#Montana drag wrestling

[montana-drag-wrestling]

Montana Drag Wrestling is back, and we are ready to rumble! The Wig-Snatching Rumble Royale pits 20 Montana drag superstars against each other in a no-hold-barred-wig-snatching rumble, with one lucky king, queen, or in-between walking away with a $10,000 grand prize!

See "The Montana Morningstar" Iris Von Moxley and the "Millennial of Mayhem" Margret Murder defend their Tag Team Championship titles against Nikki and Dita Von Doom!

See the finals of the Lip Sync Challenge Tournament, with Miss Angel Fire going head to head with Stella Kinesis

And in your main event "The Karen" Chastity Wilkes battles her do-gooder husband "The Steak Cowboy" Brick Steakworth in a Divorce Papers Match!

All that plus musical guest Serena Palmer and comedy guest Austin Valley.

$20, Tickets avaliable March 13th at https://www.zootownarts.org/

Card subject to change.

[chadillacboseman]

Summary: Alex is having a horrible, terrible, no good very bad...three weeks. Just a very short one shot of pre-Kate (@thesingularityseries) and pre-Echo (@roofgeese ) Black Dragon times.

--

Alex could hear the roar of the fight pits all the way from the storage room- a loud, unforgiving cacophony that rang in his ears as he searched the shelves. Kano's voice rang out, louder than the others, his accent grating on Alex's ears.

He ignored it and crouched to better examine the bottom shelf. He knew what the fight meant for him, it was only a matter of time until-

"Got another stiff for ya, Turk."

Alex glanced up and met Kano's glowing red eye; his face was flecked with blood and a fresh, angry cut ran across his cheek, not yet scabbed over.

Alex sighed and rose from his crouched position, his bum knee creaking in protest as it lifted his weight. The body behind Kano was that of a younger man, his brown hair cropped into a military high and tight. He was wearing olive green, and his name was sewn into the right hand side of his shirt.

Special Forces.

"Your ears painted on? Get rid of him," Kano gestured and his eye glowed threateningly, "And make it quick before he stinks up the place."

Alex sauntered past Kano and searched for the least bloody part of the soldier's body. From the looks of it, his death had been painful and slow. Alex crouched and hoisted the man over his shoulder, pointedly ignoring the wet squelch that met his ears on contact.

"There's the muscle we hired ya for! Now get a fuckin' move on."

Alex had been on body duty for three weeks, a punishment inflicted on him for a botched mission in Montana. It wasn't his fault, not really. The SF had known they were coming, had intercepted them at the bunker and nearly killed him in the process. The warhead Kano had desperately wanted was lost- Alex still didn't know what he wanted it for, but he'd threatened to gut him like a fish for the failure. Of course, Kano's golden child, Kabal, had gotten no punishment for his involvement in the debacle.

Alex made his way to the garage and found a suitable truck, dropping the dead agent unceremoniously into the open bed. He tossed a tarp over the top and retrieved a toolkit and shovel from the nearby shelf.

The drive to the dumpsite was uneventful, through the winding desert and into the mountain range. Still, he gripped his shotgun in the passenger seat, ready for blue and red lights to flash in the rearview at any moment.

By the time he reached the dumping ground, night had fallen and the headlights of the truck were his only source of light, their dull orange glow cutting through the slowly settling dust.

Alex had honed his grave digging skills over the weeks he'd been doomed to body duty- able to make a suitable hole in less than an hour. When he finished, he paused for a moment, resting against his shovel for support as he panted in the still-warm air.

When he had recovered, he made his way back to the pickup and ripped the tarp aside. Rigor mortis had begun to set in, causing the agent's limbs to resist his maneuvering as he wrestled him from the bed and onto the ground with a disgusting thud.

Alex swore in Turkish and began the laborious task of dragging the body awkwardly to the hole. He dropped it next to the grave and returned once more to the pickup, retrieving the toolkit from the cab.

Pliers. Blowtorch.

And then he set to work.

First went the fingertips, prints burned off by the white hot flames of the torch. The smell of burning flesh assaulted his nostrils and made his eyes water- a scent he'd never get used to.

Next went the teeth, each wrenched from the corpse's mouth with the crude, rusted pliers. The first time he'd done it, it had nearly caused him to relive his lunch. Now, he was numb, completing the task with the ease and nonchalance of repetition.

The teeth went into a bag, to be incinerated in the furnace back at the base.

"No hard feelings, pal," Alex spoke aloud to the corpse, something he often found himself doing, "I'm sure you were a nice guy."

The agent's now wide, bloodied maw of a mouth could almost be taken for a smile out here in the darkness. Alex rolled him over once, twice, and then he fell into the shallow grave with a muted whump that sent a small cloud of dust into the air.

The burying was easier than the digging.

Dirt rained down into the hole with each motion of his shovel, slowly building until the body disappeared entirely and Alex cast his shovel aside before lowering himself to the ground for a short rest.

Alex sat for a moment next to the newly-disturbed dirt of the grave and pulled his knees up into his chest before burying his face. Out in the desert, a coyote yapped out a haunting call, likely drawn by the scent of blood.

Perhaps it would be a mercy to be torn to shreds by a pack of hungry coyotes.

Would anyone from the base even come looking for him?

The crushing, all-consuming loneliness of the past three weeks hit him all at once, and for a moment, he felt as if he was going to cry. He wanted to call his mother. Wanted to jump in the truck and just drive until there was no more road to follow. Wanted to walk into the desert and let the coyotes have him.

A small meow from somewhere behind him snapped him from his stupor and he turned his head in search of the sound. Squinting in the darkness, he could just barely make out the shape of a small, orange kitten, huddled near the front tire of the truck.

"Hey, little buddy," Alex extended a hand and clicked his tongue. To his surprise, the cat trotted hesitantly toward him, pausing to sniff his fingers with interest.

It looked rough, covered in desert sand and lean from far too many days without a meal. The cat gently butted its head against his hand and he ran his palm over its matted orange fur, chuckling at the way it leaned eagerly into his touch.

"You wanna come back to base with me?"

The cat looked up at him, green eyes glittering in the headlights. He couldn't leave it out here...right? But Kano would kill him for bringing a cat back to the base.

Alex decided he didn't care.

[kaijusplotch]

Bad Batch Towing and Wreckage

WIP preview! Because I feel like it!

The road to Havoc Montana was as bad as it had always been. Potholes and cracks in the asphalt leaving the old pick up truck bouncing and rattling. Hunter found himself glad that it wasn’t the dry endless expanse of the deserts of Iraq. The view as well was nothing like the last three years of his life. Montana was safe, Havoc a haven, and within it, his home with his brothers.

The sign for Havoc’s limits sped by and Hunter grinned, pushing the old truck a little faster. He wouldn’t have to leave Montana ever again for deployment, he was done with the military. He would be able to see his brothers and live a real life, not one that demanded obedience and killing and blood.

The small town was rapidly coming into view and Hunter knew that just beyond the main strip was the home left to him and his brothers from their Uncle Nick. He missed his Uncle, the man who raised them after their mother left them without so much as a goodbye. He was a good man and loved the four of them as though he were his own. The heart attack had taken him far too early in Hunter’s mind.

He pulled off the main road and wound his way to the farmhouse, smiling as the two story home came into view. There was Hunter’s bike; where he left it when he was finished checking it over the last time he was home, Wren’s truck; rusted and beat up but his little brother loved the damned thing, and Cass’s mustang that he saved up for; it looked like he finally got the new spoiler in.

Two years felt like a lifetime. The twins would be old enough in only a few months to finally drink and Hunter would look forward to taking them out for their first drink. Hunter would finally be there for his baby brothers.

Stuffing the keys to the truck in his pocket, Hunter dragged his diddy bag out of the cab as he got out. The heavy bag on his shoulders was one that he could deal with, it would be the last time he had to hold it unless he finally went camping out in the mountains like he had planned. He stared at the front porch with a smile, running his free hand through his military regulation high-and-tight before ascending the stairs.

“Hey guys,” Hunter called as he pushed the door open. “I’m home!”

“Welcome Home!” Three voices cried, before party buzzers were blown loudly.

His three brothers were standing in the front room, waiting for him with bright smiles; well as bright as Cass would give. Wren was holding up a home made poster welcoming him home with drawings of his unit’s patch and other things he had told them he was looking forward to having; like Fisto’s Pizza from downtown. Sean had the party buzzer in his mouth and was laughing around it. Cass was smiling just slightly more than he would if he heard a good joke; a toothpick in the corner of his mouth.

“Thanks, guys-” Hunter frowned and looked at his closest brother again. There was a mark around Cass’s right eye, a black line that looked like a crosshair, it stood out on his pale white skin. “What the fuck is on your face, Cassidy?”

The use of his full name made Cass glare and cross his arms over his chest. “Nothing.” He couldn’t even look Hunter in the eyes.

“Is that a fucking tattoo?” Hunter’s voice caught in his throat.

“So what if it is?! You’re not my dad!”

“Guys, really? It hasn’t even been thirty seconds!” Sean lamented rubbing his face.

“Wipe of the marker! It’s not funny!” Hunter yelled, grabbing Cass’s face and trying to wipe off the mark. His little brother couldn’t have a tattoo!

“Ow! No it’s permanent, asshole!” Cass tried to get Hunter off, even as Hunter clung to him and tried to get the tattoo off.

He missed a milestone for his baby brother, another memory he would never get back of Cass getting his first tattoo.

“It sure is nice to have the whole family back together,” Wren said with a small, hollow sounding laugh.

“Why didn’t you wait until I got back?!” Hunter cried glaring and giving his little brother a noogie into his white hair.

“Because I didn’t want to wait!” Cass pushed Hunter off, glaring back at him and huffed with all the cantankerous energy Hunter’s closest brother was capable of.

Hunter sighed and rubbed his face. “Okay okay fine. At least I can buy Wren and Sean their first drinks.” He turned and smiled at the twins.

Wren had gotten huge! He was easily 6’5”, towering over his older twin. Sean was still on the shorter side, but he was healthy and that was what mattered. He noticed both had nicks and cuts on their hands; no doubt from doing repairs and work on the cars.

“It’s good to have you home, Hunter.” Sean rushed over and hugged him tight, Wren joining and lifting them both up easily.

Hunter grunted but smiled and wrestled his arms free from his brothers to hug them both tight to his chest. He felt his throat constrict slightly and his eyes sting. It wasn’t helped when even Cass joined in on the hug. Two years was so long to be away from the only family he had left. Two years felt more like twenty in a lot of ways.

[sortasirius]

A Life Worth Living

Pairing: Dean/Cas Dean/pretty much anyone he’s had a relationship with in the show and original characters bc I have a problem

AN: Looks like I’m down the rabbit hole with Dean coming out lol.  This is angsty......very angsty.

Warnings: Abuse, Alcoholism, John Winchester being a horrible parent, Violence

Words: A very gratuitous 3643

As always, up on my AO3 here.

Dean’s first crush was Eleanor Andrews when he was four years old.  She was blond and had pink ribbons at the end of her pigtails.  She and Dean pretended to get married in the playground in Lawrence, Kansas and promised to be together forever.  The last time he saw her was the day that Mary died, and he had given her a worm he found in the grass.  She said she’d keep it forever.

