#b always reporting to a in the field

[frownyalfred]

using “Agent A” as Alfred’s code name and using “B” for Batman’s shortened name in the field suggests there’s a world where “Agent A” is shortened to “A” and everyone in Gotham and on the Watchtower is terrified of him. because they’ve met B. and if this is B??

[kaiwewi]

Their First Villain

Secret Santa gift for @the-modern-typewriter Prompt: "Scary villain x hero in a Christmas setting of your [the writer's] choice. Could go spicy, could go whumpy, could go unexpectedly sweet!" Hope you like this! Merry Christmas!! 🎅🎁

“You recognised me,” the villain observes, his tone unnaturally flat. His face betrays no emotion.

“Kinda hard not to, with your…” – the hero tilts their head at where the villain’s magic continues to spread, coiling around their limbs and securely fixing them in place – “…snake thingies?”

The individual tendrils really do vaguely resemble snakes, although the magic in its entirety reminds them more of some writhing alien monster plant from an old Sci-fi B-movie whose title they cannot remember. It’s not a good comparison anyway. The movie hadn’t been scary at all.

They experimentally try to wrestle one of their arms free, but despite the magic’s apparent fluidity, the moment they push or pull in any direction, whatever give appeared to be there all but disappears and they can’t move a millimetre.

“Oh.” The villain’s eyes widen. “You can see it.”

“See it. Feel it. Didn’t expect it to be this hot.”

An awkward pause follows.

They are decidedly not blushing. It’s just warm. All of them is so warm now that the villain’s powers have moulded themselves around the hero like something liquid but alive. Wherever the tendrils touch bare skin – their ungloved hands and that area just above their ankles where their pants don’t quite meet the rims of their boots – the raw energy buzzes, prickles just short of stinging.

They’d been shivering just minutes ago in their much too thin poncho and the not seasonally appropriate Agency office uniform. Well, they still are shivering, just no longer from the cold.

Where the villain’s magic is fever-hot, his scrutiny runs icy.

“You can see it, but not fight it,” he muses. “How curious. The Agency must be understaffed to send their defenceless little office drones out into the field.”

The hero would be glaring if the villain weren’t underscoring the point by pulling his magic tighter with the mere flick of a finger. That small, anxious sound that escapes them in response brings a self-satisfied grin to the villain’s lips.

“It’s Christmas,” the hero says, once the magic has settled again.

The villain raises a brow.

“Most of the regulars are on holiday, Christmas being a time best spent with family … or so I’m told.”

“Yet you are working.”

“Don’t have anyone.” They aren’t technically without family just … Sometimes, family isn’t a place of refuge and welcome. Not a home to turn to for holiday celebrations or company. Some families fashion themselves exclusive clubs with strict rules that refuse or revoke memberships as they please. The hero forces some levity into their tone. “I have nowhere else to be today, so, I’m helping out here.”

The villain chuckles. “Helping is perhaps not what I would call that.”

“Hey, I did recognise you,” they say, defensively.

“And look where that got you.” His smile is sharper than before, meaner. “Am I your first villain? My heartfelt condolences.”

They don’t dignify that with an answer. But the answer is yes. The villains they watched being interrogated through one-way mirrors at HQ don't count.

“Pity,” the villain says with zero warmth, “that you couldn’t just look the other way. What is it with you people that you're always so eager to cause unnecessary conflict.”

“Reporting suspicious behaviour is kind of my job.” It comes out barely above a whisper and carries the distinct cadence of an apology.

“Ah yes, and my mere existence struck you as suspicious behaviour because …”

Admittedly, once they’d recognised the villain, they hadn’t taken the time to consider his appearance beyond the magic he’d been wearing around his shoulders like a particularly weaponizable scarf. The lack of a combat suit in favour of a sleek, dark coat over a woollen jumper and cargo joggers – either an outfit designed to blend in or just what the villain happens to like to wear when he isn’t working – hadn’t registered any more than the total absence of weaponry other than his powers. And while he could have hidden those better, it’s not like he could have simply left them at home.

There hadn’t been time to ponder. It had all happened so fast. Their eyes had met, and a moment later the hero had already been scrambling away from the crowd, past a stall selling mulled wine and into the nearest alley, where they’d scrolled through their contacts with stiff, unfeeling fingers. The villain had caught up with them before they’d managed to call for backup.

Their gaze darts to the remnants of their smashed phone, sprinkled across the muddy snow, mere metres away but entirely useless even if they could reach it.

What if the villain hadn’t had anything nefarious planned? What if the hero’s brain had naturally jumped to the most prejudiced conclusion all on its own?

Of course, it is unfair to treat his mere presence as if it is a crime. But the things he could do ...

They think about the parents with their cameras, filming their ice-skating children, the squealing toddlers on the merry-go-round, the nice old ladies selling tea out of the back of a car.

“You could be a danger to all those innocent people,” they defend their judgement.

“And you could be a danger to me,” the villain replies coolly. “Would be unwise, letting someone roam free who can pick me out of a crowd with a glance. Perhaps I should thank you for revealing yourself. Very ill-advised. But quite convenient. You were so obvious about it, too.”

He has crossed the distance between them while speaking. Close enough now to reach out and tuck an unruly strand of hair behind their ear with his cold, slender fingers. His other hand settles almost gently on their throat, atop the magic that has slivered around their neck at some point during the conversation.

The tip of a new tendril is in the process of worming its way lower, nestling into the collar of their shirt. It laps against the crook of their neck and they cringe away from the touch as much as the magic allows. It doesn’t hurt. It would be so much easier if it did. The touch is light; it kind of tickles and, given the overall direness of the situation, the hero really isn’t in the mood for that. Or, they shouldn’t be.

Unhelpfully, their traitorous mind supplies them with a thoroughly inappropriate image of what else someone who isn’t the enemy could be doing to them with magic such as this.

“Tell me,” the villain says as the power shifts upwards, tilting their chin back with the movement, so his nails can bite into the newly exposed skin below their jaw, “is there anything else troublesome about you, or is it just the eyes?”

He looks most pleased when their breath hitches despite their best efforts to remain stoic. His grip tightens. He’s studying them intently, staring at their eyes like those are priced gems he considers adding to his collection.

Maybe, underneath the mockery, he actually does consider them somewhat of a threat. If he didn’t, why would he be looking at them like that.

It’s stupid, truly and utterly stupid, to feel flattered. This is not respect, they know, just sharp, calculating consideration. His attention promises imminent danger, might turn lethal at any second. It’s not something they should revel in. Still, it feels good, too – being seen.

Has anyone ever really seen them before?

Or perhaps that is the lack of oxygen speaking.

They struggle to focus their vision but all the twinkling Christmas lights in the trees are starting to smudge into dull, red and golden blurs. Vertigo is clawing at them.

There is absolutely nothing they can do against the villain's grip. They're so pitifully out of their depth.

They think about their bland, only half-furnished two-room apartment; their first day at the Agency HQ; their nth day – no more eventful than the first – sitting at the exact same desk in the exact same office and working on the exact same old computer; their colleagues’ looks of pity when their 14th application for a transfer to field work is being denied and their boss tells them, in stern admonishment, that their skill sets just aren’t suited to solo missions. They think about her condescending smile when she finally does assign them the Christmas market job, clearly convinced the worst thing that could possibly happen here is people getting drunk enough on punch to start throwing punches.

They think of their first split-second impression of the villain as just another guy standing by the ice rink with a cup of something steaming in his hands and a mellow, unguarded smile curving his lips.

They hope this montage doesn’t count as their life flashing before their eyes. It’s way too sad a summary of their depressing lack of accomplishments.

They think, with equal parts age-old bitterness and new-found sarcastic vindication, about their colleagues’ infantile, unofficial, end-of-the-year office rankings where flashier heroes with more impressive abilities always receive titles such as most likely to hook up with a hot reporter or most epic battle or best one-liners.

Meanwhile, all the hero has to show for are three consecutive wins of least likely to die on the job.

Which might have been a reassuring sentiment if it weren’t so clearly code for “you’ll never be a real hero”. Real heroes risk their lives on the job all the time.

Well, look at them now!

Will their colleagues manage to come up with a new title for them in time, they wonder, if the villain kills them now, just a week before this year’s poll results will be released?

Most unexpected death has a nice ring to it.

They should be trembling in terror. Might have, if the villain’s magic weren’t encasing them so – tight but soft and deceptively warm, lulling them in. The sticky heat of it leaves them squirming, stuck in a confusing limbo between gooey not-quite-discomfort and hot-bath sluggishness.

They’re drifting. Until they’re not.

It’s impossible to discern how much time has passed or when exactly the villain has released them; but their thoughts are beginning to clear and their brain catches up to the fact that there is air in their lungs again, and that the breathless, hiccuping gasps uncontrollably tumbling out of their mouth aren’t sobs. It’s laughter.

“Are you enjoying this?” The villain sounds incredulous.

They shake their head. “I don’t know,” they manage, between hysterical giggles. “Maybe. Yes?”

“How did you know I wouldn’t kill you?”

“I didn’t.”

That startles a short laugh out of him.

“I’ve never” – they pant, still struggling for air – “felt this alive before.”

“That sounds ... unhealthy.”

There is a long pause in which the villain silently stares at them while they are more or less regaining control over their breathing.

“You wouldn’t get it,” they say then, perfectly aware they must seem most unhinged. “Bet you don't even know what boredom is. Because your life is fun. Mine is not. I practically live at my stupid job, and my stupid job doesn't even pay well. No one there gives a fuck about me. And nothing exciting ever happens. So can I please just have this one damn moment without being judged?”

The villain hums, low. “And here I thought we were ruining each other’s days.” He presses a hand to their forehead. “Did the heat fry your synapses?” he asks, sounding more amused than concerned. His other hand comes up to cup the nape of their neck, as if he can’t help but reach out. Just as they can’t help but lean into the cooling touch. His gaze drops, as if drawn, to their lips. “Or, are you just naturally this unusual?”

They can smell gingerbread and mulled wine on his breath.

“Are you going to kiss me?” they ask, because yes their synapses are definitely fried and they do not care about consequences, awkwardness, or sanity anymore.

“Would you like me to kiss you?”

“I’d certainly much rather be kissed than killed. Obviously.”

“Obviously,” he repeats, smirking. “But we've established I’m not about to kill you. And that wasn’t a yes.”

“It’s not a no either.”

“Not how consent works, darling.”

They scoff. “You didn’t ask for consent first when you strangled me five minutes ago.”

The villain laughs again, in genuine delight judging by how his magic ripples and purrs.

“Okay, fair enough,” he whispers, shifting so his lips almost brush theirs.

The kiss that follows is sweet, surprisingly chaste, and initiated by the hero.

“So, since you mentioned earlier you have nowhere else to be today,” the villain says, afterwards, mischief gleaming in his eyes. “Have you ever had the pleasure of being kidnapped?”

Pleasure, as it turns out over the course of the next few hours, is an understatement.

If anyone at the office were to find out what the hero has been up to during their first (and best) and possibly only solo field mission, not only are they guaranteed to get fired, their colleagues will also surely create an entirely new office ranking category in their honour:

First to be seduced by a supervillain.

[cj-schlatt]

Take Me Out - Part One

Pairing: MLB player!Schlatt x gn!sideline reporter!reader

Word Count: 1.6k

Summary: Schlatt is the new first baseman for the New York Mets, and you’re the team’s new sideline reporter.

Content: Fluff!

A/N: I went with the Mets over the Yankees because a.) I’m a Red Sox fan, and b.) the Yankees are strict and only allow mustaches (long live the chops). Enjoy! :)

You feel like a kid on the first day of school. You’ve got that nervous, butterflies-in-your-stomach kind of feeling, but in a good way.

It’s your first official day as the sideline reporter for the New York Mets, and you couldn’t be more excited. All those long nights of studying, all your hard work to obtain your communications degree, have finally paid off.

You can’t help the grin that spreads across your face as you enter Clover Park for the first time. You’re in beautiful Port St. Lucie, Florida, and Spring Training is just getting underway. The smell of freshly-cut grass hangs in the air as you watch the players running drills on the field.

It’s here, as you speak to a member of the production team near the dugout, that you catch your first glimpse of him.

His laugh is what you hear first. Instinctively, you turn towards the sound, and that’s when you see him. He’s standing near first base, facing away from you, showing off the number 99 that covers his broad back.

Schlatt, everyone calls him, despite the surname stitched across the back of his jersey. His reputation precedes him. Everyone has heard the scouting reports, seen the viral videos passed around social media. In the minor leagues, he’s been known for his antics, taunting runners on the opposing team when they reach him at first base. It’s his first year being called up to the majors, and he’s one of the big stories for the team, the player to watch.

You’ve done your homework. You know all about Schlatt and his rather colorful personality. He’s certainly one of the more animated players in the sport, always fired up after a solid hit or a particularly impressive defensive play. He’s cocky, and, honestly, he has every right to be. He’s the Mets’ number one prospect, an above-average first baseman and strong power hitter. You know he’s going to be a handful in interviews, but you’re up for the challenge.

You can’t tell from this angle, but you know that if Schlatt were to turn around, you’d see the infamous mutton chops. Second to his spectacular playing ability, his unusual facial hair has been one of his defining characteristics since he was first drafted. Love it or hate it, it gets the fans talking, keeping that oh-so important spotlight on him.

You’re pulled out of your musings by a shout of, “Look out!” followed by a baseball whizzing past your head, narrowly avoiding you. You look to the field to see a few players standing around sheepishly.

“You okay?” To your surprise, it’s Schlatt who turns to ask you.

You give him a thumbs up. “All good,” you call out to him.

With a satisfied nod, he turns back to face the field.

It’s going to be an interesting season, you think.

You’re packed into the press room like sardines, shoulder-to-shoulder with fellow reporters. You all crowd around the podium where Schlatt sits, an array of microphones and cell phones in front of his face to catch his every word.

The press conference begins, and you’re called upon to ask the first question.

You open your mouth to speak.

Before you can get a word out, an older, male reporter begins talking over you. “What do you think—”

“Hey,” Schlatt cuts the reporter off sharply. “Let ‘em speak.” He gestures to you.

You feel your cheeks heat as seemingly every pair of eyes in the room turns towards you. You take a breath, then, as calmly as you can, ask your question: “What’s your takeaway from day one of Spring Training?”

Schlatt hums thoughtfully before answering, “That we look good out there, but we still have a lot of work to do before we’re ready for Opening Day.” He leans back a little in his chair and adjusts his cap. “That all?”

“One more thing: got any advice for a rookie reporter, as a rookie yourself?”

He grins wide. “Just enjoy it. We’re in the big leagues, baby!” he whoops, and the crowd erupts in laughter and scattered applause.

Before moving onto the next reporter, you swear Schlatt shoots a wink in your direction.

Spring Training flies by. Before you know it, you’re on a plane to New York for Opening Day. The sun is shining bright on Citi Field, helping to warm the chilly air.

You’re trying your best to soak it all in. This is what you’ve dreamed of for so long, and you want to enjoy every moment of it.

What an exciting Opening Day it turns out to be. The Mets and Phillies have gone back and forth, earning runs and keeping the score close throughout the game.

It’s now the bottom of the ninth, and the teams are tied three-to-three. There are two outs, no one on base, and Schlatt is up at bat. The count is full—three balls, two strikes. It all comes down to the next pitch.

