#and in our experience trying to shelter kids from these things just gives them fucked up relationships with their own bodies later

[mantisgodsdomain]

Maybe the reason that we're Like That nowadays (plays pretty much exclusively random obscure to semi-obscure indie games and tends to gravitate towards games with flaws that, although not glaring, noticeably fuck with the experience) is because the only things we played when we first started were games which would be either forgotten or considered to be terrible later down the line.

[bradenthompson]

The Maze Runner (2014) notes

It was no contest which trilogy I was gonna plow through next. I mean, it was a bit of a contest (originally thought I was gonna jump into Hunger Games) but I prioritized the series of which I'd seen less of.

Now I HAVE seen this one before, actually. Saw it in theaters with a whole group of friends, most of which I didn't know, I've forgotten most of the fine details, should be a good chaser for Divergent.

>real quick, "get ready to run" is a great tagline. "Get ready to be hungry." "Get ready to abra kadabra."

>opening shot fucks. Just the screech of the elevator, our eyes adjust same time as the dude's. Gold star

>if you let yourself get manhandled by Will Poulter that's on you

>idk the main dude's name yet but I'll guess. He looks like a Danny. My guess is his name's Danny

>oh that kid looks exactly like a Newt. Growing confidence in main boy's name being Danny

>i do remember this kid who dies at the end. Sorry, sport, you don't look movie star enough. Work on that jawline, maybe get yourself a taper

>"welcome to the Glade (bitch)"

>trying to vaporize Newt with my mind

>ain't no way these kids are keeping track of the years. Honey idk what day of the week it is and I got a widget at the bottom of my monitor (not checking it on principle)

>"no one's survived a night in the maze" okay okay i know how these things work. Danny's gonna make history

>stop calling him Greenie; his name is Danny

>"does he look like a Shank?" DANNY

>his name's not Danny. It's Thomas. No one talk to me rn, got a lot to work out

>sad to say I don't think I'd be a Runner. Probably be one of the guys that makes the food. Bet there's a quiz on one of the YA sites.

>who among us hasn't been mounted, strangled, unable to gain advantage, and reached to our sides to find a hand-sized, head-cracking apparatus? This movie tells my experience

>ik it's dumb of me to once again be asking who cuts all the hair, but seriously

>nvm, I believe that's a job around the Glade (we call them Shearers)

>death by maze, death by maze, death by maze

>"no one's ever survived a night in the maze" is the most telegraphed thing so far but I appreciate the setup. Movie's running at a solid clip

>lmao @ the maze monster quieting down to give Thomas a spook

>real sweet of the Gladers to hang around the maze entrance all night. Apparently just to entertain Chuck. Those are homies

>Danny Thomas setting Glade records on his third day. Man's looking for a promotion

>Really giving him the cold Poulter, ain't he (you don't have to laugh)

>exactly one girl showing up, nightmare nightmare nightmare

>didn't catch the part about Newt being the new leader. He looks quite overthrowable

>idk shit about mysteries but I like the speed this movie runs at. What's in the cannister, Danny Thomas?

>these boys are positively cracked at building shelters. I don't think I could built a hut in three years

>and scale models????

>girl's having a very reasonable response to this, gotta say

>Danny Thomas has still only been here three days?

>still appreciate the speed this is moving, but scenes have developed a sort of pattern: "I think we should do this" "no fuck you we should do this" "guys!" "what?!" "element from two scenes ago has developed"

>boy who just got grabbed by a Griever is named Zort

>so Danny Thomas, with like six essential Galders a foot behind him, goads one of the Grievers with a "come on!" as if it's not twelve feet long and immediately dangerous to everyone in a twenty foot vicinity. See this is why you're not the leader, Danny Thomas

>Will Poulter delivers THE most telegraphed punch of all time and Danny Thomas still gets caught with one. Bro wound up like Popeye, dude, that's your fault

>speaking of his fault, and ik we're not supposed to side with him and I'm not saying I do, I'm just saying Poulter's processing of these past few minutes is not unreasonable. This did indeed happen due to choices made by the Runners, intended by maze design or not. If anything, I think the Runners are being too gung-ho about this, considering the immediate consequences of every advancement they make

>bravo to Maze Runner for its introductions and executions. Coming into this from a trilogy of movies in love with introducing a concept then just kinda letting it fester in the frame, it feels like every element presented here has a later relevance. Danny Thomas noticing the Griever stings make the other Gladers seemingly remember something from their past, thus stinging himself to intentionally conjure his own? Well done, Whoever Wrote This Book I'm Not Looking It Up Right Now

>dude, and Poulter distrusting Danny Thomas because he, on a subconscious level, remembers seeing him when he got locked in the amnesia tank? Whoever Wrote This Book I'm Not Looking It Up Right Now really thought of everything

>literally just typing "oh cool of him to not implicate Teresa in the 'I did experiments on you guys' thing" but then he immediately does, lol. Why did the other guys have to know that about her right now, couldn't you tell her that in private

>screenwriters make british actors say Ass on purpose bc they know they'll say it funny

>ooh we got Return of the Jedi nods, somethin most silly's about to happen

>reasonable estimate on Poulter's part: if the protagonists go back in the maze they'll instigate some more Griever shit, probably. Unless the maze doors are just open permanently, now, in which case it makes no difference, Poulter

>Mutinyyyyyyyyy

>was just thinking "don't these kids wanna pack before they leave the Glade forever" but like pack what lol

>I wanna know the life story of the extra who elected to stand like this:

>Danny Thomas is just full of Trailer Lines, isn't he

>score's very generic in this, unfortunately. Could've done cool motifs, divide the Glade and the Maze orchestrally but just about all of it's unremarkable

>half these Grievers die like Land Before Time villains

>then again I also like the lack of music, a lot of the time. Makes things tense

>feeling like there's not enough of a visual difference between the Science Facility and the Glade/Maze. Sure there's video screens but the color scheme's identical. Should've been like the difference between the Commonwealth and the Institute in Fallout 4, like that sucker punch of a juxtaposition

>calculated that 24% of all lines in this movie are "we call it the (noun)"

>so these kids represent the new generation of humans immune to The Flare, so they were trapped in The Maze to study what makes them immune, and it's not just that these kids have antibodies. Like it's not just that. Not saying I follow but I won't get hung up on it rn

>"is it over?" "I don't know, chuck; think maybe we're in the figurative book one of the proverbial multi-book series that is our lives. Three books, at least."

>hahahahahaaaaaa, okay, lining up the cast in frame, "this is just the beginning," music swells, only for Poulter to run in for the antagonistic walk-off homer is good stuff

>weirdly articulate and conversational for someone who's been stung, gotta say

>one thing I remember from my first viewing was my theater cracking up when it's revealed Chuck's been shot

>what do actors think about when they pretend to be dead and their costar is crying over them

>"we call them whirly-twirlies (helicopters)"

>nice of the move go give us/the character's a bird's eye view of the maze, smart of them to wait until the very end

>"Time to begin Operation Sequel"

>author's name is James Dashner. Aight. Good work, G, got a few notes for you: --Thomas' name should've been Danny --that's it

So all in all I like the movie. Note that me liking something and being a fan are different concepts. Movie's exactly where it needs to be and there's obvious care and respect being taken, which I'm sure the fans can appreciate even if maybe Character A isn't rude enough or they cut out Character H. As for what the next movies'll be like, idk, but I'm excited to see.

[himynameistonya-blog]

Today was a wild day that has brought a lot of perspective to me. And has also enforced I’m doing exactly what I’m meant to be doing.

I always believe that those who are meant to cross paths do. I also believe ALL humans are worthy of help and love.

Shortly After returning home there was a knock on the door. And a stranger with bags, pajama pants, and a face full of tears stood at the door.

Turns out their mom had once lived in the home I have now. And clearly they were out of contact with many family members. Others may see this as a red flag to close the door and turn away. But I think that’s disgusting. We are one, we are all human and deserve warmth, caring, love, and support.

I spoke with them for some time about their situation, sharing bits of my own personal traumas that were similar to their experiences, and encouraged them along a path of resources in our city.

The first shelter we contacted was at full capacity and we were redirected to another. There were impairments, and things were loopy for this person, but I know I handled it with grace and love ! - when typing a number for services into their phone they had extreme difficulty. I allowed them to try on their own to see their limit. Once I was aware of their limits I requested to help. “Oh man ! Dang technology it’s always a dink to work with ! Especially when it’s been out in the cold, would it be okay if I tried for you ?” Of course they said “Yes please !” We got the correct number in and dialed, we got them all set up with a room, and a cab to transport them there 🫶🏻 ((AND IM INCREDIBLY PROUD OF THEM FOR MAKING THE CALL THEMSELVES !))

This is a HUGE thing many DO NOT KNOW about homeless shelters here. IF YOU DO NOT REQUEST THE ROOM ON YOUR OWN BEHALF…. YOU WILL NOT BE A PRIORITY FOR A ROOM ! You MUST go 100% VOLUNTARILY WITHOUT someone doing it in your behalf.

They said they had anxieties on the phone. I told them BRO me TOO ! let’s do it together ! I walked them through what to say, and let them know if they needed anything I was right there to help ! And I did when requested of me 💕🫶🏻

And we did it … THEY DID IT !!! 💕🥰💕🥰💪🏻 they thanked me for getting them to make the call and told me it helped them having me there 🥰💪🏻

—- I wanna highlight something said, repetitively “I am so embarrassed”

From the time I opened the door to the time I walked them out. The words “I am so embarrassed” poured out from their vocal cords more times I’d care to admit ! OF COURSE I Would have NONE of that in my home. I told them. “bro, are you kidding me right now ? We are all human, we all have our lows there is nothing you should be embarrassed about, you’re human.”

Wearing pajamas ? Cool bro I am too ! (Real talk) they said “yeah but, you are at home I’m walking the streets” I said “I legit JUST got home from a meeting.. in which, I went in my pajamas ZERO SHAME HERE BRO ZERO !” They said “you went out like that ?” I’m like “fuck yeah I did, who cares ? Strangers I’ll never see again ohh nooo.. it’s comfy i was running late.. you get what you get.” “Okay but I’m crying all over my makeup is everywhere am I bleeding ? I’m bleeding” all with tears ! Like BRO !! I bleed too I’m bleeding right now ! I’m on my period we all bleed man again.. YOU ARE HUMAN. You’re crying ? Cool you have feelings and strong emotions that you need to let out, you don’t think I cry ? Snot bubbles puffy eyes I’m a mess man… LET IT OUT. YOU ARE HUMAN ! ((And I got a hug ! — please note this entry has no order - much like my life lmaaaaoo))

Why do humans forget so often that they are humans ? And shame one another for flaws and mistakes ? Gross. We are all messy ✌️⭐️

We talked more about what was going on with them and I offered the advice I give to many of my clients in similar situations. I think the most impressive thing I myself did was remember that I needed to ask permission for physical contact.

It’s so hard for me to not dive bomb and hug someone when they are crying or feeling hurt. All I want to do, is give them ALLLLL OF MY ENERGY AND LOVE !

They were standing in my porch and I asked “is it okay if I give you a hug ?”

And immediately their arms opened up and I SQUEEEZEDDD TIGHT !!

some people say no. And that’s okay. But I know hugs are healing and when I have the opportunity to hug someone, anyone. I will. It’s healing for BOTH people.

Anyways.

We spoke lots, we charged their phone, and gave them a musical magic oracle deck (an oracle deck I created based off of song lyrics that are motivational and bring people up from dark spots 💪🏻 each card includes Spotify codes to each song. ) cause they said how music is a coping tool that helps them feel better 💪🏻🫶🏻💪🏻 and I have a whack ton .. I friggin made them.. lol so I gave that ! And my phone number.

They got into the cab after giving me lots of hugs !!! 😍😍🥰😍 and a promise to keep in touch (it doesn’t always happen) off they went to continue their healing journey !

They told me I was very good at what I do.

They told me that they were so grateful it was me to open the door

They told me I helped them.

And that, makes my low quiet no money making days — WORTH IT.

I’m good at what I do

I’m a healer

I’ve been through sh!t.

So I know how to get out of sh!t

And I effin’ am gonna pull this city OUT OF THE DARKNESS

Fuck homelessness

FUCK ABUSE

💪🏻💪🏻💪🏻

Finally. I feel like I’m making change in my own back yard. Im on the right path ! 🥰😍🥰 I fucking did it bing bong !!!

I’m finally becoming the human I was meant to be here 🥰 a healer 🥰

[nat-20s]

Wonderful! Au Part 7! (also on ao3 here) another episode only installment, and obnoxiously fluffy! Have fun!

~*~

Martin, tired: Hello everybody! Welcome, or welcome back, to a very low energy episode. We have had, as the kids say, A Week Tm.

Jon, equally tired, but fond: Is that as the kids say?

Martin: I don't know, and perhaps worse, I don't really care. I guess I could ask Jeremiah next time he's over, but I'm not sure if that would actually help.

Jon: Shockingly, I don't think two year olds have their finger on the beating pulse of youth culture.

Martin: Hmm, maybe not. Speaking of Jeremiah, he's part of why the format of this episode is gonna be a bit different than our regular. On top of me dealing with a frankly obscene amount of inventory management, and Jon being swamped with grant writing-

Jon: I never want to look at proposal guidelines again-

Martin: we were on babysitting duty for our favourite neighborhood hellion-

Jon: Hey, Jeremiah is a very sweet kid! I know he's a toddler, but we shouldn't be slandering him anyway.

Martin: One, we're not even using his real name, I don't think that counts as slander, and two, exactly, he's a toddler, he's by default a hellion.

Jon, teasing: This coming from the person that actually wants one?

Martin: I..look, if anything, the last few days have shown we should not be permanent parents.

Jon: But?

Martin:...There's no but.

Jon: I don't believe you! Are you lying for my benefit or the audience's? Because someone spent the last five days wearing one of the largest grins I've ever seen, exhausted as it may have been.

Martin: Okay! Fine, I admit, I liked having a kid around. I still think it would be a bad idea to do it full time, but I dunno. I wish we weren't both only children or something. We would make such good uncles.

Jon: Should I should have taken that teaching job after all?

Martin: Perhaps. After all,

Martin, singsong: An English teacher, is really someone!

Jon and Martin, singing together: If only you, had be-come one!

Jon: Honestly, though, I was considerably underqualified. I'm much more suited to my current job, even if it doesn't have quite the same impact on the "shaping of the next generation" or whatnot.

Martin: Wait, you actually care about qualifications now? When did that change?

Jon: This coming from Mister "master's degree in parapsychology"? And it was probably around the time that the world ended from taking on a workload I was ill-suited for.

Jon:...

Jon: Metaphorically speaking, of course.

Martin: Oh, of course. Definitely nothing literally apocalyptic in our pasts, no siree, nothing to see or speculate about or make weirdly involved forums for here. Uh, anyway, long introduction not so short: Both of us have been averaging about 4 hours of sleep, so any sort of actual research was not on the table.

Jon: If any of you are wondering why we didn't just say that we're both very much worn out and thus we'll be taking a week off, it's because we're both deeply, deeply stubborn.

Martin: It's one of our best shared qualities that has never caused any conflict between us, ever.

Jon: In fairness, sheer stubbornness does account for, what, 75% of the reason that either of us are still alive? And it hasn't caused a major conflict between us in a good three years.

Martin: That's true. We've become a deeply boring, relatively conflict free couple. Which fucking rules, by the way. To all the couples out there: I highly recommend being boring. It is so nice. We've gotten to go to the farmer's market so many times.

Jon: You do love the farmer's market. I would say that it's the access to fresh produce, but I think you just like the attention that one yarn seller gives you. Can't believe you would take advantage of a crush to get discounts on wool. How did I marry such an opportunist?

Martin: Ollie does not have a crush on me. They're just friendly to everyone.

Jon: Bullshit. I certainly never get an extra skein or stitch markers or delicate fabric cleaner tossed in my bag. Actually, I think I've been charged more for committing the crime of having married you before they could.

Martin: I'm..70% sure that's not true, but every sentence we speak, we stray further from even pretending to be on topic. So, to everybody listening, this is the itty bitty episode! Basically, we're only doing small wonders and user submissions. If you want details or backstory for things we like, too bad, come back next week. Jon, I believe you're first this week?

Jon: Oh, right. My first small wonder is cat names.

Martin: Delightful, but unsurprising. Though, I would've expected either more or less specificity. Why cat names as opposed to pet's names in general, or, like, military title names?

Jon: Well that's simple enough. I've simply never met a misnamed cat, even if the name itself wasn't to my personal tastes, and I think that speaks to the wonderful universality of cats.

Martin: This, of course, implies that you have met animals that were misnamed.

Jon: Oh, I have. I once met a papillion dog named Meatball.

Martin: Now I know you don't like food names in general for pets, but are you sure that Meatball didn't suit the dogs personality? I've known some "Meatballs" in my lifetime.

Jon, only half-mock offended: Of course it didn't fit, Martin. She was a lady. A nervous, jittery lady, but a lady nonetheless.

Martin, laughing: And what, you've never met a dignified cat with an undignified name, or vice versa? Would you be okay with our cat being named Meatball?

Jon: I would be upset if our cat was named Meatball, because we named her and we're above that sort of thing, but, technically speaking, she could have been Meatball in another lifetime and it wouldn't have been wrong. You see, all cats are a mix of both extremely austere and little baby idiot.

Martin: Oh, is that the scientific terminology?

Jon: It is. Now, while there's probably some amount of, er, normative determinism or confirmation bias or something that results in a cat with a more dignified name seeming to possess more of that austerity, as all cats have both, any name can, potentially, fit. Hence why it's wonderful.

Martin: I..accept your proposal for now, but I think more research needs to be done. Maybe we should visit the shelter this weekend and test your hypothesis.

Jon: Hmm. I think we may need to visit multiple shelters, actually. A large sample size is necessary for any sort of veracity, obviously.

Martin, imitating Jon tone: Obviously.

Jon: Glad you agree. What's your first small wonder?

Martin: Tofu!

Jon: I..didn't realize you liked that much?

Martin: Well, I don't get it very often since I know you can't stand the texture, even though it is not like 'worse scrambled eggs', and you're a horrible food thief-

Jon: Lies and slander. We readily share. If I'm a horrible food thief, you have committed the exact same, if not worse, crime as myself.

Martin: Well, we are thick as thieves.

Jon, groaning: You're thick as something alright

Martin: Rude! My beloved husband-

Jon: -uh huh-

Martin: whom I love and trust with my most tender of hearts-

Jon: -an oddly cannibalistic turn of phrase-

Martin, badly suppressing laughter: Oh, my god. I want a divorce, then I can put tofu in as many dishes as I like. I'll triple my protein intake.

