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[contentment-of-cats]

The Exit

Not now. Calm down.

Do I need to TW for a discussion of medically assisted suicide? Damned if I will censor myself for discussing it. Don't click the read-more if you're offended.

I've been thinking a lot about death (fuck cancer), how it comes, it's permutations. The first introduction I had to close-range mortality was of one of my middle school friends, hit by a car while walking to school. The driver was drunk and behind the wheel after going to a local bar that opened at 6:00AM. He had breakfast and three boilermakers, then got in his car. There was no goodbye, just a brutal and senseless excision of a 12-year-old girl from the fabric of the world. Snip. Gone. Energy dispersed. Closed coffin.

Between the AIDs epidemic, drugs and alcohol, physical disorders and disease, sepsis, misdiagnosis, suicide, I have had a lot of phone calls. If you live long enough, you know a lot of people who are not here any longer. This plays into a bit of news about the Sarco suicide pod, and I have thoughts.

We all will get there eventually. I do not blame people who are suffering and want to meet their end on their own terms. MAID is available in California, and I have discussed it with my oncologist. I am not there yet, but the possibility is that I will get to the point where I will be eligible and more to the point where I am ready. When I simply exist, when there is no joy in anything, and uncontrollable pain - that's my personal choice.

I have Big Issues with ideology, the way that euthanasia proponents push death like doctors push Ozempic, or pushed Oxycodone, and the way that it's turning into a class issue where the inability to afford long-term care or even hospice results in okey-dokey-artichokey, off you go. Medical aid in dying has turned into getting people off the books as I feared it would. My stepfather's hospice care 20 years ago was a circus of zealous glassy-eyed deathbots. My friends in the late 80s and early 90s suffering from HIV were cared for in the community, and if you have to die it sucks less with someone holding your hand, honoring your humanity with theirs. My mother was cared for by a religious hospice service, and they were wonderful. They followed the pre-need orders to the letter, and she died safe and as comfortable as possible.

The pod.

When ideology meets financing, that's not a slippery slope - it's a tightrope. The suicide pod on the surface is a win. You get in the pod, seal it, push a button, and off you go. I do not doubt that the woman who used it was suffering. Hypoxia is thought to be a painless way to die, but as with all endings, nobody knows what's happening in the dying person's perception. The pod costs $60K, is out of reach for anyone but the wealthy, or will cost one's life savings (of which the principals for the Sarco allegedly fleeced one woman previously) for those without the means. It's 3D printed, untested - unless you count the first user.

$60K. Cash.

I get that the American medical system is a clusterfuck and even at its best, there are still issues of access in addition to issues of race, class, and gender. The system alone can make you want to quit. I've been diagnosed as female for decades, and even with a diagnosis in hand, you're still high-handed by those you're hiring to care for your body. In many cases you don't have a choice of doctor, or even the ability to see a doctor. Physician assistants and nurse practitioners are the gatekeeper class, doctors barely have fifteen minutes to spend with you. Minimums of care are not being met and I can't shake the feeling that the 64-year-old woman was ill-served by her own medical providers and her family. It was hard to step back and let Mom's directives take over. You want to DO SOMETHING. Perhaps in their shoes, I would do the same, even drive Mom to the airport - though some states make that an offense as an accessory.

There's a difference between feeling bad because you're depressed and being depressed because you're feeling bad. That is a difference nobody has ever understood until I met my cancer team and pain doctor. The thing is, I don't want someone making their exit to do so for someone's profit margin any more than I want life-saving, life-changing treatment reduced to a line in an insurance company computer. Dying is the point where, as someone said, we cease to be biology and become physics. That is a profound change. It needs to be honored instead of commodified and doled out with ten-keys (do they use those any longer?) clicking in the background. Huckstering custom-printed push-button death is not a philosophy, or 'helping with a choice', it's murder for money.

I'm sorry, Lady in the Forest, that it got to that point. I am glad that you went on terms of your own. I hope that you were not failed so drastically that your back was to the wall and this was your only way out. Be at peace.

[imamotherfuckingstar-lord]

WIP help

I promise some fanfic later today, but I've been writing this idea out and wanted some feedback. I've been thinking and thinking for years about writing a book. A romcom kinda book for a while now and although I've always written fanfic, I want to branch out.

plot: Ben is a thirty-something investment broker who has just moved to California, staying with an old college buddy named Tony, while he settles into his new life. He's ready to end his womanizing ways and learn to stop depending on his childhood best friend, Sam.