When Mary died, John made Dean become a man overnight.  He was four years old and told how to hold a shotgun that was taller than him.  They spent the next few years on the road, or at Bobby’s, or at Pastor Jim’s.  Dean saw less of his father than he’d like to admit, but took care of Sam, because that’s what John told him to do.  “Watch out for Sammy” was the constant mantra he was never, not for one second, allowed to forget.

When Dean was eight and Sam was four, John started taking him on the road with him.  Different hotels, cities, towns, highways every week.  At first it was cool, Dean liked watching the winding asphalt roads, twisting up towards mountains or around lakes, sometimes windy, sometimes still, sometimes hot, and sometimes snowy.  Hotels always had TV and a bed all to himself.  He would take Sam to preschool and walk over to school himself, where everyone always thought he was cool because he was always the new kid.  He would leave school, pick up Sam, walk back to whatever hotel they were staying in that week, make Sam dinner, tuck him in, and then keep watch for anything that might come in.  It was kinda lonely sometimes, especially since they moved around so much, but that was okay, as long as he could take care of Sam.

When Dean was ten, he met Sarah Deleon when John had them stay in Lafayette, Indiana for two months while he hunted some ghouls.  She had brown hair and bright green eyes and wasn’t interested in talking to him, which made Dean want to talk to her even more.  He met her when he was trying to drag Sam out of the library after school.  He recognized her from his class and had swaggered over to her the way he had seen the cowboys do in his favorite Western movies.  She had barely looked up from her book until Sam asked what she was reading.  Turns out it was a book about a cowdog named Hank, and Dean ended up stealing it from the library and reading it every night.  He really wanted to live on a ranch sometimes.

She, Dean, and Sam were pretty much inseparable for the next few weeks, staying at the library right up until closing, until Mrs. May told them all to go home before it got too dark.  Dean liked the way Sarah laughed at him and told him to read more, and he really liked the way she listened to Sam.  When John came back and told them to get in the car one early morning, Dean felt an ache in his chest that he didn’t get to say goodbye.

As the years wore on, the novelty of travel wore off.  Hotels weren’t interesting anymore, just more of the same.  The food was almost always bad, and the cool factor of being the new kid transformed into being the weird kid by the time Dean hit middle school.  Dean was Sam’s constant protector, and even though he would do anything for his brother, even give him the last of the Lucky Charms, sometimes he just wanted to be able to get a soda without worrying about what John would say if he did.  But, of course, the one time he did that, a shtriga almost killed Sam, and John, bursting in at the exact right moment, did what Dean couldn’t do, and never looked at Dean the same way again.

Dean’s first kiss was a girl named Bria Zuniga, and she kissed Dean behind the school in Pinedale, Wyoming when he was thirteen.  She had black hair and bright blue eyes, and Dean remembered how nervous he had been when she had leaned in, he thought he was gonna be bad at it.  John had dragged them out of there two days later, and Dean had given Bria another kiss before they left.  John had clapped him on the shoulder.

Things got complicated when he turned fourteen.  Dean and Sam, who was growing like a total weed and was going to be taller than Dean, damn him, were left in Riverside, Iowa, James T. Kirk’s future birthplace, which was totally awesome, while John hunted a demon in the area.  That was where Dean met Jim Barnes, and it was like he could see through Dean’s cool guy loner persona.  He had light brown hair and dark brown eyes and they bonded over Star Trek and Batman, and Jim even showed Dean his comic collection, which was pretty cool.  He introduced Dean to Kurt Vonnegut and gave him the copy of Cat’s Cradle Dean still has to this day.  Dean introduced him to Led Zeppelin, and when Sam was studying at the hotel and insisted that he could take care of himself for a couple of hours, they went out to the movies and saw Jurassic Park.  That night, they walked back towards Jim’s house, talking about which dinosaur they would keep as a pet, when Dean kissed him.  It was simple and short and kinda sweet, and afterward Jim put his hand in Dean’s and Dean walked him to the door.  Four days later, right after school, John was waiting for them, the Impala running and the kind of look on his face that told Dean not to push any buttons if he didn’t want a black eye, but he was always a risk-taker, so he ran back inside and gave Jim one last kiss in the dirty school bathroom before watching Jim Kirk’s future birthplace fade away like fogged breath on the window of the Impala.

Dean was sixteen when John had told the cops that he could rot in prison.  He had given the cop a black eye and they had shipped him off to Sonny’s and even though it hurt to be away from Sam, for the first time in his life, Dean had friends, he did well in school, he made the wrestling team, and he met Robin.  She had dark hair and dark eyes with a kind smile. Sonny never made him feel like he was less than, and for the first time, he didn’t have to think about what was out there in the dark.  He still missed Sam, but not having John around was like being able to see blue sky after years and years of overcast. He told Robin his dreams, talked about his love of cars, how much he liked to sing.  She listened, and he listened to her dreams, let her take all the photos of him she wanted, and sort of, kind of, fell in love with her.  She kissed him on Sonny’s couch with a guitar between them, and he made promises to her that he really wished he could keep.  And when John came back on the night of his first school dance, his dance with Robin, he really wished he could be someone other than Dean Winchester.  Sonny gave him a choice, gave him a chance at normal, at Robin, at a family that didn’t drink too much and bruise your wrists when you didn’t do the dishes.  But when he looked out the window and saw Sam with his stupid toy plane, he knew.  Dean couldn’t, wouldn’t leave Sam.

After Robin, Dean didn’t really pay attention to anyone but Sam.  He met girls, flirted with girls, kissed girls, hooked up with girls, and then left girls as easy as drawing breath.  And hell, when you move around every other week it was easy.  Arrogance and disdain for school bought him cool guy cred, and cool guy cred usually meant that people left him alone.  When he was seventeen, he met Amanda Heckerling at Truman High.  She was blonde with blue eyes and was whip smart.  She kissed him and it tasted like candy.  He liked her a lot, but he didn’t want to feel that vulnerability he felt with Robin, and when she called him out for being afraid, he did what he did best. He ran away.

Dean got his GED at nineteen and watched Sam go from little brother to actual man.  He studied hard and Dean was fiercely proud of him for it.  And then, one night, when Dean was twenty, he came back from a bar in Flagstaff, Arizona where they were staying, and Sam was gone. Panic settled in his throat like someone was choking him.  He spent a week without sleeping, looking everywhere for Sam.  He checked every hotel, snuck his way to every security room with cameras he could, asking anyone who would pay him the time of day if they had seen him, but no one had.  And then, nine days after Sam had disappeared, John came back, and if Dean had wished he was dead before, it was nothing to what John made him feel.  He was pretty sure his jaw was fractured and he knew he had some cracked ribs, but that was nothing to him, all that mattered was finding Sam, getting Sam home.  John found him in some shitty little apartment on the outskirts of town with pizza boxes and a dog and a stolen car outside.  Dean had gripped him tightly and ignored Sam’s questions about the state of his face.  He tripped, he said, coming out of a bar.  Sam told him he drank too much.  Dean looked at John’s bruised knuckles and quietly thought he didn’t drink enough.

Dean met Andrew Hawkins on his twenty-first birthday in Roundup, Montana.  Sam was studying for the ACT, whatever that is, and John was out on an extended rugaru hunt or drinking binge.  Andrew had hazel eyes and dark brown hair and they made conversation over a friendly game of pool.  A friendly conversation turned into too many shots, and then they stumbled into the alley behind the bar, away from the prying pink neon lights, and Dean let himself touch and be touched, knowing that it meant nothing, but meaning everything in the moment.  Andrew took control in a way that Dean had never known, and when he came back to the hotel with too many hickies on his neck, Sam laughed and said he hoped she didn’t look half as bad as Dean did.  Dean laughed to hide the shame that rose like vomit in his throat.

Sam left for Stanford when Dean was twenty-two.  When he told John, during the middle of an argument, because Sam always had impeccable timing, Dean felt like the world was falling out from under him.  Who the hell was he if he didn’t have Sam?  He couldn’t even remember being his own person anymore. John had tried everything, screaming, slamming things into walls, breaking glass, getting in Sam’s space, but Sam wasn’t afraid of him anymore, and John had never hit Sam, not that Dean would ever have let him.  Sam left that night, taking only what he could carry in a bag and looking back at Dean with what Dean thought might be an apology in his face.  John had yelled after him that if he was going to go he should stay gone, and that was that.  The frail wooden door slammed behind him, and Dean’s little brother was out on his own.  Even years later, Dean didn’t tell Sam about the rest of that night, but he was lucky to survive it.  He kept John at arm’s length after that, after his right arm had healed, anyway.

Dean tried to be a nomad, not get attached to anyone for anything except for the Impala.  He and John made tracks across the country, so many miles on the odometer he almost expected it to break.  John routinely dragged them to the west coast just to see what Sam was up to, and that was when he started to let Dean off on his own.  The grooves in the highway were his best friends, and he went places John would never go.  The deep South, the Canadian border, bigger cities, all the places he had wanted to be when he was younger.  He fought ghouls and ghosts and demons and vamps.  He repaired junker cars when he stopped by Bobby’s every so often.  He checked in with John every other day and they sometimes met up for a hunt.  He met people, fucked them, and then left.  Had the bendiest weekend of his life with Lisa Braeden.  It wasn’t really freedom, but it was about as close as he could hope for.

Dean met Cassie in Mississippi when he was twenty-four.  She had dark hair and dark eyes. She was smarter than him, prettier than him, and even though he had a pact with himself to never get attached, she made herself comfortable in his heart.  He felt himself falling, like he had taken a running leap off a cliff and there was nothing below him but endless air and sharp rocks at the bottom.  So, in the middle of the night, he did what John would have done, and he left, trying to ignore the tears that spilled from his eyes as he crossed the Alabama border.

John gave him the Impala on his twenty-fifth birthday.  She was everything he had ever wanted in a car.  His first home, with his and Sam’s initials carved in the back.  John had bruised the back of his neck with his hand and told him to take care of the car.  Dean swore he wouldn’t let him down.

It all went to hell when Dean met Connor Stevens two months later.  He was on a routine hunt with John.  Vengeful spirit, whatever.  He was doing research in the library when this dorky guy with glasses, a bow tie, red hair, and blue eyes sat down at his table.  The got to talking about what they were reading and ended up having dinner at a way too nice restaurant that Connor suggested.  It was a break from burgers and beer and the ever-looming presence of John.  Connor asked him halfway through if this was a date, and Dean blushingly said he hoped so. They ended up back at Dean’s room since John would be out most of the night.  Until, of course, he wasn’t.  Dean was used to being afraid of John, but never before had he felt terror like that. John didn’t speak to him for nearly two months, and Dean was left floundering in a lake of guilt and shame, mixed with a healthy dose of defiance, but he always came back to John, because that’s what a good son does.

When John disappeared when Dean was twenty-six, he didn’t have anyone to turn to, so he went back to Sam.  He hated that he had to take Sam away from his life, where he was clearly thriving with his very pretty girlfriend Jess and his good grades, but Dean was no soldier with no one to follow, and he swore to himself that once they found John that he would let Sam go.  But the universe never seemed to give him what he wanted, and Dean had to drag Sam away from Jess burning on the ceiling, just like their mother had.

He and Sam become hunters together, and even though he knew he could never heal the pain of losing Jess, he could at least make it so that the Impala became Sam’s home again.  Her tires sped along the winding roads all across the country, and even though it was selfish, having Sam back made Dean feel as calm as he had in years.