Jon: It'd never go through. I'll burn the papers. No, wait, I'll burn down the legal offices where the papers are kept.

Martin: Hmm. While my experiences with it have been, uh, varied to say the least, I do have to admit that arson is one of the more attractive crimes of passion. I suppose I'll take you back.

Jon, flat: I'm so very grateful.

Jon, genuine: You do have yet to actually tell me why you think tofu is wonderful, love.

Martin: It's just a good food! It's neutral enough that you can toss it in pretty much anything with a sauce, you can bake it, you can fry it, whatever. Plus it's what? two? Three quid? I spent many years of my life living off the cheapest, saltiest approximation of noodles you could imagine, and half a pack of tofu, a little bit of sesame oil, and some green onions went a long way to both making it more filling and less sad. 

Martin: Plus, I feel like it often gets decried for being something it's not? It's so often viewed as a meat substitute or the vegan alternative option, and so when people try it, they often go in with a false preconceived notion of what it's going to be like, and then end up disappointed. They're all like, 'ugh, this doesn't taste like turkey!' and yeah, of course it doesn't. It's the oatmeal raisin cookie of the protein world, a perfectly good and tasty treat on its own, but if you want chocolate chip, it's not gonna work.

Jon: Martin you don't even like oatmeal raisin. I'm the only one that ever eats them out of the multipacks.

Martin: Well, yeah, but I don't like oatmeal raisin because of its flavor, not because I think it should be chocolate chip and fails. It illustrates my point. Also, just for balance, is your next small wonder oatmeal raisin cookies?

Jon: No, though, maybe one of these weeks. They are good. But no, um, my next small wonder is being married.

Martin, let out a high bark of a laugh: Being married is a small wonder?!

Jon: Small wonders doesn't mean a lack of importance! Or even significance in our lives. Half the time we even end up spending just as much time chattering on about them as the things we actually research. But, yes, I didn't feel like researching the concept of being married. For one, a lot of the history of it is depressing and patriarchal, and for two, it's not something I really feel any need to elaborate on. Being married. I very much enjoy it. I recommend it for anybody that's found someone that they want to marry, and who wants to marry them. I really recommend being married to Martin Blackwood, I think I would enjoy it significantly less if it was to anybody else, but one: we typically try to make the wonderful things in this show  applicable to more than just ourselves, and two: I got there first, so I believe the appropriate thing to say here would be; neener neener and/or everyone else can go suck it, Ollie.

Martin: Well...

Jon: Well, what?

Martin: Saying you got there first is technically not true-

Jon: What?!

Martin, laughing like a bastard: Sorry, sorry! Couldn't resist! Jon, you already know that you're my first real realationship, how would be married before fit that?

Jon: Hence my surprise at the notion! I cannot believe you! I give you my trust, my earnestness, and belief-

Martin [only laughs harder]

Jon: and you throw it in my face for a bit. I take back everything, being married is a nightmare, because sometimes your partner thinks he a fucking comedian and you just have to put up with him because you love him and want to live the rest of your life with him or some such nonsense. Not worth it, if you ask me. My turn to ask for the divorce.

Martin: Babe, hate to break it to you, but both of us are guilty of doing bits that the other doesn't like, it's an integral part of  a healthy marriage, and secondly, you knew who I was long before I proposed. You should've said no when you had the chance.

Jon: Hang on, you proposed?

Martin: Yeah? This isn't part of a bit, of course I proposed. I'm even pretty sure you were there. The whole visit back to Scotland trip? I finally made you a sweater and said it was because we would now be immune to the boyfriend curse?

Jon: No, no, I remember all that, but it wasn't the proposal. It was a reaffirmation of the proposal. We had already decided to get married.

Martin: Well, yeah,, I wasn't just gonna spring that on you, we had had conversations beforehand-

Jon:  No, I mean, I had already proposed. I asked you to marry me a good three years earlier, and you said yes, which is a proposal by any definition that I know.

Martin: Jon, love, darling, apple of my eye, fire of my soul, I mean this in the nicest way possible, what the everloving fuck are you talking about?

Jon: In the ambulance ride when we, uh, moved here. It was the thing I said to you the second I saw your eyes were open.

[An audible pause is left in the recording.]

Martin: That does not count.

Jon: How does it not count?! I asked you to marry me, you very emphatically said yes, that's the de facto definition of an accepted marriage proposal!

Martin: It doesn't count because you were half-delirious with blood-loss, and I had a traumatic brain injury that the hospital was very surprised I made a full recovery from. No court in the world would consider anything we said then more than pain driven ramblings, let alone, I dunno, contractually binding.

Jon: Well, I knew what I was saying well and clear. Just because it was desperate doesn't mean it wasn't sincere. I didn't realize that you weren't as cognizant when you accepted.

Martin, snorting: Yeah, didn't really need to be cognizant to say yes. I've wanted to marry you since the train ride to Scotland.

Jon: Wait, really? Martin, we hadn't even been on a date.

Martin: And yet we were on the lamb together, which I honestly think is more romantic than sitting in some restaurant somewhere trying to get through icebreakers. Also, back up, from your perspective we've been engaged since 2019? What did you think we were doing in the interim?

Jon: Uhh..

Martin: Yes?

Jon: There are people that have long engagement periods, and it's not exactly like we were in any sort of position to get married for awhile. Especially not that first year.

Martin: Okay? And?

Jon: And..I sort of thought you had changed your mind. For awhile. Was rather surprised that you kept living with me, considering that, on the worst nights, I was convinced you were going to storm off and leave me forever any minute now. Hence why your proposal was rather relieving.

Martin: Oh, Jon, love. That is so very ridiculous, and so very you, and so very close to many of my own fears and doubts. Do you have any idea how terrified I was to float the idea of marriage to you? Half the time I was convinced I was just meant to keep you company until you found someone better. And, Christ, we'd, from your perspective, been engaged the whole damn time. Fuck.

[Jon, after a beat, starts laughing. It has a slightly hysterical edge to it. Martin joins in. It takes a minute for the laughter to subside enough for them to speak again.]

Jon: I'm rapidly realizing that our entire romantic relationship would've been, if not more successful, a hell of a lot faster if we weren't both complete fools.

Martin: You're realizing that now? I think I've known that since the CV incident. I've definitely known it since the Lonely.

Jon, with a slightly tired chuckle:Yes, yes, something probably should've tipped me off earlier. Shockingly, observation of our own personal romantic trends is not always a strong suit of mine.

Jon: Anyway, please tell me you have another small wonder, this has gotten wildly of track.

Martin: Since we're talking about marriage anyway, I think my next small wonder is having a shared reference in your wedding vows. Our friends had "I have been, and always shall be, your friend" in theirs, and I made Jon cry with a slightly altered Lord of the Rings quote in ours.

Jon: First off, we were both openly weeping long before that point, secondly, I defy anybody to have been through half of what we have and then have the love of their life look them in the eyes and tell them "Leave you? I never intend to. I am going with you, if you climb to the moon" without at least tearing up.

Martin: There wasn't a dry eye in the audience, either. Granted, the audience was only 20 people, but that was also literally the only time I've seen Eloise show a strong emotion, so I'm pretty smug about it.

Martin, soft: I still feel exactly the same, you know. If you're climbing to the moon, I'll make sure the rope is strong enough for two.

Jon, soft: I know, love.

Jon: Though, to be fair, the moon is also significantly more pleasant than many places we've been.

Martin: God, I hate how much that's true. Look at this barren, oxygenless rock, at least it's not actively trying to kill us. Practically a honeymoon location.

[Martin sighs]

Martin: I am so tired. Let's do the user submissions then take a very long nap.

Jon: Please.

Martin: So, first submission is from Josie; They find it wonderful getting cards from their friends. They say they're lucky to have so much love in their life and have friends that care enough to send them things. That is wonderful Josie! We have a drawer in our house dedicated to every loving card we've ever received since the move, and they're always such a nice reminder of the people in our lives.

Jon: We should really organize that drawer, but, yes, agree with the sentiment. Even the cards from people that are no longer in our lives are lovely, I think. Those connections are very much meaningful for both of us, whether they're active or not.

Martin: That's very true.  Next submission is from Lys, who submits the sound of leaves crunching under your feet in the fall. Ah, that's a classic.

Jon: I just felt myself relax imagining it. I wish it was autumn.

Martin: Don't we all? Alright, for the last submissions, I'm grouping them together as they follow a similar theme. Jadwiga submits the feeling of waking up well into the morning with the sun shining through the window and your cat laying next to you, and Oran submits when a dog falls asleep with its head in your lap.

Jon: I can heartily recommend at least one of those, considering that's how we try to wake up most mornings. The Duchess is a dutiful darling girl who spends every night with us, and she's usually still there when us humans rise.

Martin: I bet you'll agree with the other when I finally convince you to get me a dog for my birthday.

Jon: It hasn't happened yet, so I wouldn't hold your breath.

Martin: But you don't even dislike dogs! You're just as happy to pet them when they pass by as I am.

Jon: Being fine with an animal isn't the same thing as wanting to adopt one for yourself! We don't even know if The Duchess would put up with a dog.

Martin: I bet she would. I bet we could get a big senior dog who's the calmest animal you've ever met with those soft eyes and a little grey on the muzzle and she would cuddle up in an instant. And we did say we should visit a shelter or three this weekend..

Jon: I think you're rather callously taking advantage of my exhausted state, but I suppose we can look. 

Martin: Hell fuckin yeah. So, I think that'll close out the episode, and as we always say at the end, uh, go take a nap and get a dog. Not necessarily in that order.

[mediocre-writerr]

feel something [leah rilke]

leah rilke x fem reader

requested #1: Hi. Can I request a fem!reader x Leah fic where reader gets hurt and Leah gets kind of protective afterwards. Thank you!

requested #2: Part two of that Leah x insomniac reader please!!!!! Maybe one where the girls see just how bad her hero complex is

Pt.1

This wasn’t the first time you’ve almost died on this trip. 

According to Nora, you’v been here for 22 days. And you’ve died almost four times since then. Much to Leah, Shelby, and literally all the other girls disappointment. 

The first time was after your first actual sleep with Leah. You were climbing up the mountain with Rachel, Shelby, and Leah when the mirror started slipping off the mountain. And without thinking you decided to dive and try to save it.

“Y/N!” Leah yells as you reach for Fatin’s mirror. 

“Jesus Y/N!” Shelby yells, “Get up! It’s just a mirror!”

“No we need it to call help!” you reply in between gritted teeth. 

Shelby yells, “We’ll figure it out another way please!” 

The mirror falls off the cliff and you smack your hand on the hard dirt, “Fuck!” 

The three girls drag you back onto a more steady surface. You look down at your scratched up hand and sigh.

“Are you kidding me right now?” Shelby whispers, staring at you incredulously.

“I was just trying to help.” you mumble, continuing to stare at your hand. 

“Help us what?!” the blonde scolds, “Help us extend our graveyard?!” 

You knew why she was so upset. Back home it was always you, Shelby, and Becca. But ever since Becca was gone, Shelby became more protective of you than she already was. She couldn’t lose someone else.

“I’m sorry.” 

Her eyes softens. “It’s okay. Just please be more careful.” 

While Shelby got over it, Leah was shaken up on the thought of losing you. She thought it was ridiculous you two just met, but she never felt so drawn to someone one.

Not since Jefferey. 

She threw her arms around you. And you immediately reciprocated the hug, wrapping your arms around her waist.

“I’m okay Leah,” you whisper softly.

The next time it happened was a few days after that. You managed to keep your sleep schedule straight with the help of Leah, but again almost died. 

Overexertion is what the girls like to call it. But you like to call it putting in 100% effort to help everyone else survive. This one wasn’t too serious, just passing out and being lost for a few hours.

No biggie really.

You wouldn’t necessarily count this one as a near death experience, but Nora insists. Because if they didn’t find you wild animals could’ve probably eaten me.

After that Leah made sure you ate and drank as much as possible. When the girls found out you were skipping out on food, so there was more for them to eat they scolded you. 

“Dude you need to eat!” Toni yells, after they bring you back to the camp.

“I thought everyone else deserved more food than me.” you say. 

Toni scoffs, but Fatin cuts into the conversation, “And we really appreciate that you’re trying to help, but you need to take care of yourself too.” 

“What is this some intervention?” you ask, jokingly, but all of their faces were serious, “Oh you’re being serious.” 

“Hell yeah we are!” Rachel yells.

“Y/N, you can’t keep putting yourself in life or death situations. We’ve cheated death once. You continuing to do it will kill you one day!” Toni says and you look down at your feet. 

Leah was quiet for the rest of the time that night. She would just stare out at the ocean, lost in her own thoughts. You knew she was mad at you, but there wasn’t much you can actually do. 

You thought she wasn’t gonna talk to you or even interact with you for that matter, but she put her head on your shoulder and nuzzled into your neck. You gently rest your head on top of hers.

Hesitantly, you turn your head ever so slightly placing a kiss to the top of her head. And you couldn’t see it, but Leah was smiling probably wider than she has ever smiled in the past couple months.

The third time was a little more scary for not only the girls, but for you. It was the next night. 

The tides were rising higher than they ever did before. Crashing hard and fast, it was like a mini tsunami. The girls were all freaking out trying their best to hold in so they wouldn’t get swept away. 

“Is everyone okay?” you yell above all the screaming, “Dot! Can you do a head count?” 

“Shelby?” Dot yells.

“Right here!” her Texas accent comes through and I release a sigh of relief.

“Leah?!” Dot yells out again and your heart dropped into your stomach.

“I’m over here!” her voice called out, but it was distant. 

You turned your head, searching everywhere for her voice to see that she climbed up onto the cliffs. You let out another sigh of relief.

In the distance, you could see Fatin trying to grab the rest of her luggage. And she seemed to have had a hold on it when a wave came crashing in, as she disappeared from view.  

“Fuck Fatin!!” you yell and it gets all of the girls attention.

You finally see her as she starts to drift off a little by the riptide. And without hesitation you immediately took off running, taking off your shirt, shoes, and jeans in the process. 

“Y/N! No!” Dot yells.

But it was too late you were already swimming against the current. It was tiring to say the least, but you had to get to Fatin. Your arms and legs were burning, but all you could think about was helping her.

You finally got to Fatin and pulled her and her suitcase in front of you. She was floating on top of it, trying to stay above the water. You pushed her suitcase as you tried your best to get back to shore without getting swept back. 

Just as you’re about to reach shore another huge wave came crashing down. With one last push you pushed Fatin further causing her to reach the shore. And you? Sucked back in right where Fatin was.

It was getting too tiring, swimming back. You were about to give up when you heard Shelby’s voice come from the shore.

“No fucking way! You’re not giving up right now!” she yells at you and she could  how you stopped treading water and just floated. You were too tired and your arms and legs felt like they were about to fall off, “If God brought us to it, God will bring us through it! So push Y/N!” 

Your whole demeanor changed hearing those words. It’s something you, Shelby, and Becca said to each other whenever one of us had a bad day or needed some inspiration. 

So you pushed and pushed until you finally got back. 

Breathless and tired, you laid on the cool sand. Coughing up a storm at the very least. 

“Y/N!” Leah says, rushing over to your side immediately.

She immediately grabs my dry clothes and throw them over me. Leah scoops me into her arms and places me onto her lap. She rubs my back softly as I continue to cough up a lung. 

“You’re an idiot.” Dot says bluntly, but a relieved smile was on her face.

You chuckled softly, “Someone had to go save her.” 

The rest of the time following Leah never left your side. She watched you eat and drink. Yelled at you to take your breaks when needed and kept you sane. 

And if any sort of danger arises, she grabs my wrist and pulls you to sit back down. 

Now here you were day 22, finding yourself risking your life for yet another time. And by the looks of the situation probably your last. 

After the tide swept away your shelter, you decided to make another one. A bigger one. But as the odds like to have it lightning struck down causing to catch on fire in the middle of the night. 

Dot was doing yet another headcount, “Shelby? Where’s Shelby?!” 

You look around frantically desperate to find your best friend. Leah was right by your side, so you knew she was okay.

“Help me!” you hear the blonde call out and you knew immediately where the sound was coming from. 

The fucking shelter. 

Leah saw the look in your eye and right when you were about to take off running she grabbed your arm, “No, you can’t. That’s a death wish going in there!” she exclaims.

“Leah, she’s my best friend,” you whisper softly, “I can’t let her die.” 

“If you go in there, I will never forgive you.” she states, a serious look in those blue eyes. 

Your eyes soften, but you take your hands and cup her cheeks lightly. You close the distance between the two of you. When Leah kisses back, you can feel tear drops fall onto your cheeks. 

“I’m sorry.” you state as you pull apart, before taking off running for shelter.

Once you made it in the small, really hot space, you saw Shelby trapped underneath a pile of burning wood.

“It hurts so bad Y/N!” she exclaims and you know she’ll definitely have some burns. 

“I know Shelb, I know. I’m right here. We’re gonna get you out of here okay?” you say and she nods her head.

There was only one way out and if you pull Shelby out of the burning wood this whole thing can go collapsing on top of you. But what other choice do we have? She can’t walk so either way you would have to drag or carry her out.

“Come on Y/N, think. Think!” you yell to yourself as the exhaustion starts to build up in your chest.

From all the smoke you continued to cough and cough. If you didn’t get her and you out of there now, you might as well be dead.

“Y/N look at me.” Shelby whispers and you finally look at her, “If God brough us to it?”

“God will bring us through it.” you whisper back, nodding at her.

You squatted down in front of her, “I need you to wrap your arms around my neck, like a piggy back ride.” 

She follows suit, “Okay done.” 

“Once we pull you out from underneath there, I need you to wrap your legs around me. It’s gonna hurt, but it’ll be needed.” you say in between coughs, “Now all we have to do it take that leap of faith. Ready?” 

“Yeah.” she whispers.

You pull her out of the burning wood causing her to groan out in pain. And the building started caving in on top of each other. But as if you had real life super powers you ran out of the place as fast you could. 

Barely making it out of there on time as the two of you trip and fell over a log that was outside. 

“Shelb? Are you okay?” you say in a fit of coughs. 

“Yeah, my leg just really hurts.” she replies.

You immediately get up in the midst of your coughing fit to pick her up bridal style. Walking the little ways back to camp, you could see the girls’ faces lighten up. 

And when your eyes landed on Leah you could see how red and puffy her face was. Your heart dropped in your chest once more as you saw the worried features on her face.

“Dot I need you to tend to her burns before they get infected.” you say in between coughs.

Your lungs felt like they were on fire right now, “What about you? What do you need?” Dot asks. 