Sloan is a thirty-something successful business manager (I haven't decided what she's doing professionally, but she's making that cheddar) who hasn't been in a real relationship since her long time boyfriend, Sam broke her heart five years ago. Now she spends her time with her friends, especially a former colleague named Tony.

Guess who has a friend in common in the city?

Definitely an enemy to lovers story.

Tony’s apartment was built of a luxury Ben was not used to, bachelor pad to the nines. Slick and black, so neat it was obvious a maid service ran through the place at least twice a week. Ben’s room consisted of a king size bed, a mini walk-in closet and large floor to ceiling windows. The rest, Tony had said, was up to him to fill. He was grateful for the place to call home until he settled into his new job. He hadn’t brought much, most of his belongings were in Sam’s garage back in New Jersey. Whatever he could fit in his car was all he brought with him to California, and it was enough for now.

Ben shoved his suitcase into the closet and sat on the edge of the bed, giving the room a sniff. Shit, even the air smelled expensive… He took a deep breath then rolled onto the bed, landing on the side that faced the windows. As far as his eyes could see, buildings filled the landscape – the nerves that had stubbed from his feet up to his head from the second he drove into California, had vanished. Suddenly, he felt powerful. A new city, a new life, hell, maybe he’d get himself a girlfriend. He was damn near thirty, it seemed like the right time.  He smirked, running a hand through his dark hair enjoying the city view.

Maybe California wasn’t going to be so bad.

There was a grocery store on the ground level of the apartment complex and Tony had asked Ben if he could go downstairs to grab some beer. After the two played catch up in-between several trips from the parking garage back up with Ben’s things, a round of beers sounded fantastic. Ben was happy to do some solo exploring, even if it was just downstairs. He didn’t want to become too dependent on his friend, like he always had with Sam. He loved that kid like a brother, but their co-dependency had been an issue for a long time. Same schools from elementary all the way to college, then they moved to New York much to their mothers’ dismay. Lived together for years – endless drinks and girls, mostly on his part because Sam met Sloane.

Smart, loud, annoying, Sloane. Ben hated her from the moment she opened her mouth – snarky and rude to what seemed like only him. He didn’t know what his friend was thinking but he saw the way Sam looked at her. Like a new shiny toy, different from all the toys he had ever had. Loved her so much he moved out of their apartment right into hers and the two lived happily ever after…. for a few years. Ben couldn’t hide the smile when Sam called to give him the news – he was finally getting his best friend back, but it wasn’t long before Sam was running into the arms of another woman. Then another after that relationship didn’t work. He was truly living up to Ben’s expectations of his own lifestyle and he guessed, if he had to admit, that was probably why Sloane never liked him. It probably got old seeing him mess around with all her friends, but it was fun.

Was fun.

Now it just felt pathetic to be drinking on the weekends and ending up in bed with girls five years younger than him. He couldn’t hide the disgust in the mirror every time he stumbled into the bathroom to take a leak. The wrinkles appearing in the corner of his eyes, he wasn’t 21 anymore, that was apparent. When his employer mentioned an opening as an investment broker at the company’s California branch, he applied for the position. With his impressive experience along with his charm, he got the position. Ben had called up Tony, an old college friend, who had relocated to the west coast, and he offered him a place to stay until he could find his own place. Sam was devastated but understanding, plus he was busy being a new husband. He had married Sara, an elementary school teacher, in a quiet ceremony last spring and Ben was his best man, obviously. Watching Sam marry threw Ben into a pre-mid-crisis crisis – he hadn’t had a serious relationship ever. It would be easy to say it had never found the right woman, but that wasn’t true. He had slept with plenty of wonderful women…at least they seemed wonderful in the little time he spent with them.

Okay, he was a dick.

He was working on it though and his first task of not being a total douche was getting enough beer for Tony’s friends who were coming over to meet him. New friends, friends that weren’t Sam would do him some good. Step out of his comfort zone, so he made his way down to the lobby and down to the right as Tony instructed. There was a personal entrance for tenants of the apartment building, and he had never felt fancier in his life. The grocery store was cold and smelled of bread as he walked in, stopping to take it all in. It wasn’t like he was some peasant; he had been to a grocery store before and this branch of stores. It just felt like a new experience to him, he felt brand new. He liked the feeling.