John died when Dean was twenty-seven.  Dean felt his heart break, but also felt like someone had taken handcuffs off him that he had been wearing for so long he didn’t even realize he was wearing them.

Dean went to hell when he was twenty-nine. The sound of the hellhounds tearing through the house towards him were terrifying, but the knowledge that he had done this for Sam made him feel a little better about getting ripped to shreds by dogs from hell.

Hell was worse than he could have ever imagined.  Torture was about the best thing that could happen to you down there.  Allistair had convinced him to pick up a knife, and even though he knew it was wrong, he knew that John would hate him for what he was doing, he took the knife from Allistair and thought, what the hell, John hated him anyway.

Dean met Castiel when he was thirty.  He had black hair and blue eyes and giant black wings.  He left a mark on Dean even before they met.  He stood too close to Dean and made him feel like he was being x-rayed every time they made eye contact, but Dean could never make himself look away.

Dean settled down with Lisa Braeden when he was thirty-one.  She had black hair and brown eyes and the kindest and most beautiful heart he had ever known.  He was very lucky to have her and Ben.  Probably a little too lucky.  He slept with a gun under his pillow every night.  You never knew what was waiting in the dark.  He had nightmares about Sam throwing himself in the pit and she would comfort him, and when Sam showed back up when he was thirty-two, she let him go hunt with him.  He made her forget him when he was thirty, and that was a wound that he knew would never really heal.

Dean went to Purgatory when he was thirty-four.  He spent a year there with Benny, vamp turned new best friend in tow, and every night, when he was trying to sleep, he would think of one thing, where, how, when to find Cas.  It was stupid, he was probably dead, Benny said pretty much every day, but until they found a pile of bones with a trenchcoat, Dean wouldn’t believe that.  They ended up finding him, and losing Cas to Purgatory just as he and Benny escaped made Dean want to jump right back into it, and he wasn’t really sure why.

He met Amara when he was thirty-seven. She was all powerful and deeply frightening, but Dean felt a pull towards her that he had never felt towards anyone or anything.  She knew this, she tried to use it against him, but something broke when she started torturing Cas, probably because they were best friends.  Because Dean needed Cas.  He needed Cas.  He needed Cas.

Dean lost Cas to an angel blade held by Lucifer when he was thirty-nine.  He begged God, Chuck, whatever to bring him back.  It was like someone punched a hole in his chest, and when they burned his body, it sort of felt like Dean was burning too.

Jack brought Cas back when Dean was thirty-nine.  It felt like he had aged forty years since he last saw him.  He didn’t tell Cas that he didn’t cope well with him being gone, but he thought Cas knew, because Cas knew everything about him.  They went back to the way things should be.  They hunted, watched movies, sang terribly in the Impala, and Dean felt like he really, truly, had a family again.  He would look at Cas when he didn’t think Cas could see, and even though he knew they were best friends and nothing more, sometimes Dean would think about just how beautiful Cas was.

Dean kissed Cas when he was forty-one. He was older, that there was less time, that Chuck was going to kill him one way or another, and Dean didn’t want Cas to be another what if, especially if he was about to spend eternity in Hell, which is probably where he would end up anyway.  He kissed him in the Impala, when he and Cas tried to escape Belphegor’s incessant talking and Sam had disappeared to read in his room in the bunker. Zeppelin played softly from the Impala’s speakers, and Dean instinctually leaned forward, like he had meant to do it all his life.  Cas’ lips were chapped and soft and Dean didn’t ever want to pull back from him.  But when he did, Cas gave him the kind of smile that made it all worth it.  The pain, the self-hatred, the hunting, the angels, devils, destiny, and God himself are all worth dealing with if it meant that this moment could exist with Cas in the Impala.

Dean told Sam the truth when he was forty-one.  He told him about John, about Flagstaff, about Stanford, and about Jim, Andrew, Robin, Cas, and all the rest.  Dean laid his heart out on the line, because if anyone deserved to know who he really was, it was Sam.  And Sam, because he was the best brother in the world, didn’t say anything, just leaned forward and hugged Dean as tightly as he had when Dean left Sonny’s.  It was one of those hugs that sort of made the world turn a little easier, and Dean knew that he was still the luckiest guy on earth to have Sam Winchester as his brother.  His family, Sam and Cas, they’re what make life worth living, and even if they had ten years of ten minutes left together, Dean was finally going to make the most of it.

[theprojectatedensgate]

Arrested: John Seed x Deputy part 3

Warnings: Swearing, mild Violence

@aliciawentzshadows

“You’re adorable, you think you can beat me.”

It was late noon, the sun had become a haze of oranges and purples in the pastel Montana sky. The evening birds had began their choir and the grasshoppers buzzed in the grass, fireflies danced in the shade of the trees. The heat had started to fade, cool air a welcoming sensation for the folk of Hope County. Not that that mattered. 

John lay across the wooden chair, legs outstretched and crossed at his ankles, cigarette in hand, dark shades over his face. He loved these evenings, just him and the big sky of Montana. Oh how he adored to soar through it, perhaps he would take Affirmation out for a spin later on or maybe Nick's plane, Carmina, under the pale of moonlight.  He smirked at his thought, this was all too perfect. His men were taking care of the resistance and their little games, so he took the time to relax, just as he deserved.

The image of tranquillity shattered around him. The sounds of an engine pulling up outside his  Ranch. What was the meaning of this? He wasn't expecting any deliveries, and he certainly wasn't expecting any visitors. He growled at the sound, shifting in his seat to regain the lost comfort. His men could deal it with, his time was precious. He closed his eyes under his shades, feeling the cool breeze on his skin, taking a drag of his cigarette, the sounds of nature lulling him back into comfort.

"John Seed!"

His eyes snapped open at the voice, sitting up to look behind him, his mouth falling open when he saw them. The Deputy storming towards him followed by his men, his brows furrowed.

"What the hell is this?"

"We tried to stop them sir but they just shoved past, they mentioned something about a warrant?"

The Deputy arrived in front of him, his men still in toe. They grinned at him, admiring the view from his Ranch.

"Enjoyin' some time off are ya' John?"

He narrowed his eyes at them, still in his relaxed position, he looked towards his men.

"Leave us."

The cultists glanced at each other, walking away and grumbling. John turned back to face the Deputy, cocking his head to the side.

"I was. What reason do you have for disturbing me?"

The Deputy smirked, reaching a hand into their back pocket, pulling out a folded piece of paper.

"I'm glad you asked!"

They held it out to him, he tossed his cigarette, snatching the paper from their grasp, nearly tearing it in the process. He opened the paper, holding it out in front of him.

"WARRANT FOR ARREST JOHN SEED ON SUSPICION OF THEFT OF AN AIRCRAFT."

He scoffed, a chuckle of disbelief falling from his lips. He shook his head at them, scrunching the paper in to a ball and throwing it on the floor in front of them.

"A warrant for my arrest? Theft of an aircraft? Please. I haven't committed any crime."

Rook cocked their head, bringing the handcuffs from their other pocket.

"Fight your case in court John, you know how this works."

They grabbed his forearms, yanking him from his seat and pulling him to his feet. 

"John Seed I am arresting you under suspicion of theft of an aircraft, you have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to have an attorney.  If you cannot afford one, one will be appointed to you by the court."

They spun him around the slap the cuff's on him, but he pulled away, walking backwards, grinning at them widely.

"Oh, Deputy. I'm not planning on going to court."

Rook sighed, looking towards the sky as if to ask God "Why? Why must they be the one to do this?"

"Now, John. Don't make this harder than it needs to be. Just come back to the station for processing and we can sort it all out."

John smirked, pulling a gun from his holster. Rook's face dropped, their stomach pulling out their own side arm.

"Don't be stupid. Just come quietly."

Before they could step forward, he fired the gun just past them, before sprinting away. Rook ducked, before following suit. John ran into the tree line and Rook stopped just outside, taking a breath before caustiously heading in. They couldn't see or hear him, he must still be in the area, the canopy of the tree's casting a heavy shadow on the ground, the light came in broken rays through the trees, the sounds of whispering leaves in the breeze the only noise.  They walked cautiously with their gun drawn and pointed in front, turning every second or so to get a full view around them. The were about fifteen steps in, when a heavy weight pounced onto their back. They toppled to the floor, face pushed into the dirt and branches cutting at their skin. They heard a breathy chuckle above them, sitting on the back of their legs. They arched their back, pushing on their forearms to shove the force off of them, but fatigue got the better of them, they flopped in the ground.

"Adorable, you think you can beat me."

Rook snarled, stilling pushing up from their arms.

"Get of off me. You're under arrest!"

John breathed another chuckle, leaning forward, his chest against their back. 

"I think you're just fine where you are." He hissed into their ear.

As he lent forward to whisper in their ear, they took the chance, buckling their legs and using their knees to push, tipping him off of them. He fell with a curse, Rook quickly spun around and pinned him to floor. He struggled beneath them, shouting curses and words that should not be heard by the ears of God.

"You can't arrest me! I'm a lawyer!

"Doesn't mean your above the law, besides, you just attacked an officer, that's assault."

John snarled at them, attempting to buck them off. But they flipped him onto his stomach, yanking his arm behind him and cuffing him, his face pushed into the dirt. Rook climbed off of him, taking a moment the examine the always acerbic and arrogant herald. He lifted his head, leaves and twigs caught in his beard,  he scowled at them,  baring his teeth as he panted. Rook lent over and grabbed him by the cuffs and yanked him to his feet. John stumbled against them, growling and pushing himself off. The Deputy wrestled with him a moment, before taking a firm hold.

"Stop resisting."

"You're going to regret this, Deputy."

"Is that a threat?"

John shut his mouth, Deputy shoved him forward, walking him back towards the tree line.

"I bet you think you're a hero, Hope County Deputy arrests Holland Valley Herald. I can see the headline now."

"Jesus Chirst John, I'm just doin' my job. It's not the end of the world and anyway, if you didn't want to be arrested why steal Nick's plane?"

John fell back into silence, unable to form a response. No he could never be wrong, he always had a justification for his actions.

"It's necessary, it's for the Collapse."

Rook shook their head, shoving John out of the treeline.

"Don't give me that, religious God loves you Jesus Chirst huggin' crap. You have no proof the world is going to end, it's a crack pot conspiracy. You took his plane because you're petty and can't stand that there is another good pilot apart from you."

John snarled, pressing back up against them, trying to dig his feet into the ground.

"You're ignorance truly knows no bounds, Deputy. Your soul is riddled with belligerence. It will be difficult to save, it will be painful but, it will be worth it. You'll regret not coming into the light sooner, even if I have to drag you into it."

The Deputy set their jaw, shoving John up the steps of his yard, heading towards their cruiser.

"John I suggest you invoke the right to remain silent, c'mon you said it yourself, you're a lawyer. Drop your pride for a second and act like one. Oh and if you try and get any of your men to cause a fuss, I'm gonna' make this a whole lot harder than it needs to be."

He sighed, and as they stumbled past his Ranch and all of the guards, shouts and yelling emanating from them. A series of "Free John!"'s and "Fuck the heretic!"'s filling the air, John looked up at them, flashing a grin full of self satisfaction.

"My brothers, This is the Wrath of the sinners we know as the government. They do not wish for us to be free, they do not wish for us to be saved! But don't worry, they will not take me away from you. I will be back soon, ready to fulfil the Fathers will."

