edges. 

Honey had been dusting the mantle earlier that afternoon, her body poised on a stepstool to get the shelves above the fireplace too. As she was cleaning, she bumped a framed photograph of Bradley and his mother, Carole, posed together on his High School graduation, shortly before she had passed away. Her arms were wrapped tightly around his frame, partly out of love, partly to keep herself standing upright. She had insisted on standing for the photo, even though Bradley wanted her to stay in her wheelchair. 

Bradley had told Honey about his mother so many times before. He loved showing her the photographs and telling her stories. He is so proud of his parents; but Honey knew he was a Mama's boy. That was likely because she was the only parent he had for a majority of his life, between deployments and his father's untimely passing. 

The relationship he had with his Mother was special. It was something that allowed Bradley and Honey to bond over when they first began dating. Her father walked out on her and her Mother before she had her first birthday. Honey was a Mama's girl too- her Mother passed away five years prior due to a driving accident. Black ice in the middle of winter was no joke, and Honey's mother should not have been out driving in the first place. 

Both effectively orphans, the pair bonded quickly. Lack of family tended to do that to people. 

Bradley tired to get Honey to talk about her father, to share just a little bit of information about him. All he ever managed to learn was his Navy association. He grimaced when he found out, knowing just how many deadbeats there are in the Military. 

After Honey had knocked the photograph off the shelf with her elbow, it hit the floor and shattered. It took her ages to clean up the glass, and she even managed to save the photo of Bradley and his mother from being ruined. What she was not expecting was the photograph hidden behind it. 

In her hand, she clutches a photo of Pete Mitchell and Bradley at his high school graduation, both smiling and happy. Bradley has the hope for his whole future in his eyes, that much is clear enough to see. Pete has an arm around Bradley, pulling him close as he holds a photo of Nick in his other hand.

The photograph lead her to where she stands now, unwavering in her place, even as Bradley calls her name again.

"Honey, what's wrong?" Bradley crosses the room, his untied shoelaces hitting against his boots with small clinks from the plastic aglets. He reaches a hand out to her, gently pulling her hair over her shoulder. "Honey?" 

She turns to him, eyes glassy. The sight of Bradley swims, tears distorting her vision. Her cheeks are red, like she has been straining to hold back her tears. Quickly, he eyes the rest of her form, taking her in in her entirety, trying to pinpoint her distress. His eyes land on the photo she has creased in hand. Gently, he takes the photo from her hand before pulling her into his chest. 

The grease smeared shirt across his chest becomes a home for a lose tear as he brings her into his frame, her face pressing into the expanse of his chest, near his shoulder. 

"I broke a frame while I was cleaning," Honey begins, her voice so quiet he almost misses it, "I'm sorry, Bradley," 

"Oh, Honey," Bradley coos lightly, "You don't have to be sorry, it's okay. The frame can be replaced, no need to be upset, Sweet Girl,"

Honey sniffles against his chest, bringing a hand up to try and brush a tear from the fullness of her cheek. She almost chides him for thinking she would be upset over something so small, but she can't find it in her to make the joke out loud. 

Bradley smiles to himself, thinking about how caring his girl is, but the smile immediately disappears as he looks at the photo he had taken from her moments before. This is not the photo that was on display. Bradley would never have a photo of Maverick up in his house, not after the older man pulled his papers for the academy. Absolutely not. 

"Honey," Bradley pulls back, his eyes glued on the photo, "Where did you get this?" 

"It was in the back of the frame- behind the- behind the photo of you and your Mom," She hiccups through the sentence, anxiety rising up in her chest again. The taste of bile is sour on her tongue as she looks over Bradley's expression. His brows are furrowed, eyes narrow and angry as he locks eyes with the photograph. 

"Who is that?" Honey asks, even though she already knows. 

"Pete Mitchell," Bradley's voice is laced with so much venom it gives her goosebumps. She raises her eyebrows but Bradley doesn't need prompting to continue. "He flew with my Dad, was the reason for his accident. If they didn't have to eject, my father would still be here today. And then, when I applied for the Academy, he derailed my career by years when he pulled my papers. I haven't spoken to him since," 

A noncommittal hum is the only thing Honey can muster in response. Honey can feel her skin flush hot and cold but tries to push the feeling aside. 

"I need to talk to you about something," Honey's words sound heavy coming off of her tongue. The tone snaps Bradley's eyes right up to her, the picture being abandoned on the coffee table. 

"What is it?" 

There are so many things Honey wants to say. She wants to plead for Bradley to tell her everything he knows about Maverick. There is a part of her, deep inside, that is still eight years old, still the same little girl who realized for the first time that her father wasn't coming back not because he couldn't but because he didn't want to.  

Honey wants to tell Bradley that Maverick is her father, to explain that the man standing next to him, clad in a leather jacket and dark washed jeans is her father. The man who didn't want her. She wants to bond over their appeared shared hatred of the man. Honey wants to curse his name and burn every photo of him that the two are in possession of. She wants to say fuck you to Pete Mitchell all together, with the man she loves by her side. 

But instead, the words that leave her mouth are much, much worse. 

"You can't talk about your father anymore," 

The words aren't tactful, but they aren't exactly a lie either. She has always had a hard time listening to Bradley talk about Nick. There has always been something so fucking bitter inside of her whenever he would talk about him. The knowledge that her father is a Naval Aviator, just as Bradley's had been was just too close for comfort for her. But now? Knowing that the stories of his father are also stories of her father. That broke her. 

"Excuse me?" 

The statement catches Bradley off guard so much he almost feels dizzy. If it weren't for the clunky air conditioning unit in the window behind Honey humming away, he might've blamed the feeling on stifling Floridian humidity. But, unfortunately for them both, he heard her correctly. 

"That's not what I meant! Shit!" Honey starts, but Bradley's expression doesn't turn any more pleasant. 

"I mean, fuck, I can't listen to you talk about your father anymore!" That sentence isn't any better. Honey can hear her own blood rushing through her ears, the same way she can feel the heat rising to her face with it. 

"What?" 

The venom is back in Bradley's voice, anger is beginning to boil behind the color in his eyes. Suddenly Honey wishes she could rewind time, just two fucking minutes. 

If there is one thing for sure, Honey may just be fragile like that picture frame, but Bradley is fragile like a bomb. 

Bradley's fists ball at his sides, knuckles going white as he squeezes them tight. Honey can't take her eyes from his face, from the vein that bulges in the side of his neck. She notices how his lip curls forward, his mustache sloping downward with his frown. 

"I just-" Honey takes a deep breath; it's ragged as it goes in and back out, catching on the broken pieces of her heart, "I can't have flashbacks from memories that aren't mine- I can't have this image in my mind of a man that I didn't know," 

Bradley is fuming now, listening to the words as they come out of his lover's mouth. He already had a shit day, having come down on new assignment back to TOP GUN. He didn't want to tell Honey, worried about what she might say. Worried that she might not pack up her life and go with him, or worse, that she wouldn't be here waiting for him to come back. 

Honey isn't explaining herself well, but he doesn't know that, nor can he calm down enough to figure out exactly what she is talking about. At face value, she is bad mouthing his father, the great Nick Bradshaw, mother Goose, and Bradley won't stand for that. He misses the words coming out of her mouth and the new tears that have made their way down her cheeks. 

"Shut up!" Bradley yells, his hands coming up to grip tightly in his hair. The words cut Honey off mid-sentence, and she obeys the command, more out of stunned compliance than choice. 

"Brad-" 

"No!" He points a finger right into her face, anger fully taking him over. He hasn't been this angry since Mav pulled his papers, the almost forgotten feeling burning beneath his skin. Honey's lip quivers, but she pulls it into her mouth, between her teeth to keep him from seeing it. "You do not get to stand here, in my house, and talk shit about my father!" 

"No! Brad-" Honey holds out her hands, pleading for him to just listen, for just one second. Just long enough for her to get this mess of a miscommunication figured out. 

"Enough!" Bradley's voice practically shakes the room, "Get out!" 

"What?" Honey's voice is so unbelievably small now, like she doesn't trust herself to speak. 

"Get. Out. Now." Bradley can barely look at her. Honey knows when she has lost a fight. So, she moves past him, grabbing her purse from the couch on her way past. She makes it to the door, her hand still on the handle before she speaks one last time.

"You like to think you are so much like your father, all good heart and good man, but in reality, you are just like mine," 

Honey slams the door behind her, the sound echoing though the house. She doesn't stop long enough to hear the picture frame fall from it's place on the wall, the glass shattering against the tile. 

There is too much left unsaid, the words that made it out taken to far and just wrong. Nick was the kind of man she always wished her father would have been. Kind, good, loving. And when she didn't find that in her own father, she found it in Bradley instead. Bradley liked to say that his father would have loved her, enough for both himself and her father combined, and she believed it too. But now, as she walks away from Bradley, she can't help but know just how disappointed Nick would be in her. 

Because, doors aren't meant to raddle on their hinges. Doors aren't meant to be slammed that hard. And now, Honey knows exactly just how much better things are on the in swing of that front door. 

[dertaglichedan]

7X Deported Suspected MS-13 Gang Member Arrested for Murder in East Texas Migrant Colony

LIBERTY COUNTY, Texas — A multi-agency manhunt for a seven-time deported Salvadoran illegal alien wanted for murder came to a head Monday night, with the subject taken safely into custody. The suspected MS-13 gang member took off on Monday after allegedly stabbing a neighbor in the Colony Ridge subdivision. Colony Ridge is reported to be Texas’ largest migrant colony.

Earlier on Monday, A Salvadoran migrant with suspected ties to the hyperviolent MS-13 gang reportedly got into an altercation on County Road 5740 in Colony Ridge. Montgomery County Police Reporter’s publisher Scott Engle told Breitbart Texas the altercation ended with the victim being stabbed to death in his truck which was parked at his home.

The U.S. State Department declared MS-13 to be a Foreign Terrorist Organization late last week, Breitbart Texas’ Ildefonso Ortiz reported.

The Liberty County Sheriff’s Office, Texas Department of Public Safety troopers and special agents, and Homeland Security Investigations special agents teamed up to search for the suspected killer. By approximately 10 p.m. CST, police took the suspected killer into custody, Engle told Breitbart Texas.

Engle said ICE officials told him the man is wanted on charges out of Maryland. He was reportedly removed by ICE at least seven times in the past.

Breitbart Texas contacted the Liberty County Sheriff’s office and learned that the suspected killer was spotted on Farm-to-Market Road near Dayton, Texas. Sheriff’s office officials said their investigators were working this scene and took him safely into custody.

Breitbart Texas contacted DPS and ICE officials for additional information on today’s activities in the Colony Ridge area.

[mariacallous]

On a recent afternoon, a dressmaker named Sergio Guadarrama rummaged through a pile of fabric. He and his partner had converted the living room of their home, in Hudson, New York, into a bridal atelier. Rolls of satin were stacked under a worktable; a mannequin in a strapless gown made of Chantilly lace stood near an armoire. Scattered around were five sewing machines and hundreds of yards of organic linen, greige hemp canvas, ombré silk brocade, and all manner of other textiles. Guadarrama had the look of a man at ease—leather slippers, a loose denim shirt, and a big, bright smile—though his eyes betrayed a hint of exhaustion. After a few minutes, he found what he was searching for and held it up: a swatch of vintage flower-printed silk voile from Christian Dior. “This one is to die for!�� he said.

The Dior fabric would be sewn into a custom wedding dress for a twenty-five-year-old bride-to-be, Keelie Verbeek, who had just driven down from New Hampshire. Verbeek arrived at Guadarrama’s house with her sister, her mother, two pairs of high heels, and her mother’s wedding gown (bespoke, purchased at a bridal shop in Cicero, New York, in the eighties), which she wanted to incorporate into her own dress, somehow. Guadarrama suggested that he could remove tiny pearls from the old gown’s surface and sew them onto the new one. “I can kind of sprinkle them in,” he said. Verbeek nervously glanced at her mother, who shrugged. Then she disappeared into Guadarrama’s bathroom for her first fitting, with a prototype made from cotton muslin. Kade Johnson, Guadarrama’s business partner and fiancé, cautioned, “We had to leave the toilet seat up, because the cat pees in the toilet here.”

A few minutes later, the bride emerged. Guadarrama eyed her up and down, took some measurements, made a few quick alterations, and then began to pepper her with questions about her bra. The dress, which cost nearly thirteen thousand dollars—typical for a couture bridal gown—would require six fittings in all.

As Verbeek changed back into her street clothes, the conversation turned to other elements of the wedding, which was going to be held, in eleven months, at the former estate of the sculptor Daniel Chester French, in the Berkshires. The reception would feature biodegradable confetti, small-batch Albanian olive oil, and, as Verbeek put it, “emotional-support chocolate.” Although she had already picked most of her wedding venders, including a celebrity makeup artist—recommended by Guadarrama—and a hairdresser from Maryland, she still needed a florist and a photographer, she said, and had been browsing the Knot, a popular wedding-planning platform. In addition to hosting gift registries and wedding websites, and offering reception ideas and relationship advice (“What to Know About Walmart Wedding Cakes,” “How to Prepare for Sex on Your Wedding Night,” “Dislike Your Spouse’s Last Name? Here’s What to Do”), the Knot is used by millions of couples to find their wedding venders, who pay to advertise on it. When Verbeek mentioned the Knot, Guadarrama shook his head and frowned.