A gorgeous woman in a green apron with the store’s name sprawled across her chest passed him and he quickly called to her. Charm slipped from his tongue when he asked to be directed to where the beer was; she was young, blond with green eyes and he could just list the possibilities the king size bed upstairs could bring but alas, he was not going to be a dick anymore. No matter how much his dick would protest. She batted her eyes, and he held his tongue until she told him the aisle and he quickly left her side before he could promise her the time of her life.

Feedback is welcome. thank you.

[travelloverr]

Things to do St Austell: A Cornish Gem

Hello! St Austell in Cornwall has a lot to offer if you're searching for a fantastic retreat. There are many places to visit in St Austell that highlight its coastal charm, verdant gardens, and intriguing history, as well as a plethora of unique Cornwall attractions.

Exploring the Natural Beauty

The Eden Project: A global symbol of sustainability, The Eden Project is a must-visit attraction. Immerse yourself in the biomes, housing diverse plant life from around the world. Wander through the Rainforest Biome, marvel at the Mediterranean Biome, and explore the outdoor gardens.

The Lost Gardens of Heligan: Step back in time and discover the enchanting Lost Gardens of Heligan. Explore the sprawling gardens, encounter the iconic Mud Maid, and wander through the stunning rhododendron valley.

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Charlestown Harbour: Step into the past at Charlestown Harbour, a picturesque harbor village with tall ships and historical buildings. Visit the Shipwreck and Treasure Museum to learn about the area's maritime history.

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Unveiling the Historical Heritage

Wheal Martyn China Clay Museum: Delve into the fascinating history of Cornwall's china clay industry at Wheal Martyn China Clay Museum. Explore the mine workings, learn about the mining process, and admire the stunning china clay landscapes.

St Austell Brewery: Take a tour of St Austell Brewery, one of Cornwall's oldest breweries, and sample their award-winning beers. Learn about the brewing process and enjoy a pint in the brewery's tap room.

Roche Rock: Hike up to the top of Roche Rock, a dramatic granite tor offering panoramic views of the surrounding countryside. Admire the ancient Iron Age hillfort and enjoy a picnic at the summit.

Experiencing the Local Culture

St Austell Farmers' Market: Indulge in fresh, locally sourced produce at the St Austell Farmers' Market. Sample delicious cheeses, breads, pastries, and other delicacies.

St Austell Arts Centre: Immerse yourself in the local arts scene at St Austell Arts Centre. Attend exhibitions, concerts, and theater performances, or participate in workshops and classes.

The Greenbank Hotel: Relax and unwind at The Greenbank Hotel, a luxurious waterfront hotel offering stunning views of the harbor. Enjoy fine dining, spa treatments, and water sports.

Additional Activities

Clay Trails: Explore the scenic clay trails, perfect for walking, cycling, and horse riding.

Pinetum Gardens: Wander through the beautiful Pinetum Gardens, home to a diverse collection of trees and shrubs.

Water Sports: Enjoy water sports such as surfing, kayaking, and paddleboarding on the stunning beaches of St Austell Bay.

Where to Stay

St Austell offers a variety of accommodation options to suit all budgets and preferences. From cozy bed and breakfasts to luxurious hotels, there's something for everyone.

Tips for Visiting St Austell

Best Time to Visit: The best time to visit St Austell is during the spring and summer months when the weather is mild and the gardens are in full bloom.

Getting There: St Austell is easily accessible by car, train, and bus.

Getting Around: The best way to explore St Austell is by car. However, there are also bus services and walking trails.

What to Pack: Pack comfortable walking shoes, a waterproof jacket, and warm layers, especially if you plan to explore the outdoors.

Local Cuisine: Don't miss the opportunity to try Cornish pasties, seafood, and clotted cream.

St Austell is a vibrant and welcoming town with something for everyone. Whether you're seeking outdoor adventures, cultural experiences, or simply a relaxing getaway, St Austell is the perfect destination. Continue reading

FAQs of Things to do in St Austell Cornwall

.

Q: Is St Austell in Cornwall worth visiting?

A: Absolutely! St Austell offers beautiful gardens, historic sites like Charlestown Harbour, and top attractions like the Eden Project, making it a great Cornwall destination.

Q: Why is St Austell famous?