The cultists clapped and whooped, The Deputy rolled their eyes and pushed him towards the vehicle. They unlocked it with a click, pushing John's head down and placing him in the back seat. They pulled his belt over him, slotting it and closing the side door with a slam. They climbed into the drivers seat, leaning back against the leather and sighing, reaching   their hand to wipe their brow. The Baptist glowered at them in the rear view mirror.  

"A lot of effort, just to fulfil your vendetta against me, all for nothing."

Rook blinked up to the sky, silently begging God to save them.

"You know, Deputy, I think I know how to perform your confession."

Jesus, this was going to be a long ride.

Enjoy! Thanks for reading!

[finalvlog-a]

Bio has been re-written and new headcanons placed for now because I can’t recall what all I shared previously. You can check it out on my main page, it’s the fourth ‘camcorder link’ image. Otherwise I’ll place my original content bio beneath a read more here. The rest of it is headcanons/IEG summary on my main blog.

ALEX JOSIAH KALINSKY, called ‘AJ’ by his friends, was born prematurely on November 24th to TOVA (MALKA) and DAVID KALINSKY in NEW YORK CITY. They had been told that it would be nearly impossible for them to conceive and have a child and had long since given up on having a family of their own. To their surprise Alex was born but it was after a long and difficult pregnancy for his mother. Tova had preeclampsia and was bedridden for the few weeks of her pregnancy until Alex was born, over a month early. He had respiratory complications that developed into asthma, which he eventually would grow out of. It was only after he’d survived his initial stay in the NICU that they gave him a middle name, ‘Josiah’ in honor of one of Tova’s grandparents as well as to the Old Testament.

Both of Alex’s parents were doctors. His mother studied psychology and became a very successful physician, working with a variety of illnesses and studying neuroscience to help her better her understanding of chemical imbalances as well as the changes brains go through in traumatic incidents. His father too was a doctor, a surgeon specializing in cardiology and specifically cardio surgery. Alex came from a long line of doctor’s on both sides of his family but he did not wish to pursue the study. It was made clear to him that humanity was important, that they had an obligation to help one another out as a people. This was reinforced by both his family and the faith he was raised with. While he personally struggled with connecting to a higher being or spirituality, he did take these lessons in morality to heart. Alex spent holidays volunteering with his parents, would donate time or gifts to children in need, and from a young age he knew he wanted to do something to help others.

Just not in medicine.

His parents enrolled him in various activities. Piano lessons, violin, archery, gymnastics, and so on. He tried a little bit of everything but lost interest in most of them around the time he started getting bullied at school. The worst of the bullying took place from when he was eleven years old to thirteen. Alex was an easy target with his smaller stature and big expressive eyes. It came to a head that Hanukkah when he had a mental break and beat his cousin into a near coma with a candlestick. Something the kids would make Clue jokes about for the rest of his life.

All the stress from the bullying had resulted in a dissociative disorder, specifically derealization. He was admitted for a short stay at an inpatient facility while his cousin recovered at a nearby hospital. Alex was transferred to a different school and placed on medication while also going to therapy sessions. It isn’t something he talks to anyone about, and he’s adapted to it as best he can but sometimes he can seem detached from a situation. Far calmer than he should be given the circumstances. It made him into a national athlete for both boxing and wrestling, earning him a college scholarship to the University of Pennsylvania in Philadelphia.

Once there he immersed himself in everything he could, including a variety of classes and clubs. Psych 101 is where he met SARA, who would become one of two best friends. The Skeet Club is where he met HANNAH who would become the third part of the soon to be intrepid trio.

Alex decided to major in Computer Science with a minor in Digital Humanities despite being accepted into the communications program which would allow him to pursue journalism. By this point he had a relatively large online following across multiple social media websites. He was recognizable on campus, hundreds of thousands of people following his various accounts. While at a fraternity party he overheard the brothers joking about how a man had been killed there before. Always one for conspiracy theories he began eavesdropping and then decided to drag Sara and Hannah into his pursuit of the truth. It gave them something to do and an excuse to introduce his friends to one another. They uncovered decade’s worth of evidence against the fraternity, with the ultimate shock of a literal skeleton in the basement. Thus, TRUTH SEEKING TRIO was born.

The trio formed their own online presence and began covering different stories that no one else did. Eventually they started helping people out when no one else would. They became online sensations and throughout college would dedicate time to recording, researching and publishing the stories they found.

For a few years after graduating they continued this with relative success. Eventually Hannah decided she wanted to enroll in the marines and as luck would have it, Alex had just been given the opportunity of a lifetime with a journalism job that would allow him to travel, co-produce and host his own show. They had one last episode to do for their channel and amidst all the e-mails and comments they received, it was an actual mailed in letter that caught Alex’s eye. A letter from a man named MARK out of HOPE COUNTY, MONTANA. The trio set out within a week, planning to spend their last bit of time together solving the mystery surrounding a supposed cult kidnapping people in the back country of Montana. Much to their surprise they were about to uncover so much more.

[scenes-in-between]

This is Not Happening (2/3)

“If you’re trying to prepare yourself, I want you to stop. Nothing says that we’re going to stumble over him in some field. Nothing says he won’t be fine.”

You don't understand, she would tell him, if grief and fear hadn't rendered her temporarily incapable. Sobs hiccup out of her in fits and starts, escaping past the control she is fighting so hard to maintain.

To his credit, Skinner doesn’t pull away or try to get her talking again; he merely holds her quietly while she fights to regain her composure. It’s not as awkward as it could be, but it’s not not awkward, either. Theirs is an odd relationship. They’ve been through too much together for the strict formality of supervisor and subordinate, but it also wouldn’t be accurate to call them friends. They’re two people with shared trauma, bound by common experiences, but that in itself does not necessarily confer intimacy. And yet here they are.

At length, she wrestles back her control, ultimately pushing herself away and taking a step backward. She wipes at her eyes and sucks in a deep breath through her nose, holding it for a few seconds before blowing shakily out.

“I, um--” she starts, shaking her head and resolutely swallowing back another sob that threatens to rise. She clears her throat and tries again. “Right after he was first taken, I started having these dreams. Terrible dreams about Mulder on a ship being… being tortured.”

The last part comes out as a half-whisper, half-whimper. She’s never so much as tried to admit any of this aloud before -- not to her mother, not to her therapist, certainly not to Agent Doggett -- and it’s hard to force the words out.

“That’s a completely understandable response to trauma,” Skinner says, and she shakes her head again.

“I thought that was all it was, too. And after a while, they stopped. I hadn’t had one for months until about two weeks ago, after everything with…” She stops again, looking down at the hand that has instinctively come up to rest on her abdomen. A pang of guilt hits her at the memory of that whole incident, and she shoves it aside. She has to get this out. “I’ve had the dream almost every night since then. And again, I thought it was just a subconscious response to… to what had happened. But then today, when Richie Szalay said there have been sightings and UFO activity for the past two weeks, I started to wonder if maybe there was a correlation.”

“You think these might not be dreams but… what, images? Premonitions? Some sort of psychic link?”

“I don’t know, I-- All I know is that the dream has always been the same until tonight. Mulder’s… he’s strapped to some sort of chair and he’s being experimented on and… and he’s screaming.” She’s crying again now, her words watery, but she pushes ahead anyway. “He’s in agony, but he’s alive. And I thought it couldn’t get worse than that, but then tonight he was… he was…”

She can’t. She can’t say the word again. Skinner’s hand comes back up to her shoulder and squeezes lightly while both of hers cover her face.

“Teresa Hoese is still alive,” he says quietly, his voice cracking. “It’s not too late for her, and it might not be too late for Mulder. We have to believe that.”

It takes several hitching breaths before she can collect herself enough to reply.

“I used to tell Mulder that believing was the easy part. It’s taken me a long time to fully appreciate how wrong I had it.”

“So it’s hard. But what else can we do when the alternative is despair?”

“I don’t know,” she whispers.

“Well I’ll tell you what I believe,” he says, the words clipped as though he too is fighting to keep it together. “I believe that we are going to find him. Soon. I believe he’s as close as he has ever been and that we are not leaving Montana without him. I believe he’s going to be okay.”

She shivers and wraps her arms around her ribcage, hugging tight. “I hope you’re right.”

He squeezes her shoulder once more and then drops his hand. “Come on. It’s freezing out here, and we’ve got another big day ahead of us tomorrow. You should try and get some more rest if you can.”

The last thing she wants to do right now is go back to sleep, but she nods anyway, feeling guilty for waking him and dragging him out here in the middle of the night. Casting one last glance up at the stars, she turns and heads back toward her room. The only sounds breaking the night’s stillness are those of her footsteps and Skinner’s as they cross the parking lot, and she pauses in front of the block of rooms, hands shoved deep in her coat pockets. She turns her body toward him, but her gaze stays trained at the sidewalk.

“I’m sorry for waking you. But thank you for listening.”

“We will find him, Dana. I know it. Just a little longer.”

Maybe, but will he still be alive when we do?

But she’s already kept him out here long enough with her worries. Instead, she just nods again before pulling out her room key. “Good night, sir.”

Alone in her room, the silence is deafening. Despite Skinner’s reassurance, she can’t help feeling that he’s wrong, that she absolutely does need to prepare herself for the worst. That no amount of belief or positive thinking will alter the inevitable course of events. Oh, she will continue to pray; of course she will. But she will also prepare.

Prepare for the horrible discovery of his body.

Prepare for the excruciating difficulty of life without him.

Prepare to raise their child alone.

Prepare to look for him in the starlight every single night until she finally joins him there, herself.

When the tears come again this time, it is like a dam breaking, sudden and violent. She would have thought she had exhausted them all by now, but no. Doubled over, she stumbles her way to the bed and collapses there, the pillows only somewhat muffling the sounds of her anguish. She is helplessly swept up in the current of it, borne along like a leaf down a raging river. The only way out is through, and when at last exhaustion drags her into blessed unconsciousness, she sleeps without dreaming.

[morningnews24h]

UFC Vegas 16 predictions

Marvin Vettori is on the cusp of capping off a productive 2020.

Fighting for just the second time this year, Vettori enters his first UFC headliner against top-5 contender Jack Hermansson this Saturday at UFC Vegas 16. His other win in 2020 was a thrilling submission victory over Karl Roberson, a rival who rubbed Vettori the wrong way for a variety of reasons before they finally settled things in the octagon.

A win over Hermansson would be a gigantic step towards a title shot and possibly a rematch with middleweight champion Israel Adesanya.

Beating Hermansson is no easy task though. “The Joker” has won seven of his past nine fights, with his only losses coming to top opposition in Jared Cannonier and Thiago Santos. He’s also proven himself to be one of the best finishers at 185 pounds and could be the first to stop Vettori. Just ask Kelvin Gastelum, who was caught by a Hermansson heel hook in just 78 seconds.

Vettori isn’t the only one who could seriously shake up next week’s rankings. Contender Series standout Jamahal Hill has lived up to the hype in two UFC appearances so far and for his third octagon assignment he’s drawn veteran light heavyweight Ovince Saint Preux. Hill can break out from the pack in a major way if he can topple Saint Preux, who missed weight by a pound and a half on Friday.

In other main card action, Gabriel Benitez hunts for his first UFC win as a lightweight when he faces Justin Jaynes, Montana De La Rosa steps in to halt the hype train of Taila Santos in a flyweight bout, light heavyweights Roman Dolidze and John Allan look to add to their impressive finishing tallies, and Movsar Evloev and Nate Landwehr meet in a battle of former M-1 Global champions.