“Should I not do that?” Verbeek asked.

“They’re doing some baaaad, shady stuff behind the scenes,” Guadarrama said. He started to explain, but the bride told him that she was running late for her next appointment, at the venue. She needed to decide whether to order custom floating lily pads for the fish pond, and to review where the turreted sailcloth tent and dance floor would be constructed.

After the bridal party left, Guadarrama and Johnson sat down at their dining table and told me that before coming to Hudson they had run an atelier in Manhattan. “We were having success after success after success,” Guadarrama said. They had dressed Kesha, JoJo, Tiffany Haddish. For the 2019 Tony Awards, they made Billy Porter a velvet Elizabethan gown from actual Broadway stage curtains. After a financial setback, the couple decided to move upstate and begin again—right as the pandemic all but shut down the bridal industry. Business tanked. On a chilly winter day in 2022, a saleswoman from the Knot called Guadarrama, in response to a form he’d filled out online. If he signed up for a premium advertising package, the saleswoman said, he could expect between eighty and two hundred and forty brides to contact him each month. Johnson thought this sounded implausible, but, despite his misgivings, the couple signed a yearlong advertising contract with the Knot, for five thousand eight hundred dollars. “We were looking at the Knot as a beacon of hope,” Johnson told me. “And it was the complete opposite.”

Guadarrama said, “The Knot was, like, the final nail in the coffin.”

Couples who are getting married tend to hear the same advice over and over: “Get good at forgiveness.” “Learn the wisdom of compromise.” “Don’t forget to chill the champagne.” When it comes to the wedding itself, the National Association of Wedding Professionals insists that every reception is better with balloons. The Association of Bridal Consultants recommends stocking extra toilet paper, just in case. If you want a quick cure for a rehearsal-dinner hangover, you can hire registered nurses to arrive with the hair and makeup professionals, carrying I.V. bags infused with vitamins or anti-nausea medicine. Cold feet? A man from Spain might be available to crash your wedding. (Going rate: five hundred euros.) “I’ll show up at the ceremony, claim to be the love of your life, and we’ll leave hand in hand,” he told a Spanish TV station. Marcy Blum, a wedding planner who has orchestrated celebrations for LeBron James, members of the Rockefeller family, Bill Gates’s oldest daughter, and, once, a woman who demanded that no other brides be present in the same Italian town on the day of her ceremony, told me, “I will spend whatever it takes of my client’s money to make sure there’s enough bartenders before I’ll put a flower on the table.”

Each year, Americans drop roughly seventy billion dollars hosting weddings. Most people think that this is too much—that couples are overspending, that venders are overcharging, and that the wedding-industrial complex verges on unethical. After all, many weddings are excessive and wasteful. (In New York City, the average cost is eighty-eight thousand dollars.) The wedding planner Colin Cowie, whose clients range from Tiësto (“Happily married,” Cowie boasted) to Jennifer Lopez and Ben Affleck (“I get them down the aisle fabulously, but they’re on their own thereafter”), told me that he hires hundreds of venders for every event: invitation managers, shoe-check attendants, babysitters, ice carvers, drone operators, and caviar servers. “Once, we built a church,” he said.

Even more modest affairs can involve a phalanx of venders; the average number brought on per wedding is fourteen. These small-business owners often begin as amateurs pursuing a side gig: students moonlighting as wedding photographers, cashiers doing calligraphy after work. Typically, surges of new venders follow layoffs in corporate America. “People cash in their 401(k)s, and they start a business,” Marc McIntosh, a wedding guru who regularly speaks at conferences like WeddingMBA, told me. “A lot of people go into this industry because they’re good at something—they bake good cakes, and their family says, ‘You should go into the wedding-cake business!’ ” But being good at something doesn’t mean you’re good at running a business. And running a wedding business is especially tough: there are hundreds of thousands of competitors; costs are rising, owing in part to inflation; and, for many venders, bookings and budgets have decreased by about twenty-five per cent. According to a recent industry survey, a third of all wedding venders said that they are doing poorer financially than they were a year ago. “Florists are the worst,” McIntosh said. “There are so many broke florists.”

A reliable way for a florist to avoid going broke used to be by advertising in glossy magazines like Brides or Martha Stewart Weddings. By the early two-thousands, wedding marketing, like everything else, was increasingly shifting online. When Blum started her planning business, in Manhattan, in 1987, she took out a small ad in New York. Ten years later, she had become the city’s unofficial wedding czar, and four friends who’d met at N.Y.U.’s film school approached her for advice. “They were, like, ‘We’re going to start this website about weddings,’ ” Blum recalled. “And I said, ‘That’s the cutest thing that I’ve ever heard. Let me introduce you to everybody.’ ” The website was the Knot, and the four friends created it with about one and a half million dollars in seed funding from AOL. “In those days, it was a joke,” Blum said.

Within a few years, the Knot was a juggernaut—the Yellow Pages of the wedding industry. By 1999, when it went public, two of the company’s co-founders, Carley Roney and David Liu, who are married, had become veritable wedding moguls. The couple started a reality show about wedding planning, launched a magazine, and purchased weddingchannel.com, an online bridal registry. Roney appeared regularly on “The Oprah Winfrey Show” and “The View.” In an episode during Season 2 of “The Apprentice,” contestants raced to open a bridal shop and sell wedding dresses. One team spent its entire marketing budget with the Knot—and won. “Our phone went off the hook after that,” Liu told me. “I’m almost ashamed, but, like, some of our success has to be attributed to idiot Trump and that show.”

In 2018, XO Group, the Knot’s corporate parent, was acquired by its biggest competitor, a company called WeddingWire, in a private-equity-backed deal worth almost a billion dollars. By then, Roney and Liu were out. The Knot Worldwide became a privately held company.

Last year, the Knot facilitated four billion dollars in consumer spending via advertising on its platforms. Most of the company’s revenue comes not from brides and grooms but from wedding venders. Nine hundred thousand venders in more than ten countries use the Knot, and many pay to be advertised to couples—“leads,” in industry parlance—seeking their services. Ronnie Rothstein, who, at eighty-two years old, is the C.E.O. of Kleinfeld Bridal, one of the largest wedding-dress retailers in America and a mainstay on the reality show “Say Yes to the Dress,” told me, “Every wedding vender needs a qualified lead.” He went on, “Most of these businesses are family businesses, and they need help to get as many people into the door as possible.”

After Guadarrama signed his advertising contract with the Knot, he started receiving a flood of inquiries from couples. Many of the messages seemed bland or formulaic. “Hello—we are getting married,” one groom wrote. A bride asked, “Could you send over some more info about the products and services you offer?” Guadarrama always responded immediately, and repeatedly followed up. At first, he was optimistic. But, week after week, he never heard anything in return.

Curious to learn more about the vender experience, and being a weekend cake baker myself, I decided to fill out a vender contact form on the Knot’s website to get some basic information about the contract terms. A Knot representative soon called me. She was encouraging about the brides and grooms who would be spending money on my fictitious wedding operation. “People do go over budget sixty-two per cent in your particular area,” she said. After a long discussion about pricing and placement, she said that, if I wanted to take my business to the next level, a twelve-hundred-dollar-per-month advertising package might be appropriate. (Later, the Knot characterized this call as an attempt to “entrap and bait our salesperson” and accused me of being “ethically challenged.”) I also spoke at length with dozens of wedding venders across the United States. David Sachs, a wedding photographer in Northern California, started advertising with the Knot in 2016, after giving up on becoming an actor. “The Knot was the biggest directory at the time, so I figured I would just do what everyone else was doing,” Sachs told me. Initially, he got some clients from the site. “Sales were higher than expenses, and that was good enough for me,” he said. But after a few years brides stopped reaching out, and he called his sales rep to complain. A new, pushier rep talked him out of closing his account and persuaded him to upgrade to the most expensive advertising tier. “I started spending a thousand dollars a month,” he told me. Then a torrent of leads arrived, via the Knot’s online vender portal. Often, he’d talk to the potential customers by phone. “It felt like all the brides were reading from a script,” he said. “I could hear other calls in the background, and they all had the same lilting tone. That’s when I realized, they have a literal phone bank of people who are faking leads.”

When I asked the Knot about this, a spokeswoman said, “We do not tolerate fraudulent practices.” She went on, “The Knot Worldwide does not employ any individuals or teams who act as fake couples to send fake leads to venders. We have no financial incentive to engage in such conduct, and it is antithetical to our business.” But more than twenty wedding venders who advertise with the Knot told me that they’ve received inquiries from what they believe are fake brides. Matt Pierce, a wedding photographer in Texas, said that he’d exchanged e-mails with someone who was getting married in a few days. Pierce called the wedding venue, he told me, and the woman who ran it said, “You, too, huh? You’re about the twelfth photographer that’s called here today about a wedding this weekend.” There was no wedding.

Documents I obtained from the Federal Trade Commission reflect that, since 2018, more than two hundred formal complaints have been made about allegedly fraudulent activity on the Knot and WeddingWire. One vender wrote, “I paid around $12,000 and got absolutely nothing to show for it.” Another said, “My business is on the verge of going bankrupt. I would happily pay for the service [if] it was providing me what was promised, but it has not.”

Venders have also shared their grievances on several private Facebook groups, one of which features a stock photo of an enraged bride wielding a pistol. (Sample posts: “Hi! New victim here!”; “I’m in a war with the Knot”; “Can we get together for a class-action lawsuit?”; and “You know what would be more powerful than a lawsuit? A Netflix documentary . . .”) Venders in the group suspected infiltration by Knot employees. A post read, “We found two spies here who worked for The Knot. They know about us. And, they should be scared.” A couple of years ago, an online petition was launched in an effort to spur regulatory action. “This petition is going to congressional leaders,” the organizer wrote. Comments from signatories include:

Mike Cassara, a wedding photographer, influencer, and podcast host, told me that he and his co-host, Lauren O’Brien, regularly receive D.M.s on Instagram from wedding venders who complain about “fake brides” and “bad leads” from the Knot. He told me, “Their stories are endless! If this was five people, I’d question it. If it was ten people, twenty people, even a hundred people, I’d question it. But we’ve had thousands of people saying the same thing: ‘They’re ripping me off.’ ”

As I was reporting this story, the Knot had multiple outside communication firms correspond with me. One of them got in touch through a representative who had a résumé that included “successful presidential pardons” and “hostage and kidnapping recovery.” In the past six months, I contacted more than seventy current and former employees of the Knot, because I wanted to better understand the wedding venders’ claims. Almost all who agreed to speak with me requested anonymity, citing N.D.A.s or fear of retaliation. One former saleswoman said that, after her venders had complained to her about lead troubles, she recognized that many of the leads seemed like they might be fake. But she was working on commission, and it wasn’t in her interest to let clients out of their annual contracts; if she lost too many, she might lose her own job. Bretta Thompson, an Indianapolis-based wedding planner and officiant who advertised on the site, told me, “It was like pulling teeth to get anyone at the Knot to contact me. It would take weeks to get a response back, via e-mail, and then it was always my fault.” Another former saleswoman put it more plainly: “We fucked over venders.” (“We strongly dispute these claims,” the spokeswoman for the Knot said.)

Many venders I spoke with told me variations of the “fake brides” story, and took it upon themselves to conduct investigations, which produced results that were sometimes difficult to verify. Nicole Hobbs, who worked as a wedding photographer in Nashville, said that she had been contacted by people who, upon further inquiry, had already exchanged vows. “I was even able to confirm that one of the ‘grooms’ was actually a married minister in a different state,” she claimed. Darryl Cameron II, a part-time d.j. in Cleveland, Ohio, said that he’d received dozens of fake leads from the Knot. “These folks are real,” he told me. “But I’ve looked several up in the county database, and they’re married already!” Jeffrey Caddell, who owns a wedding venue in Alabama, told me, “All I can say is, it’s very fishy when you have hundreds and hundreds of leads and only a handful of responses.”

In David Mamet’s play “Glengarry Glen Ross,” a beleaguered real-estate salesman explains that he isn’t closing deals because his boss has been giving him bad leads. “I’m getting garbage,” he says. “You’re giving it to me, and what I’m saying is, it’s fucked.” Most leads for most venders in most industries don’t ever amount to anything—it’s hard work chasing down a lead, as any salesperson will attest—and the wedding industry is particularly challenging. Brides are regarded by wedding professionals as fickle and elusive. Marc McIntosh, the wedding guru, told me, “A couple planning a wedding has a to-do list, and everything on that list is something they’ve never bought before, from a company they’ve never heard of before. And they don’t have a lot of time.” Ronnie Rothstein, of Kleinfeld Bridal, said, “When a girl gets engaged, she’s gonna talk to everyone.”