You watch with bated breath as the Phillies pitcher throws a blazing fastball towards the plate. Schlatt swings the bat, and—CRACK! Just from the sound, you know it’s gone, and Schlatt does, too. He stands in the batter’s box for a few moments, watching the ball sail into the stands, before beginning his victory trot around the bases.

The crowd is going absolutely crazy. Lights are flashing all around, and music is blaring through the stadium speakers. The Mets dugout empties to meet Schlatt at home plate, where they convene in a huge group, shouting and high-fiving one another.

As the celebration on the field dwindles and players are headed off the field, you’re able to get Schlatt’s attention for a post-game interview. You can hear Gary, the announcer, in your ear, setting it up for the viewers at home.

“Schlatt!” you have to practically yell over the crowd. “That was amazing! What’s going through your mind right now?”

He’s breathing heavily, standing with his hands on his hips and leaning in to hear you better.

You think he starts to talk, but you’re suddenly doused in ice-cold liquid. You gasp and instinctively try to back away, but it’s too late. You realize, belatedly, that another Mets player has dumped the Gatorade cooler in celebration, but seems to have missed his mark.

“What the fuck, man?!” Schlatt shouts at his teammate, instinctively putting an arm around your shoulder, as if to shield you from another onslaught.

You shiver, not completely sure if it’s from the unexpected contact or the fact that you’re soaking wet in New York in early April. Maybe it’s a little bit of both.

The station must have cut back to the booth by now. At the very least, the audio will have been muted momentarily when Schlatt swore. Still, you’re pretty sure that, even though the camera is there, it’s not broadcasting you in all your drowned rat glory.

“Fuckin’ idiot,” Schlatt mutters to himself before focusing his attention on you. “Are you alright? Lemme get you a towel.”

“Oh, it’s fine,” you try to tell him, but he’s already jogging towards the dugout and returning moments later with a clean towel, ironically emblazoned with the Gatorade logo.

“Thank you,” you say, taking the towel and attempting, maybe in vain, to dry yourself off. You’re at least able to get the worst of it so there is no longer Gatorade running into your eyes, which is an improvement.

Schlatt crosses his arms and shakes his head. “I’m sorry about him.”

To be honest, you’re surprised he’s still here, still talking to you. You figured he’d want to get out of here as quickly as possible, but here he stands, looking genuinely concerned.

“It’s alright,” you try to brush it off.

“No, it’s not,” he insists. “I’ll talk to him, make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

You smile appreciatively. “Thank you,” you say again.

He smiles back at you softly. It’s so unlike him, you think—or, at least, so unlike the version of himself that he presents on the field and in interviews. It’s like you’re getting a peek at the real Schlatt, the man behind the persona.

You’re whisked off the field soon after. The production team assures you that you don’t have to stick around for the post-game press conferences, insisting that you go home and get cleaned up, for which you’re very grateful.

One very uncomfortable (but thankfully short) walk later, you’re back at your apartment. You quickly peel off your ruined outfit and hop in the shower, eager to wash off the day (and the Gatorade).

Soon, you’re curled up on the couch, cozy in your pajamas. It’s then that you feel your phone buzz, pulling it out of your pocket to reveal a wall of notifications. Confused, you unlock your phone, trying to make sense of the influx of Twitter mentions.

You nearly drop your phone when you open Twitter.

There, on your screen, is a video of you, microphone in hand as you begin interviewing Schlatt, before the Gatorade shower interrupts you both. The video doesn’t end there, though. You watch in disbelief as Schlatt puts his arm around you and continues talking to you, unaware that the camera is still rolling. Sure, there are a few moments where the audio is muted to cover up Schlatt’s f-bombs, but it appears that SNY aired your entire interaction with Schlatt.

You scroll down, eyebrows raising as you read through the replies. There are screenshots of Schlatt with his arm around you, followed by incomprehensible strings of letters and an impressive amount of emojis. You don’t really know what to make of it, and you try to put it out of your mind as you get up to make yourself dinner.

An hour or so later, you get a text from an unknown number:

can we talk?

A second message comes through moments later:

it’s schlatt

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! Let me know what you think! :)

[enchantedflameandflower]

Update! Billy Butcher fic! A little angst and drama with a lot of The Boys and a bit of their comedic shenanigans!

karl urban masterlist

taglist: @2dead2function @nosebeers @vavafaure1994 @weallhaveadestiny @str8-jack-it

@jynx15 @hippo2211 @bvd13 @butchersdarkbird - finally, finally I have this chapter out! @butchersdarkbird I so so so hope you enjoy it, I know you've waited so long and it means so much to me!

Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list!

This takes place a month after last ep of Season 3! I really really hope you enjoy! The chapter was getting crazy out of hand and starting to overwhelm and paralyze me, so I split it in two. SO this means the next part is already 90% written and will be much quicker! Thank you so so much to everyone reading! Also next part of my Gavin x reader fic will be out in a few days!

direct link to part 1

part 38

Glimmer Part 39

One month later.

The last rays of summer sunshine that could make it over the New York City skyline shone orange through the big windows of the top floor of the Flat Iron Building. In a few minutes they would be gone, hidden behind the tall buildings of the city as the sun made its decent. 

Addison sat with M.M. at his desk going over the stack of files of information she’d collected, analyzed and compiled on a handful of B level supes across the eastern seaboard. She had been supposed to meet with him that morning, but had spent the majority of it too nauseous to even move out of bed, much to her annoyance at the cliche, but her first trimester was nearly over, and it couldn’t come soon enough for her.

And of course they were bent together over a pile of papers of a supe Addison had been tracking upstate when Billy walked in, hanging up his coat on the rack by the door. “Well, don’t you two look cozy there, all huddled over your supe files together.” Billy waltzed past the desk, heading for the coffee pot. 

“Where’ve you been, Butcher?” M.M. asked. 

“Didn’t kill anyone, so don’t worry your pretty little head none. Just tailin’ a low level.”

M.M. and Addison continued to work while Billy made coffee then poured himself a mug and went to his desk. She knew it was always better to just not engage when he wanted to argue about her work, especially with M.M..

When they found a break, M.M. stood up and went over to the coffee pot but grumbled lifting it up to show there was barely any left. “You can’t just make enough for all of us?” he asked, frowning at Butcher. 

Addison and Billy exchanged a look. 

“I ain’t your bleedin’ secretary.” Butcher snarked, looking back to his own work. 

M.M. rolled his eyes, reaching for the bag to make some more. “Addison?” he asked over his shoulder as he picked up the coffee pot. 

“No, thanks, I’m good.”

M.M. turned to face her. “I’ve never once heard you turn down a cup of joe, Addi.”

She shrugged, shifting to look through her files. “It’s getting late,” she said off handedly. Luckily she was saved from having to say more by Frenchie and Kimiko coming in. 

Addison shuffled the files back together, bundling them in order for M.M. to take. “Just call if you have any questions.”

“You know we could really use you on the team -” M.M. said but Addison was already shaking her head before he could say more. 

“Uh-uh,” she said. “I don’t do team ups. And I’m not getting involved...in this,” she waved her hand around the room, somehow managing not to gesture at any one person in particular. “I’m really good at this stuff,” she tapped her fingers on the folders. “And I’m not working in the field. My body count is fine where it’s at.”

Her tone left no room for argument, and she was grateful M.M. accepted it for now. She finished up and went to sit on the edge of Butcher’s desk. He was standing in front of it, drinking his coffee and reading through a report he had in hand. 

“Take me to dinner?” she murmured, quiet enough the others couldn’t easily listen in. 

“It’s hardly 5,” he answered, flipping his papers over to look at his watch, then looking at her. 

“Yeah. Dinnertime,” she grinned. “What this isn’t a 9 - 5 job?” she teased him. 

Billy snorted. “Weren’t you textin’ me you were havin’ lunch just a coupla hours ago?”

“Soooo?”

“Well I’ll have to ask the boss ya know,” he set down his report on his desk behind her, leaning close and letting his hand brush across her hip. “I swear though I could feed you a horse these days and you’d still be hungry…” he teased.

But Addison barely heard the last of his sentence because M.M. had suddenly appeared behind Billy and had clearly heard the last of his words and she watched his face - she could literally see it in his eyes as he started to put the pieces together in his mind…

“Addison.”

She froze. No. Fucking. Way. She wasn’t ready, this wasn’t happening here, in front of everyone, she was not doing this…

“Tell me you did not,” M.M. groaned out loud, finally making Billy turn around and lift one brow.

Addison pursed her lips, subconsciously tugging her jacket closed around her.

“Oi, oi! Great, the whole gangs here,” Butcher grinned as Hughie came in, trying to change the subject but it didn’t work with any of them.

Hughie paused as he reached his own desk setting his stuff down, looking between Addi, M.M. and Butcher. Frenchie and Kimiko were off to the side watching cautiously. 

“Did not what?”

Everyone ignored him.  

“Tell me -” M.M. continued, in his most stern dad voice. “You two morons. Did not do - what I think you did.”

“Excuse me,” Addison huffed, furrowing her brows at M.M.. 

“Whoaaa,” Hughie spoke up walking over to them, confusion and shock in his eyes. “What are you talking about?” he asked M.M.. “What do you think they did?” Hughie turned to Butcher. “What did you do?”

“Nothin’ you haven’t done,” Butcher grinned wolfishly clapping him on the shoulder. 

They all seemed to turn to look at Addison at once and she groaned out loud. “Ugghhhh… fucking fuck…..”

“What is happening?!” Hughie flailed. 

Addison crossed her arms but Kimiko was smiling and Frenchie looked like he was about to burst. 

“Frenchie do not-“ Addison pointed at him, her eyes wide.

“We are having a baby!” Frenchie shouted. 

MM pushed his rolling chair into his desk, turning as if he needed to compose himself while Hughie stood in confusion looking between all of them. 

“Hey!” Annie came in the door then, pausing as she immediately picked up the tension. “What happened?” Her smile dropped from her face. 

“Who’s having a baby - ” Hughie started, more confused then ever then as looked at Frenchie then finally turned back to Butcher, then Addison, then back to Butcher again. “Holy fuck…”

“A baby?” Annie asked, clearly taken off guard and upset. The whole thing was like a fucking cirucs act and Addison was quickly losing any shreds of patience she had left.

“Addison and B -“ Hughie started to say then sort of seemed to just freeze before he shook himself out of it. “Congratulations, you two,” he recovered before he stopped again, looking between the two of them. “I mean…right? You want…”

“Yes, Hughie,” Addison interrupted him before he confused his own brain even more. “The baby is very much wanted. Thank you,” she gave him a soft smile but it quickly fell. 

“Addison we need to talk,” M.M. spoke up again pointedly. 

Addison rolled her eyes but her patience was no competition to Billy’s temper, and he had clearly already lost it with all of them.

“Good,” Butcher glared at M.M.. “You take her to dinner then.” He slammed his coffee cup down on his desk then turned to Addison, sliding his strong arm around her waist and tugging her against his body, obviously staking his claim on her and the whole situation before he left. His mouth met hers in a hot, steamy kiss and she had to curl her fingers into his shirt to keep from fainting away as his tongue flicked over hers. He broke the kiss almost as suddenly, squeezing her ass affectionately, then turned for the door, and reaching to grab his coat on the way out.

“I’m calling you tonight,” Addison yelled after him as soon as she caught her breath. “You better fucking answer!” But she knew he’d more than likely be sliding into her bed before the night grew too late.

Butcher waved his hand in the air and Hughie finally seemed to snap out of it as he breezed past. “Wait, Butcher!” He stood up to take off after him but paused and turned back to Annie. “I’m fine,” she said but Addison could tell she was annoyed. And then Hughie was chasing Butcher out the door. 

Addison decided she couldn’t deal with Annie right now and anyway M.M.’s intense stare was not leaving her space to worry about anyone else. 

“You’re not my father, for fucks sake,” she snapped, exasperated by they whirlwind of events, even though her lips were still tingling from Butcher’s fierce kiss. “I slept with Billy. We fucked up. I want this baby - more than I’ve ever wanted anything else in my life. There’s nothing to talk about.”

Annie turned around then and left too, the door closing hard behind her and Addison slumped, dropping her head in her hands. Annie was her friend. She knew how much she hated Billy and honestly she mostly understood. She only wished she could’ve explained first before the news broke like this.

But at least Frenchie and Kimiko seemed to be on her side. “She is happy,” Frenchie spoke up and Addison lifted her head to give him a grateful look. “Surely that is what matters, no?”

M.M. finally seemed to soften a little. “Yeah, fine,” he agreed. “But I still want to talk.”

Frenchie nodded in concession and squeezed Addison’s shoulder reassuringly before heading back over to sit with Kimiko. 

“Let’s go,” M.M. nodded toward the door. “Monique always loved those double chocolate brownie shakes when she was pregnant with Janine. My treat.”

~*~*~

“I know what I’m doing,” Addison said quietly. “Billy and I have talked about it. At length. The baby comes first no matter what. I can do this on my own if I have to. And I can protect - the baby…if I have to. Even against him,” she added.

M.M. glanced up at Addison, with a raised eyebrow, but shook his head while he arranged his napkin and his burger on his tray. “You won’t have to. He loves you. And he might be a gigantic asshole. But he’s an asshole with a heart. He’d take himself out before he let himself hurt you.”

Addison used her spoon to take a big mouthful of her chocolate shake and hummed gratefully while M.M. gave an affectionate smirk. 

“Told ya,” he said. 

Addison smiled, remembering that conversation they’d had so long ago at that little diner on the road. It seemed like a life time ago now. 

“Remember when you asked me if I ever thought about having kids? I lied a little.”

M.M. glanced up at her studying her for a moment. 

“I really, really want this,” she continued. “And if I have to, I can handle it on my own.”

Finally M.M. nodded. She knew this wasn’t going to placate him entirely, but it was enough for now.

“Thank you,” she murmured, in between bites.

“For what.”

Addison shrugged. “For everything. For being a friend.”

“You know I’m just looking out for you, right? I’ve got you, Addison.”

And she knew he did, she just didn't know how much she would need it in the months to come.

~*~*~

Notes: I want everyone to know, no matter what happens in the show this WILL have a happy ending (but of course with tons of h/c, drama and angst along the way.) But I only do ultimately happy endings. Next up: Addison's conversation with Annie does not go as well and Billy and Addi have a heart to heart over the start of that baby bump ♥ Let me know what you think!

Karl Urban Masterlist

[csuitebitches]

How do you ACTUALLY network? Like the idea of a coffee chat always baffled me. Like a stranger would agree to get coffee with me for me to essentially interview and then what? I guess my bigger question is how do I provide value to them besides buying them coffee? And the whole concept just feels cringe and transactional

I’ll give you two recent examples, one of work and one of a social event.

A friend invited me to a party. I don’t know said friend very well, but we’re on good terms. I said yes cause why not.

I met a girl there who happened to do some very interesting things and had similar interests to me. How did I find that out? I asked her about herself, I found out where she was previously residing, I learned what she did for a living, and I began associating it to the things that I do. She’s from the same city that I want to move to, she now lives 20 minutes from me, and she’s interested in spirituality. My work happened to organise a similar event a week later, which I immediately invited her for. I asked her for her number so that I could send her the invite.

What she immediately liked about me and expressed, was that I don’t use social media, when we agreed to exchange contact info. I explained to her that I’d have to connect her on iMessage/ WhatsApp and not instagram. That allows us to stay in touch much better than on social media.

I left the party earlier than everyone but I looked for her and told her that we should catch up next weekend or whenever she was free. She agreed.