What: UFC Vegas 16

Where: UFC APEX in Las Vegas

When: Saturday, Dec. 5. The five-fight preliminary card begins at 7 p.m. ET on ESPN+ and ESPN2, with the six-fight main card starting at 10 p.m. ET also on ESPN+ and ESPN2.

Jack Hermansson vs. Marvin Vettori

I should probably stop picking against Jack Hermansson, right? Despite his prodigious finishing ability and wins over high-level competition like Kelvin Gastelum, Ronaldo “Jacare” Souza and David Branch, I always seem to find a reason not to pick him. No more!

Marvin Vettori is just entering his prime and his best days are ahead of him. Fast forward to a year from now and we could be talking about a legitimate top-5 contender at 185 pounds. Like a lot of fighters at this stage of his career though, there are defensive deficiencies that put a ceiling on his potential for now. Defensive deficiencies could be costly when standing across from someone as lethal as Hermansson.

He’s going to learn from this fight, just as Hermansson has learned from his battles with the middleweight division’s best. Unfortunately for Vettori, I think that lesson will come in the form of a humbling defeat. Vettori’s standup and athleticism will keep him competitive in the early going, but Hermansson should get this one to the ground at some point and find a submission finish late in the first or in the second.

Pick: Hermansson

Ovince Saint Preux vs. Jamahal Hill

Unlike the main event, I do think this is a bridge too far for the younger fighter. Jamahal Hill is eight years younger than Ovince Saint Preux, but more importantly he’s 20 UFC fights younger than “OSP.” That’s a huge experience gap to overcome, especially when you consider the luminaries that Saint Preux has beaten or gone the distance with.

Even if you view Saint Preux as being on the outside looking in when it comes to the 205 elite, Hill is even further out right now. At 6-foot-4, Hill has made the most of his natural gifts and fighting instinct, but Saint Preux can match his measurements and certainly has more ways to win this fight on paper.

Speed kills and Hill’s agility is going to give Saint Preux a lot of problems. He’ll have to force Hill to fight at his pace, lest he become Hill’s next knockout victim. You love to see a guy with Hill’s finishing ability, but Saint Preux’s chin is solid and it should hold up here.

Saint Preux has to get this one to the ground to minimize risk, then attack with submissions until Hill has no choice left but to tap.

Pick: Saint Preux

Gabriel Benitez vs. Justin Jaynes

Gabriel Benitez has always been a talented all-rounder who lacks that one spectacular skill to put him over the top. Occasionally, he’s also shown a reluctance to pull the trigger, which shouldn’t be an issue with the aggressive Jaynes. Benitez’s boxing will be his best weapon if he hopes to stifle Jaynes on the feet.

One thing to watch is whether Jaynes changes up his game plan, which is usually comprised of him rapidly closing the distance rather than trying to win a range-striking duel. If he steps too far into Benitez’s range, Benitez will chew him up with fast hands. That said, Jaynes has an affinity for first-round finishes and if he wants another one he may have to get right in Benitez’s face.

This has the potential to be a wild one, which means it could be Benitez who lands a surprising haymaker to end the fight. I’m leaning towards Jaynes testing Benitez’s chin though and taking this one out of the hands of the judges.

Pick: Jaynes

Montana De La Rosa vs. Taila Santos

Don’t let Taila Santos’ 16-1 record fool you, there’s some generous matchmaking in there to put it nicely. The five opponents she faced before appearing on Dana White’s Contender Series had a combined record of 3-4, and three of those wins all belonged to one fighter. If you are liking Santos’ chances, it would be because of the poise she showed in her previous win over the gritty Molly McCann. She looked comfortable standing with McCann and showed rare poise for someone in just their second UFC fight. It’s not a stretch to say that Santos is already one of the best standup fighters at 125 pounds.

The challenge for Montana De La Rosa is to not be completely outclassed on the feet and to make Santos respect her enough there so that she creates openings for takedowns. On the mat is where De La Rosa can steal this one. She has better jiu jitsu and she’s aggressive going for submissions. Santos has to be careful pursuing De La Rosa to the ground if she scores a knockdown or manages to get De La Rosa down some other way.

I’ll probably regret this, but I feel that De La Rosa is being overlooked and I predict she either catches Santos with a submission off of her back or out of a scramble.

Pick: De La Rosa

Roman Dolidze vs. John Allan

Roman Dolidze has got style. He’s part of an influx of talent that the light heavyweight division has seen in the last couple of years and he’s got the kind of standup game that is going to make him popular. He’s not going to wow anyone with his volume, rather he’ll bide his time until he can unleash a high-voltage strike, possibly of the spinning variety.

He’ll have a willing dancer partner in John Allan, another striker comfortable fighting from both southpaw and orthodox stances. Allan may want to test Dolidze’s ground game, but this has the makings of a tactical standup battle with both wary of the other’s power. It’s possible that Allan will look to push the pace from the opening bell and take Dolidze out of his comfort zone.

I give Dolidze the edge for his more unpredictable approach and I see him catching Allan with something out of nowhere for the knockout.

Pick: Dolidze

Nate Landwehr vs. Movsar Evloev

Blue-chipper Movsar Evloev is the most heavily-favored fighter on this card and for good reason. He combines solid technical striking with explosive takedowns, which has been the formula for many a champion. He’s still hunting for his first UFC finish, but he may want taking too many risks against Nate Landwehr.

“The Train” joined the UFC with a reputation as a disciplined brawler and he showed that in his fight with Darren Elkins, putting it on Elkins in a brutal and bloody three-round scrap. With his power and durability, he’s not a name anyone at featherweight should want to see on a fight contract. Unless you have the wrestling of Evloev, of course.

In all likelihood, Evloev will go out with something to prove and invite standup exchanges with Landwehr. He has the skill to win them too, but he has to avoid being dragged into a dogfight. It’s not one big bomb that Evloev has to be wary of, it’s the constant pressure of Landwehr that could lead to his first defeat.

Evloev’s team should be well-prepared for this one with both fighters coming from M-1 Global, so Landwehr probably won’t be able to keep this one standing for long. As long as Evloev mixes it up, he should cruise to a decision or a late finish on the ground.

Pick: Evloev

Preliminaries

Louis Smolka def. Jose Quinonez

Jordan Leavitt def. Matt Wiman

Jimmy Flick def. Cody Durden

Ilia Topuria def. Damon Jackson

Gian Villante def. Jake Collier

https://albahuth.info/wp-content/uploads/2020/12/2167-ufc-vegas-16-predictions.jpg https://albahuth.info/?p=2167&feed_id=1343 #uncategorized

[mateoperez]

Name: Mateo Perez

Faceclaim: Manny Montana

Gender & Pronouns: Male, he/him

Age: Thirty five

Occupation: Construction Worker / Terrible Father

Neighborhood: Downtown

hello i am katya, this is mateo, and pls don’t expect much from either of us. he’s currently learning how to be a good person because apparently no one ever taught him how?? the nerve. but he has a cute feisty daughter who is the entire motivation behind being a decent human being. he dragged his sister to town too and adores his niece almost as much as his daughter. he’s only two months sober but his daughter’s family is giving him as much of a chance as they can because they don’t want her growing up with zero amount of parents since she already lost one. basically everything is fragile and is made of glass and wouldn’t it be a shame if something was to break :))))))

aside from that, i’m open to any and all wanted connections, nothing in particular but feel absolutely free to message me anytime. i’ll try not to make mateo too sarcastic because he is a broody little thing after all, but he’s got a heart of gold somewhere under there. i think. 

biography

tw: drug mention, tw: death mention

The first time Mateo stepped out of the doors of rehab, he took a moment to look at his life and how he had gotten where he was. He wanted to change it. The first time Mateo stepped out of the doors of prison, he knew it was too late to change anything.

Born into a family of three older brothers, and a sister to follow in a few years after him, to contend with Mateo knew he would have to fight for anything he wanted. Nothing was to be given to him, except for maybe hand-me-downs and a few lessons in wrestling, a gift from his brothers. He was an intense boy, always a mischievous shine in his eyes and an overwhelming urge to be a step ahead of everything else. Possibly, that was his curse: the need to be smarter than everyone. The facts, however, couldn't be ignored that he would never be that person. He was bright, but not book smart. He could move fast, but was it ever fast enough? That was the question that always laced his mind: was it enough? Was he enough?

The answer, of course, was no.

Searching for a reply that would never arrive, he eventually discovered a way to forget the question ever existed. First it was alcohol that burned his throat and then it was the drugs that would coat his lungs in smoke. He lost himself in the trouble he would find and suddenly the baby boy of the family wasn't so young in his siblings' or his parents' eyes. They tried to help, they tried to support him, particularly his sister who would always find a way to forgive him even when he asked her not to. Mateo was on a road that he needed to travel by himself, as well as eventually crashing off of it. His first stay in rehab was because his girlfriend at the time told him she was pregnant. Everyone around him believed that would snap him out of the vortex he had created. He wound up relapsing four months later, two days after they discovered it was a girl. It was never a healthy relationship him and the woman had, but they tried their best to work through it, for the child's sake. Mateo fought for a time. His demons fought harder. The day his daughter was born, he was rotting in a jail cell wondering how he had gotten here, so quickly it seemed. Again, there were no answers to be found there.

Mateo has spent the last few years trying, and failing, to get clean. His daughter had never been enough to push him, not until she absolutely needed him. At seven years old, she had lost her mother. It was a car wreck -- quick, instant, gone -- and now Mateo is all she has left. And his sister Layla, who has given him another chance, as she usually would despite herself. He stepped out of rehab two months ago and moved to Providence Peak, to move his daughter to where her late mother’s family lived. He knew that if he failed, as a father and as a person, they would step up and help Alvetta if she needed them to. It was a fail safe for her and as well, she would be able to remember her mother best with her family around. As a fail safe for himself, he asked (see: begged) his sister to move closer with him. If his daughter had her family to lean on, he was willing to admit he needed his own family to support him, too. He began working for his father-in-law's construction company, and wonders if it's even worth it until he gets home and sees his daughter playing with her younger cousin, with his sister right beside them. This time, he gets an answer. It's worth it.

headcanons

Out of all the things Mateo thought he’d grow up to be, his last guess would’ve been a father. Despite coming from a large family, he had never had the desire to add onto it. He never thought he’d make a good dad. Turns out, he was right about this. He’s not perfect. Far from it. But boy, does he love his little girl still. His little girl Alvetta was a feisty, fiery girl and he adores her more and more everyday. He’s been struggling since day one, but even more so with him being the only parent she has left. They’re both lost, but they’re lost together and he tells every single night, “one day at a time.”

He’s had a number of jobs in his lifetime, but he’s now moved into Providence Peak unemployed. It’s at the point, and the generosity, that his daughter’s grandfather has offered him a job at his construction company. They get along well enough, but also tend to but heads, as would be natural in this sort of situation they’ve found themselves in. Of course, with his options limited now because of his background and the choices he’s made, it’s the only career left for him. It’s a good company, a business his father-in-law (not really father-in-law, but easiest way to label him in Mateo’s mind) has raised from the ground up and made a pretty penny from. It pays well enough. Mateo just has a feeling he won’t be good enough or he’ll disappoint his father-in-law and his co-workers, if he sticks around long enough. It’s hard work, especially in the summer heat, but at this point it’s this or prison.