But you just cough into your hand, shooing her away to go take care of Shelby. You were fine, Shelby needed the most help. And as you were walking to go sit down, the world started spinning and everything went black.

“Come on Y/N. I need you.” you hear a voice whisper, awaking you slightly from your sleep. 

Your head was lying in someone’s lap and your eyes fluttered open to see Leah staring back at you. The sun now shining down upon the crazy beach. 

“Hey, you’re awake.” she whispers, leaning down to hold you tightly, “We thought we lost you. I thought you were gone.” she replies.

You cup her face lightly, “I’m right here. I’m sorry.” 

“You can’t do this Y/N. You can’t keep trying to kill yourself! I need you. Please. I need you. You can’t-you can’t leave me.” Leah starts to cry and you do your best to wipe away all the tears.

“I’m not going anywhere okay? I’m staying right here.” you say softly, trying to soothe her worries.

She nods, “Promise me?” she whispers her voice practically begging you to promise her.

“I promise.” 

[wefoundloveunderthelight]

Mystery Of Pixie Hollow by GleefullyCaptainSwan - Sneak Peek

Chapter 3/11

Read on AO3: | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

Or on FF

Stacy's Tortured Crew: @teamhook @kmomof4 @stahlop @lfh1226-linda @ilovemesomekillianjones @itsfabianadocarmo @mariakov81 @qualitycoffeethings @zaharadessert @jrob64 @jonesfandomfanatic @natascha-ronin @tiganasummertree @xarandomdreamx @therooksshiningknight @batana54 @superchocovian @onceratheart18 @ultraluckycatnd @snowbellewells @karlyfr13s @the-darkdragonfly @xsajx @deckerstarblanche @jonesfandomfanatic @winterbaby89

Chapter 3: Story Time

“I asked who you are, and you have yet to give me a name.” He growled again in her ear.

“My name’s Emma Swan. I just want to talk to you about your daughter.”

“What do you know about my daughter?”

“I know she went missing just like my son, Henry.” She felt his entire body flinch. “Please, right jacket pocket, there’s a picture of him. I just want to talk.”

She felt him dig into her jacket, pulling the photo free and stepping away from her. He stared at the picture, a frown slipping on his stubbled face. “How old is he?”

“He’s six. He went missing on his birthday a few days ago.”

He was waving the knife around, tucking it under his chin as he talked to himself. “It’s the appropriate age range…makes sense…hmm...few days ago…where were they…went North…” He stopped moving and stared at her. “Storybrooke, not again...”

“I’m sorry?”

“They were in Storybrooke last weekend, correct? The carnival.”

“That’s right, how did you know that?”

“I track their movements, keep an eye on where they go, look up any missing person reports after they leave.” He stepped into the boat, gesturing for her to join him. Emma stood nervously on the pier as he disappeared into the belly of the boat. She looked around at the empty pier. If she went missing now, no one would have any idea where she was.

Shit.

He poked his head up through the stairwell. “Are you coming or not, lass?”

She sighed, stepping onto the boat, and following him cautiously down the stairs. When she got to the bottom she gasped. In every direction she could see there were photos on the wall with string connecting them. It was like an art project had exploded in the small area, except it wasn’t art, it was some low-tech stalking shit if she ever saw it.

She knew she should turn around and get the hell of this man’s boat, but curiosity was eating at her. What did he know? Why was he so obsessed with the people on the walls?

“This is where I started doing my research, Alice, she went missing five years ago. We found Pixie Hollow just walking through the neighborhood and Alice loves fairytales, so she just had to go.” His voice trailed off sadly, as if he didn’t even remember she was in the room and then suddenly he spun around on his heels. “This one went missing shortly after, it’s harder for me to get information on anyone that disappeared before Alice, I tried, but my research skills aren’t that great. I hate computers, Alice always did everything…” He trailed off as he turned around again.

“You can see that they all fit the age range, around 5 to 8 years old usually.”

“You’ve been collecting all of this information for 5 years?” She finally spoke.

“I’ve had to be resourceful; the cops are useless.”

“Tell me about it.” She said with a snort.

He turned around and stared at her. “Where did he go missing at?”

“I told you, Storybrooke.”

“No, what attraction?”

“It was a mirror maze, you know, filled with mirrors, can’t find your way out.”

“Mirrors…that’s a new one. Alice, she went missing from the Jolly Roger Adventure ride, she got in the cart, she was only in for a few minutes, but when it came out the other side, she was no longer there. Vanished.”

“I don’t remember that ride being there.”

“I’m sure they change them out to avoid suspicion, just like the name. When we went, it was called Neverland Adventure Park. I believe they go by Pixie Hollow now.”

“How do you know it’s the same park?”

“You have to follow the money, love.” He said with a smirk. “And this one.” He turned toward the board on his wall. “She’s always with them.”

“Who’s that?” She stepped closer to the photo of a woman with short hair, wild eyes.

“That’s Tink. If the park opens near you, she’s sure to be found nearby.”

“Wait, like Tinkerbell?” She laughed.

“The one and only.”

“This is ridiculous. Next you’re going to tell me Peter Pan owns the place, and all his lost boys operate the rides.”

“Well done. You’re quite perceptive love, there doesn’t seem to be any reason to need to tell you.”

Her mouth dropped. “You’re insane.”

“Ouch, you wound a man, I can assure you I have my wits about me.”

She turned to leave. “I just want to find my kid, I’m not here to play pretend with a man who believes in fairytales.” He reached out and grabbed her by the wrist.

“I can assure you love; this is no fairytale; this is the stuff nightmares are made of. Pan is dangerous, and if he has your boy, you best start believing in him.”

She shook her head and pulled her hand away from him, turning to leave before something caught her eye near the stairs. She stepped closer to the photo. “I know this idiot.”

She felt him hover behind her, his breath at her neck. “That’s Felix. Real jackass that one.”

“He’s the assistant manager at Pixie Hollow.” The idiot who told her that Henry must have run away. He was there. No. Emma closed her eyes. This was insane. “I have to leave.”

“This isn’t some fantasy I’ve made up, Swan. It’s all real.” He called after her, letting her run up the stairs and away from the boat. “It’s all real.” She heard him shout as her feet hit the pier and she hurried back to her car, slamming the door shut behind her.

She tried to slow her breathing, the thought that perhaps what she had witnessed was just an elaborate nightmare and soon she would wake up in her bed and Henry would come bounding into her room and everything would be alright but as she drove home that night, thoughts of what she witnessed in that boat, she knew that no matter how crazy he seemed, the man was just desperate to find his kid.

Henry had only been missing for a few days, Killian’s daughter had been gone for 5 years. She wasn’t sure how crazy she would look if she hadn’t found Henry after that long of a time.

She stopped at a station when she was halfway to home, she filled up the bug and bought some snacks to eat on her way. She was starving and realized that she had skipped eating since she left her home that morning. As she stepped into the light, leaving the gas station behind her, she recognized a black car that she swore she saw parked outside Ashley’s house.

The sunlight gleamed across the front window for a moment and Emma walked casually to her car, she opened her door and sat in the front seat. Glancing over at the black car she saw movement in the front seat. She pulled out of the gas station, turning onto the road as she watched the black car behind her do the same.

Whoever this asshole was, they were definitely following her.

Emma drove a few miles until she spotted a convenience store on her left, turning quickly she dashed into the parking lot and parked her car. The black car squealed to turn into the lot, parking a distance away from her. Emma watched it in her rearview mirror and then swung her car open, grabbing the tire iron next to her on the seat.

She marched toward the car, gripping the tire iron in her hand. As soon as she got close to the vehicle, the door opened, and Officer Nolan stepped out of the car with his hands in front of him. “Hello Emma.”

“Are you fucking following me?” She yelled as she lowered the tire iron.

The passenger door opened, and Officer Locksley stepped out, his hand firmly on his hip where she knew his gun sat.

“We weren’t following you…” He said and Emma rolled her eyes.

“Are you kidding me? I spotted you miles ago, are you really going to try and convince me that we all just really had a hankering for some snacks miles away from town?”

“Well, we weren’t following you earlier, we just…” Officer Locksley started before his partner interrupted.

“We were following Killian, so imagine our surprise when you showed up.”

“Jones? Why are you following him? He’s just some nut on a boat.”

“You need to let us do our job, stay away from Killian Jones.”

“Why, what aren’t you telling me?”

“Look, I can’t get into specifics with you. I get it, you’re desperate.” Officer Nolan began and Emma found herself wanting to toss the tire iron at him. He flinched and held up his hand. “I’m sorry your kid hasn’t come home, but this isn’t the way to find him. Jones isn’t all there.” He said pointing to his head. “His daughter’s been gone for a long time now; we’ve been keeping tabs on him.”

“Why? I’m pretty sure you’re outside your jurisdiction.” She said with a laugh. “Why are you so obsessed with the guy.”

“Alice went missing in Storybrooke five years ago. He moved out here after a while, but we’ve always kept tabs on him. He was in and out of shelters with that little girl. Working as a fisherman with men he never should have trusted around his daughter. He’s dangerous, stay away from him.”

“Wow, judgmental much? So, if you’ve ever had the unfortunate experience of not being able to provide for yourself, of needing to ask for help somehow that makes you a bad person? Is that why you don’t believe someone took my son either? You looked me up and don’t like my backstory either?”

“Look Ma’am, we don’t want to see you get murdered too.” Officer Locksley added.

“Murdered?” She exclaimed

“Why do you always do that?” Officer Nolan yelled at his partner before turning back to her. “Look, just stay away from the man, let us do our job.”

Emma laughed and turned away from them. “Try doing your job first, maybe then you can give me advice.”

Emma took the backstreets home, satisfied when she didn’t see the black car following her anymore. How dare they judge someone because they had to live in a shelter. Emma had spent a few years in one herself before she was able to provide for her and Henry. Things weren’t always easy for them after Neal left them high and dry with no income and no clothes on their backs. Emma did what she had to do to survive. She hated to think that because of that, she was viewed as a bad mother.

She would do anything for Henry.

Emma tossed her keys on the table, shutting the door behind her and locking the latch. She went to the fridge and grabbed a beer, popping the top and dropping down on her couch. She reached over and pulled the laptop toward her, clicking the button as it blinked to life.

Pulling up Google, she typed, “Killian Jones Storybrooke.”

The search was quick and efficient, the first story came with an older photo of the man she met today. He was younger, probably in his early 20’s. The photo was of him being taken into custody, and another of his mug shot, steely blue eyes staring into the lens with a look of anger. The article was from 15 years ago.

“Killian Jones arrested for manslaughter.” The title caused her eyes to grow, she clicked the link, digging into the details. It appeared the man worked for a criminal mastermind, Mr. Gold, who operated outside the lines of Storybrooke. Killian appeared to be the muscle, hustling people for money that was owed to his boss. The story told of a love affair with the bosses’ wife, Milah. Apparently love was enough to set him straight and he turned on Gold.

From what she could gather from the court case notes, Killian had interrupted a fight between Mr. Gold and his wife, a fight so brutal that it left the woman paralyzed and unable to walk. The ensuing fight ended with Mr. Gold’s death and Killian’s incarceration for manslaughter, with time served and good behavior, Killian served five years.

Emma searched again, “Killian and Milah Jones.” A grainy photo of a wedding was all she could find, the man smiling as he stood behind the woman in the wheelchair. She bit her lip, clicking onto the next article. “Woman dies in car crash leaving behind husband and infant daughter.”

Emma made an audible noise as she clicked the article, reading the story about how a drunk driver had crashed into the couple who were returning home from a quiet dinner. Milah Jones died at the scene leaving Killian alone with his infant daughter, Alice.

Emma wiped the tears from her eyes, clicking on the search bar. “Killian Jones missing daughter”

The photo of the carnival caused her heart to stop. She recognized the lettering on the sign in the background. It said “Neverland”, but she remembered the way the letters of “Pixie Hollow” lit up the night she had arrived at the carnival. Reading the article, she found that the story matched the one that Killian had told her earlier that evening. His daughter had gone into the ride and never came out.

Whatever Killian had become in his life, a liar wasn’t one of them.

Emma didn’t know what it was about the man on the screen in front of her, blue eyes staring back at her as if he had a sad story to tell, but more than anything, she saw understanding behind his eyes. He understood what she was going through more than anyone else.

She reached for her phone sending off a text to Will.

Emma: You were right, it was a wild goose chase going after these parents, no one wanted to talk to me. I just need a few days to get right in my head. I’ll text you soon. Love you.

Before she could stop herself, she was in her car, driving down the highway on her way back to Boston. She glanced in the rearview mirror making sure there wasn’t a black car behind her, the officers who had found nothing about her son in the time they had been looking.

When she pulled up to the dock, she looked at herself in the mirror. “This is crazy.” She said with a laugh.

Crazy was all she had, she thought.

Getting out of her car, she made her way toward the boat parked at the end of the slip. She creeped onboard, unsure of the etiquette for alerting the resident of a houseboat to her presence. “Hello?” She called out nervously, hoping he wasn’t brandishing his knife at this hour. “Killian? It’s me, Emma Swan. We met earlier today.”

There was a creak below her, and she froze. “Hello?”

“It’s bad form to sneak into a man’s home in the middle of the night.” She heard the voice below her; his boots tapped against the boards as he ascended the stairs, moonlight dancing against his dark hair as he reached the deck.

“I’m sorry. I uh…I needed to talk to you. To warn you.”

“Warn me? What do you have to warn me about, love?”

“When I left here, I was followed by the cops.”

“Of course, you were. I’m honestly surprised it took Mills this long to send those two out for a visit. Pity they involved you, my apologizes, Swan.”

“Wait, you knew you were being followed?”

“David and Robin have been keeping an eye on me ever since I left Storybrooke. They are determined that one day they will catch me slicing young children to pieces and put me away forever.” He narrowed his eyes. “Is that what you believe, love?”

“I think you just miss your daughter.” She said softly.

“You mean the boys didn’t tell you all about my sordid past?”

“No. Well, I mean yes, but I don’t care. I read all about it, Mr. Gold, Milah, Alice, if you wanted to hurt me you would have done it earlier when you held a knife to my throat. The way I see it, everyone has a past, that doesn’t mean we don’t miss our kids.”

He stepped toward her. “You’re not afraid of me, Lass?”

She shivered as his lips practically danced off her neck. “N..no.” He stepped back and stared at her as if he were examining every inch of her.

“Then you believe my little, how did you put it earlier…fairytale?”

“I don’t know what I believe, but I know my son didn’t run away.”

“Very well, then it’s story time.”

~*~

“Daddy I want to ride the Jolly Roger!”

“Ok starfish, but first daddy needs to get you that churro you wanted.”

“But I want to ride the ride, there’s isn’t any line.”

“But you can’t take food with you on the ride, Alice.”

“I can go on it by myself while you hold my churro, daddy. I’m a big girl.”

“Are you now, love?”

The little girl smiled brightly, and Killian knew he could never tell her no. He paid for the churro and the man handed it toward him as they walked toward the Jolly Roger Adventure ride. They approached the attendant and he handed over the tickets.

“Is she alright to ride alone?”

The man laughed, “Ah yeah, it’s not scary, in one door and out the other.”

He nodded to the man, looking around at the quiet ride, there wasn’t a single child in line. “Alright, starfish, get in your ship and enjoy the ride.” The little girl wrapped her arms around his waist and smiled up at him.

“Love you daddy.”

“I love you too, my darling.”

She ran toward the ride, looking back one last time. “Don’t eat my churro.”

Killian’s eyes darted around the room, watching as the woman examined the photos he had amassed in the belly of his boat. He didn’t know if the woman believed everything he had told her about his dealings with Peter Pan and his traveling carnival, but he knew that she was desperate to find her son and if he knew anything it was that desperate people would believe almost anything.

If Pan had this woman’s son, he would need her to believe him. It was the only way he was ever going to get Alice back. He’d been doing this alone for five years, maybe it was time to try something else.

~*~

“What are you going to do when you get out of here?” Alice asked Henry as they sat in the dark.

“I’m going to eat the biggest piece of birthday cake I’ve ever eaten. I might even eat an entire cake.” The girl laughed. In the few days she had known Henry, he had always been at her side. He was scared and missed his mother, but more than anything else, he seemed to feel comfortable in her presence.

Alice had been here longer than most of the other children, she had remembered that terrifying feeling of being alone, knowing that you were trapped and couldn’t get home. She missed her father more than anything in this world but growing up she had learned a lot from her father about accepting your circumstances, learning to adapt to your environment.

She had done just that, adapted. She didn’t cause trouble, she made friends with all the children, and she knew when to speak and when not to. She felt it was her job to take the children under her wing, to keep them out of harms way.

“What are you going to do when you get out of here?” The boy asked.

“I’m going to sit down with my dad and eat a churro.” She laughed, smiling fondly at the last memory she had of her father standing at the entrance of that stupid ride, holding a teddy bear in one arm and a churro in the other. The smile on his face as he watched her disappear into the black void was the last thing she remembered every night when she went to sleep.

One day, I’ll find you daddy, she thought.

One day, I promise.

[oh-mother-of-darkness]

Hello. I am, as you know, an American. I turned eighteen in 2014, voted in my first presidential election in 2016, and voted in my second presidential election last week via early voting in the state of Texas. 

I’m reflecting right now on the difference between those experiences. This is going to be a very self-indulgent essay. 

The 2016 election was in my third and final year of undergrad at Texas A&M University. At the time, I was living with a roommate who grew up in a town of 2,000, all of them members of her church. I loved her very much, but she was the most sheltered person I’ve ever met. 

I was only a few years ahead of her. My home growing up was deeply liberal about many of the things that counted, but deeply conservative on equally important things. For me, leaving for college was a radicalization speed-run.

I, a good Memphis girl, moved to Texas and encountered for the first time in my life white homogeny and everything that comes with it. I made most of my friends at A&M through a Christian orientation camp that I attended, then worked at. I went to school at a history department that was overwhelmingly male and war-obsessed. 

My second semester, I was randomly sorted into a writing seminar on the American Civil War and Reconstruction. There were eight other students in that class, all of them Texans. By day two I had gotten into a open fight with one of my classmates after he used the phrases “one of the humane parts of slavery” and “the secession declarations are moving and beautiful appeals, if you read them,” and “well I’m not going to criticize my own state.”

We got into at least one yelling match per week from that point forward. It was a formative experience for me-- not just him but the seven other students that took his side every time because they just couldn’t conceptualize anything outside of their own experiences, and frankly, I couldn’t either. 