Not every wedding vender hates the Knot. Allison Shapiro Winterton, a wedding-cake baker, considers it a “very honest business.” Steven Burchard, a d.j. and magician who runs a nationwide entertainment company, said that during engagement season—between Thanksgiving and Valentine’s Day—he usually receives about a dozen leads a week from the Knot. He follows up with each of them numerous times, and many do end up booking him. “You’ve gotta remember, there are tire kickers,” he told me. “Is that a fake lead? Or is it just someone who isn’t interested?”

Jeff MacGurn, who owns a wedding venue in the San Jacinto Mountains, told me, “The Knot’s great! And I’m uniquely positioned to comment on that.” In addition to operating the venue, MacGurn works for a digital-marketing firm. “When I’m judging the Knot, it’s not me saying, ‘I think it’s working.’ I know it’s working,” he said. “There’s a return on investment, for sure.” By his estimate, each lead from the Knot costs between twenty-two and thirty dollars. Most couples reach out once, then never again; booking a single wedding might require as much as nine hundred dollars in ad spend. “I can sit here and blame the Knot for bad leads,” MacGurn said. “But oftentimes I would look at my process, and I’d be, like, this is why we’re not closing”—not following up enough, not following up quickly enough, asking a prospective bride too many questions. Other venders, he noted, could stand to improve their tactics.

But, for many venders, so few leads have worked out that their tactics seem beside the point. They believe that the Knot inflates its lead numbers by allowing couples to simultaneously send form-letter inquiries to multiple venders. “People are getting leads that aren’t really for them,” McIntosh told me. “But, when it comes time to renew, the Knot can say, ‘We sent you five hundred leads this year,’ even though only five were really for you.” The company’s spokeswoman explained, “We have a tool that makes it easier for couples to reach out and start a conversation with venders using templatized language.” For instance, if a couple browsing the site decides to ask for a quote from their dream d.j., they will afterward be presented with a pop-up that invites them to send auto-populated messages to several other venders. The spokeswoman cautioned that venders “may misinterpret” such messages as spam, but that “spam is not a widespread problem” and “less than one per cent of leads delivered to venders in the U.S. were reported by venders as spam.”

Rothstein, who has advertised with the Knot for more than two decades, told me he was confident that the company wasn’t intentionally sending bad leads. “We don’t find them to be dishonest whatsoever,” he said. Rather, in recent years, the Knot simply stopped working well for them as a lead-generation platform. “They’ve become less effective,” he said. Jennifer Shipe, Rothstein’s chief marketing officer, said that she could spend Kleinfeld’s advertising dollars better elsewhere. Recently, she had her team manually compare every e-mail that originated from the Knot with the e-mail addresses of brides who booked appointments at their stores. “I don’t think we got anything out of it,” she told me.

Several days after I spoke with Shipe, Rothstein called me back—“I spoke to the Knot today!” he said—and clarified that a few of the leads might have led to appointments, about one tenth of one per cent of them, not zero. “We have a fucking phenomenal relationship with the Knot,” he said. “Neither one of us wants to fuck up that relationship.” He went on, “The leads don’t work, but I get great editorial from them. There aren’t that many magazines anymore. They’re it—numero uno! There’s no place else to go.” Many unhappy venders were reluctant to have me publish their names—or even their stories—in this article, for fear of retaliation by the Knot. Laura Cannon, who runs the International Association of Professional Wedding Officiants, told me, “They dominate the market.” Dozens of Cannon’s members have received suspicious leads from the Knot, but were too scared to say anything publicly. She continued, “You feel like you’re in an abusive relationship. I’ve thought about leaving the wedding industry, because what else can I do? It’s their industry now.”

Recently, I asked Tamas Kadar, the C.E.O. of a fraud-prevention firm, to review a few hundred e-mail addresses associated with suspicious leads from the Knot. He told me, “It seems like ten per cent of them are not real. We look at their digital footprint—their social-media profiles, how old is the e-mail account, does it appear elsewhere on the internet. And for ten per cent of them it’s, like, someone just opened an e-mail account.” Kadar also identified what he described as a significant vulnerability: unlike many other online services, the Knot doesn’t require users to verify their e-mail addresses when they sign up. “You don’t even have to have access to the e-mail account,” he said. “This could be why venders are facing so many nonexistent leads. The Knot doesn’t conduct the right kind of verification to make sure they don’t give fake leads to their customers. This is a basic step.” He went on, “I could just ask ChatGPT Operator to go to this website, type in a fully random e-mail address, and open an account and send a hundred inquiries to random wedding venues.”

Rich Kahn, another ad-fraud expert, told me, “It’s possible they know they have a problem and they’re doing nothing about it. And it’s also possible they don’t know.” Kahn explained that more than twenty per cent of the six hundred and forty billion dollars spent globally on digital marketing each year was effectively stolen via bots and “human fraud farms”—people at computer terminals, often overseas, who generate web traffic and inflate marketing metrics by making fake Facebook profiles, clicking on Google ads, or even sending fake leads. “In digital marketing, a portion of what you’re buying is not a real audience,” he said. “But that’s not a defense. It’s on you to do something about it. If you’re a big brand, you’re supposed to be protecting your clients.”

One night last fall, after a rooftop business mixer at a hotel in Manhattan, a woman in a long, flowery dress looked down at her heels and grimaced. “These puppies are barking!” she said. A few colleagues laughed knowingly. The women, who all worked at a Mississippi dress boutique, had been on their feet for days, at previews and runway shows connected with Bridal Fashion Week. Outside the hotel, as the group waited for their Ubers, one of them turned to a woman standing nearby and, making small talk, asked, “What store do you own?” The woman, Jennifer Davidson, was dressed in a chic black dress and gold-studded heels and carrying a Chanel purse that she had borrowed from a friend for the evening. She replied that she had spent about two decades working at the Knot. The woman from Mississippi laughed, then said that she had closed her Knot account after receiving dozens of dubious leads. “We were, like, ‘There’s no way these are legitimate,’ ” she told Davidson. The woman’s daughter, who co-owns the shop, chimed in: “We still get fake leads! It’d be, like, ‘Can you tell me more about your services?’ And I’d be, like, ‘Well, we’re a bridal store—what do you think we do?’ ”

Davidson, who was for many years one of the Knot’s top salespeople, was not about to defend the company. In 2015, she came to believe that it had been defrauding its biggest advertisers. By her account, the digital ads that she and her colleagues were selling were not reliably showing up on the Knot’s website. Macy’s, David’s Bridal, Kleinfeld Bridal, Justin Alexander, and even the N.F.L., she felt, had together been duped out of millions of dollars. When she alerted a vice-president at the company, John Reggio, who now works at TikTok, he told her that the Knot’s technology was flawed. “The website is duct-taped together,” Davidson recalled him saying. (I repeatedly reached out to Reggio for an interview; he declined, then said, “Please stop emailing me.”)

Davidson’s colleague Rachel LaFera reported the same issue to an executive, who exploded, LaFera recalled. “She grabbed me by both of my arms, and she started shaking the shit out of me, red-faced, spitting, saying, ‘You have to stop, just stop! You’ve got to stop bringing all this up. Stop it!’ ” LaFera said. “I was so in shock.” (When I reached out to the executive for comment, she replied, “😩,” and then said that she had mistook me for someone else. Later, she said that LaFera’s recollection was “untrue.”)

In 2017, Proskauer Rose, a prominent white-shoe law firm, was brought on to investigate the alleged advertising fraud. Executives and employees, including Davidson and LaFera, were interviewed, and the firm found no evidence of “widespread misconduct.” The Knot told me that, in the course of investigating Davidson’s allegations, a “material weakness” was identified in the “internal controls for the national advertising business” which affected approximately a hundred and sixty thousand dollars in ad purchases, and that advertisers were made whole. The Securities and Exchange Commission also conducted an investigation, according to the Knot, “and did not pursue any action.” But Davidson believes that employees lied to government officials and mucked up the S.E.C. investigation. (The Knot said, “There is no evidence to support an assertion that any employees were untruthful.”)

Davidson, LaFera, and Cindy Elley, who is Davidson’s sister and also worked at the Knot—the trio call themselves “the Knot Whistleblowers”—have an end-to-end encrypted e-mail account to field tips. In the past eight years, they say that they have contacted more than a hundred and fifteen current and former employees and secretly recorded many of the conversations with the aim of persuading the S.E.C., and possibly other government agencies, to mount a new inquiry into the company. (If the S.E.C. collects damages from the Knot, the trio stands to make up to thirty per cent of any potential recovery, thanks to a program that rewards whistle-blowers for coming forward.)

I went to visit Davidson at her home, near Charleston, South Carolina. She and I sat on her patio, and she played me several of the recordings, all of which she insists were obtained legally. (“We put our Nancy Drew hats on,” she said.) In one tape, LaFera can be heard chatting with a former Knot executive at a restaurant in New York. The two had met up to share war stories from their time with the company, and LaFera had worn hidden mikes that were taped to her shoulders. “Getting out was the best thing,” the former executive said. Another recording featured a former employee, Dave Harkensee, who oversaw a team of sales reps at the Knot. Harkensee said to Davidson, “We actually send out messages on behalf of these couples that don’t even realize we’re doing it.” He went on, “It’s almost, honestly, gaslighting these venders, saying, ‘Hey, we’re sending you leads. You’re just not able to convert them.’ But it’s actually, like, these are not viable leads. These aren’t legit at all.” (Harkensee denied that this conversation took place. The spokeswoman for the Knot said, “We do not send leads on behalf of couples without their consent.”)

In 2023, the New York Post published an article about Davidson’s initial allegations. “The Knot has been accused of systematically swindling clients for years,” the piece read. Weeks later, Forbes followed up: “How Wedding Giant the Knot Pulled the Veil Over Advertisers’ Eyes.” That year, the trio reached out to the office of Charles Grassley, a U.S. senator from Iowa who is an advocate for whistle-blowers. (Grassley is also known around Capitol Hill as something of a matchmaker. Per the Washington Post: “Forget dating apps. Sen. Grassley’s office has produced 20 marriages.”) Last week, Grassley, who chairs the Senate Judiciary Committee, sent a letter to the acting chairman of the S.E.C. and the chairman of the Federal Trade Commission, asking them about wrongdoing at the Knot. “I have recently been alerted of alleged deceptive business practices by the Knot from several Iowa small businesses that suspect they have been defrauded,” he wrote. “What steps have you taken to investigate the allegations? I would like to know, and I’m sure all these small businesses would as well.”

In the living-room bridal atelier in Hudson, Sergio Guadarrama elaborated on the setback that had led him to the Knot. In 2019, he was cast on the reality show “Project Runway.” The appearance backfired; he came across as a villain, and the dress orders for his business, Celestino Couture, plummeted. “People came up to me randomly in the street and said, ‘Oh, you’re that fucking guy,’ ” Guadarrama recalled. Moving upstate had seemed like the best way to get a fresh start. Then came the pandemic, and then came the Knot.

After signing up, Guadarrama and Johnson sent their first payment to the Knot—about five hundred dollars, money that should have gone toward their rent. “That was a lot of fucking money at the time, especially when we had no money coming in,” Johnson said. They got fifteen leads, but a month went by with no responses. One spring afternoon, Guadarrama called the phone number listed on a lead. He said that the woman who picked up told him, “I never signed up for the Knot! I’m not even getting married. Who are you?”

I contacted all the suspicious leads that Guadarrama had received from the Knot, and only a few people replied. Of those who did, one woman told me that she would not have sent a message to him because she had already bought her dress—and her ex-fiancé lived in Hudson. “It makes zero sense that I would want to go to Hudson,” she said. Then she logged into her account and found that a message had been sent to Guadarrama, likely via the pop-up template outreach feature, which she had forgotten all about. Another woman told me, “I never heard of Celestino Couture.” She wouldn’t have contacted the business, she said, because when Guadarrama received her supposed inquiry she had already made plans to buy a wedding dress in Europe.

Guadarrama tried to cancel his contract with the Knot, but the company refused to let him out of his yearlong commitment. So, like many venders I spoke with, he closed his bank account to prevent the Knot from continuing to withdraw payments. When I asked the Knot about this, the spokeswoman said that “contract terms are clearly disclosed by our sales representatives,” who are “trained to specifically mention that no number of leads are guaranteed.” Other venders told me that they’d cancelled their credit cards; some uploaded banners to their Knot profiles that read “DON’T USE THE KNOT” and filed complaints with the Better Business Bureau.

Carley Roney and David Liu, the company’s co-founders, trace the increasing number of lead complaints to the private-equity acquisition. Liu stepped down from the Knot’s board a few months before the deal. (Roney left the company in 2014.) “We felt like twenty years of our lives had been flushed down the drain,” Liu said.

“It’s a tragedy to us what’s become of our life’s work,” Roney added.