It’s his biggest secret, one he’ll never tell anyone even if it’s a gun to his head. If he couldn’t done anything with his life, if he had no walls to stop him or addictions to contend with, Mateo would’ve loved to been a journalist of some type. He writes when no one is around, in little journals littered through his home, with words that’ll never see the light of day. In an alternate universe, he’s someone well respect with talents others are bitterly envious of. In the universe, however, it’s simply a talent he’s terrified anyone will ever know of. No one wants to listen to the ramblings of a drug addict, after all.

[acrouge-walkintwoworlds]

Walk in Two Worlds: Chapter #12

Incoming message

Holy Hell, to has been a long time! Sorry we haven’t reached you sooner friend, we had to loose out scent for months due to a series of events. Seemed Bishop and Griffon have been in need of extra assistance for my scholarly works of the two new animus machines that Abstergo had produced. We even have been gathering witness from survivors of the “imprisonment of one of the private research centers in the southwest close to the Mexican/American border.

So now with Abstergo focused on more problems related to Hurricane Harvey destroying a warehouse that destroyed the newest research plans; fortunately, our spies and trusted allies have already scanned the plans as Harvey was in vain trying to push it’s citizens out of the city.

God. Those poor souls…

But, we must be brief. I’m glad your well, as far as I can tell. I could be wrong. Regardless, I’ve managed to steal not only a bit of the Katie Shepard files, but a bit of the Hellen Patterson files as well. I suppose after the last session of the memory of Katie’s birthday, Abstergo probably thought that Katie would be of little use. So those memories have been collecting cyber dust for the months we’ve been absent. Until that Norwegian bastard gets o our track, we get into the files of these women. Probably Hellen’s files should be played first since Abstergo probably hasn’t figured out her connection yet.

End of Message

__________________

The smell of cooked beans and smoked game filtered the air. Hellen was begging in her mind to have a whiskey now more then ever, as one of Jame’s men stitched the wound from her arm.

“From the maps I read, this creek, Brushy Creek comes from the Missouri river. So you should be safer riding along upstream.” Hellen turned her horse as Frank pointed the other boys the direction of the creek. “Hold on.”  Hellen turned in her saddle, and Jesse threw a flask and a small leather purse from his saddle bag towards Hellen. She caught it, and looked to see a sum of cash, and opened the flask to smell the rich wooden smell of whiskey. “I know it’s not Irish tradition, but Kansas City can make the finest.” James tipped his hat towards her. “Consider this even, for ridding our trail from those men.” “Here here.” Hellen replied before taking a shot’s worth down her throat.  

“Jesse, I know you have a family to look after, but you need to flee Kansas City. With you coming out of “retirement”, they will follow every suspicion leading to you and Frank’s family. “Hmm.” Jesse rubbed his chin in thought. “Saint Joseph would be the closet to train routes. Better consider that before my little ones question their daddy more.” “Come to think of it, ain’t you suppose to be keeping an eye on those gals of yours up in Montana?” Frank asked, eating a chunk of deer liver. Hellen shook her head and smiled, “Maggie could handle the Dusty Rose just fine.” Some of the men chuckled and one of them with a thick southern accent commented, “Sure right y’all. Considering how the “Virgin Madame” can go in and out without men missing her. You know how much money men would pay for ya.” “Oh sure, a skinny little undercover assassin with a torn up ear and a temper of a bobcat, that also takes in being a madame and a bounty hunter is worth getting money for.”

When Hellen finished her meal, she saddled her horse and packed her saddle bags, including the manuscript’s pages safely in her boot as well. “Hellen.” Frank called out. “Keep an eye over your shoulder. They say that this, McGriffon is in for your head.” Hellen shook her head, understanding what Frank was talking about. “That bastard will have to catch me first. But thanks.” Hellen spurred her stallion around as she headed south towards the settlement of Kearney.

_____________________________-

That’s it for that memory I’m afraid. It seems more out of pace since the DNA sample was old. But it’s enough to get ’’s bloodhounds in a different source of data while you contain Katie’s memories in the USB files. I will say though, things are getting more epic as Katie goes further in this mess she’s in.

End of Message

Chapter #12

August 9th, 1757 River Valley, New York

With her hidden blades upon her wrists and her mind full of awareness, Katie followed Liam as the scouted the wooden areas of the River Valley. The past four months had been one of mass effects of complications among the assassins. For one, one of their traders who was also a hidden informant was mysteriously killed with any identification of the culprit going into the other side with him.

Following with hearing an enraged and frustrated Hope as she had to explain to Achilles that many of the factories that carried explosives and gases that were to be of use against the templars through her gangs were involved in a mass explosion. And to make matters worse, she never received the results of an experiment she was involved with Benjamin Franklin when they were suppose to meet. Katie unfortunately was the one who found out that she saw Dr. Franklin aboard a ship for Philadelphia at the hour of the meeting that he was suppose to meet.

A month prior, when Achilles summoned Katie to the homestead, he and Liam made the decision that Katie was ready for in field work and presented her the last set of robes that Miss Abigale ever made before the fever both claimed her and Connor. She was also presented with a pair of hidden blades that were obviously an upgrade with a new rope dart and a lever that made the made shirt into a dagger with a turn of the index. Katie could of sworn that she saw Liam beamed with pride underneath the seriousness he had to place when in presence of the mentor.

Liam and Katie then boarded upon a ship to reach the River Valley, where she aided in the fight, and to help heal the wounded natives and french soldiers that joined the fight. the Abenaki allies, lead by French General lLouis-Joseph de Montcalm plotted to ambush the Colonel and his men as they retreated from their own fort. Katie never really paid attention to the war, nor knew the reason for the war. All she knew that it involved the french and the iritis crown and the subjects of dear King Georgie. The only detail that she did pay attention to was the fact that Kesegowaase decided to use this to his advantage and led the attack in the hopes of assassinating Monro. As the Native assess in left, Katie felt a quick breath as she realized, that the Colornal would die this day. Liam placed a hand on her shoulder, she looked up to see Liam giving a nod and a light grip as to say, “I know what your thinking.” before talking to a few other master assassins. But Katie diverted herself by aidding the soldiers, even though her body was lacking from wash and lack of sleep.

“Hold still!” She scolded on a young soldier, who’s arm was bleeding aggressively after a musket ball rested in it. “Can’t help it miss. Hursts like hell!” The young soldier complained. “The only thing you’ll be complain about is the lack of one if you don’t stand still.” Katie’s eyes hardened with concentration as she pressed the wounds hard as she wrapped it. Liam was looking upon a map upon a larger man shift table of trees and bark. He peeked around only to chuckle when seeing Katie’s struggle with the lad.

He must think I’m a gesture wrestling a snake. Katie thought as she finished tying the wraps upon the arm. The lad thanked her and went to his comrades in arms. It was by then, a series of shouts caught her attention.

Two french soldiers were assisting Kesegowaase, the native assassin was barely keeping his head up as his feet dragged on the ground. His long braids covered his face, and Katie could see upon the tanned deer skin shirt a trail of blood. Katie called out to Liam as they ran towards their comrades.

“Heavens above and below, what happened?” Katie asked, looking upon the assassin’s scared and bloodied face that indicated that he was close to an explosion.

Liam turned to Katie, “Do you have anything that could ease the pain?” Katie nodded, straightened herself upright and ran to her saddlebags. She pulled out various salves, herbs, and cloths into a larger cloth. She barked at a french soldier to fetch a pale of water from the stream and pour some in the cast-iron pot in the cook fire ring.

The two assassin’s assisted the wounded native against a tree. Liam lifted Kasogwase’s head slowly. The assassin’s face as Katie examined the damage further. The face was blistered and reddened with burns accompanying with cut skin from possible shards of wood, some streams of blood went down upon the master assassin’s face. the skin was so inflated that Katie could feel the heat through the dampen cloth as she cleaned his face. As she preformed her work, Liam asked the native warrior again, “What the hell happened to you? Surely Monro didn’t set this, he’s too…”  

“He lives! He’d survived! And now…he has sided with the templars!”

Katie nearly dropped the salve container, her eyes widened like a doe being exposed. Kesegowaase saw him?! She had to focus on her work, keeping her eyes focused on the possible second degree burns on the master assassin’s face. She prayed to God silently that no one would noticed the panic upon her face, especially Kasogwase. But she had to know.

“Who?” Katie asked, trying to hide the desperation in her voice and face.

The native coughed a moment before a scarp answer filtered by pain joined with anger. “Shay…”

Katie dared to look at the Liam with the corner of her eye as her master’s face widened with surprise. “What?” He breathed a pained whisper that made Hellen froze in place.

Deciding to play the dumb card, Katie was brave enough in an innocent curiosity asked, “Shay? Wasn’t that the name of the assassin who…”

“I need a moment with Kasogwase Katie! Please…just…tend to the others. I’ll let you know what is happening when we figure this out.” Liam’s face was torn betweenez surprise and anger. A look that made Katie feel frightened, as if she came across a sleeping predator. Yet, she nodded and turned to tend to the other wounded soldiers.

As Katie worked, she talked to the soldiers, asking them what happened. One of them finally explained that Kasogwase ranged an open attack on Monro, disputes the fact than Mancaul offered Monro and the British terms of surrender. Then as they chased after the Colonial and his men with the lone man, assumedly Shay in Katie’s mind, hand shot a barrel fun of gun power to the native and his men. Katie felt sick as she heard these stories. Not at the fact that Shay is truly capable of harm; yet she began to see a matter that had been bugging her for years that she needed to discuss Liam with before addressing the mentor.

Later that evening, Katie was staring upon the fire writing hard, yet hesitant. As she wrote her reports for Achilles, Katie’s thoughts and fears were crashing upon her mind. Why would Shay turn on one of his own? Former own now. This was not the man she’d known he could be capable of! Of course, Shay never expects the idea of Katie an assassin; therefore, Katie knew that her life and the brotherhood’s depended on her keeping her secrets contained.

Liam walked up towards the fire and sat right next to her. He handed her a long strip of dried deer meat. She took it with a thanks, and chewed on the gamey meat. Liam looked up into the night sky, thousands of stars gleamed and glittered. A shooting star made a long trail across the dark canvas, until it disappeared into the darkness. Liam smiled, he knew what to wish for from what Katie saw. He looked at the corner of his eye to see Katie chewing the meat, and writing the reports. Her hair glowed redder by the flames. Resulting in this young woman to be more deadly and dangerously beautiful. Liam took a log and threw it in the middle of the fire. It was also a diversion from the thoughts and feelings that resulted after learning about Shay.

“I need you to confirm and add your testimony in this report. Most of the soldiers only gave me the logical of what happened.” Katie lifted her eyes and turned to look at her master. “So will you please tell me what in the Almighty one’s name is going on?” Liam’s eyes closed as he rubbed them with his two fingers. He nodded and explained to her what happened as the soldiers proclaimed, and after conferment from Kasogwase and a few scouts, that Shay Cormac, a man that Liam had grieved for over a year now is alive and standing. Bearing a templar uniform that was too familiar to him. “Katie, I need to ask you a hard question. Was your cousin buried in a long black leather jacket?” Liam looked hard upon Katie. Blue eyes meeting with green. Without thinking she answered, “Yes. Well I’m not sure. It was a closed casket service at the funeral, so I can’t say for sure. Why?”