It rocked my world to be surrounded by people who told me, among other things, that their high schools flew the Confederate battle flag or Lee was their all time role-model (because he actually didn’t want to secede! He didn’t believe in it, but Virginia did, so he put his own qualms aside and served his country, and that’s what we all have to do). I ran a survey once by knocking on every door in a dorm hall and asking the two people inside why the Civil War happened. 

I feel like you can guess the most common answer I got. Only two said slavery. Six didn’t know what the Civil War was. 

The last week of the semester, my class read a collection of recorded oral accounts of freed slaves during Reconstruction. My nemesis told me that he “didn’t realize black people actually had it bad.” At the same time, I was struggling with my sexuality, my relationship to my religion, my relationship with my parents, and a handful of newly-diagnosed but long-existing mental illnesses. I wasn’t having fun. 

Over the next three years, I tried my hardest to humanize the people that said disgusting things about minorities, poverty, and me personally. I barely won on that one, and I’m actually really proud that I did, even if it took me a few years. I can trace the biggest change in me directly to my nemesis from the history department, the kid that made me so mad that I started arguing back. I was too scared to do that before. 

By 2016, I was in full existential spin-out-- a very suddenly liberal kid fighting my whole family, all of my classmates, and most of my friends in an explosive political climate, the first I had ever participated in. 

I voted by Tennessee absentee ballot in 2016. On election night, I ordered takeout for me and my roommate, who I knew had voted red. Confident, like pretty much everybody, that Clinton would win, I was trying to show her that I didn’t hate her. She went to bed after dinner, also so certain that Clinton would win that she didn’t bother to stay up. 

I sat in front of my laptop sewing a birthday present for a friend (Kenza, actually), while the votes came in. I wasn’t super alarmed when the map turned red. I just figured the blue states hadn’t finished counting yet. 

The map didn’t get any bluer. By 1am, I knew what was about to happen. They called it an hour later, while I was sobbing on my floor. I threw up in the bathroom out of pure anxiety. I got two anonymous messages telling me the asker was going to commit suicide. Neither of them responded to my replies. I don’t actually know what happened to them. 

I remember riding the bus to class the next morning and distinctly seeing that most of the racial minorities there had swollen eyes from crying. The girl with the pride stickers all over her laptop didn’t show up that day, and I’m kind of glad she didn’t, considering the way some of our classmates in the back were loudly talking about “the gays.” Hope she’s okay.

My roommate came home completely unaware that Clinton lost. I was crying in my room when that happened. I remember showing her a demographic map of who voted which way. She got visibly upset when she figured out what races how. I think she really did feel guilty. 

That Thanksgiving, one of my cousins tweeted, “I can’t wait to go argue with my liberal cousin today. The wins. Keep. Coming,” an hour before he walked into my house. Inauguration day was January 20, 2017. I decided to go to law school a week later, the day the president signed the Muslim ban. That’s when I figured out for the first time just how much power the courts have. The last three years have only enforced that. 

I got angrier and angrier during law school, egged on by a few friends but more than anything just... finally conscious of exactly how the American system works and exactly who’s behind it. I still live in Texas, farther west now, and I’m working my first legal job. I’m going to be a licensed attorney next week. 

I went back and forth for months about how this election was going to shake out. I knew there wasn’t going to be an overwhelming red majority this time, but my big fear was an election close enough that the Supreme Court could take it. That fear doubled last month, at RBG’s death. 

I was hoping for a blue enough victory on election night that there wouldn’t be a week of uncertainty, but that was unlikely, and it didn’t happen. I obsessively refreshed my election map all of Wednesday and Thursday, aware that at least some states would flip after mail-in ballots came in, but unsure which would. 

Again, my great fear was a blue victory held down by only one state. Given (I would say “any” chance here, but I don’t mean “any” chance because genuinely jurisdiction or facts or legal merit don’t matter to the Supreme Court) an opportunity to make one (1) decision that hands over a red election, please know that a conservative supermajority would take it. I cannot emphasize enough how true that is and how important it is for all of us to grasp that. 

Watching Georgia flip was one of the best experiences of my life, and it’s a little hard for me to articulate why, but I’m going to give it a shot here. I’m southern. I’m from the South, and for this conversation it’s really important that I’m from Memphis, a black city and a center of black music and culture. 

When people think about the South, they think of the white South, and on some level, they should. It is absolutely essential to understand the white South in order to understand American history. Let me be 100% clear here. That is not a good thing. American majority history is not good. We are not a good country. 

It’s near-impossible to understand why that’s true without knowing exactly what happened in the white South and exactly what is still happening there now. With that, however, is another truth that most folks don’t get. 

The SouthTM is white and needs to die. The South as it actually exists is partially white yes, but it is also everyone else that lives here, particularly black folks. Southern culture is black, not white. Georgia flipped because the people that have always, always been there finally got to crack apart the conservative machine holding the South hostage. 

That’s amazing. It’s fucking mind-blowing. I watched it happen at 3:30 in the morning days after Election Day, and holy shit holy shit, Georgia flipped. Atlanta won. Holy fucking shit. 

I would be terrified right now if only Georgia flipped, because SCOTUS would have found a way to throw out a few thousand votes. Inevitable. Absolutely certain on that one. 

With a few states of buffer, I don’t think that’s going to happen. I really do think it’s over. 

I came home after work on Friday and immediately went to sleep because I hadn’t really done that since Tuesday. I woke up at noon today, checked the map, checked my messages, and saw what happened while I was gone. After that, I went back to bed until 5:30pm. I’m really just getting up now, after most of 24 hours asleep. 

I don’t know if I would say that I’m happy right now, but I am overwhelmingly relieved. I’m under no illusions that a Biden victory will solve everything, but I also do think this is a real thing to celebrate. I’ll take suggestions on how to celebrate right now, actually, since I’m finally awake. 

I’ll be angry forever, I think, but this is a good thing, and I’d like to enjoy it. If you’re happy right now, hey, tell me about it. I’ll be thrilled with you. I want to hear it. Congrats to all of us. Love y’all. 

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Drifters ch.10 (spicyhoney)

Summary:  Red's been going along with all this, but it turns out that he has a thing or three to say to his brother.

Tags: Spicyhoney, Violence, Rescued Child, Medical Experimentation, Babybones

Read it on AO3

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Read it here!

~~*~~

Edge had always had a plan for his life. Since he was a small child forced to spend his days watching Red beg, barter and steal for their meals and shelter, he’d been determined to help his brother provide for them as soon as he could. To bring them out of the dump and the back alleys to something better, from gutter trash to the Royal Guard.

It hadn’t been easy, but he’d done it, and between the two of them they’d managed to make a home for themselves, a decent one he’d always believed. Until his brother began tinkering with that old machine in the basement, the one that would never do anything until it did, and he discovered there was more outside their own little, dust-filled world. So much more, other Universes that didn’t abide by the rule of kill or be killed, where children might be trapped beneath the mountain but still played safely in the street.

There were times he’d thought about leaving their universe, in the darkest nights when fresh LV was settling heavily into his soul like lead while Edge fought his way back out from its shrouding numbness, struggling to keep his sense of self. He’d never let those longing ideas take hold; despite everything, Underfell was their home, there were people that needed him there, Monsters who depended on him.

He’d abandoned it all for the sake of this one child and if this was the new plan for his life, then he would handle it, as he had everything else, no matter what.

Whatever protests Red and Stretch were offering to that decision were drowned out by Blue’s dismissive, “Don’t be silly, of course you’re staying. Aren’t you?” Then with rising alarm, “You wouldn’t be going back to Underfell with her, would you?”

“No,” Edge said, “Not Underfell.” Again, he kept it to himself that that was no longer possible. In his arms, the baby was slowly settling, her drowsy sockets sinking closed again.

Blue was still nattering on in his relief, lowering his voice in deference to the baby’s whimpers easing back into sleep. “Then of course you’ll be staying with us! Oh, but we’ll need to make some changes around here. There’s only two bedrooms, that isn’t enough. Maybe the garage, yes, yes, the garage!” He clapped his hands together in quiet delight. “We can turn it into an apartment, I’ll put my Human cage somewhere else, yes, that’ll be perfect for you and Edge, Papy!”

Stretch only sat on the sofa, blinking a few times, as if the light was suddenly too bright. He was looking at Edge and the baby, but turned to his brother at that, “uh, say what?”

“An apartment for you and Edge, do keep up,” Blue said primly. He raised both brow bones in obvious implication, “Unless you’re about to tell me that the two of you weren’t going to share your room?”

“That won’t be necessary,” Edge repeated patiently before Stretch could answer him. “This is only a temporary arrangement. As soon as I find some employment, we’ll work on getting our own place, you don’t need to rearrange your entire home.”

Red sat up, sputtering, “okay, back it up there, bro, what, now?”

“Why would you do that?” Blue said, perplexed. He tilted his head to the side, reminiscent of the Dogs back in Underfell when Edge gave them an order they didn’t quite understand. “We can’t help take care of the baby if you move out.”

“You don’t need to help care for her,” Edge said, “she’s my responsibility.”

“Nonsense, it takes two to tango as they say and there are four of us!”

“Not if the child is created in a lab!” Edge snapped. The baby stirred and he lowered his voice, “This isn’t about birth control, this is about taking her away from someone who intended to use her as a lab experiment. I chose to take her, she’s my responsibility, and I will do my duty. The three of us won’t be staying here any longer than necessary.”

The silence hung in the air, nearly tangible.

After a moment, Stretch rolled to his feet, slouching across the living room to a side table where he started rummaging through the drawer. He came out with a pack of cigarettes, already stripping off the cellophane as he said, “you heard the man, she’s not ours, she’s his. he’s got a handle on it, let him take care of everything. i’m sure he’s got it all figured out.”

He didn’t look at Edge, walking straight past him in his disheveled shorts and mismatched sweatshirt to the rug where he shoved his feet into a pair of slippers before jerking open the front door, cold air pouring in. He went out, closed the door carefully behind him.

Red groaned loudly, “you really are a dumb fucker, aren’t you, bro.”

Arguing was familiar to Edge, but not while holding a sleeping infant. His kept his voice low and even, did not think of Stretch out in the cold lighting what would surely be the first of several cigarettes. “He doesn’t need to feel responsible. He didn’t choose this.”

The only person responsible was Edge, for coming here to begin with. There hadn’t been much in the way of choice on that, all he could do now was try not to compound the damages by leaving as soon as possible, before his debts grew past his ability to pay them.

Red only glared at him. simmering fury in his crimson eye lights, “yeah? me either, but i’m still fucking here, so i think i get a vote.”

“You’re different.”

“about three feet of different, yeah.”

“That isn’t what I meant, and you know it!” Edge snapped, “You’re my brother.”

“that i am. but i ain’t the only other person with a stake.” Red sounded frustrated and they glared at each other, Blue standing to the side, hands clasped in front of him as he looked nervously between them.

Red did not look away from Edge as he said slowly, "blue. why'nt you go upstairs to your room with your gear, get unpacked, settle in."

Blue didn’t move. He stood uncertainly, his feet shuffling as if they wished to obey.

"blue," Red said, terribly soft and the undertone was pure Underfell, "i ain't askin'.

He nodded then, snatching up his bag and heading up the stairs. His bedroom door closed as softly as the front door had and they were alone.

"okay, just you and me, bro. first things first,” Red held out his arms, “hand me the kid.”

“She’s my responsibility,” Edge repeated doggedly. “I chose this, you didn’t.”

“yeah?” Red demanded, “you come up with that idea all by your bad self? why the fuck you think i brought you to the lab, sightseein’? she was never not gonna leave with us, you just grabbed her first. you so busy tryin' to call dibs, you're forgettin' i saw her first.” Red never looked away, met Edge’s eye lights unblinkingly as he told him, “i been letting it go on account of you bein' new to all this, but now i’m tellin ya. give her here.”

Edge hesitated a moment longer, then stepped over to the sofa.

It was somewhat disturbing to see how easily Red folded her into his arms, cradling her expertly. She settled in with a contended little sigh, snuggling into the fur lining of his jacket. “there we go, honey.” Red crooned with a gentleness that he had never seen in his brother before.

Red said nothing else, only sat with the baby and Edge stood, waiting impatiently, until his brittle endurance broke. “Well? I’m sure you’re waiting to explain to me how I can’t handle this, so let me stop you before you begin. I can and I will, I’m doing fine so far.”

“oh, yeah, you’re doin’ swell,” Red snorted. “wanna take a good look at yourself in the mirror right now?”

Edge resisted the urge to shrink from that pointed comment, tugging Stretch’s robe tighter around himself. “That’s hardly fair, it was my first night with her!”

“ain’t none of this fair,” Red said agreeably. “‘specially not to her. wasn’t fair to you when i slipped us out of the lab before you could get your own special tattoo and we ended up on the streets.”

“Red—“

“wasn’t fair to me that i had ta do it,” Red went on, relentlessly, “but life ain’t fair, that’s a lesson i never had to teach you. you learned it all on your own.” He sighed heavily and settled deeper into the sofa cushions, drawing up his knees into a sort of cage around the sleeping child. “you know all that shit. so, now you wanna tell me what the fuck is wrong with you?” He jerked his chin towards the stairs, then back towards the front door. “we got her outta there and now you got people throwin' themselves at you to help and you just gotta do it all on your own, dontcha. lemme clue you in to something, little brother, the reason i raised you up on my own is ‘cause there wasn't anyone else to help!"

“I don’t need anyone else to help,” Edge hissed. He crossed his empty arms over his chest, gripping his upper arms in both hands so tightly that his phalanges ached. “I can do this on my own!”

“so, what then? we move out of this place and i move in with ya, but i don't get to help with the little miss?” His crimson eye lights were coolly assessing. “gonna go out there and get a job, right? whose gonna watch her while you're raking in the g?”

"I…” Edge faltered, "I'll pay someone. A babysitter."

"someone. someone you can trust more'n us?"

“No!” His soul clenched in his chest, already rejecting his own idea. Who could he possibly trust with her, even in this world, who could look at the symbols on her ribs and not rouse curiosity, perhaps take their questions to another scientist at another lab who might well have read the old paperwork left behind and— "Of course not, that isn't what I meant. I’ll handle it!"

“oh, i getcha. you’re the only you're allowed to take care of her.” Red rubbed a thumb gently down her rounded cheek and her mouth moved briefly as if readying itself for a bottle within her dreams. So small, so fragile in the cradle of his brother’s arms. “lemme ask you somethin' bro, are any of the rest of us allowed to love her, or are you callin' all of that, too?"

He’d never heard his brother so much as mention the word love before and something already tight in his soul clenched harder, painfully. "I can't ask you all to help me with this!"

"bro.” Red looked up at him and his expression was deeply pained and conflicted, none of his emotions hidden behind his normal veneer of sneering indifference. “i know it's hard for you, but you gotta pay attention. you ain't asking for help, heh, really not, not even close. we're offerin'. so let us offer.”

It must be his exhaustion, Edge thought, that made his emotions rise so close to the surface. Lingering heavily in his chest, rising into his throat and refusing to be swallowed away no matter how hard he tried. He was tired, so tired, and not simply from being kept up throughout the night. There was so much he’d lost in only a day’s time, lost and gained, and what he felt most strongly in this moment was a complicated grief.

Red nodded as if he could read every unspoken sentiment on his face. He patted the sofa next to him, scooting to the side, and Edge lurched over to sit next to him on legs that felt detached and shaky, sinking into the cushions. The moment he was settled, Red leaned over to lay the sleeping baby in his arms and he swore she was already putting on tangible weight since he’d first carried her away. She was already growing and changing, all he could do was try to guide it, to make sure she was cared for properly. That she was loved.

Red shifted up to sit on the back of the sofa, his shoulders against the wall. It put him taller than Edge, for once. “i don’t wanna see you running yourself ragged trying to do everything. been there, done that, ya know?"

“I can’t,” Edge whispered, the words soft and broken. He looked at the baby in his arms, at her peacefully sleeping face. He was so tired. Everything was so clear yesterday and now the course of his life was clouded, the linear line of it veering drunkenly along an unknown road.

“sure you can. am i your brother or not?” Edge nearly flinched from the hand that settled on his skull, caught himself just in time and instead leaned into it. He closed his sockets as his brother gently stroked his coronal sutures, the same way he had so many years ago now, on cold nights when Edge couldn’t sleep, holding him close as he crooned vulgar lullabies. There were no songs this time, only words drenched in unspoken promise, “‘cause little brother, i’m still plannin’ on taking care of you, too.”

Edge couldn’t say anything to that, he only nodded.

“good.” That stroking turned into a gentle rap of knuckles against the top of his skull. “now get your head on straight. go out there and apologize to the honey bun for tryin' to take away his kid just when he was gettin' used to the idea of havin' one.

“Our relationship isn’t like that.” Fuckbuddies was the word Stretch used, and it was not one that implied any form of shared parenthood.

“no?” Red said doubtfully. His chuckle was familiar, his humor tickling along the side of unkind. “then you better make damn well sure he knows it. mebbe you should start by askin’ him how he feels before you go on makin’ up his mind for him.”

Edge didn’t reply, but his brother’s point was brutally accurate. He owed Stretch that much and a great deal more. Now all he needed was to shore up his faltering courage and start paying his debts.

tbc

[buckybeardreams]

Unwanted

Chapters: 2/11

Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark

Characters: Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson (Marvel), Brock Rumlow, James "Bucky" Barnes, Clint Barton, Harley Keener

Additional Tags: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Alpha Steve Rogers, Omega Tony Stark, Service Top, Dominant Bottom, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Virgin Steve Rogers, Brock Rumlow is a Good Bro, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Romantic Soulmates, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, First Meetings, Angst with a Happy Ending, Sappy, Romantic Fluff, Awkwardness, Drinking to Cope, Self-Worth Issues, Insecure Tony Stark, Insecure Steve Rogers, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Age Difference, Harley Keener is Tony Stark's Biological Child, Bonding, Claiming Bites, Claiming, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mpreg, Non-Explicit Sex, Light Dom/sub, Mutual Masturbation, Coming Untouched, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Wordcount: 10.000-30.000

Series: Part 1 of Second Chances

Ch 1 Ch 2 Ch 3 Ch 4 Ch 5 Ch 6 Ch 7 Ch 8 Ch 9 Ch 10 Ch 11

Can also be read here

Summary:

Steve is a soft Alpha and Tony is an in charge kind of Omega with no desire to find a mate. He doesn't want to find his soulmate and when he does meet Steve he's determined to stay away from him.

That is until he realizes just how right they are for each other.