So this is what you learn from example 1:

1. Learn to associate.

When someone tells you that they work in XYZ company, in B city, start by connecting things in your head. Who else do you know works in the same field, could they know each other? What do you know about the work that they do, and if you don’t know much, can you find out more? Most people, including myself, love to talk about what we do at work and what our job entails. Has their work allowed them to travel a lot? If yes, where?

In order to associate, you need to read a lot and learn a lot. You have to understand what’s happening in the world, what the latest news is, because how the hell are you going to continue that conversation?

2. You have to snowball the conversation. The goal is to try and understand WHO this person is. If someone asks you, have you met CSB and you have, you should be able to say yes, this is what she’s interested in, this is what she works in - you should be able to pitch CSB to another person.

Not every single conversation has to be valuable. You also have to decide whether the person in front of you is worth your time.

3. Exchange numbers, not social media. Nothing is going to come out of exchanging instagram or LinkedIn.

4. When you’re leaving the event, look for the person you met and tell them that you’re leaving and that you guys should catch up sometime. If you haven’t exchanged contact info yet, that’s the best way to do it. “Oh let’s catch up again soon! Can I have your number? We can grab a coffee or drink whenever.”

—-

Example 2. I’d gone to a conference a few months ago. I met a young guy, around my age, who works in an accelerator. I’m very interested in the start up world, and he’s working in one of the best ones in the world, at a decent position. He immediately began telling me about recent funding that they did, what sort of start ups they’re looking for, etc. I asked him for more information, which he was super happy to talk to me about.

We’re on very good terms but we live in different cities. I often send him reports because I work in media, and he sends me PDFs and pitch decks. Whenever we’re in each other’s town, we message each other. Otherwise, I make it a point to reach out to him once a month, just casually, to find out what’s happening.

Takeaways from example 2:

5. Scratch each other’s backs. You can’t just get value from the other person, provide them with the same. It doesn’t have to be work related. Let’s say the person you’ve connected with is interested in indie music and you learn that an indie band is playing somewhere - send them a link to the event and tell them that you remembered that they like this genre, and you just wanted to share the info.

6. What’s important to learn is maintaining relationships. I reach out to all my mentors, all my latest connections once a month. That doesn’t mean that I’m necessarily going to meet them face to face, but I just check in and ask how things are going.

So.

Approach. Associate. Snowball. Exchange info. Maintain.

[simply-ivanka]

Why Trump’s Conviction Can’t Stand

It rests on an intent to violate a state law that is pre-empted by the Federal Election Campaign Act.

By David B. Rivkin Jr. and Elizabeth Price Foley Wall Street Journal

Donald Trump runs no risk of going to prison in the middle of his campaign, thanks to Judge Juan Merchan’s decision Friday to postpone sentencing until Nov. 26. The delay gives his lawyers more time to prepare an appeal. Fortunately for Mr. Trump, his trial was overwhelmingly flawed, and a well-constructed appeal would ensure its ultimate reversal.

A central problem for the prosecution and Judge Merchan lies in Article VI of the U.S. Constitution, which makes federal law the “supreme law of the land.” That pre-empts state law when it conflicts with federal law, including by asserting jurisdiction over areas in which the federal government has exclusive authority.

Mr. Trump’s conviction violates this principle because it hinges on alleged violations of state election law governing campaign spending and contributions. The Federal Election Campaign Act pre-empts these laws as applied to federal campaigns. If it didn’t, there would be chaos. Partisan state and local prosecutors could interfere in federal elections by entangling candidates in litigation, devouring precious time and resources.

That hasn’t happened except in the Trump case, because the Justice Department has always guarded its exclusive jurisdiction even when states have pushed back, as has happened in recent decades over immigration enforcement.

The normal approach would have been for the Justice Department to inform District Attorney Alvin Bragg, who was contemplating charges against Mr. Trump, of the FECA pre-emption issue. If Mr. Bragg didn’t follow the department’s guidance, it would have intervened at the start of the case to have it dismissed. Instead the department allowed a state prosecutor to interfere with the electoral prospects of the chief political rival of President Biden, the attorney general’s boss.

Mr. Trump was indicted under New York’s law prohibiting falsification of business records, which is a felony only if the accused intended “to commit another crime” via the false record. Judge Merchan instructed the jury that the other crime was Section 17-152 of New York election law, which makes it a misdemeanor to “conspire to promote or prevent the election of any person to a public office by unlawful means.” Prosecutors alleged that Mr. Trump violated this law by conspiring with his lawyer, Michael Cohen, and Trump-related businesses to “promote” his presidential election by coding hush-money payments as “legal expenses” when they should have been disclosed publicly as campaign expenses or contributions—matters that are governed by FECA.

FECA declares that its provisions “supersede and preempt any provision of state law with respect to election to Federal office.” The 1974 congressional conference committee report accompanying enactment of FECA’s pre-emption language states: “It is clear that the Federal law occupies the field with respect to reporting and disclosure of political contributions and expenditures by Federal candidates.” Federal Election Commission regulations likewise declare that FECA “supersedes State law” concerning the “disclosure of receipts and expenditures by Federal candidates” and “limitation on contributions and expenditures regarding Federal candidates.”

The New York State Board of Elections agreed in a 2018 formal opinion that issues relating to disclosure of federal campaign contributions and expenditures are pre-empted because “Congress expressly articulated ‘field preemption’ of federal law over state law in this area” to avoid federal candidates’ “facing a patchwork of state and local filing requirements.”

In using New York’s election law to brand Mr. Trump a felon based on his actions with respect to a federal election, Mr. Bragg subverts FECA’s goal of providing predictable, uniform national rules regarding disclosure of federal campaign contributions and expenses, including penalties for noncompliance. Congress made its goals of uniformity and predictability clear not only in FECA’s sweeping pre-emption language but also in its grant of exclusive enforcement authority to the FEC for civil penalties and the Justice Department for criminal penalties. Both the FEC and Justice Department conducted yearslong investigations to ascertain whether Mr. Trump’s hush-money payments violated FECA, and both declined to seek any penalties.

Prior to Mr. Trump’s New York prosecution, it would have been unthinkable for a local or state prosecutor to prosecute a federal candidate predicated on whether or how his campaign reported—or failed to report—contributions or expenditures. In 2019 the FEC investigated whether Hillary Clinton’s 2016 presidential campaign failed to disclose millions in contributions from an outside political action committee. The agency deadlocked, and no penalties were imposed. In 2022 the FEC levied $113,000 in civil penalties against Mrs. Clinton’s campaign for violating FECA because it improperly coded as “legal services,” rather than campaign expenditures, money paid to Christopher Steele for production of the “dossier” that fueled the Russia-collusion hoax. In neither instance did any state or local prosecutor indict Mrs. Clinton under state election law based on failure to disclose these contributions or expenditures properly. If New York’s Trump precedent stands, Mrs. Clinton could still be vulnerable to prosecution, depending on various states’ statutes of limitation and the Justice Department’s potential involvement.

Mr. Bragg’s prosecution of Mr. Trump is plagued by many reversible legal errors, of which the failure to accord pre-emptive force to FECA is the strongest grounds for its reversal on appeal. The prosecutor’s interference in the 2024 presidential election process has created legal and political problems. The Justice Department’s failure to intervene before the trial is a dereliction of duty.

The department aggressively prosecuted Mr. Cohen based on the same hush-money payments, so it was well aware that New York’s prosecution invaded its exclusive FECA jurisdiction. This is another stark example of the Biden administration’s incompetence—or, worse, the distortion of justice through a partisan lens. It is left to the appellate courts, and ultimately the Supreme Court, to clean up the mess Mr. Bragg and the Justice Department have made.

Mr. Rivkin served at the Justice Department and the White House Counsel’s Office during the Reagan and George H.W. Bush Administrations. Ms. Foley is a professor of constitutional law at Florida International University College of Law. Both practice appellate and constitutional law in Washington.

[mentanol]

Traumatized Reader X TF141! Angst.

,,No one knows what it is, but it's not this."

Memories come flooding to you. You're back there, in that horrible place. It smells of the iron of blood, grime of the ground, and sweat. The limbs you're accustomed to refuse to move and you're shaking rapidly scurrying to try again to escape the restraints. It's to no avail, and the clicking keeps playing. Oh God, the clicking... the clicking of a clock. It fills your senses, with each tick of movement it's one more second gone, one more thing to knock at your survival rate.

A blaring beeping greets your ears as the sun rises, causing you to bolt upwards in a sitting position. Cold sweat, sheets messed up with struggle, and your hair out of the bun it was shoved into. It was a small dorm you rented off base. Struggling to get up due to your injured leg, the memories causing you to be off on medical leave chase you due to them being fresh in your mind. Stumbling to your small kitchen, you pour yourself a soothing glass of tea to ease off your nerves before deciding a quick shower would do you good.

Well, the break ends tomorrow. You weren't too busted up, it was just most mental. That didn't change the scars that now aligned your entire back, molded into mock angel wings.

⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳ ✦ ⊹⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . *

Walking into the familiar base with soldiers bustling around you - some rookies, some experienced soldiers you feel a sense of resentment. Where were they? Nobody saved you until late, while it was true you were in a compromised position and it was a tough situation, that never changes the disappointment. You greet those you know, who seem to be glad to see you.

"Good afternoon," your teammate, Ilva , greets you with a nod of acknowledgement and in turn you nod back ignoring the clear want for small talk.

" Good afternoon Ilva," Is all you could mutter in reply, not bothering to stop your stride to your superiors office.

Walking through the hallways sickens you, the walls are closing in on you, you feel they are being you. They are always behind you. You are a rabid animal, pushed to much in a discomforting environment. The base is bustling with activity, you can hear the cracking of guns all the way from here due to the training field. The smell of dust and boots filling your nostrils, and as you reach the door the feel of a metallic doorframe.

You knock on the door waiting on your captains familiar voice to crack in and allow you in. As your calloused fist meets the metal in three clangs you feel someone behind you.

⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳ ✦ ⊹ ⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ .

Swinging around swiftly, you're met with nothing but a few weird looks from those walking past. You really need to get that "paranoia" under control.

"Sergeant. Doors open," a tired voice barks, snapping you out of your daze.

Humming, you turn around with a quick salute, settling yourself into your superiors office.

"Lieutenant," You greet ," I have important matters to discuss regarding my expulsion."

He simply nods, waiting on you to go on. He told you to report back on your condition, and you did.

,"I feel as though I can properly continue my usual routine, sir. I've been having no problems, and my duties always lay my top priority, you know this."

He lets out a sigh, seeming relieved as his hardened features flick with concern for a moment. He was a gruff man, but never masked his concern for his small team he led.

"I was worried you'd resign, y/n," He comments bluntly before going on -

" The team has all taken a rough hit, but that's not the end of the line - i expect you to continue your prime work, but don't be afraid to report any problems, thank you. "

⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳ ✦ ⊹⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . *

The place was unbearable, every sound.. every crack made you believe you were back there. As you stalked through the halls quietly, the ticking of a clock could be heard and you were suddenly back there.

The dark area floods your senses, you can't move your legs, your stuck still staring right through everything in front of you until your snapped out of it , yet again , by someone passing.

You continue your orijgnal path, trotting to the barracks to speak to a comrade of yours you are pretty close too due to all the co- op missions you have been through together. Spending nights with bombs cracking in the air , sharing cover with someone tends to do that.

Cracking open the door, Rexine greets you and your immeditaly flooded with comfort at the sight of a familiar face that doesn't feel you with mistrust. The familiar waterfall of dark hair and glass , serene , blue eyes are your happy place for now as you plop on the bed.

,"Rough day , hm ? " She questions eyeing you, sitting on the bed by you. Despite your eyes being closed, you feel the gentle dip of the mattress under her. Additionally, you feel her gaze - you've gotten better at that.

,"Hah!" you scoff, "More like a rough month," You grumble with more bite in your voice than intended.

,"and why is that?" She questions in a lays back manner as she discreetly lights a cigarette , offering one to you. You deny her.

," I just - Everything here feels so filthy now. I feel like im being watched everywhere.. I- " you pause, struggling to find your words.

"After what happened, I can't look at the rest of our team the same way , Rexine. " You sigh, looking up at her quietly asking for input.

She thinks for a money, before commenting , " I think you should resign, honestly. Or switch bases, maybe a change for you would be good, y/n. "

That's how you ended up with goodbyes, and hugs from your team as you left - packing up for good to be transferred to another team. Your superior told you another team , the task force 141 , needed a new person and you fit the qualifications. You were headed to a station to go on an operation amongst them.

Your qualifications are clear, the moment you step in their gazes snap at you, but some are more discreet than others. One of the men seems to be in the shadows in the dark base you were assigned to, the Ghost-like figure's dark eyes stare holes in you. A dark-skinned man is leaning against a wall and greets you with a slight nod of acknowledgment, while a man with a silly mohawk a guy who appears to be the captain motions you over.

"Y'er the new alli, eh?" , The Scottish man you assume to be a sergeant comments, before reaching out his hand for a rough handshake.

You thought he'd be more formal, despite this you shake his hand with a small smile, tilting your head.

"Names Y/n ," You reply, waiting to get some names to attach to the faces you are going to have to get used too. And maybe figure out why the Ghost mask is staring at you -

After figuring out the basics talking to Price, who seems to have already taken a liking to you, and laughing a bit with 'Soap' you walk away, wanting to explore a bit. Scanning the room, the man you now know as Gaz seems familiar to you but you can not place it at the moment, your head has been in scrambles during it all. The ghost in the corner pays no mind to you out loud, but his eyes are entangled in your every move as you walk out of the room.

Getting used to this new life was easy, at the start.

You snap awake, sitting up immediately upon waking up and remembering the horrible dream that was borderline real. Looking down at your hands, your palms are sweaty and you clearly thrashed around a bit.

Reaching for a cigarette from your newfound habit , your hand finds the nightstand and clutches onto the familiar box before you stand up. Reaching the door you slip on a coat with a lighter in the pocket slipped there always before stepping out for a breather.

Getting used to your new team was easy. They seemed to like you, well, like you enough. Currently, you were sparring with Price loosely avoiding knife sashes.

As you narrowly avoid a swift hit you hear a slimmer of a certain song and your blood runs cold. Your ankles are restrained again, you can't move your arms. You hear your breathing quicken, but you can not feel yourself breathe. You stopped, staring right through Price who immeditantly noticed something wrong with you and approached quickly, dropping the blade letting it clatter on the ground.

"Sergeant?" He questioned, walking closer to you carefully. He hadn't seen the look in your eyes yet, but when he did he knew. Pure blank , looking straight through him.

He patted your shoulder, trying to rouse you out of it,

,"Lass, wake up." He grumbled a bit more aggressively , a flicker of concern gracing his rough feautures.

You dropped into a crouch, hands trembling, and both of the calloused hands covering your ears as you mumbled the same things tortured out of you.

Name. Rank. Identification number. Mission.

Name. Rank. Identification number. Mission.

Name. Rank. Identification number. Mission.

Price shook your shoulder more aggressively, but it was to no avail whatsoever - he sighs, shouts for the medics and suddenly you feel a prickle in your arm before slumping down. Being sedated, and simply slumping into Price's arms at last. Such a broken angel, you were.

[strangebiology]

Paleontology Job Opening!

If anyone is looking for a paleontology job, this one in the Green River Formation in Wyoming is hiring! It's a lot of 52-MYA fish. TONS of fish. Very occasionally, there's other stuff like bats, birds, and very early horse ancestors.