Liam sighed and shook his head. “Sorry Katie. I assumed that…it’s late…you should get some sleep. We have a long journey ahead of us. I’ll finish the report. We need to inform the Abenaki elders as well. Seemed we even lost some warriors as well”  He took the parchment and scroll from Katie ands and nodded as she lifted herself up. As she turned and walked away, Liam called her out her name. She turned and looked at the man. “What you did out there…we need that same amount of integrity and swift every moment, even in battle.” It was as close to a compliment as she could get from Liam at this point. Katie nodded and made her way to the bed roll where they’d camp. As she drifted to sleep with a pistol near by, Katie silently offered a prayer for guidance and for Shay’s safety.

[montana-drag-wrestling]

Montana Drag Wrestling is back, and we are ready to rumble! The Wig-Snatching Rumble Royale pits 20 Montana drag superstars against each other in a no-hold-barred-wig-snatching rumble, with one lucky king, queen, or in-between walking away with a $10,000 grand prize! See "The Montana Morningstar" Iris Von Moxley and the "Millennial of Mayhem" Margret Murder defend their Tag Team Championship titles against Nikki and Dita Von Doom! See the finals of the Lip Sync Challenge Tournament, with Miss Angel Fire going head to head with Stella Kinesis And in your main event "The Karen" Chastity Wilkes battles her do-gooder husband "The Steak Cowboy" Brick Steakworth in a Divorce Papers Match! All that plus musical guest Serena Palmer and comedy guest Austin Valley. $20, Tickets avaliable March 13th at https://www.zootownarts.org/ Card subject to change.

[capnyazz-blog]

my right to die or: how i learned to stop worrying and love euthanasia

I rarely post anything personal here, I prefer to re-blog stuff about artistic works and Marxism but I feel like it’s important I get my thoughts out there on this subject: the right to die and mental illness. I will address large issues with America’s relationship with euthanasia as well as how they affect me personally.

American society has a problematic relationship both with it’s views on end of life care and mental illness. It’s at times expected for people to prolong their life as long as possible. Conversations about death are quickly shut up around “polite company.” Sick parents comfort crying children who tell their parents lines about always needing them, that they can’t help but see themselves as the child they once were still needing their parent’s guidance at times, though they themselves could be in their late forties and fifties. This isn’t to say that the loss of a parent isn’t something traumatic to someone, that they aren’t often times losing their most important role-model, but rather this is to highlight the societal pressure which manifests itself in familial expectations on how long someone should live.

A study published in Ageing and Society discussed a survey of 1600 participants with an average age of 42 and a slightly higher than average level of educational achievement found the single largest factor in people answering positively to questions like “do you want to live past 80?” was their expectations on quality of their final years. People who expected to have relatively healthy and financially secure life when reaching 80 years of age wanted to live longer, some past 100 years. Minority raced and people who identify as religious tended to want to live to or past 80.

In order for the average person to reach 80 years old they’ll generally have to receive expensive, and at times, painful, treatment towards the end of their life. American’s spend on average of $316,600 in their lifetime on medicine with half of that money being in their senior years, even more so if they make it past the age of 85.

My family carries a rare gene which triggers Lou Gehrig’s disease. I have seen my grandmother, cousins, great aunts and uncles die a, usually, slow and painful death. In the past 5 years there’s been too many to count, I think like 8 people in total, with more when you look back generations. More of my relatives carry the gene which triggers the disease, but knowing you carry the gene doesn’t tell you if you will develop ALS or when it will hit or how quickly it will take over your body. I do not know if I carry the gene because I cannot be tested unless my mother is, it would be a breach of her privacy for me to be tested. After ALS progresses typically your lungs stop working and you end up suffocating. With modern life support technology you can be kept alive in a conscious though vegetative-like state indefinitely, an option my grandmother, the most stubborn person in all of Minnesota history chose to do for sometime, like three years or so.

Seeing so many people die such a death you would think my family would have developed the skills to speak earnestly and openly about death but that just hasn’t been the case.

There has been a push among healthcare providers to have elderly patients file an advance care directive or living will with them in order to be sure that the health workers and patients are all on the same page as far as end of life care is concerned. A key point missing from many of these conversations is the option of euthanasia or assisted suicide. Currently assisted suicide is only legal in Oregon, Washington, California, Colorado, Vermont, Montana, and D.C. though, the option of withholding healthcare is almost always an option, such as do no resuscitate orders in people’s end of life plans.

Oregon was the first place in the country, and one of first places in the world, to allow doctors to prescribe a lethal amount of a drug, though not deliver the dose themselves to the patient. There is a documentary named How To Die In Oregon which follows an organization which assists people who have chosen to die after being diagnosed with a terminal illness. The film includes interviews with volunteers from the organization, patients, healthcare workers, family of those about to die, and even includes footage of the patients dying.

Belgium may have the most just and fair euthanasia laws in the world. Belgium allows for so called non-terminal patients as well as children to request physician assisted suicide. There are roughly 1400 assisted suicides preformed each year in Belgium for non-terminal (nearly always people suffering from non-treatable mental illness).

The laws and culture of Belgium regarding euthanasia is a great step forward for humanity. There can be no freedom without the freedom to control one’s own death. These laws don’t simply address the ability to have a say in one’s own death but also allows for an honest discussion on quality of life.

Most mental illnesses are treatable diseases that, like other diseases, can be addressed simply and effectively, coming in phases, sometimes for no reason, sometimes triggered by life events. With proper medical treatment the sufferer can find relief, or get their disease treated to a point where it is possible to live a full and fulfilling life despite it, typically with some combination of pharmaceuticals and talk therapy.

Some cases of mental illness are not like this though. Select cases do not come and go as episodes, rather constantly present in a severely debilitating way. My mental health problems are like this.

I have rarely felt happiness in my life. I have suffered from major depression and dysthymia, a combination sometimes called double depression, for my entire life. I do not remember a point in my life where these problems were not present, as far back as one can really remember. Simply waking up and going to school was an unbearable pain and burden my whole childhood. 9th grade year of high school I missed over 100 days of school.

I have used a variety of treatments my whole life. We would try one prescription for a while with little results then either adjust it or move onto the next one. I had pushed a psychiatrist to preform ECT on me when I was around 18 which resulted in my mother and the doctor shouting at each other, completely turning me off of that facility, the largest healthcare provider in the area. Then six months ago after a failed suicide attempt a doctor suggested ECT and we proceeded. For a while I did actually feel something resembling happiness because of the treatment but that faded and I fell back into the same slump I am so used to being in.

I found comfort in partying, never becoming dependent on drugs as others around me did, but had heavy use of them. Starting at 14 or so I had moved on from simply smoking pot to doing cocaine, drinking, smoking meth, nearly every common drug one can think of I put it inside my body. Thankfully though I had the ability to compartmentalize the drug use as simply for partying, while close friends could not. I, at times, feel responsible for two of my childhood best friends drug additions which they still wrestle with years after I introduced them to those particular drugs. For whatever reason I assumed others had the ability to be able to get really fucked up on whatever we had around and be able to walk away from those drugs just as easily. I have had to end those friendships because of the guilt I feel.

Then at 19 things got even worse. I was at a point where I was getting messed up, typically drunk, three or four days a week. I would go out with my friends at 10 pm and wouldn’t stop partying until 7-8 am, get a couple hours of sleep then do it all again the next day. I had been doing this for nearly two years. We lived only a few blocks from my college in a part of the city which was full of students. We had our own little community there, everyone knew everyone, parties almost always had an open door policy so long as you were cool.

It all changed one night where I was drinking with my friends. We were roughly half a block from our apartment, bottles of liquor in hand, it was around 4 am at this point. We see cops approach us and did what we had done so many times before and split and take off running as quickly as possible. We weren’t really concerned with tickets for minor consumption or open bottles, rather simply enjoyed the thrill of running from the cops. For reasons I still don’t know the cop decided to ignore my friends and go for me. They caught up with me tackled me to the ground, through the handcuffs on me in no time at all and proceeded to kick and punch me leaving my whole body badly beaten, bruised, and bloody. Arriving at jail their torture only continued, more beatings, being dragged by my hair. It climaxed when I was being finger printed, all the liquor I had had that night decided it was done being in my stomach, and I ended up throwing up on myself, the finger printing machine, and the cop doing my finger printing. They put me in a choke hold, drug me to my cell, stripped me naked while yelling homophobic slurs at me, and forcibly gave me an anal cavity search. I was not able to sit down for over a week after that.

After leaving jail on bail I prepared a cocktail of drugs, consumed them with a shot of whiskey, turned on some music and waited to drift off. The next day I woke up feeling absolutely awful, with yellow skin, and vomit all over me. This was by no means my first or last suicide attempt.

Thankfully the judge on my case was sympathetic to the abuse I received in custody, as well as respecting my relatively clean police record and was basically given a slap on the wrist.

The whole ordeal left me with PTSD. I cannot be around police. I’ve developed a spidey sense where I can feel when a cop is near and act in a way which will minimize any possibility of interacting with police. I have been on medications since then for treating the nightmares that I have from them, making it easier to sleep through them. I doubt that the PTSD will ever get to a point where I can function normally around police though.

All of this is to say my mental health is fucked. My medical bills have completely destroyed any hope for having a financially secure future. I can sometimes do extremely well in college despite my issues and at times have to drop out because of them. I have never made it more than three consecutive semesters without needing to stop because of my mental health. I haven’t gone more than a few weeks without some form of suicide attempt or self harm since I was nearly 13.

After I finish this post I will be walking to the store to pick up a box of razors and slicing my arms open and hopefully going deep enough to bleed to death. For some reason I have really come to like the idea of killing myself through cutting my wrists, it’s just always been the method I’ve had in mind when dying. I have used other methods, some which are generally more effective than my preferred method, without success.

Many doctors have said that it’s possible I will never live a life resembling normal because of my mental health problems and it’s treatment resistant nature. This is not a life that is worth living. My inability to feel happiness, to get myself out of bed, to feed myself, why is it I’m forced through societal norms to continue this life?

It should be my right to sit down with a doctor and explain the pain I have experienced my whole life, have them review the extensive medical history, and allow me to die in such a way that is painless and allows for me to die surrounded by my friends and family. But because it is not currently possible I am forced to use violent, painful methods to take my own life while I’m alone. I want to be able to close my eyes for the last time after seeing my family in the same room.

I fully understand the consequences of death, that there is no returning, and in my opinion, nothing on the other side. This is fine with me. Please understand that a life like this is not a life worth living and please support local initiatives which help those in deciding what their final moments will be like. Death is a part of life and one the person experiencing it should have total control over.

[junker-town]

Hey Ohio State, Iowa just gave you a Stone Cold Stunner in a surprise bar fight

The Top Whatever is a weekly ranking of only the college football teams that are ranked in The Top Whatever.

1. Iowa.

The Top Whatever does whatever it wants and what it wants to do. What it wants to do this week is put Iowa at number one.

Why? Because of all the cataclysmic beatdowns, ass-handings-to, and defeats handed out on Saturday, none — we repeat, none — were more unexpected, complete, or stunning than Iowa beating Ohio State 55-24, effectively throwing the Big Ten’s Playoff hopes into the river and handing Urban Meyer the starkest loss of his lifetime.