Before the acquisition, the Knot was generating about twenty million dollars in cash flow each year; as part of the deal’s financing, the Knot Worldwide took on hundreds of millions in debt. “To pay the interest on that much debt would essentially cripple a business,” Liu said. Any company in that position would need to cut costs and generate a lot of revenue. Liu wouldn’t comment directly on the allegations of fake leads or fraud, but that kind of financial obligation, he said, would mean that “the experience of the consumers is gonna suffer.” He added, “Who ultimately loses? The brides—and the local venders.”

In March, a Knot employee named Thomas Chelednik addressed a ballroom full of wedding venders at a Hyatt Regency in Huntington Beach, California. He said that the company was not sending fake leads to people, and that he would quit his job if it were. The next day, Raina Moskowitz, the Knot’s new C.E.O., held a virtual town hall. “We’re in a moment where I think celebration and communication and community matter more than ever,” Moskowitz said. She then answered pre-submitted questions, which were read aloud by a colleague: “A planner named Dolly asked, ‘What are you doing to stop the fake leads created by the company and giving false hope to venders?’ ” Moskowitz suggested that the venders were mistaken. “You get a lead, but you don’t hear back—and that can be incredibly frustrating,” she said. “It might be perceived as fake, but I just want to name it as ‘ghosting.’ ” She went on, “It doesn’t feel great, ” and announced that the company is testing a new tool that she hopes will address the problem. (The Knot’s spokeswoman said, “We are continually improving our spam-filter capabilities.”)

Before Guadarrama and Johnson extricated themselves from their contract with the Knot, they were selling their possessions to get by—“our clothes, our shoes, anything that we could,” Johnson told me. But their circumstances have since changed. In 2023, the couple, along with a business partner, opened two slow-fashion boutiques, which have been successful. Their wedding-dress business is, for now, a side hustle. They still chase every lead.

Keelie Verbeek, the twenty-five-year-old bride-to-be, had been window-shopping for chocolates and antique glassware in Hudson when she wandered into one of Guadarrama and Johnson’s boutiques. She tried on a vintage Ulla Johnson dress, as Henry, her fiancé, lingered nearby. The dress wasn’t for her, but before she left Johnson commented on her engagement ring. “Did you know we also make wedding dresses?” he asked.

Verbeek laughed. She had spent six months trawling Instagram, TikTok, Facebook Marketplace, and even the Knot, searching for the perfect dress. As Henry drove them home, Verbeek scrolled through Guadarrama and Johnson’s Instagram page. That afternoon, Guadarrama and Johnson received an e-mail from Verbeek: “I was hoping to be able to book a bridal consultation.” Excited, they followed up immediately, and, to their surprise, someone actually replied. 

[doueverwonder]

I got the idea for this dumb little fic literally half an hour ago so here u go; Virginia is the mom friend against her own will she didn't sign up for this. Pre the fic Mass tried to call Maine first but Maine was fast asleep already and didn't pick up ✌️