Words: 1,549

Steve was a newly presented Alpha, barely more than a pup, only just having turned eighteen a few months prior, and he was eager to find his soulmate. Eager to start the rest of his life with someone else, to settle down, to start a family. He was an artist that had been lucky to make it big, thanks to some help from his friend, Sam, who had introduced him to Pepper Potts. Most artists struggled to get by on just their art alone, not many managed to make a living off of it. So few managed to make bank while still in high school, if ever at all.

Steve was one of those fortunate few.

Sam was older by nearly twenty years and had far more life experience than Steve did, but Sam also had a soft spot for the kid. It was probably depressing to admit that his best friend was a kid that still believed in dreams coming true, but it was true. Sam met Steve when the teen started volunteering at a homeless shelter that catered to vets who hadn't received the support they needed when they came home.

Ever since then Sam had taken to mentoring the kid, supporting him when his asshole father only seemed to tear him down. Maybe it was Sam's fault that Steve had such unrealistic expectations about life and soulmates and happy ever afters. Sam had made a point of telling the kid, who had been so scared and broken when he first met him, that he could do anything he set his mind to and he could have anything that he dreamed of. Sam didn't regret building up his self-confidence, he just hoped the world didn't let the boy down.

For the first time in a long time, Sam felt like maybe dreams really could come true. His soulmate - even thinking the word made Sam feel all fuzzy - went to talk to his best friend, so naturally Sam had taken the opportunity to go see his own best friend.

"I can't believe you found your soulmate!" Steve said. "What was it like? Did you know the moment you met his eyes just like in the stories?"

Sam grinned stupidly, sighing and falling back on the couch, his legs over the arm and his head in Steve's lap.

"It was perfect. He's perfect. It was just like in the stories. Our eyes met and we were drawn to each other. We both knew exactly what was happening and I fell in love before he even opened his mouth. Then he told me that if I thought he was going to be some mindless Omega that obeyed his Alpha's every command that I have another thing coming." Sam laughed.

Steve was enthralled, caught up in his tale.

"Then what happened?"

"Then he kissed me and it was like fireworks exploded around us, and in our mouths. He tasted like heaven," Sam said dreamily. "He dragged me off to the bathroom and sucked me off in the stall and then I took him home and fucked him all night. Didn't let him off my knot until like an hour ago, when he said he really needed to go tell his best friend about us. That's when I came here to tell you, because you're my best friend."

Steve blushed the way he always did when Sam said that, but grinned.

"That sounds perfect. I hope it's like that when I meet my soulmate."

"I'm sure it will be," Sam reassured him.

Sam really hoped it would be, and he really hoped that Steve would meet his soulmate someday. Not everyone did and even those who did, well, things happened and not everyone got to keep their soulmates their whole lives. Steve nodded, but bit his lip nervously.

"I'm going to be a good Alpha, Sam. I'm gonna be so good to my Omega and give them everything that an Alpha is supposed to give their Omega. My mark, my knot, my pups. All of it," Steve said, determined.

Sam smiled a little sadly at him and sat up.

"I know you'll be a great Alpha, Steve, but you know you don't have to change who you are. Your soulmate will love you just the way you are and if they don't then they don't deserve you."

Steve shook his head.

"No, I want to do all of that for my Omega. I just know it. It doesn't matter that I like to get off while fingering myself. That won't matter once I have an Omega. I won't need to do that anymore, because I'll have my soulmate to get me off and even if I can't always get off that'd be fine. It won't be about me. It will be about them and when they need me to knot them I will. I'll make it happen no matter what."

Sam sighed, but nodded.

"I know you will, kid."

*****

Tony wasn't sure how long he laid there, but he must have fallen asleep on the couch at some point, because he woke up to the sound of a key turning in the lock. Tony groaned, cursing and stumbling off the couch, clutching at his head when it protested the sudden movement, and rushing to the bathroom. Brock saw the empty bottle on the ground by the couch when he opened the door, told his Alpha to wait in the living room and headed off to find Tony.

"Tony? Are you okay?" Brock called out, knocking on the bathroom door after he checked his room and found it empty.

Tony just groaned and heaved into the toilet.

"I'm gonna get you some aspirin," Brock said.

"Do you want any help?" Sam asked, concerned.

"No, he'll be upset if you try to help him. He hates Alphas."

"Right." Sam glanced anxiously at the bathroom door.

Every instinct inside him was telling him that there was an Omega in need in there and he should help them, but he shoved the urge down. If Brock said his help wouldn't be wanted Sam definitely wasn't going to force it on Tony. Even Omegas who didn't hate Alphas didn't necessarily want an Alpha they didn't know to be around them when they were feeling vulnerable.

Brock brought Tony aspirin and a glass of water and held him when he broke down crying. They sat on the bathroom floor for a while, Tony curled up in Brock's lap, sobbing and saying he didn't want to be alone and he just knew that he was going to be alone forever, because who could ever want an Omega as fucked up as Tony was.

That was a big reason why Tony didn't want to find his soulmate. As much as he insisted it was because they would probably be an asshole and he didn't need someone to try and control him, the truth was that it was mostly because Tony was terrified of rejection. Terrified that he'd find his soulmate and they'd be perfect and then they'd realize just how much of a mess Tony was and run in the other direction.

Brock was the only person who had ever stuck around. The only person who ever stayed, even though Tony got drunk more nights than not and his life was falling apart. When Brock was drafted Tony was heartbroken to lose him, alone and so scared of being on his own, so scared that Brock wouldn't ever come back, but Brock returned home, returned to Tony. Everything was right with the world again, because Tony was no longer alone.

Now Brock was leaving him again, but this time he wasn't coming back. He was going to live with his soulmate and pretty soon he'd forget all about Tony. Twenty years from now Tony would just be that roommate that he used to have that never got his shit together. Twenty years from now Brock would have pups that he had raised and devoted his life to and Tony would still be all alone.

No matter how much Brock promised Tony that he wasn't leaving him alone, that they were still best friends and Tony could come visit him anytime he wanted, Tony didn't believe him. He couldn't believe that things wouldn't change. Of course things would change. Everything would change and Tony hated change.

So when Brock finally coaxed Tony out of the bathroom and onto the couch, Tony glared at Sam. He hated this Alpha for taking away his best friend. Brock tried to ease the tension, but Tony was too bitter to let go of his anger, so eventually Brock sighed and kissed Tony's cheek. They gathered up Brock's stuff from his room and left. Tony couldn't help but feel like Brock was choosing his Alpha over Tony.

Why wouldn't he?

Tony had nothing to offer him. He didn't want to fuck him, didn't have a knot, couldn't claim him. Tony couldn't give Brock any of that, didn't want to give him any of that even if he could. As much as he loved Brock, he didn't feel that way about him. He did feel miserable, all alone and unwanted. Tony curled up on the couch and cried, unable to even find the energy to drag himself to his bed.

[herrashmoo]

secondly, im not a tumblr teen. ive been on this website for god knows how long and ive been well versed in queer history. me calling them a pedophile, after a conversation with them resulted in them refusing to admit sexual imagery is not for children, them calling me a bootlicker and several other names, before getting wildly upset and blocking me, had nothing to do with their sexuality and everything to do with the fact that they couldnt tell me sexual imagery is not a thing for minors to consume period end of story. this is AFTER the fact i had been a bit more educated about pride and had ALREADY agreed where i went wrong. now about the sanitization of pride- thats wrong as well. dont get me wrong. but you cant seriously look me in the face and tell me that sexual imagery is not for minors. like- just that statement alone, right? so how is this such a controversy?

ugh okay I guess I’m gonna write A Thing. I’ll get into a proper response to your final questions but first, let’s do some context work.

first thing to make clear is that I know Jux irl, and I also want to make it pretty clear that they and I have pretty similar opinions here, I’m just slightly more likely to put my anger aside to reply to stuff. Do not get it twisted, rhetoric like the kind you were/are using is like, a big red flag for me, it’s the kind of shit reactionaries have been using for eons and like, were I in a less chill mood, I would’ve also likely written you off as a bootlicker troll. Their response was pretty aggressive but not completely misplaced, so I just want to make it clear that like, as another queer dude who is tired of seeing this shit every fucking May for the better part of a decade, I’m also exhausted and pissed off.

As for my claim of teenagerdom, I apologize if that offended, but you have to understand that, generally speaking, the loudest groups having this conversation on the regular are (1) right-wing reactionaries, TERFs, and their ilk trying to stir shit up (see: Operation Pridefall) and (2) young people who don���t have any context for Pride, often haven’t been, and only really have queer politic and history from tumblr and twitter threads featuring reactionary revisionism from the first group. When I see people engage in this conversation, I generally assume they’re in the latter group, as it helps me try to frame my responses in the best faith I can given how tired I am of this shit.

But that aside, sure. Kink isn’t for children. But provided there’s a parent accompanying this hypothetical child at Pride, their job is to explain and provide context for the things they can, and give a solid “you’ll learn more when you’re older” for the things they can’t. The Village People are all each in different kink gear, and as a kid I was told “they like to dress up, and there’s some costumes specifically for adults,” and I was good. I saw bare titties at festivals, smelled weed at concerts, saw bulge at the beach — these are normal human things that happen in the world, and having a responsible adult nearby to explain or provide context for them made them non-issues for me. I don’t think a kid seeing a pup hood is thinking anything more than “oh cool, that dude is dressed up as a dog.” Kids understand fantasy and make-believe. And especially as they age into their teenage years, withholding or sheltering them from knowledge about sex and sexuality can do real damage — hell, we’ve been having that conversation for over a century at least.

(Spring’s Awakening was first published in 1891 and was deeply censored in productions for the better part of a century, due to the content of the work, which is about how sheltering young teens (both straight and queer) from sexual content (and also mental health resources) leads them to try to figure shit out on their own and make catastrophic decisions that they don’t understand the consequences of until it’s too late. Great play, pretty great musical adaptation, wild that we keep rehashing its points like clockwork over a century after publication.)

But I am also of the opinion that Pride isn’t for children, as, while two decades of assimilationist politic would desperately try to argue otherwise, I am queer because I am sexually attracted to, and have sex with, other men. Pride is a response to the criminalization of queer sex acts, and so it is, in turn, a celebration of queer sex acts. So if someone wants to walk around in chaps and a jock, great! If someone wants to wear their pup gear or a harness or a rope tie or a vest, fuck yeah! It’s a space specially carved out for celebrating the queer experience — the original Pride flag (before it was simplified to make it easier to mass produce for profit, which, again, love seeing our culture made into product) had a pink stripe at the very top, specifically representing sexuality. It is, ostensibly, the thing that defines our community (at least the L G and B parts of it) as an outgroup against the mainstream society.

I think that, if you are uncomfortable with kink displays, or you’re uncomfortable with children seeing kink displays, then Pride is not for you or your children! Don’t go! There’s kid-friendly and sanitized versions of Pride in most major cities, do some research into your local/state Stonewall organizations and you can find more about them. But I’m already sick of having actual cops at Pride, I don’t need people who are uncomfortable with displays of sexuality also policing myself or any other queer person in a space they have spent decades carving out for themselves.

A final note — if you don’t understand why a queer person would blow up and completely write off your bullshit after calling them a pedophile, I urge you to do more reading, more listening. I know that in this brave new world of same-sex marriage equality and PrEP access that it’s hard to remember the collective trauma that the community has experienced, but this shit is inflammatory, you’re straight up spewing fightin’ words. The dude wearing a leather harness at Pride isn’t trying to corrupt any youth or fuck any kids, they’re just trying to live their shit, and I’m sorry that you and so many others have somehow decided that that’s an attack on a demographic of people who aren’t the audience for a celebration of sexuality. We’re not fucking pedophiles, and this “think about the kids” nonsense is some Reagan-era bullshit.

[godsporncollection]

Saturday Morning Session

(personal commentary in italics) (sorry for how inconsistent i am at this, i’m trying new medication, so my focus comes and goes unpredictably, but i didn’t want this to take weeks)

Russel M Nelson -  strengthen your testimony (?)

"I understand better what he meant when he said 'behold, i will hasten my work in this time.'" 

Y'all have been strengthening your testimonies and i, and your children, thank you. did that inclusion of "your children" feel off to anyone else?

I can see the work on the temple outside my window and that makes me think about how we need to remove the old debris from our lives. I too think of the temple as 'old debris' that should be removed from my life.

"the gospel is a message of joy" I cannot roll my eyes hard enough

that was short. what was the topic? blab for a five minutes?

Dieter F. Uchdorf - god is Among Us

I had to move lots when I was a kid because there was a war on. i thought about the missionaries who came to the country of their enemies to bring us the gospel.

i was a kid in a war-torn country > missionaries > god has not forgotten us > we will be heirs of god > how could we complain when we have that? > the atonement > mistakes are okay, just gotta keep repenting.

what would jesus teach if he was among us today? the same thing he's always taught. "the savior always teaches timeless truths, to everyone, a message of hope and belonging, a testament that god has not abandoned his children that god is Among Us."

jesus says to love one another and to be full of charity towards all men. i would like to see it.

anyone else feel like these talks are just. empty? like, they're not feeling it either?

if jesus came into your home today, he would see into your heart and i'm gonna waste a couple more minutes by expanding on that. one look into his eyes and we would be forever changed by the realization that god is Among Us.

back to me, i wish i could go back and tell myself to stay on the right track because god is Among Us, so i'm gonna tell you instead. god is Among Us.

"line upon line" *gag*

god is Among Us

Joy D Jones - abuse is wrong unless you use it to teach kids about the gospel

"have you ever wondered why we call 'primary' 'primary'?" as someone who understands how language works, no.

because kids are importanter than everything else

god trusts us to be nice to our kids; that means no abuse, even if we're angry. whoever needed this reminder should be shot.

hey, maybe you can "combat the evils of abuse" by not fucking raising your kids in an abusive cult!

analogy of a kid who fell out of bed because he "didn't get far enough in" = he wasn't indoctrinated enough, with awkward collage of pics of kids for a minute.

eyring said to get 'em while they're young

love all the pics of black people that try to say "see? we don't think black people are inherently evil (anymore)!"

analogy of a soldier in boot camp. drill seargants are mean, but that was necessary because apparantly it's the only way this guy can learn how to hide. also, apparently this guy is "our friend". not my friend, thanks.

"how can we do the same for our children?" don't fucking act like a drill seargent to your kids! ffs

"wouldn't we rather have them sweat in the safe learning environment of the home than bleed on the battlefields of life?" first of all, fuck you. second, dramatic much? third, fuck you, kids shouldn't have to learn about life in a hostile environment. does this woman have kids? are they okay? fucking hell, five kids were raised by a woman with this mentality. what a bitch.

"eternity is the wrong thing to be wrong about." i got news for you. of course, if i ever spoke to this machine, that topic wouldn't be my top priority.

I need a fucking drink.

Jan Eric Newman - teaching the gospel is good, but you can't force a testimony on others

anecdote about a local old woman getting birthday gifts. she taught us some good things when we were growing up, so thanks, sister davis.

another teacher, at college, was a "master teacher." he loved me and the lord. he taught me to learn doctrine on my own and that "changed me forever."

just sayin', if you're taught how to learn on your own, but didn't exercise enough critical thought to gtfo of this cult, maybe the teacher wasn't the best.

it's good to have good teachers.

the ancient nephites and lamanites had good teachers, and "there was no contention among them!"

"how can we teach more like the savior and help others become more deeply converted?" nope, nope. nope.

1st, "learn all you can about the master teacher hismelf." so, we're sticking with the term "master teacher." cool. doesn't sound weird at all.

ask yourself questions about how he taught, then do that.

read "teaching in the savoir's way."

2nd, use bullshit stories. oh, no, it's a story about how somebody is grateful for the pandemic because her adult child read the BoM for the first time during it. she said it had made "literal miracles."

3rd, "remember that conversion must come from within." guess jan and "joy" should have compared notes before speaking.

"children inheret many things, but a testimony is not one of them. we can't give our children a testimony any more than we can make a seed grow; but we can provide a nourishing environment, with good soil, free of thorns that would choke the word."

Gary E. Stevenson - kindness

story about a study where rabbits were fed a high-fat diet, but those under the care of a loving researcher didn't gain as much weight.

only christians can intuitively understand that this means there's a reason to be kind to others.

jesus said love one another.

addressing primary kids - be kind. here's a story about a kid who stopped being a bully because the bullied kid said it hurt.

to the teens - social media makes bullying worse, clearly satan is using social media against your generation. do what you can t make these spaces safer. if you're a bully, "stop it."

to the adults- "we have a primary responsibility to set a tone and be role models of kindness (get wrecked "joy"), inclusion and civility."

from ballard- "i have never heard members of this church to be anything but loving, kind, tolerant and benevolent to our friends and neighbors of other faiths." k, but, like, you know it's not just a difference of religious belief that’s the problem, right?

i'm heartbroken to hear about prejudice against blackasianlatino people or of any other group. i love how that section was really only about race, with a blanket "any other group" thrown in as an afterthought so they can't be accused of being homophobic.

in the winter of 1838, jo smith was in prison and why do you think that happened, gary?

church members were driven from their homes and the residents of a town across the river gave them food and shelter. that generosity saved the lives of many of them.

god is a compassionate care-giver.

Gerrit W. Gong - disjointed anecdotes of human experiences, idk

i miss my dad. he was adventurous, except regarding food.

i saw a guy be mean to a lady selling ice cream. he smashed all of her cones. the image of her trying to salvage the cones haunts me to this day.

story of the good samaritan.

be like christ this easter.

"we recieve inspiration as we counsel together, listening to each person, including each sister and the spirit."

does this guy have a topic?

he’s is just giving a list of random human experiences and parables.

*displays a lack of understanding of instagram.*

he's listing something throughout this, like, he keeps counting, but i have no idea what and his voice is making my adhd medication run away, so i'm not listening to this again.

Henry B. Eyring - temple worthiness

today i'm feeling light and hope, like the first day i went to the salt lake temple

i'm an oblivious fucker who didn't notice my name being pinned on me, so i thought the woman who greeted me was an angel because she knew my name.

thought he could remember being in the temple before, but a voice that was not his own (that's how you know it's true and not something he just told himself) told him he was remembering heaven.

confused "holiness to the lord" with "this is a holy place." i know both phrases use the word 'holy', but like, those contexts mean separate things.

i also had this feeling during my wedding in the logan temple.

i think henry should get checked out, he suffers from frequent hallucinations and it's good to know how your brain works differently from others when in a leadership position.

during my wedding, i had a vision of a house and the officiant said to live in a way that you can walk away easily. a year later, my father in law bought the exact house and my wife and i lived in the guest house for ten years. then i got the call to move somewhere else on assignment from the church and we walked away easily.

scripture from jesus about temples.

if you're unworthy in the temple, you won't be "able to see, by the power of the holy ghost, the spiritual teaching of the savior that we can recieve in the temple."