Don’t say you saw this coming. Maybe you hoped for a solid Ferentz-ing, sure, in which Iowa turns the game into a whole lot of nothing, like Iowa’s 14-13 upset of Michigan in 2016. Some other inert foolishness like a safety or two or a blocked punt would happen.

Playing an underdog Iowa and losing is supposed to be like being crushed to death by a refrigerator. It’s your fault for trying to move it alone.

This was not that kind of Iowa win. This was three hours of raining sledgehammers without a single piece of shelter. This was a battering. This was the point in a wrestling match when a desperate wrestler reaches for the rope, almost grabs it, and is then dragged back to the middle of the ring by their heels, kicking and screaming.

It’s not just that Iowa pulled off the Stone Cold Stunner. It’s that Ohio State sold it so theatrically, with J.T. Barrett throwing four INTs and the defense giving up over 500 yards to a team that struggled to score 10 on Northwestern ... in an overtime game. I mean: Iowa QB Nathan Stanley — who’s fine, but not the quarterback on the field being considered for the Heisman — threw for five TDs.

That stat alone is spitting out the beer on the flop, Ohio State, but if you’re into history: this was the most points an Urban Meyer team has ever given up, ever. The list of teams Iowa scored more points than in that data sample includes the scorching 2008 Oklahoma Sooners, who scored an FBS-record 702 points that year before only getting 14 in a loss to Florida in the title game. (The offensive coordinator for that team, Kevin Wilson, called the game for Ohio State this Saturday.)

Iowa topped that, and even threw in two fakes, including a fake punt deep in their own territory when up by 35. Iowa is a mild-mannered account manager most of the time, just hoping to mostly go 8-4 and get a nice vacation in Florida once a year. Then, one night a year, they get way too drunk and start a bar fight with someone who wakes up on the floor, thinking, I did NOT see that coming, and certainly not from that guy.

It’s your floor, Ohio State. Lay down on it for a minute. Find a pizza down there. It’s been there way longer than five seconds, but it’s a bit late to care about food safety.

The Big Ten’s reaper wears black and gold, and he runs outside zone all game long.

2. Clean underwear

TOUCHDOWN WAZZU wait what the hell http://pic.twitter.com/QNedfGhaSL

— SB Nation (@SBNation) November 4, 2017

Your parents might not be happy with you charging the field to celebrate, sir. But they are happy that when you did it, at least you had a clean pair of drawers on to show that you were raised to make yourself presentable.

3. Georgia.

Defeated South Carolina 24-10. The teams most people rightfully compare this Georgia team to are Nick Saban’s Alabama teams, and that’s fine. They play suffocating, pattern-reading defenses, run the hell out of the ball, and get timely play from their quarterbacks. Like a lot of Saban teams, the smartest guy on the team does happen to be an inside linebacker.

In this case that’s Roquan Smith, who knows exactly what your play is at least 90 percent of the time. Smith is a football genius, and watching him diagnose plays in real time is mandatory viewing for football geeks.

But — and this is no small compliment — it’s also hard to not compare them to the undefeated 2004 Auburn team. There are two running backs, presenting different challenges to defenses, but each strong enough to carry a team by themselves if necessary. There’s a mobile quarterback who refuses to make mistakes. There’s a rock-solid defense.

The one key difference, historically speaking: 2004 Auburn played The Citadel, ULM, and Louisiana Tech, while UGA played fellow Playoff contender Notre Dame on the road and won. That might make all the difference in the world when selection time comes.

If this offends Auburn fans, that’s also fine. The Tigers host Georgia this Saturday. They can shut down this comparison themselves, if they like.

4. Miami.

Led Virginia Tech around by the nose in a 28-10 win. Since we’ve been saying this for a month now, we’ll keep saying it: the Canes are the team that’s totally comfortable in a close game, because they’re the source and solution to all of their own problems.

Miami took a 14-0 lead, then helped give that early lead away when QB Malik Rosier threw two interceptions, allowing Virginia Tech to creep to 14-10 in the third. Counterpunchers are happy to wait. The Canes waited for VT to make a mistake — a fumble for turnover, followed by a penalty for a late hit on Rosier — and then capitalized on a deep strike to Christopher Herndon IV that effectively put the game away.

The rest was Virginia Tech thrashing away in vain, followed by shots of Jennifer Lopez holding up her own turnover chain. It’s not science, but when a team has a pet celebrity mascot or two, a couple of good props, and the ability to stay chill in single-score games, the issue of having overwhelming talent doesn’t matter much.

This is all working, and if it works against Notre Dame in Miami this coming week, everyone will have to come around to America’s Most Relaxed Team being a Playoff contender, single-digit wins and all.

5. Turnover Plank.

Kennesaw State is 8-1 and defeated Montana State 16-14 yesterday. They do not have a turnover belt, turnover chain, or turnover trash can. They have a turnover plank.

Why aren't we all discussing @kennesawstfb turnover plank? http://pic.twitter.com/xbQ6P5myqw

— Mike Foster (@MichaelFosterSN) November 5, 2017

That’s an Ed, Edd, and Eddy reference on a college football sideline. It does not overstate the case to say that I would take a knife for Kennesaw State and the Turnover Plank right now.

6. Notre Dame.

48-37 over Wake Forest reminds us: Notre Dame is so good that we can all start drafting compliments based off their innate strength. If a good chunk of Georgia’s excellence is based off beating Notre Dame, why not note Wake Forest is pesky as hell and pressed the Irish harder than a lot of other, allegedly better teams on their schedule? That’s how good you are right now, Notre Dame. We can talk about how good the other team was.

What isn’t good is Brandon Wimbush suffering a nasty contusion to his hand when a Wake defender ran helmet-first into it or running back Josh Adams missing the second half with what Brian Kelly called “not feeling right”, whatever that is. Also, the Irish gave up over 500 yards offense to Wake Forest, including 331 yards through the air. Miami might notice that.

They might also notice that, even without Adams, Notre Dame still ran for 380 yards, because 2017 is the year the best teams all decided the forward pass was overrated.

7. Oklahoma.

62-52 over Oklahoma State on the road in Stillwater. The entire box score is summarized below.

BAKER MAYFIELD HAS ALWAYS BEEN MAGIC

There is not a game Oklahoma’s defense cannot lose, and there is not a game Baker Mayfield’s offense cannot win. He threw for 598 yards and 5 TDs — and also two INTs, including a late pick in the redzone to give Oklahoma State its last chance.

Any Playoff involving Mayfield vs. the Alabama defense is a matchup we would endorse. Win or lose for Oklahoma, it would be four quarters of breathless, hell-for-leather football, and at the end, everyone would be very, very tired.

After Bedlam, the combined offenses of Oklahoma and Oklahoma State have gained six miles of offense this season, or double the three miles or so of distance gained by the combined Florida and Florida State offenses. The worst offense for this in the country is UTEP, which has gained just over a mile through nine games. UTEP can’t even get you to the nearest gas station, man.

8. Alabama.

24-10 processing of LSU. Speaking of excellent teams who believe the forward pass is a detriment to American society, Alabama had one of those games when, for a few tantalizing moments, it looked vulnerable.

LSU outgained Alabama, outrushed the five-headed Alabama running attack, and did a few things downfield to suggest Alabama’s defense might let a competent team push the ball around. Alabama is basically running Kansas State’s 2014 offense with five-star talent, right down to the pop pass over the middle of the field. Better teams, like LSU, know it’s coming and can sometimes clamp down on it.

Unfortunately for everyone else, this is usually when Alabama sees this on tape, too, and locks down those weaknesses in the system. The Borg didn’t get the whole galaxy scared by being sloppy for long, y’all, but it does knock them down a few pegs for the week.

P.S. The Borg also need to work on that strength of schedule, but it’s not their fault they’ve laid such thorough waste to everything around them that finding a test is a real challenge.

9. Clemson.

Outraced NC State 38-31, because this NC State team and this Clemson team under current management only play close games. Kelly Bryant is coming along nicely after an ankle injury, and the defensive numbers might be a bit deceptive because a.) Ryan Finley is an underrated QB, and b.) Clemson forced turnovers when it had to, including a game-clinching INT with NC State driving in the waning seconds.

The Tigers also made an NC State fan so mad he did this, and I believe this is a bullet point on their Playoff resume.

Everyone gets the finger!!! #madncstatefans http://pic.twitter.com/DNrpBKQXrK

— billy weaver (@billyweaver14) November 5, 2017

10. TCU.

Winners of a rare Big 12 slugfest with Texas 24-7. A loss to Iowa State and an otherwise clean slate? TCU is basically Oklahoma minus one Mayfield and plus one very good defense. (See: Allowing Texas to rush for exactly 27 feet.)

Everyone’s forgotten about the Horned Frogs after that loss to the Cyclones. Everyone should remember them real quick, provided they get a chance to beat Oklahoma and then finish out the rest of their schedule against Texas Tech and Baylor. Let’s check the schedule ... ooh! Guess who they play this coming week?

Surprise! It’s Oklahoma.

11. Wisconsin.

Suddenly the obvious best and purest team in the Big Ten, following a 45-17 dispatching of Indiana. The Badgers still haven’t played anyone, but as if on cue: Iowa, fresh off that epochal cratering of Ohio State, comes to town. Combine that with a hypothetical win over whoever shows up in the Big Ten Championship, and the Badgers have a chance at the Playoff.

P.S. WATCH THE HELL OUT FOR IOWA. THEY’RE ON ONE.

12. Washington.

38-3 over Oregon, a team that once upon a time used to beat Washington like a rented mule. Dog. Whatever, I don’t even know if you can rent dogs. Change it back to a mule, but the point is that Washington has now fully reversed the order of power in the Pac-12 North. Last year, this defeat for Oregon seemed like a reckoning. This year, it barely raised an eyebrow, and not just because the Ducks lost their starting QB to injury last month.

Statistics still love the Huskies, even if the polls and national punditry don’t. Math isn’t a friend, no matter what your teacher in middle school told you. They were saying that to make you feel better because they were kind and because lying is free.

While we’re lying: you’re still in this, Washington! Even though you had the weirdest loss a really good team had this year, one that not even your friend Math can explain!

13. UCF.

31-24 over a very game SMU, but that’s deceptive thanks to three turnovers by the Knights. They still had an obscene 615 yards despite SMU stacking the box against UCF’s run.

TWO-LOSS TEAMS THAT EFFECTIVELY ENDED THEIR PLAYOFF RUNS BY LOSING THIS WEEKEND AND ARE NOW PLAYING FOR SPITE

Oklahoma State: Bedlam’d, still going squirrel-hunting today, because life goes on.

Penn State: Tedium only makes Michigan State stronger, and nothing is more tedious than a huge weather delay. Penn State never really had a chance, and that’s before you take Spartans QB Brian Lewerke throwing for 400 yards into account.

Ohio State: good lord what the hell was that

Virginia Tech: Not the first to wake up disoriented in Dade County after a long night.

MEMPHIS?

Got the palindrome going by beating Tulsa, 41-14, and preserving an 8-1 record. Props to Tulsa, though, for Goldie the tee-fetching dog and Goldie’s best friend, a 135-pound Newfie named Willis.

Yes, they have a social media presence.

Willis and I are ready for the pupsidedown as @gatenm123 and @milliebbrown! #utulsa #Howloween #trickortreat #HappyHalloween #StrangerThings http://pic.twitter.com/W7meN9I09l

— Tulsa Goldie (@TulsaGoldie) October 31, 2017