ao3 link

~~~~~

Being the designated driver had very few perks and far too many responsibilities, the top one being keep an eye on the people you were driving for who in this case happened to be the rest of the Thirteen; she was just supposed to drive PA home and make sure the rest got cabs to wherever they needed to be, that was it. Simple enough. But she lost them, she searched the bar they had been at, combed every bar and club in walking distance, even went up to random people asking if they had seen a rowdy group of around twelve people, three women, nine men, an aura of dumbassery. The car was still here, she was sitting on the hood staring at her phone, she had tried all twelve twice and nothing, she made sure they all had their ringers on but it was probably a combination of died and couldn’t hear over music. 

There was a long moment of consideration about going home, maybe for once in their lives they were responsible for themselves and had gotten a ride home, more likely they were still wandering somewhere having a good time entirely forgetting Virginia was ever with them. She stared at her lock screen for another moment before deciding waiting any longer wouldn’t magically make them turn up. She wasn’t in charge of them anymore, if anything happened it was Gov’s responsibility not hers, she had done what she could. Unfortunately, just as she came to peace with this decision her phone rang, it was an unknown number but she answered anyway. It was probably one of them calling from a payphone. 

“Hello?”  

“Hi, it's Georgia.” Despite her peace with the decision, she sighed relieved that at least from his voice over the phone he seemed unhurt. 

“oh thank god, I didn't know where y'all had gone and…” Virginia stopped, momentarily suspicious, at some of the eerily familiar background noise. “Wait, where are you calling from?”

There was a long moment of hesitation on the other side of the phone before, “what answer’ll make ya the least angry?” 

Virginia groaned, getting off the hood of the car and getting in turning it on, already knowing the answer. “Anywhere but jail” 

Another long moment of silence, “now don't be angry.” 

“who all is there with you?” She pulled out of the parking spot, heading towards her educated guess of which station they were at. 

Georgia tried to brush it off with an unworried grumble of not that many of us, followed with a full volume “just the Carolina's, Delaware, Maryland, PA, New York, Massachusetts, Connecticut, Rhode Island and New Hampshire. We don't know where Jersey is.” 

Of course, of course it would be too convenient for all of them to be arrested and in one spot to make it easy to come get them. She wouldn’t put being halfway across the country past Jersey, he moved fast when he wanted to. 

She set the phone in her lap putting it on speaker, last thing she needed was to be pulled over now. “What did all y’all do to get yourselves locked up?” 

“When you went to use the bathroom Rhode started a fight, we were just going to get kicked out but then York threatened the bartender on the way out, Mass and Conn lied about being lawyers, PA impersonated a cop, Mary lied about being pregnant, Delaware faked a heart attack, and Jersey stole a car. Took the rest of us because we were all together causing trouble by that point” 

Virginia had to resist banging her head into the wheel, settling instead for the trademark tired mom sigh (or at least that's what other states claimed it sounded like), she knew they would make her explain it all to Gov even if she hadn’t been there.

“I’m on my way, don’t let PA get in another fight before I get there, we're all going to look for Jersey after” 

“Yes ma’am,” with that the phone hung up, either the time was out or Georgia just hadn’t bothered with saying goodbye. 

Virginia had asked once why Georgia always was the one to call when they all got in trouble, Mass claimed it was because he was the youngest, she had the freshest memory of his innocent little face making it more likely that she would come get them if he called. It was pure manipulation. She was mad it worked.

[spacetimewithstuartgary]

ASA's Parker Solar Probe sets new record for sun proximity

Operations teams have confirmed NASA's mission to "touch" the sun survived its record-breaking closest approach to the solar surface on Dec. 24, 2024.

Breaking its previous record by flying just 3.8 million miles above the surface of the sun, NASA's Parker Solar Probe hurtled through the solar atmosphere at a blazing 430,000 miles per hour—faster than any human-made object has ever moved. A beacon tone received late on Dec. 26 confirmed the spacecraft had made it through the encounter safely and is operating normally.

This pass, the first of more to come at this distance, allows the spacecraft to conduct unrivaled scientific measurements with the potential to change our understanding of the sun.

"Flying this close to the sun is a historic moment in humanity's first mission to a star," said Nicky Fox, who leads the Science Mission Directorate at NASA Headquarters in Washington. "By studying the sun up close, we can better understand its impacts throughout our solar system, including on the technology we use daily on Earth and in space, as well as learn about the workings of stars across the universe to aid in our search for habitable worlds beyond our home planet."

Parker Solar Probe has spent the last six years setting up for this moment. Launched in 2018, the spacecraft used seven flybys of Venus to gravitationally direct it ever closer to the sun. With its last Venus flyby on Nov. 6, 2024, the spacecraft reached its optimal orbit. This oval-shaped orbit brings the spacecraft an ideal distance from the sun every three months—close enough to study our sun's mysterious processes but not too close to become overwhelmed by the sun's heat and damaging radiation. The spacecraft will remain in this orbit for the remainder of its primary mission.

"Parker Solar Probe is braving one of the most extreme environments in space and exceeding all expectations," said Nour Rawafi, the project scientist for Parker Solar Probe at the Johns Hopkins Applied Physics Laboratory (APL), which designed, built, and operates the spacecraft from its campus in Laurel, Maryland. "This mission is ushering a new golden era of space exploration, bringing us closer than ever to unlocking the sun's deepest and most enduring mysteries."

Close to the sun, the spacecraft relies on a carbon foam shield to protect it from the extreme heat in the upper solar atmosphere called the corona, which can exceed 1 million degrees Fahrenheit. The shield was designed to reach temperatures of 2,600 degrees Fahrenheit—hot enough to melt steel—while keeping the instruments behind it shaded at a comfortable room temperature. In the hot but low-density corona, the spacecraft's shield is expected to warm to 1,800 degrees Fahrenheit.

"It's monumental to be able to get a spacecraft this close to the sun," said John Wirzburger, the Parker Solar Probe mission systems engineer at APL. "This is a challenge the space science community has wanted to tackle since 1958 and had spent decades advancing the technology to make it possible."

By flying through the solar corona, Parker Solar Probe can take measurements that help scientists better understand how the region gets so hot, trace the origin of the solar wind (a constant flow of material escaping the sun), and discover how energetic particles are accelerated to half the speed of light.

"The data is so important for the science community because it gives us another vantage point," said Kelly Korreck, a program scientist at NASA Headquarters and heliophysicist who worked on one of the mission's instruments. "By getting firsthand accounts of what's happening in the solar atmosphere, Parker Solar Probe has revolutionized our understanding of the sun."

Previous passes have already aided scientists' understanding of the sun. When the spacecraft first passed into the solar atmosphere in 2021, it found the outer boundary of the corona is wrinkled with spikes and valleys, contrary to what was expected. Parker Solar Probe also pinpointed the origin of important zig-zag-shaped structures in the solar wind, called switchbacks, at the visible surface of the sun—the photosphere.

Since that initial pass into the sun, the spacecraft has been spending more time in the corona, where most of the critical physical processes occur.

"We now understand the solar wind and its acceleration away from the sun," said Adam Szabo, the Parker Solar Probe mission scientist at NASA's Goddard Space Flight Center in Greenbelt, Maryland. "This close approach will give us more data to understand how it's accelerated closer in."

Parker Solar Probe has also made discoveries across the inner solar system. Observations showed how giant solar explosions called coronal mass ejections vacuum up dust as they sweep across the solar system, and other observations revealed unexpected findings about solar energetic particles. Flybys of Venus have documented the planet's natural radio emissions from its atmosphere, as well as the first complete image of its orbital dust ring.

So far, the spacecraft has only transmitted that it's safe, but soon it will be in a location that will allow it to downlink the data it collected on this latest solar pass.

"The data that will come down from the spacecraft will be fresh information about a place that we, as humanity, have never been," said Joe Westlake, the director of the Heliophysics Division at NASA Headquarters. "It's an amazing accomplishment."

The spacecraft's next planned close solar passes come on March 22, 2025, and June 19, 2025.

The spacecraft’s record close distance of 3.8 million miles may sound far, but on cosmic scales it’s incredibly close. If the solar system was scaled down with the distance between the Sun and Earth the length of a football field, Parker Solar Probe would be just four yards from the end zone — close enough to pass within the tenuous outer atmosphere of the Sun known as the corona. Credit: NASA/APL

[bestfrozentreats2]

"Born 11 September 1935, New York State Died 8 December 1996, Maryland

Ben Hewitt made four fine records for Mercury Records in the late fifties, then disappeared from view until he was tracked down, in 1983, by Colin Escott and Hank Davis, who were in the process of compiling a Bear Family LP of Ben's recordings. He is sometimes described as a Canadian artist, but though he did live close to the Canadian border for much of his life, he was in fact a US citizen.

Hewitt was born in 1935 in a one-room, dirt-floor log cabin on the Tuscarora Indian Reservation in New York State. He wanted a guitar from the time he was nine or ten and kept bugging his father who finally broke down when Ben was about 12 and bought him a ukelele. About a year later, he got his first guitar, a $12.50 Stella. Influenced by Elvis and Sun Records, Ben started performing in bars. For over 13 years he played at DeFazio's in Niagara Falls, NY. It was there that Hewitt was approached by one Julian Langford. Hewitt told Escott and Davis: "He looked exactly like Colonel Tom Parker. He was up from Florida working in construction. He asked us what we'd charge to do some demos for him. He thought of himself as a songwriter, but he had the same tune to everything. The lyrics were nothing to write home about either. He'd come to us week after week and sing us the latest song he'd written. For the hell of it, we said, ' We'll do it on one condition. You supply the booze. Plus you gotta pay 20 bucks apiece and rent the hall'. "

It was this Julian Langford who secured Hewitt a recording contract with Mercury in 1958. The sessions were held in New York City and produced by Clyde Otis. Four singles were released, 1959-60. Clyde Otis didn't want Langford's material (except for "Whirlwind Blues"), most of the Mercury sides are Ben's own compositions. Otis himself also contributed a song, co-written with Brook Benton, "I Ain't Givin' Up Nothin' (If I Can't Have Something From You)". Hewitt's version of this song is the original one ; there were later versions by Clyde McPhatter and Jimmy "Frenchy" Dee, with Mickey Gilley on piano.

Ben's records did not sell particularly well, but enough to secure him plenty of bookings through the Shaw Agency, where he was the only white artist. Ben soon got tired of touring and after a nasty incident with Julian Langford, which hurt his (Ben's) reputation at Mercury, he lost interest in making records. He did not record again until 1975, when he cut a country single ("Border City Call Girl") for Broadland Records in Toronto, which was leased to Shelby Singleton's Plantation label."

Ben Hewitt - My Search https://youtu.be/dJp9WLfGDMc

[atths--twice]

Practical College Applications

A college AU, in which Mulder and Scully meet and get to know one another as they apply college courses, to real life scenarios.

I first posted this story nearly five years ago. I searched for it, in order to add the new chapter to it, but I could not find it. So... I am just going to repost the whole thing. Perhaps it will be new to some and perhaps it will be a reread for others. Either way, I hope you enjoy it. 💓

Chapter One

Botany 101- A Nice Trip To The Forest

Fox Mulder, known to everyone as Mulder, as he hated his first name, shifted his backpack for what felt like the twentieth time in the last half hour. It had not been problematic when he had worn it at home and around town, as he had gotten used to the weight of the things he would need for this weekend away, but now it felt as though his items had been replaced with rocks. 

He had been looking forward to this trip since the class began. It was one of the main reasons he had signed up for a botany class in the first place - the eventual excursion into the forest it had promised. 

School had been keeping him busy and unable to escape the noise and the fast pace of the city. Since he had transferred to the University of Maryland, he had been working harder and buckling down. He had saved enough in the past two years of working to not have to worry about anything but his studies. 

Torn between which electives to take for the year, he had settled on botany. He had always enjoyed nature and discovering new things within, so it seemed perfect. The class was not too full from the offset, and it had dwindled down to even less soon thereafter. Mulder however, found the class intriguing and enjoyed the lectures. The professor was funny and kept the class entertained. 

There was also, though Mulder would not freely admit it, a woman in the class he found very beautiful. He had not spoken to her, save the occasional hello as they passed each other, but she captivated him. This was actually the second course they shared, and though he enjoyed the more intimate class size, he knew he would appear a fool if he spoke to her. His words got tripped up by his tongue when he was around her. 

“Hey, Mulder,” said a voice, and he sighed as he saw Kyle Dale walk up beside him. He really did not care for Kyle. He was very rich and made sure to let everyone know it. “You know there’s only the two girls here, and there are us six guys. We need to be the ones to make a move, the other guys are losers.” Kyle nudged him as he raised his eyebrows, and Mulder adjusted his backpack yet again. 

“I’d recommend you don’t let the women hear you say that, Kyle, not girls. In fact, maybe don’t say that at all. This isn’t some bar, it’s a college course. We’re all here to learn and you know, I haven’t seen either of them show any interest in you at school, I can’t imagine the woods will change their opinions,” Mulder said, glancing at the two women and then back to Kyle. “Just, let them be.”

“Jesus, you’re such a fucking downer, man. Do you ever get laid?” Kyle shook his head and walked away, catching up to Brian Harding and glancing back at Mulder as they both laughed loudly. 

Assholes, he thought, shaking his head. He looked back at the women again and watched the one he found attractive, hoping he was not being too obvious. 

She laughed at something her friend Hannah said, tossing her long red braid over her shoulder. God, he was such a sucker for redheaded women. He had been since third grade, when Jenny Lipton had moved into town halfway through the year. She was introduced by his teacher, and when she smiled at the class, his hands got sweaty. He shyly brought her dandelions at recess, and she took his hand, pulling him to the swings. He pushed her for as long as she wanted, not caring that he never even had a turn. 

This woman though, she was on another level. Her smile made his heart race and when he heard her laugh, he always wanted to hear it again. She also smelled amazing. She sat across from him in class, and every time she moved her hair, he caught a whiff of flowers and clean soap. It drove him wild and sometimes caused his attention to wander from the lecture. 

Yes, Jenny Lipton had been his first real crush, but she could not hold a candle to Dana Scully. 

“Class, we’re going to stop here for a bit. I want each of you to take out the journals you were to bring and identify the plants of the area. You should have your guide pages with you as well. We’ll be here for about forty five minutes and then we’ll be moving on to the campground,” Professor Morrow said, taking his pack off and setting it on a rock. He was about forty, a hippie with long blond hair and a full beard. He was a kind teacher and cared deeply for the subject he taught. “Break into teams or on your own, whichever you prefer.” 

Mulder glanced quickly over at Dana and saw her and Hannah, slip off their backpacks and take out their journals and guide pages. She stretched and rolled her neck as she picked up her things and walked with Hannah into the woods. He took off his backpack, took out his own journal, and headed into the woods behind them. 

An hour later, they all met up to collect their packs and move on. Mulder put his things away and put his pack back on, adjusting the straps so it sat better this time. They trudged on for another hour, before arriving at the campsite. A round fire pit sat in the middle of a clearing, thick round tree stumps encircling it. 