$19/hour

Full time with federal benefits

App due November 25, 2024 or when they receive 80 applications (whichever comes first, so hurry!) Requirements:

One year of experience required (paid or unpaid, professional or volunteer) in "the fields of paleontology, geophysics, or geology; assisting fossil preparation, field work in paleontology, paleontology research, paleontology database management, paleontology monitoring, paleo art, or specimen management of fossils; assisting with natural resources research projects; compiling and analyzing scientific data into reports; operating complex sampling, monitoring, and laboratory equipment; or using computer programs such as databases to compile, store, retrieve, analyze and report resource management data. Experience as a laboratory mechanic or in a trade or craft may be credited as specialized experience when the work was performed in close association with physical scientists or other technical personnel and provided intensive knowledge of appropriate scientific principles, methods, techniques, and precedents."

Successful completion of at least a full 4-year course of study leading to a bachelor's degree (a) with major study in an appropriate field of physical science, such as paleontology, geology, earth science, earth history or (b) that included at least 24 semester hours in any combination of courses such as physical science, engineering, or any branch of mathematics except for financial and commercial mathematics. 

I don't know if paleontologists usually have to have higher levels of education, but I think this job is called "physical technician (paleontology)" to evade that.

If you're interested, go ahead and send in an application sooner rather than later. You can always withdraw later.

This is very close to me, so if you have questions about life here (that aren't easily Googlable) I'm happy to help! It's quite rural. If you're wondering what the rental market looks like, here's a Facebook group where people post rentals. I'm mostly JTM (just the messenger) but I may have a little more insight.

[the-cat-and-the-birdie]

*steps on stage nervously*

Uhh.. umm. Uhhhhh

Spidey Academy AU!!

Like Xavier's School for Gifted Children, Miguel - a Spider-person fond of kids, opened a Spidey-Science Academy, for the Spidey-people of the universe

It's not like a high school. There's five years and the years are not really sorted by age - but by experience.

So Hobie would be a year 3 - a middleclass-man

Pavitr is a year 1 - a freshman

And the classes, are all based on honing your Spider-powers and senses.

There's assignments, things you have to take home and do.

They're give you a fake evil Doc Ock chip and have you decode it and make it good again (like Peter in No Way Home).

Or they ask you to stop a petty robbery without using your webs. You have to bring in the Daily Bugles article on you the next day and they grade you on that.

(Hey say what you want but Jonah reports the facts he just talks a lot of shit)

Any class a Spider-person needs, they have.

You name it-

Home Ec? No. Sewing and Suit Repair Class

Gym? No. Swinging & Strength Endurance

Science? ALL ADVANCED. Freshmen's take Advanced Spider-biology and have to learn ALL the different Spider-variations and illnesses Spider-people can get. Multiversal Physics.

All of the honor classes are FULL.

There's also other helpful ones like Firefighting Training and Sign Language (both mandatory), hence how Insomniac!Miles is completely fluent in ASL.

Oh - also. Because Miguel is such a tight-ass -

UNIFORMS. Sweater vests over pants or shorts. (No skirts cause they still be upsidedown and shit)

You have to bring your mask everyday. It's like your ID card

y'all ever had that? Like y'all needed an ID to get into school and if you didn't have it they charged you? Like money? My school did that we also had metal detectors like the airport I'm so deadass this was just a normal public school - I'm getting distracted, anyway-

Of COURSE Ms.Jessica Drew is Assistant Principal. OF COURSE she also teaches Advanced Combat and Strategies class.

And YES she's a hard-ass grader. Has never given a 100% in her life. On some 'This was the best thing I've read in my entire teaching career but you forgot to indent on paragraph 5 so 99%'

She doesn't give a fuck about your GPA!!!

Unlike Mr.Peter B. Parker.

He makes people call him 'Professor PB'. He wants to be the cool teacher.

His classroom is SO FUN during lunch time. Probably runs the anime and manga club. He's that really nerdy teacher that you don't expect to be like "I know what anime is! I grew up on Dragon Ball 😁

His class are always fun but SO chaotic. Still wears sweatpants sometimes. He's the Science teacher.

And every year they take class photos and there's a Spidey homecoming where everyone parties on the walls in cute outfits.

CAN YOU SEE IT?

Swinging Team instead of Track and Field???

CAN YOU IMAGINE IT?

MIGUEL AS PRINCIPAL???

LYLA BEING THE LOUD SPEAKER ANNOUNCER?

[tacticalhimbo]

TRANS DAY OF REMEMBRANCE 2024

Don't have the spoons to make a spiel about how solidarity in and out of the community is important, but wanting to highlight that as is. We need to speak out and show up for those who fight alongside us, and for those we've lost*.

*Remember: Any concrete numbers you see statistics wise are not 100% accurate. The violence against us, especially our BIPOC siblings, are majorly under-reported.

Here are some organizations and resources to share around, with attributions and pronouns (as of writing the post). I'll section this off based on what type of resource/org they are... more or less--

Archival.

2600 Pages of Hate: Transphobia and Fascism by maia crimew (It/She)

Black Trans* Oral History Project by Blu Bachanan (They/Them) and Naomi Simmons-Thorne (She/They)

Digital Transgender Archive by K.J. Rawson (He/Him) et al.

LGBT+ Intersectionality, a Google Drive full of Resource Books

The Mirror Memoirs by Amita Swadhin (They/Them), Jaden Cervantes-Fields (He/Him), and Bilen Berhanu (She/Her)

NYC Trans* Oral History Project

The Trans* Library (Carrd)

University of Victoria Transgender Archives (Canada)

Varied.

Baltimore Safe Haven, established by Iya Dammons (She/They).

Bklyn Boihood, established by Black masculine-of-center queer and trans people of color.

Black Trans Femmes in the Arts, established by Jordyn Jay (She/Her)

Black Trans* Travel Fund, established by Devin Michael Lowe (He/They) and Morticia Godiva (Her/Shey)

Brave Space Alliance, established by trans and gender non-conforming individuals.

FedUp Collective, established by Zain Lugay (They/He), Sam (They/Them), Cody (He/Him), Ian (He/Him), JO Walduck (She/They), et al.

For the Gworls, established by Asanni Armon (They/Them; Sources Vary)

The Gender Affirming Letter Access Project, established by transgender, nonbinary, and allied mental health and medical providers.

"The Gender Binary" is a Misnomer; Gender Has Always Been a Hierarchy by Talia Bhatt (She/Fae)

Privilege, Power, and Pride: Intersectionality within the LGBT Community by Kittu Pannu (He/Him)

The Okra Project, established by Gabrielle Inès Souza, Max Rigano, and Celyna Jackson (Pronouns Unknown).

Organización Latina Trans in Texas, , established by Anandrea Molina (Ella/She, Rigoberto Reyes/Monika Adams (Él/Ella/She/He), Gia Pacheco (She/Ella), Danny Lopez (Él/He), Noemi Garza, Barby Ledesma, Vanessa Garcia, and Kassandra Rivas (Pronouns Unknown).

Princess Janae Place, established by Jevon Martin (He/Him) and Dani Farrell (He/They).

The Transgender Education Network of Texas, established by various BIPOC trans community members.

Trans*, Gender Variant, and Intersex Justice Project, established by Janetta Johnson (She/Her), zy'aire nassirah (He/Him), zen "zee" mills (She/Her), van dell (They/Them), Valentine McClain (They/She), eli b. (They/He), et al.

TransgenderNI (Northern Ireland) / Belfast Trans Resource Centre, established by trans community members.

TransInclusiveGroup, established by Tatiana Williams (She/Her/Goddess), Krys Gordon (She/Her), Adrianna Tender (She/Her/Diva), Mei-Lan Diaz (They/Them), and Na'stacia Buchanan (She/Her).

Trans Latin@ Coalition, established by Paolo Coots (She/Her/Ella), Arianna Inurritegui-Lint (She/Her/Ella), Alexa Rodriguez (She/Her/Ella), et al.

Trans* Needle Exchange, established by Oliver (Pronouns Unknown).

And remember, community is what keeps us alive.

It is important to call out bigotry in our spaces; important to let those here know we value them and their existence. Do not solely fight for those who are gone, fight for those who are living with us here and now.

Let the folks in your lives and in your communities know you care about them. Listen to them. Learn from them. None of us are free until all of us are free.

Which is why I'm also going to drop broader-focus organizations and resources for the global community:

alQaws for Sexual & Gender Diversity in Palestinian Society

Canadian LGBTQ+ History

India's LGBTQ+ Movement

LGBTQ+: A Troubled History in Mexico

LGBTQ+ Orthodox Jewish Education (PDF)

LGBTQ+ Narratives in Pakistan

LGBTQ+ Rights Ghana Support Fund

Nigeria's Queer History

Queer Activism in Africa

Queer Nigerian Emergency Fund

Feel free to add onto this (preferably with more grassroots kinda stuff/individual spotlights; anything goes long as it's vetted really).

[reds-skull]

Forget Me (Not)

[AO3]

Another super depressing oneshot? It's more likely than you think

Quick TW for self harm, not very detailed and not exactly intentional on Soap's part, he's just dealing with shit badly.

Soap wakes up alone. He stretches a hand towards the other side of the small barrack bed, finding it cold. In his still rousing mind, it feels wrong. He opens his eyes.

The buzz of morning activities on base trickles through the window above him, soft light emanating to his room. Soap rises to sit up, frowning. The odd feeling doesn’t let up, even though he knows…

No one ever slept with him in this bed.

He begins preparing for the new day, the feeling soon forgotten in the hurry.

“Soap! C’mare mate!” Gaz calls to him when he opens the door to mess. 

He takes a plate of greyish sludge, grinning as he sees his taskforce teammates already in their table, waiting for him. Price, unsuccessfully, tried to calm Gaz down. But they’re missing someone-

Soap shakes his head, sitting down in his chair in front of Gaz and Price.

Taskforce 141 only has three members. As it always had.

His mates share a glance he pretends to not notice when he silently starts digging through his “meal”. At this point, Soap would be halfway through a rant on this thing or another, slipping in and out of tangents.

But something still feels off. “Ye ever feel like yer forgetting something important, but ye don’t know what?” he murmurs, not taking his eyes off his fork.

Price’s brows furrow, “sure. But you’ll remember eventually.” he takes a sip of water, “probably”.

“Did you forget to submit your report again, Soap?” Gaz asks, goading.

Soap nails him with an unimpressed stare, “Away n’ bile yer heid!”

Price huffs a laugh, “English, MacTavish.”

He opens his mouth to retort when he gets struck by a strong wave of memories that never happened.

“Away n’ bile yer heid!”

“English, Ma-Tavi-.”

“Sorry, ---, let me translate… ‘Go fuck yourself’”

“-ch b-tter.”

“-Oap? Earth to Soap!” Gaz’s voice filters in, snapping him out of that… flashback?

He still feels the rainwater and blood make their way down his spine when he abruptly gets up, shakily taking his tray, “I’ll… I’ll catch up with ye later.”

Soap ignores Gaz and Price’s questions, walking as fast as he can. He needs air. He needs a smoke.

The doors to the fields outside creak horribly when he bursts out of them. The wind caressing his cheeks instantly calms him down, and Soap takes a few deep inhales before he leans on the wall and takes out a pack of cigarettes.

He groans when he can’t find his lighter, thinking of going back to ask Gaz for one when another scene drowns him.

“Got a light?”

A radio crackles to life, “-Smoking, —--?”

“Blendin’ in, --...”

“Y-u say -o…”

The cigarette falls out of his hands, a phantom taste of smoke coating his lungs. Soap’s breath hitches, the fields around his meld with a carnival of sorts, faces wiped clean, voices muted and warped.

He slides down the wall, the world around him finally returning to the familiar, the known. His chest thrums with a fast heartbeat. His mind tries to make sense of this.

These… memories, they feel so real, like something that has happened, and yet he forgot most details. Like a dream world, where he can feel the texture of the roughly paved road beneath his feet, but can’t remember the face of the person talking to him.

Gaz’s face was clear, and so was the warmth of his hand when he passed him the light. But the person on comms… the same man from the flashback in mess…it was as if he was talking underwater, far, far away from Soap.

Soap takes out his phone to check through his contacts, trying to find a name that might jog his memory, when he looks at the time and springs up.

He’s late for training the rookies. Fuck.

The sun is setting by the time they’re done, the gritty dust kicked up by the sparring lesson coating just about every surface, including Soap’s body.

He walks down to the showers, knowing they’re barren at this time of the day. Barren, except for-

Soap stops in his tracks. Except for who? Nobody on base cares to shower alone. They’re all used to the forced proximity that comes with being a soldier.

He makes his legs move. His heart hurts, like a ghost took hold of his flesh and squeezed.

Soap turns the water to the coldest setting, gasping when it hits him in full force. He’s losing his mind, his insides ache and cry, wanting something he can’t even recall. 

The cold bed, the cold rain, the cold water.

He quickly finishes cleaning up, toweling his skin roughly before dressing up. Soap is on his way out when he catches his reflection in the mirror. He looks at his eyes first, expecting steel grey-blue.

Brown stares back.

Warm bed, warm eyes, warm hands.

Soap blinks, and the vision is gone. He steps closer, desperately trying to catch it again, but those eyes faded so fast he couldn’t even commit them to memory.

His knuckles creak as he grips the sink tightly, watching his face contort and his lips pull down in a snarl.

Soap feels like crying. The thought makes him reel his arm back and punch. He growls through clenched teeth as the mirror shatters, splitting into a million small shards.

“FUCK!” he grunts, pulling his fist back to punch again, “FUCK YOU!!!” he screams at his splintered image. He breathes heavily, the shaking in his muscles only urging him on, his voice devolving into gravelly whimpers.

By the time he’s done, the sink is covered with dark red blood, flecks of glass shimmering within it like stars.

It takes Soap a while to calm down, and even longer to clean up. He stays there a long time, scrubbing at the blood that sipped into the cracks in the floor tiling, mind only, blessedly, focused on the aching in his hands.

Soap wraps his broken skin with paper towels, walking back to his barracks. The halls are empty, the showers luckily far enough from the barracks that no one heard his breakdown. Shame starts blooming in his chest. How could he let himself lose control like this? Price would send him to a fuckin’ shrink if he knew.

The door to his room closes softly behind him, and Soap crouches down to grab the med kit under his bed to start and tend to his stupid wounds.

The tweezers burn as they gauge his torn skin, pulling out slivers of glass one by one.

Soap digs in deeper, relishing in the mind-numbing pain. He gets lost in the repetitive motions, and soon enough his knuckles are clean enough to disinfect and bandage.

He throws the kit to the side, too tired to reorganize it. Another thing to deal with in the morning, adding to the explanation he’ll have to come up with, for the broken mirror and his bruised hands.

Soap lays down, tightly wrapping himself in the thin military-issued blanket. Despite the storm in his mind, he falls asleep easily enough.

He never felt so cold.

“-----?”

Soap looks around, a vast darkness veiling his vision. The drowned voice…

“Who are ye?!” he shouts, arms flailing forward to find something to anchor to.

A pair of hands catch his, softly, more gently than Soap remembers ever feeling. His breath stops as their warmth seeps into his damaged skin.

Fingers delicately smooth over his wound, soothing them in a way that bring tears to Soap’s eyes. “Who are ye?” he whispers.

The person sighs, and Soap gets the feeling they hold an unfathomable amount of sadness in their breath. His hands are lifted, and he feels light kisses press to his knuckles.

“-ou ha– – forget me.”