A: St Austell is known for its historic china clay mining, the iconic St Austell Brewery, and proximity to the Eden Project and Charlestown Harbour.

Q: Can you walk to the beach from St Austell?

A: While not directly on the coast, beaches like Porthpean and Charlestown are a short drive or bus ride away.

Q: Is St Austell Cornwall a nice place to live?

A: Yes, St Austell offers a relaxed lifestyle, coastal access, and plenty of amenities, making it a lovely place to live in Cornwall.

Q: Is St Austell a seaside town?

A: Not exactly, but it’s close to several beautiful beaches and harbours, like Charlestown, giving it a coastal vibe.

[shop-korea]

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[starbuckie]

𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬

challenge: 1k writing challenge by @bubblebuckys

prompts: “wanna fuck?” “i don’t want to ruin our friendship.” “i won’t.” “i will.” and the situation of your car breaking down on the way to your best friend’s wedding but luckily, they offer up their asshole sibling to take you the rest of the way of the very long road trip.

pairing: college!bestfriend’sbrother!bucky barnes x reader

words: 5.2k words

warnings: SMUT 18+ (car sex, protected sex, spanking, choking), angst, fluff, bucky is a grumpy lil nerd, reader is gonna be annoying the fuck out of him

summary: y/n is going to stab becca barnes for ever introducing her older brother to her. also for sending him to pick her broken down car from a musty side of the highway. but she can’t help but thank whoever got bucky barnes to dirty talk like it was his job in the two years since she slept with him last.

a/n: happy 1k dya!! i’m so happy for you and so happy that i could help you celebrate your big milestone with this fic. i absolutely adore college bucky and this was just so fun to write. this is not beta-read and any and all mistakes are mine. just a reminder to reblog and leave comments, it really helps a lot with motivation so i can create more content without wondering if people actually enjoy it. so without further ado, please enjoy<3

main masterlist || sebastian stan characters masterlist

Just ten minutes ago, Y/N had been speeding down some highway under the burning afternoon sun, sunglasses perched on the tip of her nose like some old Hollywood type starlet. Her heart had been lighter, her smile had been wider, and her foot had hurt a hell of a lot less because she wasn’t kicking the shit out of the car’s now-flat tire.

“Fuck!” Sweat beaded at her forehead on the side of the highway as the cars speeding behind her took no sympathy to her situation. A rock sat behind the car, such a small item that obstructed the road, but she hadn’t noticed it until it punctured her front left rubber and sent her slowing down. The old car rumbled to a stop and since then she’d managed to push the stupid piece of junk to the weed covered side pavement, bringing the rock with her so no other hopeless bastard would get stuck in her predicament.

Clive- actually, was it Clive? Yes, yes it was Clive, Utah that she was stuck in. Clive was pretty far from California. As Rebecca Barnes’ best friend, she was obligated to carry out her maid of honor duties. Which she did, pretty damn well if she said so herself. The eighteen year-old girl and her boyfriend had made a snap decision in the spring of their freshman year of college to get hitched, and with that quick decision came the quick planning. A rustic July wedding in Tahoe, quite aways from Brooklyn, but the couple had insisted, wanting to be closer to the schools they’d be transferring to that coming fall. Every other event, the bachelorette party, the dress fittings, the excessive amount of partying on the other hand had all taken place on the Upper East Side in Manhattan.

Y/N had fulfilled every wish, from helping to send out invitations and picking out decorations and setting up guest tables in between her classes as a sophomore in college. It still boggled her mind how her younger best friend had grown up so quickly, and how the time seemed to only pass quicker as the wedding approached. Planning took place during sophomore finals, and June was dedicated to the quaintest details. She’d taken two weeks of vacation from her job at the small deli corner in Queens to road trip her ass across the country, and though Y/N herself was normally extremely unorganized she had to give props to herself for pulling her shit together for her best friend’s wedding.

But the last step, the most important step, was actually being there for the wedding, and now she was fucking up all of her hard work. Of course, the event was two days away, but Tahoe was also sixteen hours away and there was no service within twenty miles that would be able to fix up her car quick enough to get back on the road in time.

For once in a near perfect five months, Y/N was completely and utterly fucked.

With a loud groan, she lifted her arms from leaning on the hood of the car and opened the driver’s door. She landed in the seat and dug through her Kate Spade purse for her phone. Becca’s name came up as her first emergency contact as it had been since wedding planning began, and she clicked on it immediately.