Everyone sat their bags down and Kyle loudly announced he would make a fire. He walked away to gather some wood and the others began to set up their tents. Mulder had a one man tent, as he had no intention to share one with anyone. He had it set up quickly, and as he pounded the stakes in to secure it, he heard Dana laughing. He looked up to see her and Hannah struggling to get their tent up, laughing as they did. Dana was bent over, clutching her side, and then her head was thrown back as she laughed. Watching her, he missed the stake, and hit his thumb. 

“Fuck,” he seethed under his breath, sticking his thumb in his mouth, the pain sharp and throbbing. He glanced up quickly to see if Dana noticed, but she and Hannah were still struggling with their tent and laughing. 

Finished with securing his tent, he tossed his backpack inside, intent on setting out his sleeping bag later. He stood up and brushed off his hands, swallowing hard, as he walked closer to the women and cleared his throat. As Dana turned around and looked at him, he was struck again by the blue of her eyes. 

“Uhh … would you … do you need a hand?” he stammered, and she smiled at him, making his heart race. 

“I think we got it, but thanks, Fox,” she said with another smile. 

“Mulder,” he said without thinking, realizing he would not mind his hated name being said by her. She tilted her head and stared at him. 

“Really? You go by your last name with everyone? It’s not just a guy thing?” she asked. “Do you really not go by Fox? No one calls you Fox?” Her eyes twinkled and he felt he would let her call him anything, if she kept smiling and looking at him that way. 

“Uh … my family, but not really anyone else,” he said, even as his brain screamed at him to shut up and walk away. “Whatever you … either is fine.” He turned and walked away, exceedingly embarrassed, wishing he could disappear. 

“Thanks for the offer of help‍ … Mulder,” she called after him, and he turned quickly, her dancing eyes on him, her red hair shining in the sunlight. He nodded and turned around again, walking aimlessly away from them, shaking his head at his idiocy. 

He walked around for a while prior to heading back to the campsite, needing time to recover from his own stupidity. He headed over to the fire pit and watched Kyle trying to build a fire. He was doing it all wrong, laying the wood haphazardly as he added kindling under it. Mulder shook his head, stepping closer to show him how to do it correctly, when he heard a voice behind him. 

“You’re not doing that properly.” He turned and saw Dana standing there, her hair down and wavy from the braid. She was looking at the fire pit, but cut her eyes at Mulder, causing him to smile slightly. “You need to build it like a chimney so the oxygen can feed through the kindling and the wood -”

“Excuse me, sweetheart,” Kyle said, looking up at her with a sneer. “I don’t need help from you on how to build a fire, okay?” He went back to trying to get the fire burning and Dana stepped closer to him. 

“If our warmth and the ability to eat tonight is dependent on you, sweetheart, then I’m going to have to insist that you either build the fire properly, or get out of the way so I can do it,” she said, in a low controlled tone that made Mulder both afraid and highly aroused. Kyle stared up at her and then stood up, towering over her. She did not back down or show any fear, and soon Kyle stormed away, claiming he needed more wood. 

Dana glanced over at Mulder and rolled her eyes as she pushed up her sleeves and restructured the fire. She had it lit within minutes, stood up and brushed off her hands. She looked at Mulder with a grin, and he smiled back, nodding at her appreciatively. 

“Make sure he doesn’t overload it with wood, okay? I’m going to find Hannah. I wasn’t going to stop and help, but he was being an idiot about it,” she said as she walked away. He grinned and watched her before turning his eyes back to the fire. 

Hours later, after everyone had eaten, they were discussing the plant life they had found that day. Kyle sat quietly, still stinging over the fact that a woman, a younger woman at that, had shown him up, The other guys kept razzing him, which he was not taking well. 

Mulder sat to the left of Dana, with Hannah on her right. As the others discussed the plant life, he knew they were mistaken with their findings. Not only did he know, but he heard Dana repeatedly muttering, wrong under her breath. He huffed and she looked at him with a grin. 

“Well, they are wrong,” she whispered, and he smiled. “We had the guide papers, I don’t know how they could be so mistaken.” She shrugged and he coughed to cover up a laugh as she turned around and watched the fire. 

Not long later, everyone headed off to bed, the fire dying, but not out completely. Mulder watched Dana and Hannah walk into their tent as he was going into his own. Laying his sleeping bag out, he changed his clothes, adding an extra zip up hooded sweatshirt to take away the chill. 

Getting inside the sleeping bag, he rested his head on his backpack but quickly pushed it aside, finding it too bulky to be used as a pillow. Putting his arms behind his head, he wished the tent had a mesh top so he could see the stars, but he would make do with the sound of the crickets and owls in the trees. 

After the day’s activities, he should be tired, exhausted even, but he was wide awake. Sighing, he decided to go sit by the fire for a little while. Putting his boots back on, he opened his tent, stepped out, and zipped it up again, to avoid allowing in any unwanted critters. Hands in his sweatshirt pockets, his head down, he did not notice that he was not the only one with the idea to sit by the fire. 

“Oh!” He heard and looked up in surprise. Dana was standing there, poking at the fire with a long stick. “I didn’t wake you, did I? I wasn’t too loud?” 

“No, not at all. I … uh … I wasn’t tired, surprisingly, and thought I’d check on the fire. Guess you beat me to it,” he said and she smiled. He walked closer and stood beside her, the fire still burning low and giving off heat. 

She added another few small pieces of firewood and stirred at the fire as she sat down on a stump. Mulder sat beside her and they quietly stared at the fire as it began to slightly grow. He glanced at her and then back at the fire. 

“So, did the fact that we all went to bed, in the middle of a forest with a fire smoldering, bother you a bit, too?” she asked him quietly, and he laughed softly. “Or were you also a dumb idiot, who forgot to pack an extra sweatshirt, thus needing to seek out the warmth of said fire?” 

He turned his head to look at her and realized she was definitely not dressed for the cold night air. She had a long flannel on, but it was absolutely not enough to keep her small body warm. He watched her wrap her arms around herself, and he stood up, already unzipping his sweatshirt. 

“Oh no,” she said, putting up her hands. “Please don’t think I was implying I expected you to do that, I was just making conversation. I can’t take your sweatshirt from you. It’s my own fault for forgetting an extra shirt. Please … no.” She shook her head and pushed at the item he offered her. “I can’t.” 

“You can,” he said, holding it out to her and staring at her. “It’s an extra. Well, I mean I have two shirts and this long sleeved one as well. I’ll be okay without the sweatshirt. That flannel won’t keep you warm enough. Take it. Please.” He held it out and she finally accepted it, standing up to put it on and zip it up. It was big on her of course, but wearing the flannel under helped it to fit better. 

As she pulled her hair from inside it and tossed it back, he was treated to the most wonderful scent of flowers. She kept her head down for a second before raising her eyes to his. “Thank you,” she said quietly, and he nodded at her, seeing the flames from the fire reflecting in her eyes. He smiled and sat back down, as she sighed and did the same. 

They sat in silence for a few minutes and watched the fire, when she suddenly stood quietly, and walked to her tent. She did not look back, but stepped inside and zipped it shut. He was left wondering if he had done something wrong, but then he smiled slowly, as he realized she was still wearing his sweatshirt. 

He sat by the fire until it burned down low enough to not be a hazard, and then headed to his own tent. Laying down inside the bag once again, he smiled, imagining her sleeping comfortably because of the warmth his sweatshirt provided her. Closing his eyes, he was asleep in minutes. 

_______________________

The next morning, Mulder woke with the dawn, dressed, and rebuilt the fire. He shivered as he waited for it to warm up, his eyes flicking towards Dana’s tent, hoping she had been warm enough last night. Stirring the fire, he stood with his hands extended, feeling the warmth beginning to build. 

Not long after the fire was burning steadily, others began to emerge from their tents, happily seeking the warmth of the fire. Each person thanked him as they stood around it, warming their hands and backs in turn. A few of the guys started to prepare some peanut butter sandwiches for the group. Brian handed one to Mulder, who took it with a nod. 

After nearly everyone had gotten up, Dana and Hannah finally came from their tent, ready for the day. Dana glanced his way and then looked down, walking over to grab a sandwich from Brian. Hannah continued on to speak to Craig, a quiet guy who Mulder actually got along with. Dana stood on the fringe and then came closer to him. 

“Your sweatshirt is in the tent. I didn’t want to bring it out in front of everyone,” she said, glancing up at him, her eyes begging him to understand. 

“You keep it for tonight, just in case,” he shrugged, and she shook her head. “You can.” He repeated his words from last night to her again and she sighed with a nod.  

“Thank you,” she whispered, and then walked away. 

The tents were taken down and packed up as the sun began to rise higher in the sky. They left on a trail and Mulder followed behind Hannah and Dana, listening to their conversation while trying not to appear too creepy. They discussed dating and Dana admitted to Hannah that the last couple of dates she went on was a while ago, with one of the men standing her up. 

Mulder scoffed at the stupidity of whoever that man was, and Dana turned around quickly and looked at him. He stopped walking abruptly and stared at her, embarrassed beyond belief. He saw her lips twitch as she turned around and began to walk again. He fell back a few paces, intent on that not happening again. 

An hour or so later, they came to a shallow but wide stream they needed to cross. A log had fallen, creating a natural bridge, and they took turns walking across it carefully. Mulder had almost neared the end when his foot slipped and he fell into the stream. He luckily had not broken or sprained anything, but everything he was wearing was thoroughly soaked. 

Everyone laughed, including Dana, but she was the only one to come over and help him, as he spluttered and tried to stand up. She reached for his backpack, and he handed it to her, rising to his knees and then his feet. 

“Shit,” he muttered, unbuttoning his flannel shirt. He took it off and the one underneath, leaving him in a very wet tank top, cargo shorts, socks, and boots. He glanced up and found that Dana had turned her head, his backpack held in her hand, as it dripped steadily into the stream. 

“I’ll take that back now,” he said softly, and she nodded, glancing at him as her eyes quickly moved up and down his body, before she turned and walked away, running her fingers through her long ponytail. He smiled as he watched her, not seeming to notice how wet he truly was. 

Up another hill, they came to their camping site. A large fire pit was surrounded by small, single occupancy cabins. Everyone exclaimed at the sight of them, each of them going to check them out. Mulder set his wet pack on the step and walked inside. There was a cot, a small table made from logs, a lantern, and an oval hooked rug on the floor. It would be warmer than the tent, and for that he was relieved. 

Stepping out of the room, he began to unpack his bag, shaking his head at the sheer wetness of everything. His clothes inside were soaked, but they would hopefully dry soon. It was warm out and there was still a few hours of sunlight left. He laid out his clothes and reached for his sleeping bag, thankfully finding it still dry. 

He put it on the cot and checked the rest of his things. His snacks and other first aid items were okay, but his notebook was wet, his inked words running together. Shaking his head, he set it down. It would be easy to redo the work, he had it memorized. Taking out his spare shoes, a pair of old flip flops, he took off his wet boots and socks, again shaking his head. 

Picking up his clothes, he went to find a place to hang them to dry while the sun was still shining. His shoes … well they would hopefully dry, but he doubted it would happen by the time they journeyed back to their cars tomorrow morning. 

Clothes laid out in the sun on a bush, he walked back to the fire pit where everyone had gathered. He glanced down at the empty pit, and then looked up, catching Dana’s eye, as he raised his eyebrows. She smiled and covered her mouth as she laughed softly. He grinned as he looked toward Professor Morrow. 

“All right! Congratulations on making it here unscathed, well, most of us anyway,” he said, with a glance toward Mulder and everyone laughed. He shook his head and smiled. “Tonight, as well as food that we’ve brought, we’ll be gathering edible plants to add to our meal. Berries, plants, whatever you find that you’re sure is edible. So be double, even triple sure that you’re correct. We don’t want to poison our friends.” Everyone laughed again and soon headed off, each one with a container to collect items. 

Mulder found himself near Dana as they walked into the woods. He could hear her humming and he smiled, happy she was enjoying herself. They spread out, foraging the bushes for food. 

“How can you just walk away from me? When all I can do is watch you leave?” He heard, and turned his head to see Dana singing quietly as she cleaned a bush of its berries. “So take a look at me now, well there's just an empty space. And there's nothing left here to remind me, just the memory of your face …” She looked up and saw him watching her and she grinned. 

“I’m a little obsessed with Phil Collins right now. Sorry to expose you to my horrible singing voice,” she said, with a laugh. He shook his head and continued gathering items. 

“It’s not horrible,” he told her, his eyes downcast. 

“Liar,” she called, and he looked up to see her smiling. He looked back down, smiling as he continued his work. 

Fire warm and food eaten, even the items they had all collected, of which Mulder and Dana had brought in the most, everyone sat around that night laughing and talking about many things. Mulder saw Hannah speaking to Craig once again, a huge smile on his face. 

Mulder glanced at Dana as she put another log onto the fire, debating whether to speak to her. As he was contemplating it, she walked over to him, standing close and crossing her arms. She glanced at him and smiled and he smiled back. 

“So, we’re obviously the smartest ones in class, we definitely need to stick together from now on.” She shrugged and he laughed. They both looked at the fire and were quiet, Mulder constantly feeling tongue tied around her. 

“So you —” he started to say, but was cut off by the professor telling them all to head to bed, warning of rising early in the morning. Mulder glanced at Dana again, but she was busy smothering tonight’s fire, the area they were in more heavily wooded. 

“Can’t take any chances,” she said, and he began to help her. Nodding her thanks, she caught his eye, and headed to her little cabin. 

Making sure the fire was completely out, he took out his flashlight, and gathered all his items from the nearby bushes he had laid them on earlier. Finding them to be relatively dry, he walked into his cabin, took off his shoes, and changed his clothes. He lit the lantern on the small table and laid down on his cot. 

Sighing, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. A knock sounded at his door and he sat up in surprise, his brow furrowing. Standing up and crossing to the door, he opened it to find Dana standing there, a flashlight in her hand, her long hair down, his borrowed sweatshirt pulled tightly around her, and a worried expression on her face. 

“Hi,” he said simply, his surprise undoubtedly evident. 

“I need you to look at something. Please,” her voice shaky and scared. 

“Uhh … come in,” he told her, stepping aside to let her inside before he closed the door. She hurried past him and stood in the middle of the small room in his large sweatshirt, a pair of shorts, and her boots. 

“I was changing my clothes and … I felt something, on my back. It was itchy earlier, but now it feels worse. I can’t see it and I need to know what it is. Can you look at it, please?” she stared at him and he nodded. She turned around, moved her hair, and dropped his sweatshirt down past her butt. His breath caught and he froze in place. 

She was not wearing anything under the sweatshirt, clearly whatever she found, had scared her badly enough to forego extra clothing as she hurried to his room. 

“Mulder? Fox? What is it?” Her worried voice snapped him into action, and he reached for the lantern, turning it up to see her back better. Stepping closer to her, he held the lantern as he knelt down. “It’s down on my lower back.” 

As soon as he was close enough, he saw it- an angry looking rash covering a good sized area of her lower back. He touched it gently and she hissed and then she groaned. 

“Sorry,” he said, feeling the heat even without touching it again. “Stay like that for a second.” He turned around and grabbed his backpack, rummaging around until he found the container of salve he had brought with him. “Okay, this might hurt a little bit.” 