Soap grasps at the hands in his tighter, “no! Tell me, please! Ah feel like Ah’m losin’ mah damn mind-!”

“Soap.” the man’s voice is clearer than it ever was, and Soap wants to lean forward just a little further, as the memory feels just within his reach-

The man lets go of him, “I want to keep you safe, -----. You have to forget.” strong arms guide him backwards, and Soap starts sinking into the abyss. He fruitlessly tries to grab at the man, “I lo-”

“Wait!” Soap’s hands grab at nothing, raised for the man in his dreams. His breath stutters in his chest cavity, and his arms drop on the bed. He belatedly realizes he’s sobbing, and his body curls around the blanket, chasing heat that he can’t remember.

Soap presses his face to the pillow, silencing his pathetic cries. There’s a weight in his chest, cracking his ribs and squeezing his heart.

And yet they don’t explode, because something is missing, a shape of emptiness settling between his lungs.

Price orders him to take leave, after the mirror is discovered. Gaz tried to talk to him, the genuine concern and worry on his features churning Soap’s gut. 

He couldn’t tell him. Couldn’t explain the phantom rot eating away at his body.

They both catch Soap before he hops on the truck to the airport, hugging him tightly. “Promise to call, alright?” Gaz whispers in his ears, and Soap nods, pulling him closer. It’s not the warmth he tries to remember, but it’s so close it makes tears gather in his eyes.

As his vehicle drives away, Soap watches their figures become smaller and smaller, and the pain grows.

Outside of the military, far from his force mates, there is no one waiting for Soap. He reckons it’s an unofficial requirement for being in such an elite squad. Hard to keep connections when you’re constantly fighting for your life, and easy to die for a mission when no one will mourn you.

He has to kick his door when the decrepit thing doesn’t budge. The house he bought is an ancient one, off in the countryside of the highlands and surrounded by vast fields.

Soap bought it with a wishful thought of finding a place to relax in, far from the bother of large cities and cramped bases. But in reality, he never did well on his forced leaves. They always felt lonely.

Now, missing a man he can’t even tell was ever real, it feels even lonelier.

To combat that, and the growing uneasiness he gets staying still for so long during transport, Soap decides to go for a run. He ignores his rumbling stomach, changes to more fitting clothes, and heads for the hills.

The forest behind his house is sparse in trees, but full of bushes, flowers and moss covered rocks, making for a challenge to traverse through that Soap relishes in.

A few years back, on the first leave in this house, Soap found a clearing in the forest, near a winding river, that sheltered a wonderful field of flowers. Bees and butterflies always moving from petal to petal, their low buzz along with the splashing water made Soap lay down there and stay until the sun went down, lost in the serenity of the forest.

That is his destination now, hoping despite the massive black hole in his heart that the clearing will be enough to make him forget not only the man, but the pain his muddy memory leaves behind him.

Soap’s lungs burn in a good way when the flowers come into view, and on shaky legs he takes the last few steps and collapses onto the bed of blossoms.

He closes his eyes for a moment, inhaling the almost dizzying smell of the pollen around him, letting small wings flutter on his skin as they search for it. The air fills his lungs, soothing the burn slowly.

Soap opens his eyes, taking in the flowers around his head. A long time ago, his maw taught him some of their names. She’s long dead now, her beloved flowers uprooted by the new family that bought his childhood home, but he still remembers.

He remembers the Scots Bluebell, the pale purple drooping heads his maw told him faeries use as hats. Heathers and Thistles, which he remembers once sticking to his pants long enough that back on base, Gaz had picked them up from his behinds. He smiles at that thought. That was when he began collecting them, pressing them to his journal as little mementos, frozen in time.

Soap turns his head, and finds right in front of him a handful of forget-me-nots. His smile slides off his face, and he rises to his knees.

He remembers picking them up one leave, bringing them back well pressed, to give them to someone…

With shaky hands, Soap plucks a small one, bringing it to his face to smell.

His eyes start to water instantly.

It’s so close… the memory of him…

Soap looks at the earth, dark rich brown staring back, and the clearing melts away. Soap drowns in a memory, as deep as the Baltic Sea and as clear as a night in full moon.

“What’s this?” a pair of gloved hands inspect the dried flowers, hands more gentle than Soap ever saw them.

Hands he knows made for killing.

“Flowers, --.” he sarcastically responds, his heart beating so loudly in his ears he worries ----- will hear it.

The gloved hands, covered by a skeletal print, bring the flowers up. Soap follows them, watching the edge of a balaclava appear in his vision.

The hand rolls the fabric up, letting it rest on a crooked nose bridge and revealing scarred lips.

The man hums, a small smile tugging at the scars, “still smells good. What did you say they were called?”

Soap gulps, “forget-me-not.”

The hands pause, “don’t think I’m someone you want to remember, -----.” the man says with a lower voice.

Soap instantly shakes his head, leaning forward and finally, finally letting those brown eyes into his view.

“I don’t want to ever forget ye, Simon.”

Soap’s vision fades, the flower in his trembling fingers returning. His voice is quivering when he whispers the name of the man that disappeared from his life like he never existed.

And yet, Soap couldn't forget.

“Simon…” he almost mouths, voice so quiet the flowers are his only witness, “Simon Riley…”

All at once, the forest becomes a swirl of colors, the forget-me-not in his hand shattering like a mirror under a fist and drifting away in the wind.

And Soap falls down

Down

Down.

In his fall, the memories rush through his mind.

“So ye do like me”

“I like you alive.”

“Fuck me. They stabbed each other in the back.”

”Still saving their own skins”

”Every man for himself.”

”That’s the difference between us and them.”

“Stay with me”

”You don’t know what you’re asking of me, Soap.”

”I’m askin’ ye to be with me, LT.”

”...Just for the night.”

“Take this to hell with you, Captain”

”Never bury your enemies alive.”

Soap lands. The world is a familiar darkness, but a full moon shines down on him, letting him see the man in the distance. He’s on his legs in a flash, running faster than he ever had to him, who is frozen in shock.

To Simon.

His breath comes out in small huffs by the time he reaches him, and Soap locks eyes with Simon, waiting for him to reach out. As he always does.

As he always will.

“J-Johnny?” Simon murmurs, his blond brows curving upwards in disbelief, “you’re not- how are you here?”

Johnny inhales in the smell of cigarettes and gunpowder, a warmth spreading through his chest cavity, killing the rot, “I told ye I don’t want to forget.”

Pale, scarred hands come up to frame his face, handling him with care, as if he’s but a delicate flower. Simon’s brown eyes glisten with unshed tears, “you can’t be here… I can’t see you die again.”

Johnny places his hands over Simon’s, “what did ye do, mo chridhe?”

Simon closes his eyes, letting the tears trail down his cheeks, “I saved you. A life for a life. That was the deal.”

He looks around, to the emptiness, the stars the only thing in this dark world.

“Come back with me.” Johnny urges.

Simon opens his eyes, “I can’t. What if you die? What if you go where I can’t follow?”

Johnny smiles sadly, wiping the tears from Simon’s cheeks, “all ye have to do is never forget me, Simon.”

He watches Simon’s face twist around a sob, and he lets him pull at his body, limbs piecing together in a way that feels so right.

Simon lowers his face, leans in, and touches his lips to Johnny’s.

His tear mix with Johnny’s as they kiss, the emptiness filling with explosions of colors, pale purples and blues and whites, of the flowers that brought them back together.

They wake up, embraced by the flowers and by each other.

And Johnny presses a promise to Simon’s lips, that even through death and the fog of memory

They won’t forget.

[deadpresidents]

Waking Up In Dallas: November 22, 1963.

Two American Presidents woke up in Dallas, Texas, on November 22, 1963. Neither of them were the two men who actually served as President on that tragic day -- John F. Kennedy or Lyndon B. Johnson.

The 37th President of the United States, 50-year-old Richard Nixon, had arrived in Dallas on November 20th for a conference of the American Bottlers of Carbonated Beverages on behalf of Pepsi-Cola, a company that his New York law firm was representing.  On November 21st, Nixon sat down with reporters in his room at the Baker Hotel, where he criticized many of the policies of President Kennedy, his 1960 opponent, who would be arriving in Dallas the next day.  That night, Nixon and Pepsi executives including actress Joan Crawford, who had been married to Pepsi's chairman, Alfred Steele, until his death in 1959, were entertained at the Statler Hilton.

In the early morning of November 22nd, a car dropped Nixon off, alone, at Love Field, the Dallas airport that would host President and Mrs. Kennedy, Vice President Johnson and Mrs. Johnson, and Texas Governor John Connally and his wife in just a few hours.  Nixon later remembered the flags and signs displayed along the motorcade route that Kennedy would soon follow.  Nixon approached the American Airlines ticket counter to check-in for his flight to New York City and told the attendant, "It looks like you're going to have a big day today."

Nixon landed several hours later in New York at an airport that would be renamed after John F. Kennedy a month later.  He described what happened next in his 1978 autobiography, RN: The Memoirs of Richard Nixon:

Arriving in New York, I hailed a cab home.  We drove through Queens toward the 59th Street Bridge, and as we stopped at a traffic light, a man rushed over from the curb and started talking to the driver.  I heard him say, "Do you have a radio in your cab?  I just heard that Kennedy was shot."  We had no radio, and as we continued into Manhattan a hundred thoughts rushed through my mind.  The man could have been crazy or a macabre prankster.  He could have been mistaken about what he had heard; or perhaps a gunman might have shot at Kennedy but missed or only wounded him.  I refused to believe that he could have been killed. As the cab drew up in front of my building, the doorman ran out.  Tears were streaming down his cheeks.  "Oh, Mr. Nixon, have you heard, sir?" he asked.  "It's just terrible.  They've killed President Kennedy."

The close 1960 Presidential election changed the relationship between Richard Nixon and John F. Kennedy, but they had once been very close.  When they first entered Congress together in 1947, they considered each other personal friends, and when Nixon ran for the Senate from California in 1950, JFK stopped into Nixon's office and dropped off a financial contribution to Nixon's campaign from Kennedy's father.  Nixon would later write that he felt as bad on the night of Kennedy's assassination as he had when he lost two brothers to tuberculosis when he was very young.  That night, he wrote an emotional letter to Jacqueline Kennedy:

Dear Jackie, In this tragic hour Pat and I want you to know that our thoughts and prayers are with you. While the hand of fate made Jack and me political opponents I always cherished the fact that we were personal friends from the time we came to the Congress together in 1947.  That friendship evidenced itself in many ways including the invitation we received to attend your wedding. Nothing I could say now could add to the splendid tributes which have come from throughout the world to him. But I want you to know that the nation will also be forever grateful for your service as First Lady.  You brought to the White House charm, beauty and elegance as the official hostess of America, and the mystique of the young in heart which was uniquely yours made an indelible impression on the American consciousness. If in the days ahead we could be helpful in any way we shall be honored to be at your command. Sincerely, Dick Nixon 

••• On the morning of November 22, 1963, the 41st President of the United States also woke up in Dallas, Texas.  George Herbert Walker Bush was the 39-year-old president of the Zapata Off-Shore Drilling Company and chairman of the Harris County, Texas Republican Party, and had stayed the night of November 21st at the Dallas Sheraton alongside his wife, Barbara.  Bush was planning a bid for the U.S. Senate in 1964 and making the rounds to line up support amongst many Texans who considered him far too moderate.  One of the groups that was strongest in opposition to Bush was the ultra-right wing John Birch Society, which had recently been lodging vehement protests against President Kennedy's upcoming visit to Dallas.

Conspiracy theorists claim that there were far more sinister motives for George Bush being in Dallas on November 22, 1963.  Some claim that Bush was a secret CIA operative involved in planning or even carrying out the assassination of President Kennedy.  Some even argue that a grainy photograph of a man resembling Bush taken shortly after the assassination proves that Bush was actually in Dealey Plaza at the time of Kennedy's shooting.

He wasn't.  He wasn't even in Dallas.  We know where George Herbert Walker Bush was at the time of JFK's assassination -- we have plenty of eyewitnesses who can confirm it.  While Lee Harvey Oswald was shooting President Kennedy, George Bush was about 100 miles away from Dallas, in Tyler, Texas, speaking at a Kiwanis Club luncheon.  Like Nixon, Bush and his wife, Barbara, had also boarded a plane that morning in Dallas -- a private plane that transported them to Tyler for the Kiwanis Club event.  While Bush was speaking, word of the President's assassination reached the luncheon and the local club president, Wendell Cherry, leaned over and gave the news to Bush.  Bush quickly notified the crowd, and said, "In view of the President's death, I consider it inappropriate to continue with a political speech at this time."  He ended his speech and sat down while the luncheon broke up in stunned silence. 

Bush's wife, Barbara, wasn't at the Kiwanis Club luncheon.  While her husband was speaking, Barbara Bush went to a beauty parlor in Tyler to get her hair styled.  As her hair was being done, Barbara began writing a letter to family and heard the news over the radio that JFK had been shot and then that the President had died.  In her 1994 memoir, Barbara included the letter, part of which said:

I am writing this at the Beauty Parlor, and the radio says that the President has been shot.  Oh Texas -- my Texas -- my God -- let's hope it's not true.  I am sick at heart as we all are.  Yes, the story is true and the Governor also.  How hateful some people are. Since, the beauty parlor, the President has died.  We are once again on a plane.  This time a commercial plane.  Poppy (George H.W. Bush's family nickname) picked me up at the beauty parlor -- we went right to the airport, flew to Ft. Worth and dropped Mr. Zeppo off (we were on his plane) and flew back to Dallas.  We had to circle the field while the second Presidential plane took off.  Immediately, Pop got tickets back to Houston, and here we are flying home.  We are sick at heart.  The tales the radio reporters tell of Jackie Kennedy are the bravest.  We are hoping that it is not some far-right nut, but a "commie" nut.  You understand that we know they are both nuts, but just hope that it is not a Texan and not an American at all. I am amazed by the rapid-fire thinking and planning that has already been done.  LBJ has been the President for some time now -- two hours at least and it is only 4:30. My dearest love to you all, Bar

As Barbara Bush noted in her letter, the Bushes did not stay another night at the Dallas Sheraton on November 22nd, as they had originally planned.  They returned to Dallas on the private jet that had transported them to Tyler earlier in the day, and caught a commercial flight home to Houston.  The "second Presidential plane" that took off while Bush's plane circled Love Field was the plane that had transported Vice President Lyndon B. Johnson to Dallas earlier that day, Air Force Two.  Johnson was already heading back to Washington, now on Air Force One, with the casket of John F. Kennedy.

••• The 37th President of the United States and the 41st President of the United States woke up in Dallas, Texas on the morning of November 22, 1963.  The 31st President, 89-year-old Herbert Hoover, was in failing health in the elegant suite he called home at New York's Waldorf-Astoria.  Within the next few weeks, he would be visited by the new President, Lyndon Johnson, and President Kennedy's grieving widow, Jackie, and the President's brother, Attorney General Bobby Kennedy.  The 33rd President, 79-year-old Harry Truman, learned of JFK's death in Missouri, while the 34th President, 73-year-old Dwight D. Eisenhower, heard of the assassination while attending a meeting at the United Nations in New York.  Truman and Eisenhower would squash a long, bitter personal feud that weekend while attending Kennedy's funeral in Washington.  The 38th President, 50-year-old Michigan Congressman Gerald Ford, was driving home with his wife Betty after attending a parent conference with their son Jack's teacher when they heard the news on the radio in their car.  Two days later, President Johnson would call on Ford to serve on the Warren Commission investigating the assassination.  