"when we are worthy to recieve such teaching, there can grow, through our temple experience, hope, joy, and optimism throughout our lives. that hope, joy, and optimism are available only through accepting the ordinances performed in holy temples."

i forgot how simple a baptism is, so i'm gonna tell you how amazed (and a little concerned) i was when my youngest daughter stayed to do baptism for the dead for all of the names on the list that day. maybe i'm just super comfortable in the water, but that doesn't sound hard, actually. i used to almost enjoy doing those.

quotes the primary song 'i love to see the temple.'

remember to be worthy so you can live with your family forever.

[previouslynebraskan]

Why humans are assholes

Hi, my pen name is Gwendolyn, and welcome to my TED talk on empathy

*side note, I suck at writing, and my train of thought is derailed frequently.  So buckle up, and I’ll be surprised if you make it with me to the end, as we don’t know organization.

First off, I’ll disclaim something terrible about myself.  I’m a Christian.  Even worse.  I’m a rosary rattler.  A Catholic!  Oh and you thought it couldn’t get worse?  I’m not even a good one.  God and I are only on speaking terms when I need him (which is pretty frequent, but not the point).  Church feels like an obligation most weeks, and just because I know the rules and believe in the rules, doesn’t mean that I follow them.  

Alrighty!  Terrible things out of the way.  Let’s begin.  Humans are assholes.  Most people, especially the population of Tumblr, will agree with me.  Between human atrocities, selfishness, and down right lack of care, humans are just assholes.  I am too.  I am human.  Ask my siblings.  Like any good older sister, I wanted nothing to do with my siblings, and when forced to see them at school, I was unprecedently mean to them.  Ask my husband.  I am ridiculously selfish, and only do things when it suits me.  And yet, there is an entire history of the human race, with worse individuals than myself.  And a lot of people might see that, and think, cool, I feel better about myself, because I’m not Hitler.  I feel better about myself because I wasn’t a member of the KKK.  Well, personally, I don’t.  The next disclaimer I am going to make about myself, I’m a self-diagnosed empath.  I’ve never been to a therapist.  I don’t currently have plans to either, but I’ll let God decide that path later.  The reason I bring this up, and the reason I mentioned my religion at the beginning, is because I truly believe that if not for my first disclaimer, my second might not exist.  

I am a crier.  And I get annoyed at criers.  But I don’t cry at reasonable things.  No.  I cry at other people’s feelings.  Let’s bastardize the golden rule real quick.  For those who are unaware, “Treat others how you want to be treated.”  Now, I’m sure many people recall going through a phase where they could translate that in their still learning brains to “I can treat people however I want because I wouldn’t care if they were that way to me.”  Now back to the golden rule.  The bastardization is, put yourself in someone else’s shoes.  How many of us got told this by their parents at a young age after not playing nicely with another kid?  Apparently, God took it upon Himself to write that verse on my heart.  And it went something like this:  I cried when my mother told me that her grandmother (whom I had only met twice and had no actual recollection of) died.  I was inconsolable when my grandfather died.  So much so that even now, almost fifteen years later, it still stops me in my tracks, my heart hurts so much.  I cried when Michael Jackson died.  I didn’t really even like his music that much.  I’ve cried at almost every movie I’ve ever seen.  My sister’s speech at my wedding included the moment where she had to chaperone me on a date with my then boyfriend, and we went to Frozen.  Now yes, I cried at the scene when her parents die in the shipwreck.  But it gets worse.  Elsa is out there, just ran away, no plans for shelter yet apparently, and she begins to break out into song.  At first I’m fine.  But then I can feel my heart, as she sings, “well now they know.”  I start bawling my eyes out.  And all I can give in response to my sister’s quizzical look of “What the fuck is wrong with you???” (Yes I cursed, I told you, not one of the good ones. Fuck off), was: “She’s just so happy!”  I wouldn’t necessarily say I was sad at that time.  But I could feel the relase that an animated character was expressing on the big screen.  I could feel the weight come off of her shoulders, and I cried.  I mourned for what she went through, but shed tears of joy that she had found peace.  Tonight.  I was watching Facebook videos instead of taking care of my nightly routine of getting ready for bed.  And a Mengele twin told her story of survival.  When she mentioned looking around for her father and older sisters, I felt that.  When she said she could still see her mother’s outstreched arms, I could see that.  When she mentioned the panic of trying to save her sister years after liberation, trying to find records of what was done to them, her rage and anger.  And then her forgiveness.  Do you know how strong someone has to be in order to forgive?  To let go of the pain in your heart, knowing you’ll never get revenge.  You’ll never get an answer.  And you just let it go?  That strength is super human.  This week, as we pass the 20th anniversary of the tragedy of 9/11, my hometown did a wonderful commemoration.  I cried.  My aunt gave me a look of disgust because I was crying, again.  I cried not only for those who lost their lives, but for their families who would never be whole, for the heroes who stepped up, then and now.  I am a proud Navy wife.  My husband is out sacrificing his time, so that I don’t have to.  And so that I can worship my stupid religion that I cling to, so I can walk around saying inappropriate words and wear not enough clothing.  But he made that choice.  There are a lot who didn’t.  Earlier this week, someone posted the transcription of the phone call of flight 93.  The moment that he said that the passengers wanted to sacrifice their lives, for the sake of our country, I hurt.  And then he asked the person on the other end of the line to pray.  Another video this week, an ex soldier, who fought early on in Afghanistan was telling a story about one of his soldiers.  They were getting ready for a raid that would likely kill them.  His soldier asks, I know we signed up to fight, but why are we doing this?  The man’s response was, for the people up in that tower who didn’t.  He goes on to explain the story of a young mother. Two kids.  Went to work like any other day, and her last attempt at human decency was to hold her skirt down as she jumped out of the burning tower, so the people below couldn’t see up her skirt.  

Crpl. Page was a Marine from my state who just passed away.  He was two years younger than me.  I never knew him.  But I grieve for his family and friends.  

See the worst part about being an empath in a world where human’s are assholes, is there’s never a shortage of people’s feelings to feel.  I’ve been told that you can experience an emotion so strongly that your body’s only reaction to the volume of what it feels is to cry.  And that resonates with me.  I feel joy to such an extreme when I’m with my family, celebrating time together.  I feel the sorrow of people missing loved ones, and their hearts breaking.  And there are times when I wonder if it’s a gift? Or if it’s a curse.  It’s a gift to be able to go to someone and say, I can feel for you and your situation.  I don’t feel sorry for you.  I feel your pain as though it were my own. But it’s a curse to feel the attrocities of humanity and just sit and wonder why it had to happen.  Why it had to come to this.   I got told I was crying for attention.  I wasn’t, but that didn’t matter. Supposedly, behavioral psychology could “fix me” if I wanted it.  I could be trained to control my emotions, and process them in a way that wasn’t so consuming.  It would definetly help my self diagnosed depression.  But let’s posit that God made me this way for a reason.  He gave me this gift with a purpose in mind.  What then?  The problem is, I don’t know how to effectively use it without letting it ruin my life.  I can never be a therapist, because I would be able to take on the feelings of my clients.  And while I do very much believe in tough love, I also belive that if you just have the right push in the right direction, great changes can be made.  Would the Holocaust have happened if Hitler had  better relationship with his mother? (this is a personal piece, I am reflecting on history classes I haven’t taken since high school.  I’m not fact checking this. Don’t at me.)  Would Columine have taken place if those kids had been in a better place mentally?  

You know what the awful thing is...? Look at all of these events.  Look at all of these heart wrenching dates in history.  And then look what came out of them.  Out of 9/11 came one of the most unified fronts America has had in a long time.  Out of World War II came men of valor.  A chemical reaction occurs when you take an object, and force it to experience a high degree of change.  And that is what gives us assholes grit.  Our experiences make us tougher, and make us better.  And maybe less of a crybaby in my case.  Or more of a cyborg who doesn’t experience emotion for fear of being consumed by them. 

Ramble is over.  For those of you who persisted and tried to keep up, good job and I’m sorry.  For those who didn’t, don’t worry, I wouldn’t blame you.  

Some effort is better than none at all, and if all you are capable of is existing today, then I hope you do, and I know you will do it beautifully.

[elisela]

echo oscar mike buck x eddie, 1.9k, vermont verse @extasiswings​ wanted eddie to have a cat in vermont and I wasn’t gonna do it but then .... well, it’s chapel so.

Eddie learned, very shortly after moving to Vermont, that he likes routine. He thrives off it—blame his parents and their strict schedule when he was growing up, blame the military, or maybe just blame his personality—but he finds comfort in knowing what his day is going to look like when he wakes up in the morning.

And he has a good one, has had a good one since he met Buck and fell into an easy(ish) life with him, waking up in the morning to kick a seventy-five pound dog off his bed so he can have sex with his husband, said husband making him breakfast every morning, filling up his days with workouts, running the youth center a few days a week, taking classes at the community college just because he hates being bored, and being home by the time his kid and Buck are both back just to spend the rest of the day with them.

(Less Chris these days, now that he’s sixteen and more interested in girls, trying to convince Eddie to take him in for an exam so he can be cleared to drive, and spending every waking minute out of the house and with his friends. Eddie’s mom had said he was too permissive last time she called and Chris hadn’t been home, but Chris is happy, Buck is happy, and Eddie is certainly happy, so he tried not to let it get to him.)

So Eddie’s in the middle of his Tuesday routine—breakfast with Bobby, Combat to Classroom lecture at a community college in Burlington, and a run around the University of Vermont campus before he heads home to clean up before opening the youth center—when he passes the Delta Tau Delta house and stops.

He’s not sure why the cardboard box catches his eye, but it does, and laying inside is one tiny kitten, eyes closed against the soft rain that’s falling.

Eddie’s parents were not big on pets growing up. His dad was never home, and he can still hear his mother saying, “when you’re mature enough to take care of a pet on your own, then we’ll talk.” Christopher had been born before Eddie was ever deemed mature enough for a pet, so it wasn’t until he’d found Ox out on the trail that he had gotten any experience. But Ox was a monster, a beast of a dog who took up so much room that he and Buck had gotten new furniture just to accommodate him.

So this—this tiny tan and black kitten that might fit in Buck’s palm—he’s not sure what to do, so he does what he always does when he has a question, and he calls Hen.

“Eddie, being a surgeon is not the same as being a vet,” she sighs when he fills her in. “Is the cat warm?”

He bends down and strokes a finger over its fur and down to its paws. “Not really,” he says, “but her eyes opened so she’s still alive. Should I take her to the vet?”

“Sometimes I wonder about you,” Hen says, and Eddie grins even though she can’t see him. “Yes, take the cat to the vet. But you know you’re gonna have to keep it for awhile, don’t you? The shelters have been full for months, that always happens when it starts getting colder.”

“Well, what else am I supposed to do, leave her to die?” he says—

—which is the same thing he says that night to Buck, when Buck takes three steps inside the door, looks at Eddie bottle-feeding the cat, and says, “no.”

“No,” Buck says again, shaking his head as he toes off his untied boots and kicks them under the bench. “You already—” he leans down and kisses Eddie, a soft press of lips at the corner of his mouth, “—brought this beast into our—get off me Ox, let me get my jacket off first—into our house without asking.”

“She was in a wet cardboard box,” he says, looking down and tilting the bottle to get the last drops out. “What was I supposed to do, leave her to die?”

“Leave her at the vet,” Buck says, scratching Ox on the head and moving towards the kitchen, talking as he disappears through the doorway. “I put chicken in the fridge to thaw this morning but I think I want—Eddie!”

“I think he saw the litter box,” Eddie whispers to the little bundle in his hands, setting the bottle down and sliding her back into his hoodie pocket to keep warm. He stands up, sliding a hand into his pocket to make sure she’s secure, and goes to console his husband. Buck might be upset, but he’ll get over it. “The vet wouldn’t take her,” he says, leaning against the doorway and watching as Buck looks over the bags on the kitchen table.

Eddie’s never had a cat; he had no clue what to buy, so he just … bought one of everything.

There’s something—off, about it though; when he’d brought Ox home, Buck had sighed and complained about it, but he hadn’t looked—mad.

Like he does now.

“I named her Echo,” Eddie offers, expecting to be laughed at, for Buck to roll his eyes and finally crack a smile, but he just lets out a breath and allows the bag to fall from his hand. “Buck,” he tries again, “really, the vet wouldn’t take her and—”

“And did you try anywhere else?” Buck asks, looking at Eddie skeptically. “Because the seven bags from The Dog and Cat tell me that you didn’t.”

“Hen said the shelters were all full,” Eddie says. “Maybe I should have talk to you first, but you were busy—”

“Funny, you’ve never thought I was too busy working when you want me to come home in the middle of the day because you want me to fuck you—”

“—and you love cats,” Eddie says over him, because he can’t exactly argue with that. He’s definitely taken advantage of Buck working for himself now, not having a set schedule or time-frame unless it’s his own making, the couch out in the workshop getting so much use that Buck had joked about finally just bringing a bed in. “You volunteer at an animal shelter, I didn’t think it would be a big deal.”

“I walk the dogs,” Buck says, “and you didn’t think that, you thought if I came home and saw the cat that I’d just accept it like I did with Ox.”

Eddie opens his mouth to keep arguing, but Buck crosses his arms over his chest, and he closes it again. Buck doesn’t get closed off like this often, and although he still thinks he had a good reason—he’s not leaving any animal outside, exposed to the rain that’s now pouring down—but he’s also aware that Buck is … entirely right. Somehow, Eddie had fallen in love with Echo in between jogging back to his car with her wrapped in his hoodie and walking into the veterinarian’s office, and he really didn’t intend to look for a home for her anywhere else.

They haven’t fought in a long time, he thinks suddenly, because he has no clue what to do right now.

“I’m gonna go out to the workshop,” Buck says, “can you take care of dinner?” and leaves without waiting for the answer, motioning for Ox to follow him.

Ox goes, the traitor.

---

Eddie gives it an hour, calls the little italian restaurant that’s on the way to the ski resort—where Eddie had taken him on their first date—and orders Buck’s favorite dishes and a slice of peanut butter pie, because if he’s going to pull out all the stops he might as well get the dessert they’d shared that night. He checks in with Chris, who sends a picture of himself with three of his friends at Pizza Putt, grinning widely and holding up mini-golf clubs, and shuffles around the house cleaning up to kill time until the food is ready.

With just a few minutes left, he realizes suddenly that taking Echo with him is not a great idea, and he doesn’t want to leave her alone in the house, which means—

“Hey,” he says, stepping into the workshop. “I—are you okay?”

Buck’s laying on the couch, hand against his rib cage; he winces when he sits up. “I wasn’t watching where I was going in the house and I kinda ran into a dresser that May was bringing in,” he says quietly, and lifts his shirt. There’s a large bruise blooming under his skin, spreading across his side.

Eddie crouches down beside him, careful not to jostle Echo in his pocket, and rests his hand against the spot, pushing gently. “You want to go to the hospital? I don’t think it’s anything serious—”

“I’m fine, Eds,” Buck says, pulling his shirt down before Eddie withdraws his hand. “Dinner ready?”

“I gotta go pick it up,” he says, “but—I’m sorry. I should have called you, and I’ll call around tomorrow to see if there’s a shelter that can take her or someone who wants her. I’ll find a home for her.” Buck nods, but his gaze is on Eddie’s pocket, where Echo is poking her head out. “Would you watch her while I get the food?”

“Sure,” he says, and when Eddie sets her in his hand, Buck curls his arm to his stomach to hold her, and uses the other hand to pull Eddie down for a kiss.

---

There’s a fire going in the living room when he gets home, the first of the year; October is wetter than normal and Eddie makes a mental note to buy firewood over the weekend, because he has a feeling they’re going to need it more often this winter. Buck’s not on the couch, though, and there’s no trashy reality show playing on the television, so he goes through to the kitchen, pulling off his jacket and hanging it up on the coat stand.

Buck’s not there either, but all of the bags from the pet store have been cleared away, so he starts setting out dinner—transferring it onto plates instead of leaving it in the boxes like they normally do—and is wondering if they even own candles for a candlelight dinner when Buck comes around the corner, hair damp and wavy, clearly just out of the shower with his joggers and t-shirt on.

In the stretched out chest pocket of his blue shirt is Echo, curled into a half circle, eyes closed. One paw sticks out, and Eddie feels such a sudden pressure in his chest that he thinks he may be having a heart attack.

“Don’t say a word,” Buck says, fitting a hand around Eddie’s hip and kissing him. “Is this from Trattoria?”

“Buck.”

“No.”

“Buck,” he says, staring down at Echo’s fuzzy ears.

Buck kisses him again, his lips pressed sweetly against Eddie’s, and Eddie has to force himself not to press up against him, mindful of the tiny kitten residing in his husband’s shirt pocket. “Shut up, Eddie,” he says, but it’s soft, gentle.

“And he said we had to give you away,” Eddie says to Echo when he pulls back, stroking one of her ears with the side of his pinky. “Looks like you went and found yourself a home.”

[trillian-anders]

suspect - iii

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

warnings: descriptive violence, graphic descriptions of crime scenes, angst, slow burn

word count: 4.3k

description: au detective!bucky barnes x investigative journalist!reader;

still wet behind his ears, detective barnes is given his very first homicide case, a woman no one seems to care about had been murdered. it’s only when investigative journalist reader brings the small details to his attention that he realizes there’s a bigger problem. a serial killer no one was paying attention to.

The smell of death. It is unlike any other smell and once it’s something you experience; you’ll never forget it.

Bucky thought he’d seen bad crime scenes. He thought the last body he’d seen had been the worst one. But he was proven wrong. He gagged entering the small apartment, immediately being hit with the smell. Even through the face mask it hit him fully that this body must have been decomposing for a while.

He walks to the back bedroom, the forensics team snapping pictures and bagging evidence in the living rom as he walked by. The first thing he sees when he enters the room are her feet. Her ankles bound to the bed with rope, her skin puffed up around the rope itself. The ties are tight. She’s naked, her eyes are swollen shut, he could see the ligature marks around her neck, her wrists bound to the top frame of the bed. A pool of blood under her left arm, dried and crusted. Her ring finger gone.

“How long do you think?” Bucky asked. The head coroner, Bruce, his arms crossed staring at the body. Bruce shakes his head and sighs heavily.

“Anywhere from… five days to a little over a week probably.” He squats down by the side of the bed, peeking into her nostrils, Bucky gagged when he noticed the maggots. Leaving the room and trying to keep his vomit down. As he stepped out on the asphalt outside, he ripped the mask from his face taking gulps of fresh air.