“What?” she asked, but he did not reply, instead taking two fingerfuls of the salve, and gently rubbing it across her back. “Oh my God, what is that? Mmmm, oh Mulder, that stings … ohhhh … no it feels good. What is it?” He rubbed in the salve and smiled as he listened to her finding relief from the comfort it provided. 

Wiping his hands, he put the lid on the salve and stood up. He brought his sweatshirt back up her body and placed it on her shoulders. She grabbed at it and zipped it up. Letting her hair fall, she put her hands in the pockets of the sweatshirt and turned around, looking up at him. 

“Seriously, what is that? And what’s on my back?” she asked, reaching for the container in his hands. 

“It’s a rash, probably from a plant you touched unknowingly,” he told her, reaching in his bag again, taking out a bottle of aspirin and handing two of them to her. “It’s pretty hot and inflamed; this will help it feel better.” He handed her water from a canteen bottle he had and she took the medicine, just as a huge crack of thunder sounded, causing her to jump. A second later, rain began to fall, hard, on the tiny cabin. 

“Whoa,” they said simultaneously, looking up as the rain pelted the roof from above. He looked back down at her and turned to the door, opening it and looking outside. She stepped closer to him and they watched as the rain obscured their vision beyond anything not directly in front of them. 

“I … “ she started, and then stopped. 

“No, you can’t,” he finished for her, knowing she was going to suggest she make a run for it. “You’d be soaked through, that salve will wash off, and you’d be in pain. Best to stay here, at least until it lets up a bit.” He closed the door and turned to find her right behind him, and his mouth went dry. The one person who seemed to short circuit his brain was now going to be sitting alone with him in a small room during a rainstorm, for the night possibly. 

Her expression was unreadable as her eyes seemed to search his face. He waited until she nodded in agreement and stepped over to the bed, sat down, and took off her boots. She looked at him and he gave her a small smile as he picked up the lantern off the floor, set it on the little table after turning it down a bit, and then sat on the floor facing her, his back against the wall. They were both quiet as they listened to the heavy fall of the rain on the roof, thunder rumbling and then cracking loudly. He saw her jump again and he smiled slightly. She obviously did not like thunder. 

“Tell me a story,” she said, just loud enough for him to hear her above the deluge of rain, as though she was not sure if she should be asking for something like that. 

“A story? About what?” he asked, looking at her in surprise. She shrugged, looking a little embarrassed. 

“I don’t know, anything, I’m not picky,” she said. “I don’t really like thunder and I thought maybe a story might take my mind off it. You don’t have to, if you don’t want to.” She shrugged again, looking down and touching at her back lightly over his sweatshirt. She hissed and closed her eyes. 

He watched her for a second, thinking of stories that would not only interest her, but help to loosen his tongue. Leaning his head back, he knew she would not be looking for some silly fairy tale to be retold to her, and so he thought back to the science fiction and weird stories he loved to read and know more about, until he had a perfect one. 

“Have you ever heard the story of the star-crossed lovers, Maurice and Lyda?” he asked, lifting his head and watching her, hoping she would say no, as he knew this story by heart. He could recite it from memory, thus making it easier to speak to her. 

“The only star-crossed lovers I know of are Romeo and Juliet,” she said, shifting on the cot. He smiled and nodded as that was the case with most people. 

Clearing his throat, he began his story. “Christmas, 1917, it was a time of dark, dark despair. American soldiers were dying at an ungodly rate in a war-torn Europe, while at home, a deadly strain of the flu virus attacked young and old alike,” he began, and then he forgot about her as he closed his eyes, lost in his own story. “Tragedy was a visitor on every doorstep while a creeping hopelessness set in with every man, woman. and child. It was a time of dark, dark despair.” 

“You said that already,” she said, with a smirk, and he opened his eyes to find her now lying on her side facing him, leaning on her elbow, one eyebrow raised. He grinned and then chuckled. 

“But,” he continued, “at 1501 Larkspur Lane, for a pair of star-crossed lovers, tragedy came not from war or pestilence, not by the boot heel or the bombardier, but by their own innocent hand.” He stared at her and waited, seeing if he could get that skeptical eyebrow to go down. 

“Go on,” she said, both eyebrows going up, and he knew he had piqued her interest. 

“His name was Maurice. He was a ... a brooding, but heroic young man, beloved of Lyda, a sublime beauty with a light that seemed to follow her wherever she went,” he said, waving his hands around slowly, and she laughed softly. “They were likened to two angels descended from heaven whom the gods could not protect from the horrors being visited upon this cold, grey earth.” Again he paused and stared at her, waiting to see what she would say. 

“And what happened to them?” 

“Well, according to legend, driven by a tragic fear of separation, they forged a lovers' pact so that they might spend eternity together and not spend one precious Christmas apart,” he said with a shrug and a half smile, his tongue loosened now from a story he had always enjoyed. 

“Wait. They killed themselves?” she asked, frowning as she stared at him. 

“Yeah, and supposedly their ghosts return to haunt that house every Christmas Eve,” he said, and then shivered. “I just gave myself the chills.” He stared at her with a grin and she frowned with a smile. “What?” 

“Do you really believe that story?” 

“I don’t know. Yeah. I mean, it’s kind of hard not to believe it when it —”

“Sounds so believable?” she cut across him, with a tone of disbelief. 

“You don’t believe in ghosts?” 

“Does that surprise you?” 

“Well … yeah, a little. I thought everybody believed in ghosts,” he said, with a shrug of his shoulders. 

“Like that slimy one in Ghostbusters?” she teased him and he shook his head. 

“No, not like Ghostbusters. What a joke that movie was at portraying ghosts. They are benevolent entities … well, mostly. I have read stories of places where ghosts have done horrible things and people —” He stopped talking as he looked at the barely contained grin on her face. It spread as she tried to stop it and he saw a dimple in her cheek. 

God, he was in so much trouble … 

“You believe it all, don’t you?” she asked, with a huge grin. 

“Why wouldn’t I?” he asked back, shrugging his shoulders. “I haven’t seen it disproved, so …” He shrugged again and she laughed as she shook her head. She laid down on her back, and he looked at her profile. 

So much trouble … 

“Umm … I should check your back again, just to be sure the salve is helping,” he said, getting up and picking up the container again as he knelt down beside the bed. She looked up at him, her eyes so blue, he knew that if she asked him to do anything, no matter how questionable, he would. “You need to turn over.” 

She nodded and did as he asked. He lifted his sweatshirt over her butt and up just enough to expose her back. It was looking better already and felt cooler than earlier. Still, he would apply another layer and have her lay on her stomach for a while, let it soak in better. 

“It looks better, not completely gone of course, but better than earlier. I’d say you had an allergic reaction to something. Obviously not poison oak, you would’ve been smart enough to avoid that, but at least it’s topical and nothing serious,” he said as he slowly put more salve on, both to make sure it was applied well, and because her skin was so soft, he wanted to touch it forever. She had a freckle just above the rash and he had an overwhelming desire to bend forward and kiss it. 

“What is that stuff?” she asked again, her voice muffled in her arms, hissing and then moaning, as he applied it. 

“It’s a homemade salve my mom has made for years. My sister and I were always getting scrapes and rashes as children and so she made this natural stuff because my sister cried with the stuff from the pharmacy,” he told her, rubbing slow circles across her back. 

“What were you two doing to meet such catastrophes?” 

“Well, we grew up in Chilmark, and spent a lot of time outdoors. Climbing trees, baseball games, races, playing widespread games of hide-and-seek. Inevitably, one of us would come down with some ailment and so my mother kept this on hand at all times. She called it the “Super Salve,” as we were both into superheroes then. Plus, it works really well, so …” He smiled as he thought of those days spent outside, no care for anything but being home on time for dinner. He finished applying the salve and closed the container. “Stay like that for a few minutes and let it really set in, it will help a lot.” He wiped his hands on the shirt he had worn earlier and leaned against the bed. 

He heard her turn her head and he looked at her over his shoulder. “You’re a Vineyard boy, huh? And here I thought you were all right,” she said, with a twinkle in her eye and a smile on her face. 

He laughed and she turned her head back, sighing as she did. “Well, whatever she puts in that, it’s like magic. Please tell your mother that I can't thank her enough. It stings for a second, but then … ohhhh …” she said in a low voice, and he was glad she had turned her head away. Her moan shot straight to his groin and he was horrified at its betrayal in such tight quarters as the rain fell down, preventing any chance of escape. 

“Tell me more about your family,” she said and he smiled, thankful for the distraction. 

“I have a sister, she’s twenty-one. Parents still married, still live in Chilmark. My sister is living in Europe with some friends right now, for “life experience” as she calls it,” he said, looking down at the floor. 

“A single trip to Amsterdam ought to take care of that for her,” she said, and he laughed. 

“You seem awfully ... normal for growing up on the Vineyard, if you don’t mind me saying,” she said, once again turning to look at him. He raised his eyebrows at her and she smiled. 

“What exactly are you implying, Dana?” he asked with a smile. She stared at him, her face serious and then she smiled softly. 

“I think that’s the first time I've ever heard you say my name,” she said quietly. “In this class or the last one we had together.” He stared at her and he knew she was correct. He had been nervous to speak to her, in both classes, and now he was seeing how ridiculous that was to do. Besides being smart and beautiful, she was easy to talk to, and funny. 

“Yeah, I … uh … I’m not really a … I don’t hang out with many people and I don’t really engage in many conversations,” he said, and she nodded. 

“I don’t like it.” She shook her head and he frowned. “You saying that name, I mean. I just think that if you insist on being called Mulder, you should call me … Scully.” She shrugged and he stared at her, trying to decide if she was teasing him. She smiled and he knew she meant it. 

“Okay … Scully,” he said, and she grinned wider. He smiled back and she nodded. 

“Scully. I like it.” She smiled, and he cleared his throat, looking down at the floor. “And to answer your question, Mulder, I wasn’t really implying anything about Vineyard people. I was just teasing.” 

“I know … Scully,” he said, looking up at her and she smiled at him again. “I know what people think about those of us on the Vineyard and I understand. My family does belong to a country club, I went to cotillions when I was younger, and my sister was even a debutante, but only because my mother insisted on it. My sister didn’t want to do it, and in fact, the night of the ball, she left about halfway through, changed out of her ridiculous dress and gloves, and came back in jeans, a Rolling Stones t-shirt, and black Converse high tops. My mother was nearly apoplectic, but my sister just shrugged and kept dancing.” 

“I like her. She sounds like someone I’d like to know,” Dana laughed, and he nodded and smiled. Samantha was definitely someone he could see her befriending. 

“What about your family?” he asked, and she shook her head, moving to lay on her side, facing him, but keeping his sweatshirt up above her rash. 

“I’m not terribly interesting,” she said, waving him away. He stared at her as she licked her lips, biting the bottom one, and he wished he could taste them. “My parents are married, my father is in the Navy. We’ve lived in a lot of places, but have been here for the longest length of time. My older brother is also in the Navy and he’s stationed in Germany. My younger brother is starting college this coming year. I have an older sister, but I don’t really know where she is right now. She’s kind of flighty and the last time I heard from her, she was in Colorado. I think she was anyway. She’s always on the move, ‘following the wind and the sun,’ she says.” She paused and sighed. He looked at her again and she shook her head. 

“What?” 

“I don’t know,” she sighed, looking down. “I’m still not completely sure what I want to do with my life. I have always loved science and pursuing answers that are not readily available. But I know that’s not a field most women enter into, as if it’s odd a woman would find science interesting.”

“Pssh!” Mulder said forcefully. “It’s incredibly hot and sexy when women are interested in science.” Realizing what he said, his face became flushed, and he fell silent as he chanced a glance at her. She smiled, her own cheeks pink, as she looked down. Thunder cracked again and this time he jumped. 

They were quiet for a few minutes and she sighed again. “I just wish that I was more like my sister sometimes. She’s not afraid to do anything. To just up and leave, follow her passion, live in a cabin with some guy she just met and make jewelry to sell at swap meets. She’s flighty, yes, but she’s also passionate and caring, and doesn’t care how she’s perceived. She’s ballsy and tough, despite her hippie outward appearance.” She fell silent and he looked at her, wanting to tell her she was all of that and more, but he worried it would scare her, so he tried a different tactic. 

“Every person is given the personality that’s right for them,” he said, looking at the wall across the room. “We see in others what we imagine we are lacking, and yet it’s there, just perhaps not right at the surface. Every person is exactly who they are meant to be.” 

“Wow, you and my sister would get along really well,” she told him with a quiet laugh. “Dare I say, even make a good couple.” 

“Hmm, what’s her stance on science?” he asked, watching her out of the corner of his eye. 

“The whole idea of it?” she laughed. “I wouldn’t say she’s against it, but she’s more prone to believe in the healing power of crystals than modern medicine.” 

“Oh, well, then I'm sorry, I’m gonna have to pass. A firm grasp in the belief of science is high on my list. I’d put it at top five, easily,” he said, turning his head to find her staring at him. She did not blink for a few seconds, holding his stare, until thunder cracked again, and she jumped. 

“It’s late,” he said quietly. “You should try to get some sleep. Is your back feeling better?” She nodded, staring at him again, as she pulled his sweatshirt down and covered her back. She got inside the sleeping bag, glanced at him once more, and then turned toward the wall. 

“Good night, Mulder,” she said softly. 

“Good night … Scully,” he replied with a smile, shifting until he was lying on his back on the floor, his arm behind his head, listening to the rain falling unrelentingly on the roof. A few minutes later, he heard her soft breathing and he smiled again, as he himself fell asleep. 

________________

Mulder woke early, wanting to be sure Dana was out of his cabin and back in her own, before anyone else was up and about. No need for anyone to suspect anything, especially as it pertained to her. 

She walked to her cabin, slipping in the mud a bit, as she arrived at her door. She turned and looked at him as she walked inside, an odd expression on her face. He hoped it was not one of regret or worry over what they had shared last night. Then just as the door was about to close, she poked her head out and smiled at him, and his heart pounded wildly against his rib cage. 

The campsite was a muddy wet mess that morning. No chance for the warmth of a fire, as the fire pit was full of water, and every piece of wood in the forest was wet regardless. 

Once everyone was up, and that discovery was made, the grumbling began. Foul moods abounded, but Mulder was not fazed by any of them. He could not stop grinning, remembering Dana’s laugh and the beautiful blue of her eyes. 

He saw her speaking to Professor Morrow, showing him her back, though not in the same manner she had to him last night. He could not hear them speaking, but the professor glanced his way and nodded, telling him without words that he had done the right thing. 

Bags packed and everything ready, they began the long hike back down. The weather made it harder, but they were meant to be back that day, so everyone kept a steady pace. As the car park came into view, Kyle slipped and fell, much to everyone’s amusement. Covered in mud, he swore and yelled, trying to wipe himself clean, and failing. 

Gathering by all the cars, Professor Morrow reminded them to finish their workbooks and to write a 2,000 word essay about the weekend and what they experienced. Some groaned and others grinned. Mulder saw Dana smile softly and he wondered what she was thinking about. 

People began to leave and soon it was just a few of them. Dana walked over to him, his sweatshirt in her hands, and a smile on her face. He stared at her, feeling Hannah’s eyes on them, making him feel awkward. 

“Thank you for the use of your sweatshirt, Fox … Mulder.” She handed it to him and he took it, laying it over his arm. 

“You’re welcome, Dana … Scully,” he said and she grinned. They stared at each other, and the desire to kiss her was stronger than anything he had ever felt. Her eyes flicked to his lips and his mouth went dry. Looking back into his eyes, they continued to stand there, staring at one another. 