The 39th President, Jimmy Carter was 39 years old and had just gotten off a tractor near the warehouse of his Plains, Georgia peanut farm when a group of farmers informed him of the news of the shooting.  Carter found a quiet area, kneeled down in prayer, and when he heard that Kennedy had died, cried for the first time since his father had died ten years earlier.  Ronald Reagan, the 40th President, was 52 years old and preparing for a run as Governor of California.  A little more than 17 years later, the now-President Reagan would also be shot by a lone gunman in the middle of the day.  While Reagan would survive the attempt on his life, it was very nearly fatal and reminded his wife, Nancy, of November 22, 1963.  As she was transported to George Washington Hospital following Reagan's shooting, Nancy would later note, "As my mind raced, I flashed to scenes of Parkland Memorial Hospital in Texas, and the day President Kennedy was shot.  I had been driving down San Vicente Boulevard in Los Angeles when a bulletin came over the car radio.  Now, more than seventeen years later, I prayed that history would not be repeated, that Washington would not become another Dallas.  That my husband would live."

The 41st President, Bill Clinton, and the 43rd President, George W. Bush, were both 17 years old and in school -- Bush at the Phillips Academy in Andover, Massachusetts, and Clinton at Hot Springs High School in Hot Springs, Arkansas.  Clinton was in his fourth period calculus class when his teacher was called out of the room and returned to announce that President Kennedy had been killed.  Four months earlier, Clinton had traveled to Washington with the Boys Nation program and, during a ceremony in the Rose Garden of the White House, pushed his way to the front of the line and shook President Kennedy's hand.  The 44th President, Barack Obama, was a 2-year-old living in Hawaii.

••• The 35th President, 46-year-old John F. Kennedy, would die in Dallas on November 22, 1963.  Lyndon B. Johnson, 55, would become the 36th President in Dallas that day.  But they woke up that morning in Fort Worth at the Texas Hotel.  Kennedy had slept the last night of his life in suite 850 on the eighth floor, now the Presidential suite.  LBJ had slept the last night of his Vice Presidency in the much more expensive and elegant Will Rogers Suite on the thirteenth floor.  The Secret Service had vetoed the Will Rogers Suite for the President because it was more difficult to secure.  It was raining in Fort Worth as they woke up, but the skies had cleared by the time they landed in Dallas.  Before breakfast, President Kennedy, Vice President Johnson, and Texas Governor John Connally headed outside and briefly addressed a crowd that had gathered long before the sun had come up in hopes of seeing JFK.  Jacqueline Kennedy didn't accompany them outside and President Kennedy joked to the crowd, "Mrs. Kennedy is organizing herself.  It takes her a little longer but, of course, she looks better than we do when she does it."

Afterward, they headed inside for breakfast in the Texas Hotel's Grand Ballroom with several hundred guests.  The President sent for Mrs. Kennedy to join them, and her late arrival to the breakfast excited the guests in the ballroom.  When the President spoke to the group, he joked again, "Two years ago I introduced myself in Paris as the man who had accompanied Mrs. Kennedy to Paris.  I'm getting somewhat that same sensation as I travel around Texas."  Then he noted, "Nobody wonders what Lyndon and I wear."

When the breakfast ended, the Kennedys headed upstairs and had an hour or so to wait before heading to the airport for the short flight to Dallas.  It was during this time that Jackie Kennedy saw a hateful ad placed in that morning's Dallas Morning News accusing President Kennedy of collusion with Communists and treasnous activity.  Trying to calm Jackie down, the President joked, "Oh, we're heading into nut country today."  But a few minutes later, Jackie overheard Kennedy telling his aide, Ken O'Donnell, "It would not be a very difficult job to shoot the President of the United States.  All you'd have to do is get up in a high building with a high-powered rifle with a telescopic sight, and there's nothing anybody can do."

••• Even though the trip from Fort Worth's Carswell Air Force Base to Dallas's Love Field would only take thirteen minutes by air, the trip to Texas was first-and-foremost a political trip -- a kickoff of sorts to JFK's 1964 re-election campaign -- and a grand entrance was needed.  So, JFK and Jackie boarded the plane usually used as Air Force One, LBJ and Lady Bird Johnson boarded the plane usually used by the Vice President, Air Force Two, and the huge Presidential party took to the skies, covering thirty miles in thirteen minutes, in order to get the big Dallas welcome that they were hoping for.  They landed in Dallas at 11:40 AM, and President Kennedy looked out the window of his plane, saw a big, happy crowd, and told Ken O'Donnell, "This trip is turning out to be terrific.  Here we are in Dallas, and it looks like everything in Texas is going to be fine for us."

At 2:47 PM -- just three hours and seven minutes later -- everyone was back on Air Force One as the plane climbed off of the Love Field runway and into the Dallas sky.  John F. Kennedy, the 35th President, was in a casket wedged into a space in the rear of Air Force One where two rows of seats had been removed so that it would be fit.  Lyndon B. Johnson had officially been sworn in as the 36th President about ten minutes earlier on the plane by federal judge Sarah T. Hughes.  On one side of Johnson while he took the oath was his wife, Lady Bird, and on the other side, the widowed former First Lady, Jackie Kennedy, still wearing a pink dress splattered with her husband's blood and brain matter.

Two American Presidents woke up in Dallas on November 22, 1963 -- Richard Nixon and George H.W. Bush -- but they weren't in town when John F. Kennedy was assassinated, no matter how many ways conspiracy theorists try to twist the story.  The President who died in Dallas that day, John F. Kennedy, and the man who became President in Dallas that day, Lyndon B. Johnson, woke up in Fort Worth on the morning of November 22, 1963.  But they'll be forever linked with Dallas -- and the world that woke up the next morning would never be the same again.    

[siriuslychessi]

For the @jilychallenge a bit late since this was for July.

Partners: @tedwardremus and @thecasualauthor

AO3 | FF

Summer trip to (uninhabited, remote, idyllic holiday) island but by accident A & B are left behind alone (or they miss the boat back to main land or a shipwreck (boat wreck??) happens

James Potter could never stay still, it was a blessing and a curse. He could be bored to death in a class and he would always be restless somehow. He would either bounce his leg, write on the corner of his books and parchments, or play with a stolen Snitch when professors were not looking. 

It wasn’t James’ fault that he was so full of energy, he did try to stay still, he did try to seem like he was paying attention, but in reality he was bored in many of them. Having eidetic memory and an abundance of energy really played against him. 

However, when it came to classes outdoors James became much more serene. He loved Care of Magical creatures, going to the grounds exploring, or how he needed to get his hands dirty with Herboly, but what had gotten his attention lately was Astronomy. 

Professor Pruitt had a hands-on approach to teaching, he rarely liked the Tower for his teachings and was always testing their knowledge in the field (near the Forbidden Forest), which James was always excited for. And even if at first he took the class for an easy O, now it had become one of his favourite ones. 

For his 6th year students, Professor Pruitt had a surprise; they would travel to the coast to be able to watch a comet that passed near earth every 60 years, and this time around it would be visible in the southern part of the country. 

It meant a trip with the Astronomy class for two nights, maybe if the weather would allow it they might be able to enjoy a bit of the beach before returning to classes and tests, and all the things they needed to overcome before the end of the school year. One last trip of fun before going back to the responsibility of the upcoming reality that awaited them back home. 

James and his friends were beyond excited. Even if Sirius already knew the sky like the back of his hand, Remus was so determined to get as many O’s as possible that he learned everything he could from the book the Professor used for class. Peter was something to admire, he might not know every star, but knew every constellation name and their stories, and how they related to magical events. It was a thing of wonder.

All they could do was plan for the trip and hope that the usual group of bigoted students wouldn’t make things worse. 

Once they finally arrived at the Isles of Scilly the weather was amazing, it screamed to ditch the group and just got to the beach, however Professor Pruitt had other plans. 

“Before I lose you lads to the island, I must remind you that this is not a leisure trip, we are here with a purpose, and thus I must give you these.” The older man handled everyone a parchment with a copy of the assignment, “The comet will be visible around 4am, so we must get there before that and settle, some muggle bystanders might be around, so please refrain from using magic.” he explained, as he finished handling the paper, “You have been randomly paired, no you can not swap, and I expect a full report by the end of this trip. That is all.” 

James was sure that whomever he would be paired with it wouldn’t be too terrible. 

As he scanned the paper he heard a familiar voice exclaim: “Potter?!”

Lily had read the list of things they needed to measure and how to better calculate the trajectory of the comet to get accurate readings and optimal experience. She knew that celestial events affected living beings and that might affect the ingredients and steps in potion making, so she was taking this class fairly seriously, as she wanted to pursue a career in Potions. 

Everything seemed in order, instructions were straight forward, and she could actually picture herself relaxing before going to the top of the nearby mountain for a better view.

That was until she saw the name of the person she was paired with: James Potter.

The gods did not smile upon her, Lily had had a weird relationship with the fellow Gryffindor, they weren’t on bad terms at the moment, but she felt that they were not exactly friends. And in spite of him being a great student, and probably a great teammate, she just remembered how he could not stay put for more than 5 minutes. Which might infuriate her at the end of a long evening. 

After she, unintentionally, said his last name out loud, everyone in their group turned to her. The tone of her skin matching the one of her hair. 

“All right, Evans?” she heard James Potter asked.

Lily blushed harder. 

“Yes, just didn’t expect us to be paired.” she admitted, putting the parchment inside her back. 

James seemed like he was mulling over something, was she really that loud? Was her tone that annoyed? She didn’t want to go back to the awkward phase they were in after 5th year, once was enough. They have so many friends in common she did not want to go back to weather talk. 

“I thought somehow you would charm the papers to be with Sirius, we all know you two can not be apart.” she tried joking, making some eyes roll. 

“He knows he can’t have me forever, Red.” Sirius chipped in, “I should find McKinnon to sort the schedules.” he explained, patting James' shoulder, who looked disheartened, he was not looking at Lily, nor at Sirius leave. James was just nodding to his friend’s statement.

One by one they all went to their partners trying to come up with a plan where they could all enjoy and do the assignment. Leaving James and Lily alone to speak. 

James ran his hand through his hair, messing it more than it already was. Something she had noticed increased near herself. 

Did she make him nervous?

“We should also try to schedule our times.” she offered, hoping that it would be an olive branch more than anything. 

Every interaction with James and Lily seemed weird, they were not on bad terms, they were amicable towards each other, but it seemed that as much as they both changed (individually and as friends) things weren’t smooth. James was always afraid of saying the wrong thing, and Lily always believed she was too hard on her fellow classmate, when lately she could see more of his point than she cared to admit. 

After a lot of fidgeting from James, not knowing what to do with his pent up energy. And Lily’s rambling and blushing, they decided that they would each pack a bag with different things, a thermos of warm tea, and met in front of the hotel at 3am when the classroom decided to leave with the Professor. 

Both of them tried to enjoy their day with their friends and did a bit of exploring around, enjoying the different view from Scotland and Hogwarts grounds. And one would say that they would be exhausted after a day at the beach where they did anything but lay down and sunbathe. 

However, James’ restless energy was too much to be contained. He did try to get a few hours of sleep, tossed and turned in bed as his mind went over the things in his bag, making a mental list trying to not forget anything, if he did he was sure that the awkwardness between him and Lily would be more palpable. But in spite of double checking that everything was correct, he could not find rest. 

Checking the watch on his nightstand he saw that it was around 2am. He still had one hour to meet with Lily, and the rest of the class, and judging by how awake he really was it would be almost impossible to fall asleep.

Suddenly an idea formed, it wasn’t a particularly bold one, but it was better than staying in bed looking at the ceiling.

Gathering his things, leaving a note in the nightstand and trying not to wake his best mate sleeping in the bed next to his, he climbed down the room to the front of the little hotel and to the street. 

The night was chillier than he expected, the day was so warm that he forgot that they were still in the United Kingdom and not some tropical place. It was good that he decided to bring a jumper. 

During the day James and his friends went exploring around, they found the place where Professor Pruitt had decided to take his students to see the comet. It was a nice mountain that overviewed the island. He figured that he had enough time to go up there, set the equipment in the best spot; gain some points with Lily, and go back before they needed to meet. 

Some people might think he was crazy and he would be beyond exhausted when he would get back with the group. Hindering the project in the process. But James knew that it was the opposite, he would be the right kind of tired, where he would be useful instead of trying to stay still and failing in the process. 

That’s how his journey started, with a positive attitude and considering if he should get snacks after he got back. 

The moon was half full, making it ideal to see the sky but also to not trip over the walk, and the path to the viewing spot wasn’t steep, with a good pace anyone could make it up and back. 

Due to the hour James imagined the path to be deserted, he figured he could transform into Prongs once he was more hidden by the surrounding trees, enjoying the freedom of running around a new landscape. It would be a great way to go and come back, doing even better time; not wanting to be late in case Lily decided to be there earlier than what they had agreed upon. 

Closing his eyes he focused on the familiar shapes of Prongs; the long legs, the white fur, the itchy antlers that were about to shade. Everything to evoke the perfect transformation. 

Feeling the familiar pull in his gut he let every other thought out from his head…

“What are you doing here?” a familiar voice asked.

Of all the times that James expected to hear Lily Evans’ voice, in the middle of a transformation was not one of them. He knew things could go wrong if he did not focus and he tried his best to stop the spell as it were. It seemed that his body listened better than his brain.

“I couldn’t sleep.” he admitted, turning to look at her. 

Lily’s cheeks were sunkissed, James could see that she had spent a day at the beach. She would probably have a few more freckles after the trip. James found himself thinking. 

“So you decided to sneak out and go for a walk,” it wasn’t accusatory, it was matter-of-fact.

“If I stay in, I'll start waking everyone up, figured it would be best if I did something useful with my energy.” he shrugged, readjusting one of the straps of his backpack. 

“Seems we were both thinking the same thing.” 

Lily smiled at James, and it seemed all of the tension and worry from earlier had vanished; his shoulders relaxed, and he found himself smiling back at her. Maybe this wouldn’t be a disastrous pairing after all.

“Where were you planning on going?” Lily asked.

James blushed, he really didn’t want to be seen as the dork that wanted to be prepared, but it was true that was what he was thinking. “I thought maybe I could go and grab us a good spot to watch the comet.” he admitted, hoping she wouldn’t think he was the biggest dork in history. 

“Oh,” she sounded surprised, James was not sure how he felt about that. 

“That sounds like a great idea.” Lily added, as she was wondering why she didn’t think of that herself. She just wanted to get rid of some energy before the class gathered. 

They started walking in silence uphill, there was nothing much to distract them from the awkwardness. It was not that they didn’t have anything in common, just that Lily believed that everything she said sounded like a scolding, when she didn’t mean to. And James believed every word he uttered around Lily (unsupervised) was terrible or misconstructed. 

His body reacted oddly to that silence. He needed to say something, do something, other than just walk straight in that slow pace, so instead of following the boring old path he decided that he should skip along the logs that delimited the path from the woods. 

Lily looked at James as he balanced on each log precariously. “Don’t you ever do something normal?” she asked, genuinely curious, he never seemed to just follow a straight path or instructions, there was always a work around. Something that the other people would not do or think about. 

“What do you mean?” he asked, still walking, feeling his anxiety lower when he had to focus on balance.

Lily chuckled. He looked a bit childish, but in the best way, she didn’t remember the last time she played at anything like that. She had too many responsibilities and expectations in her to let go. 