Later he would wash himself with lemons and stick his nose into a bag of coffee grounds. The smell burned itself into his nostrils and the image was hard to shake. He didn’t know if he would ever sleep again.

This time he did shave, his shaky hands nicking the skin of his neck. He tied his clothes in a black trash bag and set it with his laundry, something to be tackled later and he grabbed the manila folder on his coffee table. The ripped open envelope of Cheryl Hansen’s toxicology report.

The diner was familiar to him now, and he found you at the exact same booth you’d been in last time. The notebook in front of you, laptop closed off to the side. You had a cup of coffee sitting in front of you and an empty one across. The stainless thermos pot left on the table for him to serve himself.

“Jean is the only one on right now,” You explain to him, and the woman he assumed was Jean was dealing with a couple drunks and other late-night patrons. He pours himself a cup of coffee.

“Sorry for being late,” He sighs, “I had to get the smell off me.” You hum and he watches you shiver.

“It’s powerful.” You agree. And he wonders how you know what it smells like.

“Cheryl wasn’t the first victim.” He explains, setting the manila folder on the table, the open toxicology report of Cheryl’s on top. “Christine Jones was.” You sigh, looking over his hastily written notes. Everything he’d written down at the scene. How he found the body. What it looked like. What the apartment looked like. He gave you a minute while he made his coffee, plucking a creamer out of the bowl that had been left for the two of you.

“This had to have been his first,” You sigh, “The copycat… the Butcher usually doesn’t leave that kind of bloody mess.” Where her ring finger had been cut. The blood dripping down her arm.

“He usually cleans them up after.” He agrees. The blood from the finger was always cleaned before the body was disposed. His mind goes back to Cheryl’s hand. Her finger cut off at the joint, the blood half clotted like it had been done… “He cuts them off when they’re still alive.” You look up at him from the paper.

“What?”

“The finger,” Bucky explains, “He cuts them off while the girls are still alive.” It rolled like acid in his stomach.

“The Butcher didn’t do that.” Both of you know he didn’t. The Boston Butcher would take the ring finger, but it was always postmortem, the blood unable to clot. The blood unable to pump out through a cut off finger. He watches you cross your arms, leaning back against the booth, thinking. “So this copycat… he wants to murder, but he’s not confident.” You offer, “So he finds Christine… and ties her up.”

“And he removes her finger, and then strangles her.” Bucky finishes, sighing and placing his head into his hands. “I can’t believe this is happening, honestly.” A rough chuckle, “You were right.” The clink of your spoon on the little dish.

“I didn’t want to be.” You admit, “Honestly, but if this guy just killed twice in the same week…”

“Then he’s going to strike again soon.” He watches you swallow harshly, looking out the window of the diner into the parking lot.

“Where are her kids?” Bucky hadn’t known she had kids, but they apparently had been taken away by child protective services and were in foster care. Christine was struggling with a drug habit and had been disowned by her family.

He could tell how much it affected you.

“Tomorrow,” He says, “After a good night’s sleep…” which he sorely needed, “Are you able to help me talk to some of the girls?” He watches you nod, still staring out into the parking lot. You seem dazed and off kilter.

“Of course.”

Bucky wasn’t prideful, you decided. Which was a good quality in a person. You admired the fact that when you saw him in the coffee shop yesterday, he gave you faith in his belief, that maybe you could be right. He didn’t downplay it then. You admired him in the diner when he asked for your help even though 24 hours before he hadn’t truly believed you.

But you couldn’t sleep. You felt restless and sweat through your sheets. The normal lullaby of sirens and drunk yelling on the street was causing you stress and you were paranoid. You cleaned your entire apartment, clearing out your fridge, wiping down every surface and scrubbed the grout until you were to the point of exhaustion, falling asleep with the smell of bleach on your fingertips.

“You look like shit.” Sam said the next day, passing by your desk on his way in. You groaned, accepting the coffee he’d brought for you. The first sip as life’s blood, the first coffee of the day emptied and discarded in the trash can under your desk. “So, we’ve got a bigger story than we originally thought.”

“I’ll have five hundred on your desk in an hour,” You yawn, “Then I have to work on collections for the food drive.”

“When are you seeing the handsome detective again?” He asked, slight smirk as your brow furrows, “You told Riley he has strikingly blue eyes.” An eye roll made him laugh, “I’m just saying, maybe it’s kismet.” Like him and Riley.

“I’ve got work to do Sam.” He raised his hands defensively.

“You know where to find me if you want to talk.” A playful smirk on his face as he disappeared into his office.

Bucky was feeling a little better, sleeping in his own bed for longer than two hours made him feel far less fatigued and ready to tackle the day. Walking into the precinct he had a strange feeling and that feeling was further enraged by how serious Rumlow looked and Rumlow hardly ever looked serious.

“The Chief is here.” Rumlow tells him. Bucky’s eyes meet the glass window of Steve’s office, but the blinds are shut. “We’re going to have a meeting after this to talk about your vics.” Bucky’s stomach turned, which seemed to happen a lot lately. Queasy. The protein bar he shoved down for his breakfast sat like a brick in his stomach.

Alexander Pierce was a hard ass. In the three times he’s met Peirce face to face the man always had some kind of sneer on his face, like he knew he was better than everyone else.

“He likes the power.” Steve told him once while they were sitting on his back deck, and taking a sip from his beer Steve said, “He’s a prick.” Steve hated the guy and Bucky had to agree with him.

“We are starting a task force.” Pierce announced. “Our aim is to keep it under the radar,” His hands held the sides of the podium, like he was the President giving the State of the Union Address. “Which means the following, no talking to the press, no interviews, no leaked information. This is a closed-circuit case.” His eyes scanning the room, “The task force should not deter other normal duties and the numbers we require from you.”

The arrest numbers, a fucking joke. Like looking good on paper mattered more than serving and protecting. His eyes rest on Bucky, “Seeing as Barnes is the one who discovered the copycat, he will be leading the task force along with Rumlow. An agent from the FBI will be coming up to assist with the investigation. You two will decide who else will be helping you track down a suspect. I expect this not to get out to the media.” His eyes focused in on Bucky, “Under no circumstances do we want attention pulled to these murders. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.” Rumlow answered beside him. Bucky felt himself nod. He’s going to have to figure something out, or at least something to tell you.

…

Wanda and her brother Pietro were just two of the children left behind by one of the Boston Butcher’s victims. Magda Eisenhardt. Right at the end, Magda had been one of his last victims in the 90’s. But the twins kept themselves busy, while they worked for the victim’s relief fund, they also ran their own food collection and homeless shelter. The hand they were dealt, even after foster care was much worse than your own and they sympathized heavily with people left on the streets.

Your bag had quickly been discarded in the back office and you went to join Wanda in wiping down and organizing cans and packaged goods. It was a big drop off day, which meant you might be able to grab some to bring Sophie some groceries later. Someone, very kindly, donated the rest of their baby formula. A Boston mom who had enough money to buy in bulk.

“You think we can give her a couple cans?” You lift the two in your hand. “I think she’s pretty low.” Wanda nods, scribbling onto the clipboard before tapping it down on the counter.

“Is he really back?” Soft and unsure. Like she didn’t want the actual answer. She looks at you, terrified. You let out a deep breath.

“I think so.” She sinks into the chair behind her and you set the two cans down on the table before walking over to hug her.

“I talked to Nick yesterday.” Her hand rubbing your arm that was wrapped around her shoulders. “Maybe this is what we need to help us get him out.” You sigh,

“I think it’s a copycat,” She looks up at you, “but if he sees that it’s happening maybe the real Butcher will get angry that someone is doing such a sloppy job.” A moment of silence, Wanda sheds a tear and quickly wipes it away.

“I think we can give her those and you can take her some of the pasta and canned veggies.” Standing and removing herself from your arms, grabbing a cloth tote and putting the formula and aforementioned items inside and putting it off to the side. Wanda took the death of her Mother very hard. She had been in therapy for a long time and to your knowledge she still goes, once a week like clockwork.

Pietro told you once that she feels guilty, but you couldn’t imagine why. “She feels like it’s her fault.” Over coffee, “Like our Mom buying her a barbie dream house was the thing that got her killed.” Wanda knows it wasn’t her fault. Realistically. But more in practice it was a nagging guilt in the back of her brain that made her feel like she needed to do so much good in the world to make up for the fact that her Mom needed to make money and she’d cried and whined about wanting a Barbie dreamhouse for her birthday.

“Selfish.” She’d said once.

“You’re not selfish,” You would say, “How would you have known?” How could anyone know? You don’t know when it’s going to be the last time you talk to someone. You can’t possibly know when it’s that person’s last day. And there’s no way of knowing at six years old that your Mother will be ripped from this world by a psycho.

She always answered with a shrug.

“I’m meeting with the detective tonight,” You tell her, “We’re going to go try to talk to some of the girls.” She nods, turning to you her face a little red and blotchy,

“I’ll put the feelers out here,” She says, “I’ll let you know if I hear anything.” You wrap her into a hug. Her arms tight around you.

“I’ll check back in tomorrow?” She nods, squeezing you a little harder before letting go. “Tell Pietro I said hi.”

“I will.”

…

Bucky was struggling and it wasn’t just because Rumlow hadn’t shut up since the meeting. But because he didn’t know what to do with you now. He knew the girls wouldn’t talk to him, and they definitely wouldn’t talk to Rumlow, but Pierce seemed to know about you. He seemed to know about the contact that Bucky had with you. Or maybe Bucky was just paranoid.

“He’s hoping to see you fail.” Steve told him, “That’s why he left you in charge… don’t let him win.” It made him uneasy. This could make or break him now and that fact did not go over his head. He could feel it as soon as Pierce said that he would oversee the task force. Just waiting for him to fail and slip real easy back behind his desk.

He sunk down behind his desk, drafting a text. Rumlow was going to be going with him to try to question some of the girls and Bucky knows that if you went with him to meet them Rumlow would have an issue with it. Especially since Pierce made such a big deal about it. No doubt he would try to kiss ass and gain favor by exploiting you.

Can’t meet up to interview. Meet at diner later?

He sighs, phone dropping heavily onto the desk. He looked across the room watching Rumlow speak closely with Pierce. It gave him a strange feeling. Like they were in on something he wasn’t. It wasn’t a secret that they knew each other. Pierce was the reason why Rumlow had even became a detective. Rumlow liked to boast nepotism between Steve and Bucky but he forgets that his own Stepfather is Chief of Police.

Rumlow doesn’t like to mention him and from the very few times Pierce had been brought up in his presence he’d visibly tensed. Bucky assumed that their relationship was strained, but the close and intimate conversation they were currently having would tell him otherwise.

Bucky cracked his knuckles. His phone dinged. Your reply,

I can go alone, diner when?

A huff, he texts back.

DO NOT GO ALONE. Just meet at diner around 12.

How dumb are you? Trying to go out alone when an active serial killer was on the loose, strolling around the red-light district by yourself. You either had a lot of confidence or a death wish.

I know someone, I’ll go talk to them and then meet you at the diner.

His brow furrows and he shook his head in disbelief,

Who do you know?

“Let’s go.” Rumlow grabs his jacket from the back of his chair and walks past Bucky without stopping. A glance up at where Pierce and Rumlow had just been talking showed Pierce glaring at his stepson’s back, his eyes flit to Bucky’s and his face became stone before turning his back.

The girls stood in small groups. Two or three, occasionally four. Whittled one by one until there would be a single girl standing alone. That’s when it would get dangerous. The goal, overall, was to see if the girls had dealt with anyone out of the ordinary lately.

Typically, serials don’t just start killing out of nowhere. There’s a steady progression of assault. Maybe there’s a guy who is a little aggressive. Maybe there’s a guy they get a bad feeling about. And hopefully someone would be willing to talk.

…

Sophie gave you a name when you’d dropped off the formula and canned goods. A girl Cheryl was really close with. “She said they were coworkers.” Sophie told you, “So she’s probably in the same situation.” A quick look found her address, not too far from where Sophie lived. You were going attempt to drop by, see if she was in and if not… then you would just have to go see if any of the girls would talk to you.

A knock on the apartment door, you could hear something going on inside. She must be home. Or at least, someone is. The door is ripped open, the chain jerked tight against the opening as a man looks out at you from inside.

“Can I help you?” Not friendly, not that you expected him to be.

“Is Angel here?” He pauses, looking behind him for a moment and talking to someone in the room before turning back.

“Who are you?” He didn’t turn you away so that’s good at least.

“I’m a friend of Sophie’s.” You cross your arms across your chest, feeling a chill. “Sophie told me to come talk to Angel about Cherry.” He looked back into the room, shutting the door and then reopening it, stepping back.

“Come on.” His head poking out into the hallway and shutting the door behind you. You could see the girl you were looking for, sitting just before you on the couch, curled up into herself, sniffling. Her eyes were red, hair messy and a tissue in her hand.

“What do you want?” She sounds congested and she doesn’t get up when you walk further into the apartment.

“I’m Y/N,” You offer, “I work with the VRF for those affected by—”

“The Butcher.” She nods, “I’ve heard.” You nod,

“Do you know who Cherry went with that night? Have you seen anyone suspicious?” A humorless laugh,

“Most of the johns are suspicious.” She shakes her head. But that’s fair, “I saw her get into the car, but I wasn’t paying attention to the plate or anything. It was normal…” A harsh swallow, “It just seemed so normal.”

“Do you remember anything about the car itself?” Sinking down onto the couch next to her, “Anything identifiable? Color? Make? Model?” She shrugs, balling the tissue into her fist.

“It was like… it looked like a cop car, but it wasn’t.”

“Like one of the ones they sell at auction.” The man spoke from his spot in the doorway, “An old police cruiser that had been stripped and sold and probably sold at auction.” You nod,

“Okay,” That’s helpful. Really helpful. “Did you get a glimpse of who was in the car, by any chance?”

“No.” She looks at her knees, “I’ve been afraid to go back out, since they found her.” Understandably so, “But I’m going to have to…” A pause, “I think you should go.”

It was clear she was having a hard time, you truly felt bad for her. The situation she must be in. “If you think of anything else.” She nods, taking the business card. Stepping back out onto the street you found yourself a little more confident than before.

A police cruiser gone to auction was a lead. It would at least give you a list of suspects. The excitement in that, was unreal.

…

Bucky rest his head on the steering wheel after having parked in front of the diner. His head pounding. He honestly didn’t know how much longer he would be able to do this and it just started. He felt like he would gain an inch, a girl willing to say something. Anything, and as soon as she started to open up and get some real ground with him, Rumlow would say something cheap.

He’s fucking up the investigation.

But it’s just him. Bucky thought Rumlow was a good detective. Before this. But now, how did the guy solve anything? He clearly made the girl uncomfortable. And he wanted to throttle Rumlow when her voice resigned, said, “I have to get going.” Before moving to a different block.

“They’re disgusting.” Rumlow spat on the ground. Bucky groaned at the smell of dip spit. “Like talk about lack of dignity.”

“They’re people too.” Bucky wanted to go. Maybe this is how he fails, Rumlow is his iron anchor, drowning him. A knock on his window startles him, sitting back in his drivers’ seat and sighing he sees your face through the glass and kills the ignition.

“You good?” You ask him as he steps from the car. He scrubs his hand over his face, head still pounding.

“Yeah, I think I just need to eat.” He watches Marie give you a strange look as the two of you walk to what seemed to be your normal table, something you shrug off as you drop your bag heavily on the seat squished between you and the window as he sat across from you.

Soda and iced tea. Bucky ordered a burger and you a club sandwich.

“They don’t want me talking to you,” He starts with. “Chief made it clear that he wanted no press involvement.” You sigh across from him,

“So what are you going to do?” He was trying to read your face, but you seemed as though you’d been expecting him to say that. Like it didn’t surprise you in the slightest. He thought about it.

He thought about what he wanted to do. He’d been thinking about it all day. “My gut is telling me to work with you.” He sits back as Marie comes with the plates, a soft thank you and a smile. “I want to work with you.” And he wanted to know more. Why you ran this relief fund. Why you were so passionate about it. He had a theory. But he would need to look into it a bit more, or he could just ask.

“I got a lead.” You grin at him, plucking a fry from your plate, “So Angela Bennet, she goes by Angel, a friend of Cheryl’s, she said she saw Cheryl get into a retired police cruiser, like the ones they sell at auction.” He feels his mouth drop slightly,

“Like the old white and blue Fords?” You nod, popping another fry into your mouth.

“I can run a search for cars gone to auction.” He takes a bite of his burger. Maybe that’s something else he can talk to Steve about. Steve bought his Dad’s old cruiser years ago as a novelty. Steve often cleared stuff for auction and would maybe help him profile someone who would want to buy a police cruiser, maybe the type of guys that would go to those auctions to buy. “My friend Steve, he would know more about the old cruisers.” They’d had a huge overhaul in 2015 at their precinct. New, updated cruisers with more bells and whistles. They’d gone out in reliability in the last decade of having them.

“If you could get a good picture of one,” You start, “We can start asking around.” That was a good idea.

“Tomorrow, maybe we should go talk to Fury.” If Fury was the Butcher, then he would be able to give them some insight into what kind of person they’re looking for. If he wasn’t… well Bucky could cross that bridge when he got to it.

“I can’t tomorrow.” You take a sip of your drink, “We have the group meeting tomorrow for the VRF.”

“Do a lot of people go to that?” How had he never heard of this before? You shrug,

“We pull a descent crowd.”

“Well maybe that’s what we could do tomorrow.” And he could talk to some of the people attached to the 90’s cases. Get some information, “But I would have to bring Rumlow.” He just wanted to get rid of him, this pain in his ass, Rumlow the insensitive shit.

“Why?” Bucky sighs, sitting back against the booth.

“He’s my partner for the case now that it’s a serial.” A shake of his head, “They’re sending someone up from the FBI too, trying to get ahead of it.” You roll your eyes across from him.

“Ahead of the bad press, you mean.” A harsh sigh, “Back in the 90’s they did the same thing, no one even knew that the Butcher existed until they took Fury in for questioning.” Maybe he should ask. Maybe he should just…

“How do you know so much about this?” He watched you stiffen slightly, “Why are you so invested?” You dropped the fry you’d been toying with back on your plate before sighing and leaning back, matching his posture.

“Because my Mom was one of the victims.”

[jj-lynn21]

can you write something where hemlock grove goes on full lockdown cause someone came to school armed and is threatening people and Roman is freaking out cause he can’t find his girlfriend. he sneaks out the classroom and has to be super quiet and finds his girlfriend in there meeting spot downstairs in a basement type room they found together.