“Dana! Come on, let’s go!” Hannah called from across the car park, causing Mulder to jump, and Dana to sigh. 

“Okay,” she called back, looking at her over her shoulder. She looked back at Mulder and smiled sadly. “See you in class.” 

“Yeah,” he said quietly, feeling deflated and low. “See you in class.” She stared at him, waiting, and he stepped back with his head down. He heard her sigh again and then the crunch of her boots on the gravel of the car park. 

Looking up, he watched them drive away and felt like a complete fool. “You are such an idiot. So stupid.” He threw his backpack in the backseat and then got in the car, heading for his little apartment off campus, berating himself the whole way, knowing he had completely missed his chance. 

Arriving home, he went around back and sat on his porch, dumping out his backpack, making sure no little creatures had hitched a ride home. He looked through everything, made piles of things to put away and to be washed. He looked at his sweatshirt and shook his head. Dana’s naked body had been inside it, but he still needed to wash it. 

Taking off everything but his undershirt and shorts, he walked barefoot to the front door and unlocked it. Coming through his small one bedroom apartment, he opened the back door and began to bring things inside. Once that was done, he stripped, tossing his clothes outside, and took a shower. 

Changed and feeling better physically, but still like an idiot, he scooped up his pile of clothes from outside, grabbed the laundry soap and some quarters, and headed to the laundry room. He opened the lid, added the quarters, and started to put his clothes inside. Taking the time to go through his pockets, he found a rock and some small pieces of dried leaves, which he threw away. 

His sweatshirt was last, and he sighed as he reached inside the pockets, and frowned as he touched something. Taking it out, he saw it was a folded piece of paper. Opening it, he grinned and then laughed as he read the words written on the page. 

How could you just let me walk away? Just let me leave without a trace?

Scully 

(301) 555-0134

P.S. I’m working on those hidden personality traits. 

He threw the sweatshirt in the wash, dumped in the soap, closed the lid, pushed in the quarter tray, and ran upstairs. Slamming the door, he grabbed the phone and dialed her number. His heart pounding, breath ragged, he waited. Two rings and then her voice made him stop moving. 

“Scully.” 

“Hey, Scully, it’s me.” He grinned as he moved again and walked to the couch, flopping down on it. 

“Well, it’s about damn time, Mulder,” she teased. 

“I’m inclined to agree.” He laughed, sitting forward and shaking his head. She joined his laughter and then they fell silent. His heart began pounding, but if she had been braver than usual, then he could be too. “I … I wanted to kiss you.” 

“I know,” she said quietly. “Me, too.” The honesty they expressed, left him tongue tied once again. Just hearing her voice in his ear made his body feel warm. 

“So, Mulder … do you suppose that house on Larkspur Lane is haunted only on Christmas? Surely it could do with a scientific investigation, just to see,” she said, and he could hear her smile. He sat back with a grin, ready to discuss haunted houses, or any other damn thing she wanted. 

For the next ten minutes, an hour, or for the rest of his life. 

[beardedmrbean]

Mystery continues to swirl after nearly a month of drone sightings over New Jersey and other US states, alarming some residents.

US authorities have been unable to provide definitive answers, saying only that the objects are not believed to pose a danger to the public or national security.

On Sunday, Homeland Security Secretary Alejandro Mayorkas confirmed the sightings included drones, as well as manned aircraft commonly mistaken for drones.

He added that he knows of "no foreign involvement" to do with the unmanned aerial vehicles.

Some lawmakers have criticised the government's handling of the drone reports and the lack of public information.

The drone sightings have prompted a wide-range of baseless conspiracy theories, including that they are searching for nuclear weapons, radioactive "dirty bombs" or are form part of an impending invasion by aliens.

Here's what we know.

Where have drones been spotted?

Dozens of drone sightings have been reported over New Jersey since 18 November, but others have been reported around the US north-east.

Some of the flights were spotted near Picatinny Arsenal - a sensitive military research facility - as well as near President-elect Donald Trump's golf course in the town of Bedminster, New Jersey.

The Federal Aviation Administration (FAA) has since issued temporary flight restrictions prohibiting drone flights over Bedminster and Picatinny.

Sightings have also been reported in several other states:

In New York City, several drones were reported flying over the Bronx on 12 December

Stewart Airfield in New York state had to shut down for about an hour on 13 December because of drone activity, Governor Kathy Hochul said

In Connecticut, police confirmed "suspicious drone activity". A drone detection system is now in use near the towns of Groton and New London

In Maryland, former Republican Governor Larry Hogan said he saw what appeared to be "dozens" of drones over his home in Davidsonville

In Massachusetts, two men were arrested on 14 December after a "hazardous drone operation" near Logan International Airport's airspace in Boston, police said

Multiple sightings have been reported in eastern Pennsylvania, including over Philadelphia

In October, the Wall Street Journal reported that mysterious drones were seen for 17 days near US military facilities in Virginia

In Ohio, a US Air Force base was briefly closed on 13 December after small drones were detected flying nearby. More drones were reported on 16 and 17 December, although the airbase's operations were not impacted

In late November, drones were also spotted over three US airbases in the UK, with British defence sources telling the BBC suspicion had fallen on a "state actor".

Drones were also reported near the Ramstein US military airbase in Germany in early December.

Are mystery drones above US bases in England something sinister?

What have investigators said about the drones?

In a call with reporters, officials from several US agencies said there was no evidence of any threat to public safety.

"I think there has been a slight overreaction," an official from the FBI said.

The homeland security secretary told ABC News on Sunday he knows of "no foreign involvement with respect to the sightings in the north-east".

"And we are vigilant in investigating this matter," he said.

Mayorkas added: "If there is any reason for concern, if we identify any foreign involvement or criminal activity, we will communicate with the American public accordingly."

What are these flying objects?

Following a briefing with the Department of Homeland Security on 11 December, New Jersey assemblywoman Dawn Fantasia said the drones appeared to avoid detection by traditional methods such as helicopter and radio.

Fantasia said the aircraft were up to 6ft (1.8m) in diameter, travelling with lights turned off and "operate in a co-ordinated manner".

Secretary Mayorkas told ABC that an explanation for the uptick in drone sightings could be to do with a change in federal law last year that allowed drones to be flown at night.

"That may be one of the reasons why now people are seeing more drones than they did before, especially from dawn to dusk," he said.

A joint statement released by the Department of Homeland Security, FBI, Federal Aviation Administration and defence department on 16 December said the sightings are a "combination of lawful commercial drones, hobbyist drones, and law enforcement drones, as well as manned fixed-wing aircraft, helicopters, and stars mistakenly reported as drones."

"We have not identified anything anomalous," the statement said, adding that the government still recognises "the concern among many communities."

President-elect Donald Trump, for his part, claimed that the "government knows what is happening".

"For some reason, they don't want to comment," he added. "I think they'd be better off saying what it is our military knows and our president knows."

While he declined to answer whether he had been briefed on the sightings, Trump said that he "can't imagine it's the enemy."

Where are they coming from?

It is unclear who might be operating them.

New Jersey Republican representative Jeff Van Drew said that the drones were coming from an Iranian "mothership" in the Atlantic, while Illinois Democrat Raja Krishnamoorthi said there was a "non-trivial" chance that China could be involved.

The Pentagon, White House and homeland security department have all insisted that there is no foreign origin for the objects.

A northern California man was charged on with flying a drone over and taking pictures of Vandenberg Space Force Base, located near Santa Barbara, on 30 November.

The man, 39-year-old Chinese national Yinpiao Zhou was arrested just before he boarded a flight to China.

But there has been no suggestion this incident has any connection with the spate of drone reports on the other side of the country.

Can the drones be stopped?

President-elect Trump has suggested the drones couldn't be flying without the government's knowledge.

"Let the public know, and now," he wrote on his Truth Social media platform. "Otherwise, shoot them down."

Senator Richard Blumenthal, a Connecticut Democrat, also said the drones should be shot down.

Shooting down drones is illegal, however.

New York State Governor Hochul has called on the federal government to allow states to crack down on the drones.

Senate majority leader Chuck Schumer has requested that federal officials send drone detection systems to New York and New Jersey.

In a statement, the FAA warned that drone operators who conduct unsafe or dangerous operations could face fines of up to $75,000 (£59,000) and have their drone pilot certificates revoked.

[solntse111]

if you didn’t know, western north carolina and appalachia as a whole was hit extremely hard in hurricane helene. like a true katrina level disaster. here’s a very poorly organized diary of my time since the storm. please pray and donate to restoring the magical mountains i call home.

september 29

flooding and rain started wednesday

helene hit thursday thru friday

the clouds have yet to clear

county refusing to acknowledge why black mountain got water over the rest of buncombe.

87 year old woman found dead on route nine in black mountain.

30 found dead in buncombe county alone.

ag center and almost every other shelter is at capacity. schools closed indefinitely.

94,000 in city limits without power.

100 people and 11 animals airlifted to safety.

1000 missing.

a man in apartment says the dam is about to break, people are sending out misinformation that even the police stations are sharing

4,000 national guard deployed to wnc, a non commercial plane passed over the apartment at 9:01 pm

“beyond what anyone could prepare for”

united cajun navy arrives in asheville, “the gloves are off… hardcore rescue at its finest”

September 30

went to my dads for supplies

mom came home from maryland

vermont search and rescue at the church

120 confirmed dead in buncombe county

lake james rose to 14 feet, water covering second story homes.

looting throughout biltmore

national news finally picks up the story, harris has spoken to fema about asheville

military helicopters in the upstate

25 counties have major emergency declarations; all of wnc

people found dead in the trees in sawananoa

nationwide craft beer shortage

October 1

Rosh Hashana

power returns to the complex

food and supply lines into asheville are secured

October 3

mcrig is in asheville providing free meals

october 6

me and chris leave for charlotte

we see go to dinner and see the second joker movie

hearing people talk about things like cleaning their garage or touring their sons new apartment feels ridiculous knowing we have been a week without water

when my friends have lost their homes

when hundreds have lost their lives

we stay in a dirty yet crisp hotel room

two beds and a broken mirror

showering was nice

[moonlight26posts-blog]

In Maryland! Meet Ghost, a charming 4-year-old pup in search of a special foster or forever home where tranquility reigns supreme. Found in a local shelter amidst unfortunate circumstances of cruelty and hoarding, Ghost swiftly captured the affection of shelter staff and volunteers who absolutely adore him.

Despite his past, Ghost possesses endearing qualities that are bound to steal your heart. He craves human connection and delights in being close to you, showcasing his affectionate nature. A proficient leash walker, Ghost exhibits remarkable tolerance towards other dogs while on walks, though his social interactions are still a work in progress.

While he may have battled heartworm previously, Ghost is now in good health, albeit with a few missing teeth—a minor detail that doesn't dampen his hearty appetite. Given his history, Ghost requires a serene environment where he can unwind and bask in your companionship. Are you ready to be Ghost's cherished companion? If you're seeking a furry addition to your family and possess the patience and understanding Ghost deserves, he could be the perfect match for you. Plus, Ghost is very, very housetrained and loves anything that squeaks!

If you can foster or adopt this sweet boy, please email: foster@aaha-rescue.org or adopt@aaha-rescue.org

[lambstokill]

⠀

⠀

𝗕𝗜𝗢𝗚𝗥𝗔𝗣𝗛𝗜𝗖𝗔𝗟 𝗜𝗡𝗙𝗢. 𝗢𝗙 . . .

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ˖ ⠀࿇ ཾ ⠀༼ ⠀( JUDITH STARLING )

⠀
⠀ ⠀ { trigger warning for the contents below:

family loss, car accident, death, etc.}
⠀
⠀


⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ 𝟎𝟎𝟏 ┊ ⠀ 𝗜𝗡𝗗𝗘𝗡𝗧𝗜𝗧𝗬 .⠀⠀

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀────────────
⠀
⠀

⠀
⠀ ༝ ༝⠀ 𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞: judith annora starling.

⠀ ༝ ༝⠀ 𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬: jude, annie, starchild.

⠀༝ ༝⠀ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫: cisgender female.

⠀ ༝ ༝⠀ 𝐚𝐠𝐞 / 𝐛𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐝𝐚𝐲: july 2nd, 1993 / 23 at the

beginning of the show.⠀ ⠀

⠀ ༝ ༝⠀ 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐞𝐬: human ⠀

⠀ ༝ ༝⠀ 𝐛𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞: asheville, tennessee.⠀ ⠀

⠀ ༝ ༝⠀ 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: brooklyn, new york.

⠀ ༝ ༝⠀ 𝐚𝐟𝐟𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬: cases that involve children,

car accidents, parental / family deaths. ⠀
⠀

⠀
⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ 𝟎𝟎𝟐 ┊ ⠀ 𝗔𝗣𝗣𝗘𝗔𝗥𝗔𝗡𝗖𝗘 .

⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀─────────────

⠀

⠀

⠀
⠀ ༝ ༝⠀ 𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭: 5’6”
⠀ ༝ ༝⠀ 𝐞𝐲𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐫: hazel.

༝ ༝⠀ 𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐫: dark brown, but overtime

she begins to develop grey strands due to stress.
⠀

⠀

⠀
⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ 𝟎𝟎𝟑 ┊ ⠀ 𝗥𝗢𝗠𝗔𝗡𝗖𝗘 .⠀⠀
⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀────────────
⠀
⠀

⠀
⠀ ༝ ༝⠀ 𝐬𝐞𝐱𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: bisexual, openly.

⠀ ༝ ༝⠀ 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞: in total, Judith has only ever

been with five people, three women & two men,

and only two of those relationships were serious.

⠀ ༝ ༝⠀ 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐬: married. ⠀
⠀
⠀
⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ 𝟎𝟎𝟒 ┊ ⠀ 𝗣𝗘𝗥𝗦𝗢𝗡𝗔𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗬 .
⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀─────────────
⠀
⠀

⠀

⠀⠀⠀

⠀ ༝ ༝⠀ 𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭: true neutral.

⠀ ༝ ༝⠀ 𝐳𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐜 𝐬𝐢𝐠𝐧: cancer. ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀
⠀
⠀
⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ 𝟎𝟎𝟓 ┊ ⠀𝗥𝗘𝗟𝗔𝗧𝗜𝗢𝗡𝗦 . ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀─────────
⠀


⠀ ༝ ༝⠀Rafael Barba — husband.

⠀ ༝ ༝⠀Natalia Barba — daughter.

༝ ༝⠀Emelio Barba — son.

༝ ༝⠀Lennon Starling — 𝖿𝖺𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋, deceased.

⠀ ༝ ༝⠀Marley Collins-Starling — 𝗆𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾r, deceased.

⠀ ༝ ༝⠀Lukas Starling — older brother, deceased.

⠀ ༝ ༝⠀Silas Starling — older brother, deceased.

⠀ ༝ ༝⠀Dane Starling — older brother

⠀ ༝ ༝⠀Jakob Starling — older brother, deceased.

⠀ ༝ ༝⠀Maverick Starling — older brother, deceased.

⠀ ༝ ༝⠀Bonnie McClain — paternal aunt / guardian.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀

𝟎𝟎𝟔 ┊ ⠀ 𝗕𝗔𝗖𝗞𝗦𝗧𝗢𝗥𝗬 . ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀
⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀─────────

⠀ ༝ ༝⠀ Life was boring in Asheville … Judith always

searched for an escape — running away, only

to be brought back just twenty-four hours later,

or, her favorite memory, at just fifteen years old,

hopping into the back of a truck bed, where she

managed to get all the way to maryland before her

picture was put out into the paper & she had to be

brought home via police escort.


this life of running away all came to a halt when

she was seventeen. Judith was at home with her

brother, Dane, on house sitting duty for their aunt,

Daphne, as she packed up to move to New York,

when they got the call about a horrible accident.

no survivors.

With no one else able-bodied to care for the kids,

Daphne signed up to take them in, formally

adopting the two as she left Tennessee for

the big apple.

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀──────────────────

[no criticism, hate, or unnecessary opinions please.

creating ocs is just a creative outlet for myself <3]

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