“You never do what’s expected, if you go on a path instead of going through the designated area for walking you go on the sidelines. If a professor asks you for an assignment you always ask a million questions on the importance of said work, like you never do just what is expected of you, you are always too curious to just follow what has already been set up. It’s a bit unnerving.” She admitted, making James’ heart sink a little. “It is also refreshing.” she admitted finally, not really looking at him, she believed that even with the darkness of the night he would still see her blush.

James chuckled at her words, “Why don’t you try it?” he offered, “Who is to say that you are not supposed to walk on these if you want a less taciturn experience?” he continued, “There are a few things that can only be looked from one point of view, my parents taught me that, they always taught me to ask a lot of questions.” he admitted “Besides, if you don’t come up here, you wouldn’t notice there is a stream below that looks gorgeous under the dim moonlight.” 

Lily was surprised by that, it seemed great to ask a lot of questions when facing things that seemed a bit unfair and out of touch, but some things were too straight forward for you to be questioning them. However, at James’ mention of a different view she now was eager to see what was to look at things under his perspective. 

She climbed on the log as he did, looking at the creek below them, and as James said it was gorgeous, like something unperturbed by the humans that passed through that path every day. It made Lily wonder what else James saw that the rest of them did not. 

The walk got easier from them, at least in terms of conversation. It got easier to understand each other after that, setting aside past prejudices and trying to see things from each other’s perspective. 

Lily learned that James’ parents asked him as many questions as he asked everyone else, trying to have an open and interesting relationship with his son. James learned that Lily put a lot of other people’s expectations on her shoulder trying to be the perfect friend, sister and daughter, and understood a bit better why she always seemed to be so stern even when in reality she was funny and witty, and as curious as James.

They continued to chat amicably, conversation grew easily the more time it passed. James was glad for it, and Lily seemed to be relaxing a bit more now that there was nothing more than a walk. 

At some point Lily got distracted, she was not sure how he lost her footing, if it was a tricky log, slippery, or her body was too tired and she did not realise it. But all in all she knew she was falling to the creek and she could just hear herself scream and trying to hold on to something to stop it. 

“Lily!” James was heard yelling after her. And then she felt something warm and soft around her, making her fall soft as she rolled downhill. James had stopped it. 

“Are you okay?” Lily heard James ask, and she took account of her body. She was a bit sore, and she knew she would hurt more later on, but it all seemed okay at the moment. 

“Yes, I think so. Just a bit wet.” she admitted, as she knew they got to the creek by unconventional ways, all she wanted to do was get up and dry herself, get back to the path so they could get to see the comet. However, life had other plans.

As soon as Lily put weight on her foot, a searing pain went up her leg, making her scream at the top of her lungs and falling back down on her bum. 

James hurried to duck next to her and looked all over to see any injuries, “Where?” he was frantic as he saw the colour drained from Lily’s face. 

“Foot.” was all she could muster, as she breathed the pain away. Slowly managing to get the unbearable pain to a low throb.

“Okay, it’s going to be okay,” he moved his hand, a little wince as he pulled his wand and showed it was broken in half. “Fuck.” he muttered. Lily’s eyes went as wide as they could. 

“Oh no, James your wand, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay.” He was panting as her, maybe he hit something as well, they took a pretty nasty fall, but he seemed okay in spite of not having his wand. “Maybe we can use yours? I know a few casting spells to keep that not moving until we get back.” he explained, but as Lily went to retrieve her wand she felt nothing in her pocket. 

“I think it might have fallen.” she said quietly, hating that she hadn’t learned yet how to accio it back, she had been trying but there was so much on her plate at the moment. 

“We can come back with light and try to find it. But first we need to get out of here.” He took off his backpack, wincing again, making Lily worry.

“Are you okay yourself?” Lily asked worriedly. 

“Brill, just sore.” he lied, but Lily did not have to know that on top of her nasty sprain, he had sprained his wrist as well. He could endure, he had had worse with Quidditch matches and Snape’s & Co. hexes. “You do know how to fall.” he tried teasing her worries away, instructing her to put the backpack herself. “You’ll carry it, I’ll carry you.” 

Instructions were easy enough, Lily just had to lay off her foot, and James was already turning around so Lily could climb onto his back, arms around his neck, legs around his waist. Making Lily feel a bit embarrassed. 

“Isn’t it too heavy? You could go up and get someone.” she offered, worried that he was doing too much. 

“I won’t leave you here all alone in the middle of the night.” James was not taking no for an answer, he was just waiting for Lily to feel secure to start climbing the steep hill himself. 

Lily could hear the grunts from pain and effort coming out of James, she was not sure why he was going above and beyond for someone that he wasn’t as close with, even though she was grateful that he didn’t leave her in the middle of nowhere with a swollen ankle. 

It took longer than if he had gone alone to climb back to the path. They almost slipped back a couple of times but James managed to get them up safely. 

“We are closer to the viewing point than the hotel.” he explained as he sat Lily on one of the logs for a moment while his breath evened out. “We should wait there for the others, not sure if they’ll take this path or the one that goes around the beach.” he said, looking down the path hoping to see or hear something, but he didn’t.

When he turned around he could see Lily was still a little pale and shivering from the soreness and dampness of her clothes. “Here,” he said, offering his jacket.

The redhead looked at him and shook her head, “You’ll need it, the temperature is lowering.”

James chuckled, a bit uneven, “I’m carrying you around, I’m actually a bit hot.” he admitted looking her in the eyes, something he didn’t dare to do often. “Take the jacket, Evans, I’ll be warm enough I didn’t fall in the water.” 

Lily didn’t need too much persuasion, soon she was putting the jacket and getting the backpack on once more, before they parted towards the comet viewing place. 

It didn’t take long for them to reach a spot. It was exactly what was marked on the map the Professor gave them. 

James had prepared some blankets for them to sit on, he put one below them so they would not sit on the cold hard floor, and grabbed the second one to replace his jacket. Noticing Lily still shivering he sat behind her, allowing her back to be up to his chest. 

“What are you doing?” she asked, not putting too much of a fight, she was exhausted, in pain but she needed to admit that James’ warmer body behind hers felt nice. Even if the position was a little odd for two friends to be in. 

“Relax, we just have one blanket left, and your back is all wet. Don’t want you to catch a cold, but don’t want to catch my death either.” he mumbled behind her, reaching out for his bag, wincing a bit as he got a hold of it. 

“You got yourself hurt too, why didn’t you say anything?” she said holding his hand, examining his wrist, that looked swollen from a sprain and the effort to carry her. 

James blushed knowing exactly why he didn’t say anything, she would argue with him that they could both wait by the creek, but that would mean she would be colder and it would be almost impossible for them to be seen by the others. She would insist that they should both rest, or that he would go without her, and he would not have that. 

“I’m used to it, I get injured in Quidditch all the time. Don’t worry about it.”

“Of course I worry! I care about you, you bloody idiot, we could have come up with a different plan!” she could not believe he had been that careless, he could endanger his Quidditch career because of it. It wasn’t like they were in mortal peril, they could wait for morning, their grades were not that important, his well being was more important than that.

“You were going to suggest to leave you there, or to wait there while you get even wetter, colder and with less and less chance of us getting found by the group. And I was not going to risk you for a sprain that I’m sure Sirius will heal as soon as he gets here." There was no discussion to be had, she was not going to convince him to have left her behind, no amount of Quidditch and future prospects he had, a human life was more important. 

Lily tried to argue as she saw him taking a thermos out of the bag, she helped him with it since she knew he would be hurting even if he did not show it. “I still deserved to be told, I’m not a damsel in distress, I can think for myself, even come up with something other than staying behind. I don’t appreciate not having a say.” She opened the thermos and poured what seemed to be hot tea. 

James felt embarrassed, of course she should have had a say in all, but he was thinking on his feet more than dismissing her ideas. “Drink, it’ll do you good.” he added softly. 

“It’ll do you good as well, you must also be cold.” She gave him the cup and waited for him to drink to pour herself a cup. 

After they drank the tea they just stay there, next to each other, keeping the warmth of their bodies by proximity and hoping that sooner rather than later they would be found. 

After a while Lily murmured “Thanks,” back to James, “for not leaving me behind.” she added, for good measure, to which he replied “No need.”

Their bodies’ tiredness won over after they made themselves as comfortable as possible, and soon enough slumber took over, each other enjoying the safe company of the other. That is how the class found them: sound asleep, dirty, and hugging each other.

[valyrianfreehold]

Silverwing

Silverwing is mentioned frequently in the beginning of F&B simply because her mount, Queen Alysanne loved to fly and utilized Silverwing fully until the very end of her life. Silverwing was the symbol of Alysanne's independence and freedom. Much like Dreamfyre was to Rhaena. Both sisters flew across Westeros on their dragons from childhood up to the very ends of their lives. These similarities are where it begins and ends, as the directions both dragon's lives took upon the deaths of their first riders part ways. Dreamfyre was eventually claimed by Helaena Targaryen when she was a child. A Targaryan princess and eventually queen just like Rhaena. Silverwing, however, went riderless for some time until the most unlikely of people bonded with her. Instead of a Targaryen princess, a lowborn dragonseed man took to the skies on her back.

The story of Ulf and Silverwing is a short one. During the Dance of Dragons they first flew on the side of the Blacks before Ulf and his partner Hugh defected to the Greens. Ulf did not die in battle, but was assassinated, a rare example of a dragonrider dying far from dragon battle. Silverwing simply circled the Tumbleton battlefield, and flew away after a crossbow was shot at her. This is also unique, as reports of dragons in or near battle do not flee but seek it out and often on the side of their deceased rider. Silverwing was noted to be the most docile of all the dragons on Dragonstone while she was riderless, there are no recorded examples of her ever killing anyone that tried to ride her. Upon the end of the Second Battle of Tumbleton, it is reported she returned to the field by the bodies of Vermithor, Seasmoke, and Tessarion. Singers claim that she attempted to stir her old mate Vermithor. Lingering to explore aimlessly and feast on the flesh of dead soldiers, she eventually flew off and was last seen roosting in the Reach at Red Lake. Her death is never recorded, but it was between 136AC and 153AC. You can read me theorize more about the death of Silverwing and how it ties into Morning's timeline here.

Dragons tend to draw riders with similar character traits. There are some examples of this not always being the case, such as Aemon and Daemon who both rode Caraxes. But the personality differences between Ulf the White and Alysanne Targaryen are massive. Thinking of why Silverwing would bond with two such different people can lead to some fun thought exercises. I personally could think of a few different reasons this might have turned out the way it did, but I don't have any strong feelings towards one correct answer because every possibility is fun to chew on and play with.

The relationship between Vermithor and Silverwing is noted, as they are an example of dragons pairing off with their rider's partner's dragon along with Syrax and Caraxes. What makes Vermithor and Silverwing's relationship interesting is that there are semi reliable examples of how Silverwing and Vermithor's bond lasted past the deaths of their riders. The implications behind dragon sentience and relationships if Silverwing really did linger by her mate's side and tried to get him to fly with her once more is pretty interesting!

Silverwing could have been as old as 117 upon her death, making her one of the older dragons recorded on Dragonstone. We are given no real detailed descriptions of her appearance. The name says enough. I put Silverwing in civilian clothes, trying to match the austere look Alysanne might have had if she was alive during the heyday of Old Valyria.

I apologize for how poor quality file itself is, I lost a long and very annoying battle with Procreate and I had to take the L.

[gx-gameon]

Gx rewatch - school duel arc

Episode 20

The introduction of the school duel.

And the introduction of Blair. (Or Rebecca 2.0) And her crazy stalker tendencies

Syrus is already worried about being replaced.

Jaden being willing to keep Blair’s secret as long as she duels him. “A duel always reveals the truth”

Not the first time we hear Avians voice is him being in love for Blair’s card

Not Sparkman to!!

Zane roasting Syrus for having a crush on Dark Magician Girl.

Jaden is very lucky Burstinetrix is either A) loyal to Jaden only. On B) that she’s not a lesbian. Also he calling the boys pathetic is a mood.

Jaden not making her tell him her secret because “I learned everything g I need through your duel.”

Oh thank you Alexis and Zane for letting the kid down easy.

Not her leaving with a crush on Jaden.

I know in the dub she’s 8 but in the sub she’s 11 and that feels a lot better considering she comes back in season 2 (12) as a student in year 3 (13)

Episode 21

It’s announced that North academy is using a 1st year and Zane nominates Jaden to be their competitor. Everyone agrees but Crowler (of course) who wants Bastian. (Not like their are several other obelisk students who could do it)

Love the friendly rivalry between Jaden and Bastian.

Not the reporter dressing up as a Slifer and getting disrespected. Jaden calling him old right off the bat. (Au Jaden knows this is a spy/reporter as soon as he sees him and keeps him close so he can’t mess with Oto-San’s school)

Oh no he’s got beef with Skyscraper.

Jerad is such a mess.

I love Chumley saying that he got good at dueling because he started hanging out with Jaden and Syrus.

Jerad asking about missing kids and Jaden almost giving everything away before he catches himself.

Jerad you are a full grown man don’t sneak up on Alexis (14) at the abandoned dorm in the middle of the night with no one around. I don’t like this at all. Like I know he’s just looking for his story but this situation makes me very uncomfortable.

Zane Simms it up best. “Instincts vs Intelligent”

“We teach the Slifers well when they don’t skip class”

Again why couldn’t we have more chemistry dinosaurs from Bastian’s deck? Maybe it’s because I love chemistry and have a special interest in dinosaurs but I want this.

Bastian dealing Jaden’s fusion card is such a good move. What a way to shut down Jaden’s deck.

Episode 22

Not the reporter hacking in to find the missing students

Zane being impressed by Bastian and repeating Syrus previous statement “fusions are how Jaden wins all his duels” the brother really are more a like then they think

Jaden excited for the new challenge of finding a new way to win. Love the positive attitude buddy

The reporter having second thoughts about ruining duel academy because Jaden got into his head

“You make your moves at home I make mine in the field” Jaden I love the confidence.

I forgot about his carbon and diamond card. Yugioh give me more chemistry cards!!!

Jaden getting out blade and using skyscraper to help out. I love the strategy! (Also him giving the reporter war flashbacks

I forgot how fun this duel is. It’s a good back and forth I love how Jaden is still having fun.

Not Jaden winning with a hyper specific equipment spell. Only in the anime would you get the hyper specific equipment card with the particular monster.

I love Bastian’s respect as a duelist.

Not the reporter falling in love with dueling again. And giving Alexis the info about the missing students.

Jaden is representing the school.

I know au Jaden had told his dads about the match before hand. The probably steamed it and watched with the whole family/friend group. Joey and Tristian were cheering. Serenity Téa Mokuba and Mai are cheering but not as obnoxiously as the prior two. Seto, Yugi Atem, Duke and Bakura are all discussing strategy and how well both Jaden and Bastian are doing.

They are all thrilled about Jaden completing big the school duel. (Maybe Kaiba will have to schedule a trip to watch the school duel in person this year. It’s his school after all)

Maybe in the au Jaden tell his Zoro-san about the reporter and Kaiba picks him up. He’s original going to pay the guy off to stay quiet but because of his passion to find the missing students he lands a job with Kaiba Corp. (I’ll have to see if the reporter pops back up, I don’t remember)

Episode 23

I love everyone offering their favorite cards to Jaden to use in the school duel. Very classic yugioh. But could we not phrase it as “you have to win or you’ll embarrass the school.” And phrase it as “we’re here to support you, you’ve got this.” Like Jaden’s obviously feeling the pressure already. Don’t compound it.