I am changing this up a little because I don’t right teenager Roman.  I think of Roman and his girl as eternally 25 and 27. Let’s say you and Letha are teachers at the school. When Roman finds out what is going on, him and Peter want to save the day which is more difficult with the actual authorities camping out in front of Godfrey Academy.  

Warnings: armed gunman in school, school lockdown, I know these things could trigger some readers. Angsty,  

Hero Complex  

“Have a great day, Babe.” Roman said as he dropped you at school. He kissed your cheek before you got out of the jag. “Love you.”

“Love you.” You returned as you waved. A smile lighting up your face.  

You had been a kindergarten teacher two semesters at Godfrey elementary Academy. You loved all your students and spent extra time after hours with those that had a hard time with anything. And the parents loved you for that. Roman admired you for it.  

Letha waved to you from the school door. She was a first-grade teacher there. You ran up the five stairs to go inside to get ready for the children to arrive. You wrote some letters and numbers on the chalk board and pull the Jack and the Beanstalk book off the shelf to read during rest period.  

The kids stream in as usual. You great them happily as usual. All are eager to lean as usual. As they all get their floor carpets out for story time an alarm goes off. It is the alarm that signifies a shooter is in the building. There is no test of the system do today. The children looked to you in a panic. Some of them started to cry.  

“It is okay children.” you tell them quietly and calmly. “We have planned for this. Everything will be okay. Go to the closet until me or a police officer tells you to come out.” You put them in the closet. Then you went to push the desk against the door before you would join them.  

Roman and Peter received an alert from the school that the school was on lockdown. Roman was in a meeting. He cut the person off who was giving a report. “We will continue this at a later date.” He had no other explanation. The room of investors were stunned. He stopped by the secretary’s desk. “Reschedule all my appointment for today. There is something going on at the school.” He called Peter on his way out the door. “Meet me at the horse stable near the elementary school. The school is on lockdown. I don’t trust those keystone cops to get our women and the children out of there alive.”

“I was already on my way to the school.” Peter was in the van speeding down the road. “I figured you were on your way also.”

They hung-up on each other making their way to the barn. Peter did not know why Roman wanted to meet so far away until he got closer. The Hemlock Grove Police had a roadblock keeping parents and everyone else back from the school. When he saw he went off road to get to the barn. Roman was just getting out of his jag making a call when Peter pulled up beside him.

“She isn’t answering her cellphone.” Roman’s annoyance showed in the way his shoulders sloped. “Have you called Letha?”

“I tried while driving but got no answer.” Peter got his phone from his pocket.

“Fuck, Fuck, Fuck,” Roman through a tantrum.

Peter finally got a hold of Letha. “Are you alright?” He put his phone on speaker so Roman could hear.

“I’m in the cafeteria.” She whispered. “I heard gunshots in the hallway but kept the kids quiet.”

“Is my girl in there with you Letha?” Roman asked panicked.

“No, I think she is in her classroom.” Letha informed them. “The kindergarten classrooms have a closet shelter for the kids and teacher. You two don’t do anything stupid. I’m sure the police have it under control. I heard sirens.”

Roman huffed as Peter assured her, they would not do anything dangerous. She knew by the huff Roman made and tone of Peter’s voice it was to late to tell them what to do. 

Roman tried to call you again and you picked up. “I can’t talk Roman. I was trying to push the desk in front of the door. I hear the shooter. I can’t push it...” The phone went dead.

Roman started running towards the back of the school. Peter ran after him until they got close enough to see the police at the entrance. There were only two so Roman knew he could easily manipulate them. “Stay here until I wave you inside. Then stay behind me. It might hurt like Hell, but I will survive a gun shot or two, maybe more if I need to get to her.“

Peter sniffed the air. “I can smell the gun smoldering after each shot.”  

Roman nods. He strolled over to the two officers. “Roman you can’t be here.”

Roman rolled his eyes. “I own this school. My women works here. You,” He looked directly at one of the officers. “You are going to let Peter and I inside. Then you are going to start leading the kids outside to safety.”

The other cop smirked. “Listen Roman you can’t...”

“You,” Roman’s nose was starting to bleed. “Are going to follow my orders and your partners lead to get the children and teachers out as quickly as possible.” 

The cops opened the door and Roman waved Peter inside. As the officers went into the office to get some kids and staff out Roman and Peter followed a scream. Your scream. Him and Peter Rush to the sound.  The shooter is holding a gun to your temple. “Stop right there Roman fuckling Godfrey. She was mine before she was yours and I’m taken this Bitch back even if I have to kill us both”

Your eyes were large as you panicked. You tried to pull his hand from your throat. His other handheld the riffle pointed right at Roman and Peter. “Go get Letha, Peter. I got this.”  

“Are you sure?” Peter looked at the gunman and back at Roman.  

“I’m positive.” Roman grinned wide. “Me and Ricky Bobby have a score to settle.”

“The score is you zero Roman.” Ricky Bobby was smirking under his face mask. “I got my girl back.”  

He had to loosen his grip on your throat to concentrate on the shot he was lining up for Roman. “Get the fuck off. We went on one date.” You elbowed him in the balls. He got off a shot before doubling over. The bullet hit Roman’s shoulder. He let out a pained growl. You tried to run to him. Ricky Bobby grabbed you back.

“Roman!” You screamed.

“He is not taking you from me this time.” Ricky Bobby tried to pull you away.

“She was never yours.” Roman got in his face grabbing the gun and breaking it in half. “She will never be yours. You are repentant for scaring the children. You will let her go. Go outside with your hands held high. Turn yourself in to the sheriff.” He ripped a piece of the man’s dirty white t-shirt off to use on his bloody nose. His head was throbbing. “Let’s go get your children outside Babe. I’ll make sure they forget anything scary they saw.”

“But Roman your hurt.” You looked at the blood stain from the gun shot getting larger on his shoulder. “And you can’t erase ten children when you just did that.”

“Just take me to the White tower if I pass out.” Roman walked into the classroom with you.  

You gathered the children to tell them everything was alright now. They would see their parents outside. Roman smiled as he looked at the children. They trusted him because you did. He calmed their fears. Told them they saw nothing scary. Their teacher kept them safe like they all knew she would. He wobbled as blood gushed from his nose.  He held the already bloody cloth to his nose as you helped him outside with the children holding hands in tow.  

“It is all okay children.” You smiled back at them. Roman got heavier as he drifted out of consciousness. “Peter!” You yelled when you saw him outside with Letha and her group of children.                                                      

He ran over to help you before you dropped Roman. “What the fuck happened?”

He was shot and convinced Ricky Bobby to turn himself in. Then he helped the kids forget their trauma. He said to take him to the white tower.”

Peter swooped Roman up. “They are busy with the shooter. We can get him out of here in the van. You and Letha follow me in the jag if you think you can drive?”

“I’m too shook to drive.” You and Letha both said. She had a blanket around her. You were just shaking from the experience.  

“We can get the jag later.” Peter started walking and you and Letha followed. He put Roman on the back seat. You sat on the floor to hold clean rag over his nose and pressed his gun wound that was already starting to heal.

You were right by Roman’s side when he woke the next day pale but feeling much better. You had dozed off with your head on his not shot shoulder. Pryce told you he took out the bullet. Roman might be sore for another day before being healed. The blood loss was a bigger problem. Roman had to drink as soon as he woke before his thirst led him to hurt someone.You should have taken that as a warning.

You woke to Roman’s hand stroking your hair. His eyes looked far away when you looked at him. “Roman?” You blinked.  

He blinked in time with you. He pulled you up to him. He looked like he didn’t recognize you, but he smiled. More like grinned. His mouth opened revealing his real intentions.  

Pryce ran in with several orderlies pulling you back and strapping Roman down. “We will feed you. Then you will realize she is not your meal. Go get some coffee and lunch young lady. I assure you he will be apologizing when you return.”

You did as Roman’s personal physician told you. The incident scared you but Roman had told you about his affliction and things he used to do before he could control it all. He told you if he ever attacked you you were to decapitate him. It would be the only way. You were glad this was not the day you had to do that to your true love.  

Sure enough, when you returned Roman’s color was better. He started to cry when you were reluctant to get close to him. “I’m so sorry Babe.” Tears rolled out of his beautiful green eyes. “It wasn’t me. I would never hurt you. Please, believe me.”

You slowly approached. This is the same guy that saved a school full of children the day before. As soon as you were close enough, he pulled you into a strong loving embrace. You hugged him back. He still felt the tension in your body.  

Roman caught your gaze. “You woke to me feeling better. You just want to take me home when Dr. Pryce gives the Okay.”

The tension left your body. You smiled at your boyfriend who saved you and children hurting himself in the process. You held him tight kissing his lips. “Oh Roman. I was so worried. I’m glad you are better. You get a hero's welcome when we get home.”

“Thanks Baby.” He smiled as he was wipe a small bit of blood off his top lip.. “I’d like that.”                                                                                                                                                                                              

[letsunity]

Not Afraid - Chapter 3

Summery -  

The Bad Batch go to Tatooine to resupply and avoid the Empire. As per the usual, Omega gets separated from the group. Fortunately for her, Krayt's Claw just so happens to be nearby. Bossk and Embo guide her to Boba Fett, who takes interest in why the Kaminoans want her. It's a reluctant partnership, with the Bad Batch having to rely on Krayt's Claw to navigate non-military life.

When it came to hunting, it's good to start small and work your way up. This lot were soldiers, so at least they already had training. Omega didn't, so they'd have to work on that. Being a usual child, she'd get into trouble, so she needs to learn how to protect herself.

A relatively safe place is Lothal, a minor planet nobody cared for. Because no one cared for it, it was a good spot for hunters to refuel and get some supplies. The kid gets to look around, too, which was a bonus. She couldn't be dad's clone, so he wanted to know who her template was.

There's also a connection; he could feel her more than most people. It was a sixth sense kind of thing, knowing people's feelings and such. He didn't talk about it, given that it gave him an advantage over adversaries. It also told him when to be wary around his comrades, as the concept of loyalty is very different in the hunting world.

Whatever it was, he knew that his father had it too. Dad could feel things and react to them, to the point where Boba didn't need to talk sometimes.

There was the possibility of Arla.

Jango had a sister in his original family but assumed her dead. If they had a sliver of her DNA, then that could've been used to make Omega. It was only a theory, but ignoring any possibility was stupid. For all he knew, she's a combination; the Kaminoans can certainly do it.

"Embo, you're babysitting."

Knowing how Dengar could get, the Kyuzo wasn't going to argue. The man had a habit of causing unmitigated chaos when left unsupervised. It was useful, but when not working, it was a pain. Marrok snarled at Dengar, shaking his head at the man's poor smell.

"Out of all planets, what's with this one?" Hunter inquired, noticing a settlement a mile away.

"In communities like this, there's always trouble. Where there's trouble, someone is willing to pay for it to disappear," Bossk answered, attaching his blaster to his back. "You're good with droids, but how're you with people?"

In the clone wars, they fought droids. They were trained to be ruthless with droids. When it came to people, however, they didn't have as much experience. People aren't as durable as droids, so they could seriously hurt someone without meaning to. Knowing how to restrain themselves was important.

"Highslinger can guard the ships; he isn't overly fond of crowds. One of your guys can go with Embo and Dengar to get food, the rest with us."

"I get to come?" Omega beamed, to which the Trandoshan grinned. Boba tossed his helmet to her, watching her investigate the design. "What's this for?"

"You've got a bounty, and people have eyes everywhere. That'll keep your identity hidden, and it's durable enough to take a blaster rifle. Stick with us, and it'll be fine," Boba said, feeling disapproval from the Batch. "Sheltering her is only going to make it easier to catch her. She's going to learn somehow, better early than later."

While Hunter didn't want Omega in danger, she had a habit of getting in trouble anyway. The helmet was a little big on her, but she was certainly obscured.

She could see clearly with the helmet, and it sealed around her neck, making it airtight. It filtered the air, keeping it fresh and safe. She couldn't smell anything, but Omega was ok with that. She could tag along and help instead of getting in the way.

Wrecker complimented her, calling her a little soldier.

"You're confident she'll be fine," Echo noted, disliking the look he got from the teenager. "What? What're you staring at?"

"I thought you were familiar. Everyone's heard about the 'Hero of Anaxes'. The one that escaped the Techno Union and used their own bullshit against them. It won't help much, but I doubt a traitor would do that."

As expected, the pale clone was heavily disturbed. Boba knew that he felt guilty over it, even though that didn't make much sense. It's like blaming a blaster for shooting somebody.

"We did that too!" Wrecker cheered, punching Bossk's shoulder. "We blew shit u-AH!"

Bossk punched him back, harder than he intended.

A thing many people forget is that Trandoshans and Wookies are natural enemies. Trandoshans are capable of being in a fistfight with a Wookie and potentially win. Puny clone trooper armour isn't going to protect against something like that. It made Wrecker excited, knowing he can brawl with someone without restraining himself.

Hunter didn't want them to get attached to this lot; it was a reluctant partnership. Walking with them made him constantly anxious, given how they aren't the honourable sort. The moment they deemed it necessary, they'd turn on Hunter in a second.

Their boss was Hunter's age, though he aged slower. The Bad Batch had been in the field for nearly four years; he's been out here his whole life. The only thing making them allies was the blonde question mark. As soon as Boba got his answers, there was no telling what he'd do.

He has leverage regarding the underworld, but Hunter has something to make the teen need him. If the hunters needed them, then they won't consider betraying them.

"What do you know about Order 66?" Hunter inquired, expecting the boy not to know.

As he did with Echo, the teen looked through him, like he was peering into Hunter's soul. He appeared amused, although Hunter couldn't imagine what he found so funny.

"No point being shy about it, Sarge. What've you got that I'd be interested in?"

So much for being sneaky about it. He'll figure this kid out, preferably sooner than later.

"Inside of every clone is a chip. Once activated, it makes you follow orders, regardless of loyalties. It's why the clone troopers turned on the Jedi," he stated, watching Omega skip around the grass.

Bossk and Wrecker were casually wrestling around, getting filthy and messing about. Echo was keeping Omega away from their frolicking, and Boba wasn't fazed by it. He was more interested in Hunter's revelation.

"Fuck that. Nobody's in charge of me except for me. The girl has one as well?"

He hadn't even considered that possibility. Sure, it was entirely likely that she had her own inhibitor chip, maybe with a different code. Once again, more questions that'll be dangerous to answer.

"Probably. We haven't been affected because of our mutations, and you're already aware of Echo. We had someone else with us, but his chip worked."

"Whose to say that they aren't? It could be acting slower for you."

"Which is why we're trying to deactivate them. When we do ours, we can save our friend, maybe save all of the troopers."

"And the ones that side with the Empire anyway?"

"We'll blow up that bridge when we come to it."

"Already talking like a Bounty Hunter, Sarge."

Alright, maybe the kid wasn't so bad after all.

"You don't have to call me Sarge."

"Listen, Jungle Ramclone; I do what I want. If I want to acknowledge your rank, I will. If you earn a title, you keep the damn thing."

That was the first time someone threateningly called him a Sergeant.

It didn't take too long to arrive at the settlement, a small town. People lived peacefully in a bustling market, trading goods and leading mundane but comfortable lives. Cut used to have a life like this before the Empire ruined it, and it was only a matter of time before the same happened here.

While Hunter wanted it for Omega, it wasn't the life she wanted. She wanted to stay with them, to be a part of their team. Learning how to look after herself would make matters easier. The more experience she had, the less that Hunter had to worry. He'd always worry, but at least he'd be comforted knowing that she could manage alone.

Running into Krayt's Claw could've been the best thing to happen to her. They had connections now, guides who can give them a footing in the galaxy. The dark secrets that the Republic fought to uncover was readily available for them. He didn't intend for this to last, but it provided options.

Maybe becoming a group of hunters was their best option, considering that civilian life doesn't suit them. They're warriors to the bone; combat was engineered in them. Becoming mercenaries with a strict moral code was something to look into.

While observing the various stalls, Hunter took notice of a Sakiyan causing trouble. Duty-bound, the Sergeant stepped in, getting between the man and the young woman. She had an infant in her arms, only a day or so old. The Sakiyan wasn't intimidated until Wrecker walked up behind him, glaring through his helmet.

His presence was enough to send the thief running, not wanting to be on the clone's anger. Hunter helped the woman stand, being careful of her infant child.

"Thank you, kind sirs," she smiled, looking over her baby. He had a small tuft of black hair reminiscent of stubble. "How may I repay you?"

"No problem. Just keep that little one alright, and it's all good," Wrecker smiled, forgetting that she couldn't see it. "If anyone needs a hand, we're gonna give it!"

The baby squirmed at the loud noise, opening a pair of lavender-blue eyes. He looked to hunter, gurgling slightly. Unsure of what to do, Hunter gave a short wave, not used to infants.

"Ezra likes you," she smiled, kissing her baby's forehead. "My name is Mira. If you need some help, come and find me. You're more than welcome in the Bridger home."

And like that, they made an ally. Wrecker felt good, and Hunter had a hunch that the kid would grow into someone special. It was just a feeling; he had something similar about Omega.

Said girl was with Echo, exploring the market with Bossk watching like a hawk. The Trandoshan bought her some fruit, slightly overpaying for it. Hunter started to decipher the reason for this behaviour.

By proving themselves to be generous and kind, the people would be more cooperative. They'd enjoy engaging with such 'honourable' gentlemen, even though they were violent by profession. Boba alone decimated a Star Destroyer at Omega's age, which could be why he had so much faith in her.

Hunter should have more faith in her, too. She was inexperienced, not a fragile piece of glass.

"Build a relationship, provide a financial reward, and you've got yourself a spy," Boba smirked, chewing on some dried meat.

That's what he meant by eyes everywhere. Hunter assumed droids or cameras, but no, he meant average citizens. Anyone was a potential spy for a bounty hunter, the variety ensuring their secrecy. The entire town could be spies for anyone, even the likes of Fennec.

Omega needs to keep that helmet on until she gets her own. Keeping themselves obscure would be wise, too. Their armour is easily recognisable; they can't disappear if everyone knows what they look like.

The teenager nodded as he tossed some to Wrecker, who practically inhaled the meat.

"You're starting to get it."

While it was creepy how the kid knew his feelings, it also made things easier. Boba could feel his intentions, possibly explaining why he was helping. He threw a piece to Hunter, casually re-joining Bossk, Echo and Omega as the girl held a fuzzy loth-cat toy. Bossk repeated the action from before, complimenting the Rodian working there.

He was manipulating the woman. By appearing so sweet with a kid, it'd make her reluctant to tattle.

There was a lot more to this profession than even the Senate could ever realise. He wanted to know more about it.