It’s an obvious difference between DM and Gx in DM in a scene like that they would offer Yugi the cards and build up his confidence and reassure him, they believe in him. But in Gx they remind him of the pressure and how he can’t fail. It makes them offering their cards feel more like they want credit for helping him win and not because they genuinely want to support him.

Although “I want to help you be alone.”-Bastian and “you can’t be alone all by yourself.”-Alexis are iconic

Belowski! He can see duel spirits and speak Kuriboh which is great.

I love that he starts talking about how the colors are just the man’s way of keeping them down and Jaden is over it so fast. “Whatever let’s just throw down.” Aka please stop talking (about my too-san’s color system)

Is Belowski using ‘shadow powers’? Since his Moki Moki cab makes people sleepy.

I love how annoyed Jaden is with his friends fawning over Moki Moki and how great the other duelist is

“Who are you rooting for?” - Jaden “isn’t it obvious Moki Moki” - Bastian

Honestly that has to hurt. To have all of your friends root against you for seemingly no reason.

Love that Jaden realized that their weird behavior was caused by Belowski

I’m sorry but the kid was left at Duel Academy as a baby? This school is less than 10 years old how does that work? Is that the back story in the sub?

He is the first duelist who can summon real monsters in this series which is very cool. Not loving that he lives in a jail cell on campus

Au Jaden has so many questions for his Oto-san. Why is this kid kept in a cell for the same ability Atem and Yugi have?

Love that Jaden is the only student not affected by Moki Moki powers. I’m going to check it up to his own powers. Jaden is the supreme king and user of the Gentle Darkness. I think he has more power than Belowski. I also love that Belowski is surprised by this.

The explanation that Jaden loves to duel so much he just got ramped up he couldn’t sleep. No. Dark powers.

Episode 24

It’s the Chazz episode!!!

He is stranded in the ocean and he imagining Jaden with a pink and floral background? And a rainbow background? Incredible

Him falling into the ocean and blaming figment Jaden

It’s the intro of Ojama Yellow!!!

Not Chazz getting rescued. The ‘rescuer’ dumps his cards in the water the ruin them and then starts asking about Jaden. How does he know about Jaden? Chazz talks about him in his sleep.

I’m living for figment Jaden.

“Talk is cheap.” “Ya well I’m rich!” You go Chazz live up to Kaiba’s crazy rich boy talk

Dude just tried to drown him, shot him out of a submarine into a frozen wasteland. Are you trying to kill this boy?

The answer is yes as they send him in a quest through the tundra to get 40 cards

Not Chazz trying to buy the cards.

Like is the the best way to teach Chazz that money isn’t everything? No they are trying to kill him. But it is effective. He’s going to learn to cherish his cards.

Chazz found 41 so that he could give the old guy the extra. He’s a sweet heart. Though he did try to get ride of Ojama Yellow. Love this duel spirit.

“I have two brothers who are lost!” Love the set up also the reflection of Chazz’s own family. He is one of three brothers as well, but his brothers don’t treat him well. The ojamas really are the brotherhood Chazz could have had.

Oh no he only had forty! What a sweet boy. Figment Jaden “when you do nice things nice things happen to you.” And Chazz getting his last card from the ground.

50 man duel gauntlet! Chazz isn’t even fazed. Oh that’s all?

Also him winning against 50 duelist with a deck he cobbled together with cards he found in the tundra is mad impressive. Not to mention taking on the top 5-2 duelist at the same time to prove a point.

Chazz finally respects his cards!! And is talking to duel spirits!

Chazz as much as you say you don’t like Jaden you sure think about him a lot. He’s literally your inner voice.

Not the Chancellor saying he never liked his top student Czar

Is there only 50 kids at this school? Or is that just the freshman class? Or is it just the dueling gauntlet

Episode 25

Chazz it up! Chazz is up!

Love him getting not only his iconic black coat but also the ‘best deck’ from North Academy.

Love Jaden just summoning his monsters because “I have the best monsters!” Yes king I love how much he loves his deck.

Runs right in up to the two chancellors. “Where’s my opponent?!?” He’s so excited.

Chazz came with a squad “I transferred when I stoped getting the respect i deserved!” He’s read for a verbal smack down and is ready to be king

Jaden over here “I think the match is sold out.” “Oh are you the referee?” “Wait when did you switch school?” The whole grudge has flown over his head. He’s just happy to be dueling and to see Chazz again. They are here for two very different events

Au Jaden sees the helicopters fly in and thinks “my Dads are here? I hope uncle Joey doesn’t blow my cover.” The. He sees Chases brothers and is confused but sure we’ll roll with this.

Then they tell him they are live streaming the duel. And in cannon he’s excited but in the au he’s so stressed. He spent most of his childhood abounding being on camera. What if someone recognizes him and puts together he’s the Prince of Duels? Play it cool Jaden. Play it cool.

The Princeton brothers suck. Not them calling Chazz a slacker and putting all this stupid extra pressure on him. And throwing a deck at him he’s never played talking about how it’s expensive so it will win. Good sirs he already has a deck and strategy he’s been working on the whole way here and you want him to change it last minute? That’s not how you win.

Not Jaden think about how he should have brushed his hair. Or shower. Hah to be empty headed

Not Chazz having a panic attack and break down and Jaden just watching

Cannon Jaden might be starting to understand why Chazz is the way that he is but Au Jaden understand right away. He also feels pressure to succeed but his family never puts it on him. It’s all internal. Chazz is getting it externally and it’s crushing him. Too-San doesn’t talk about his childhood but from what Jaden’s leaves together from Uncle Mokuba Seto was in a sillier situation growing up

Crowler get your fake butt out of here. “I love both of these duelist.”

Chazz really does know how to work a crowd. And I’m glad the North academy kids respect him.

The armor dragons are here!!!

“I’m sorry Burst. My bad.” Not Jaden apologizing to burstinetrix I love this.

He also just got Yeeted and laughed it off. Your doing great Jaden

It took his brothers THIS long to realize Chazz isn’t using the cards they gave him.

Jaden being giddy at how great their duel is. Chazz repeating his brothers’s mantras is so sad. Can’t wait until til you learn to be silly

Chazz I love you but “you go bye bye” isnt as threatening as you think it is

Episode 26

Winged Kuriboh is here and so is Ojama Yellow!

Love Jaden immediately asking about Ojama Yellow.

Chazz you just yelled about a spirit and chasing it all over the stage in live tv. You’re not doing a great job hiding.

Jaden you shouldn’t be talking about people being weird for talking to themselves. But way to put it together that Chazz’s brothers suck.

He just wants to show Chazz that dueling is fun.

Chazz just trashed Jaden and mocked him on live tv and Jaden just laughs and talks about how much fun he’s having even though he’s losing and that Chazz should have fun to since he’s winning.

Not them cutting the feed when Chazz loses

Not Chazz’s brothers publicly disowning him. And roughing him up in front of both schools!

Way to go Jaden! Stand up to these guys.

And the whole crowd cheering for Chazz! I love this

Au Jaden is so over these two. He’s grown up around the best siblings of all time (the Kaiba brothers and the wheelers not to mention Yugi and Atem.) he knows how siblings should act. And while all the siblings he met at Duel academy so far are all crazy and different (I’m looking at you anti-Kaiba bros the Trusdales) these two are a new low.

He knows his Dads watched the duel. He’s sure he can reach out and explain somethings about the situation.

He still stands up to them and tells them off for Chazz.

But he also reaches out to Oto-san and questions how quickly they can buy their whole company. (The answer is very fast) He makes sure it won’t negatively affect Chazz before he unleashes his over protective Oto-san/#1 big brother Seto Kaiba on them.

I love Chazz deciding to stay and he was so polite talking to chancellor Sheppard.

“See you next year!” And we never see them again

Ahhh Chazz got dropped down to Slifer

I love how casually Jaden and Syrus mention the cockroaches and rats in the dorm.

“My new family is already difunctional” Chazz I love you.

Over all the school duel arc is pleasant. I’m glad we will know have silly Chazz and I have a tone of ideas for my future fics.

The DM cast were absolutely pumped for Jaden taking place in the school duel. They flew out to watch him duel. None of them were impressed with the Princeton brothers b it they were impressed by Jaden and Chazz.

Jaden sneaks away from his friends to go celebrate with his family after they get Chazz all set up in his room.

Chazz it up!

[richincolor]

New Releases

All of these books look interesting to me. I don't even know which book I want to add to my TBR reading list first. 

Gita Desai Is Not Here to Shut Up by Sonia Patel Penguin/Nancy Paulsen Books

It’s eighteen-year-old Gita Desai’s first year at Stanford University, and it’s a miracle she’s here and not already married off by her traditional Gujarati parents. She’s determined to death-grip her good-girl, model-student rep all the way to medical school, which means no social life or standing out in any way. Should be easy: If there’s one thing she’s learned from her family it’s how to chup-re—to “shut up,” fade into the background.

But when childhood memories of her aunt’s desertion and her then-uncle’s best friend resurface, Gita ditches the books night after night in favor of partying and hooking up with strangers. Still, nothing can stop the nagging voice in her head that’s growing louder and louder, insisting something’s wrong… and the only way she can burst forward is to stop shutting-up about the past.

Click below to read about all of this week's new releases.

Ida, in Love and in Trouble by Veronica Chambers Little, Brown Books for Young Readers

Before she became a warrior, Ida B. Wells was an incomparable flirt with a quick wit and a dream of becoming a renowned writer. The first child of newly freed parents who thrived in a community that pulsated with hope and possibility after the Civil War, Ida had a big heart, big ambitions, and even bigger questions: How to be a good big sister when her beloved parents perish in a yellow fever epidemic? How to launch her career as a teacher? How to make and keep friends in a society that seems to have no place for a woman who speaks her own mind? And – always top of mind for Ida – how to find a love that will let her be the woman she dreams of becoming?

Ahead of her time by decades, Ida B. Wells pioneered the field of investigative journalism with her powerful reporting on violence against African Americans. Her name became synonymous with courage and an unflinching demand for racial and gender equality. But there were so many facets to Ida Bell and critically acclaimed writer Veronica Chamber unspools her full and colorful life as Ida comes of age in the rapidly changing South, filled with lavish society dances and parties, swoon-worthy gentleman callers, and a world ripe for the taking.

Till the Last Beat of My Heart by Louangie Bou-Montes HarperCollins

When you grow up in a funeral home, death is just another part of life. But for sixteen-year-old Jaxon Santiago-Noble, it’s also part of his family’s legacy. Most dead bodies in the town of Jacob’s Barrow wind up at Jaxon’s house; his mom is the local mortician, after all. He doesn’t usually pay them much mind, but when Christian Reyes is brought in after a car accident, Jaxon’s world is turned upside down.

There are a lot of things Jaxon wishes he could have said to his once best friend and first crush. When he accidentally resurrects Christian, Jaxon might finally have that chance. But the more he learns about his newfound necromancy, the more he grasps that Christian’s running on borrowed time—and it’s almost out.

As he navigates dark, mysterious magics and family secrets, Jaxon realizes that stepping into an inherited power may also mean opening up old family wounds if he wants to keep the boy he may be falling for alive for good.

The Rez Doctor written by Gitz Crazyboy & illustrated by Veronika Barinova HighWater Press

Young Ryan Fox gets good grades, but he’s not sure what he wants to be when he grows up. It isn’t until he meets a Blackfoot doctor during a school assembly that he starts to dream big.

However, becoming a doctor isn’t easy. University takes Ryan away from his family and the Siksikaitsitapi community, and without their support, he begins to struggle. Faced with more stress than he’s ever experienced, he turns to partying. Distracted from his responsibilities, his grades start to slip. His bills pile up. Getting into med school feels impossible. And now his beloved uncle is in jail. Can Ryan regain his footing to walk the path he saw so clearly as a boy?

Desert Echoes by Abdi Nazemian HarperCollins

From Abdi Nazemian, the award-winning author of Like a Love Story and Only This Beautiful Moment, comes a suspenseful contemporary YA novel about loss and love.

Fifteen-year-old Kam is head over heels for Ash, the boy who swept him off his feet. But his family and best friend, Bodie, are worried. Something seems off about Ash. He also has a habit of disappearing, at times for days. When Ash asks Kam to join him on a trip to Joshua Tree, the two of them walk off into the sunset . . . but only Kam returns.

Two years later, Kam is still left with a hole in his heart and too many unanswered questions. So it feels like fate when a school trip takes him back to Joshua Tree. On the trip, Kam wants to find closure about what happened to Ash but instead finds himself in danger of facing a similar fate. In the desert, Kam must reckon with the truth of his past relationship—and the possibility of opening himself up to love once again.

Desert Echoes is a propulsive, moving story about human resilience and connection.

Between the Pipes Story by Albert McLeod with Elaine Mordoch and Sonya Ballantyne (Contributor) & illustrated by Alice RL HighWater Press

Thirteen-year-old Chase’s life and identity should be simple. He’s the goalie for his hockey team, the Eagles. He’s a friend to Kevin and Jade. He’s Kookum’s youngest grandchild. He’s a boy. He should like girls.

But it’s not that simple. Chase doesn’t like girls the way that the other boys do. It’s scary being so different from his peers. Scarier still is the feeling that his teammates can tell who he is—and that they hate him for it. If he pretends hard enough, maybe he can hide the truth.

Real strength and change can’t come from a place of shame. Chase’s dreams are troubled by visions of a bear spirit, and the more he tries to hide, the more everything falls apart. With the help of an Elder, and a Two-Spirit mentor, can Chase find the strength to be proud of who he is?

“Between the Pipes” explores toxic masculinity in hockey through the experiences of an Indigenous teen.

They Thought They Buried Us by NoNieqa Ramos Carolrhoda Lab

Horror fan and aspiring film director Yuiza gets a scholarship to a prestigious boarding school. But that’s just the tip of the iceberg.

As one of the few students of color at Our Lady of Perpetual Mercy, Yuiza immediately feels out of place. A brutal work-study schedule makes it impossible to keep up with the actual classes. Every expense, from textbooks to laundry, puts Yuiza into debt. And the behavior of students and faculty is… unsettling.

Yuiza starts having disturbing dreams about the school’s past and discovers clues about the fate of other scholarship students. It’ll take all Yuiza’s knowledge of the horror genre to escape from Our Lady’s grasp.

How to Lose a Best Friend by Jordan K. Casomar MTV Books

For as long as anyone can remember, Zeke Ladoja and Imogen Parker have been best friends. Their classmates, their parents, and even the school custodian think that they’re meant to be together. And that’s exactly what Zeke wants: for Gen to be his girlfriend. Now that she’s about to be sixteen (and allowed to date), Zeke is finally going to tell her how he feels—in front of everyone at her birthday party.

Imogen loves Zeke with all her heart, but only as a friend. The pressure to be with Zeke has sometimes been overwhelming, but up to this point, she’s been able to manage it. Then she falls for the new boy, Trevor Cook, and she knows the news will devastate Zeke. The last thing she wants to do is hurt her best friend, but she also resents the fact that no one seems to care about what she wants.

The night of Gen’s party, everything goes wrong. There’s backlash, most of it directed at Gen, and Zeke feels emboldened. He isn’t about to give up on his feelings, and he’ll do whatever it takes to prove that she made the wrong choice…even if it means destroying their friendship. But Gen isn’t about to give up on fighting for herself and the freedom to love the boy she wants, not the boy she’s expected to be with.