Y/N held the phone up to her ear, listening to the drawled-out noise of the call, biting her lip in anticipation. The bride was probably busy preparing for the rehearsal dinner the night after or at the spa, but regardless, the ringing stopped and the light, chirpy voice of Rebecca soon-to-be Carmichael-Barnes came through the speaker.

“Hey, Y/N, what’s up? There anything wrong?” Y/N was a little offended that her best friend immediately assumed the worst, but maybe it’d make the delivery of her news easier.

“Kinda? A stupid rock blew out my front tire, so I’m kinda stranded in Utah.” It was dead silent on the other end of the phone, and she could feel disappointment radiating from her best friend. Becca had taken a big risk with Y/N- she wasn’t known for being the most reliable, because she was carefree and a trademarked wild child, but she had done everything perfectly up until she got stuck on the side of the road. A heavy feeling of guilt sat at the bottom of her chest and she fought off tears as she spoke. “I’m so sorry, Becca, this is supposed to be your big event, and I just fucked up being the maid of honor while you should be relaxing.”

“It’s fine, Y/N, we’ll think of something, please don’t worry. There’s gonna be a simple solution-” The pitch of her voice went up an octave as an idea popped into her head. Y/N could just see the smile that took over her best friend’s face, and she fought the urge to hang up because Barnes’ ideas were not known for being brilliant. “Oh, babe, I’ve got the perfect solution! I literally just got off the phone with Bucky, he’s half an hour behind you. Still don’t understand why you two refused to come together because you're coming from the same city and…”

Truthfully, she did not give a damn as to the rest of what her best friend was saying. Becca probably was rambling on and on about the reasoning as to why the two wouldn’t carpool, but Y/N could only try to imagine what being in a car with Bucky Barnes for seven hours or more would be like.

“Alright, I’ve just texted him now! He’s getting gas but will be there soon.”

What.

“Becca, no, he really doesn’t have to do this, I can call the company and wait here-” Anything besides being in a car with your asshole brother.

“Don’t talk nonsense, Y/N, it’s fine. I need my maid of honor here by tomorrow to celebrate my last days as an unmarried woman.” Without leaving room for Y/N to speak, she sped up her words, finger hovering over the button to hand up. “Bye! I love you! Bucky will be there in thirty minutes!”

The call went dead, and Y/N had half an hour to prepare for Bucky’s arrival.

She started by calling the nearest towing company, negotiating to bring it to the motel at the border of Utah and Nevada. It was about three or four hours west, but she figured that she could survive that long in a car with Bucky.

Her next order of business was to repeatedly smack her head onto her wheel, waiting for death to take her before Bucky did.

And that was exactly how he found her, slumped over like she’d been shot dead. Bucky honked twice, gaining her attention as she shot up with a glare. She turned around, seeing a man wave at her through the front window of his car. Barnes.

Reluctantly, she pulled herself from the hot car, stepping out into the equally hot air as Bucky did the same, and-

Oh Lord. Only two years since she had seen him last, and James Buchanan Barnes looked good.

He was taller, at least four inches taller than she had last seen him, and his once-long hair had been cut into a fluffy, shorter style, matching his stubble way too well in a messy, but cute way. And his muscles- his arms were bigger. So. Much. Bigger.

He donned a ratty Star Wars tee and a pair of black jeans, a pair of dirty combat boots at his feet. But he looked good in it. Fuck him.

“Buck.” Y/N sniffed, trying her best to keep a neutral expression.

The boy- no, the man responded with a similar face, offering nothing but a tight-lipped smile as he slammed the door shut. “L/N.”

There it was.

She snorted at the snark he shot at her, grabbing her luggage out of the back of her car and loading it into his. “We can leave the car here, I called the towing people and they’re gonna bring it up to the next motel.”

That seemed to surprise Bucky and it showed. His face was caught with pinched eyebrows and parted lips. “You called before?”

“Yeah…” Y/N answered slowly, “why do you sound so surprised?”

“That’s just not your thing.” His answer just stewed with sass and it pissed her off more than ever. She swore there was smoke coming out of her ears.

He pried her duffel bag from her clenched hands harshly, nearly smirking out how irked she visibly looked. With a childish pout she dropped the rest of her bags to the dusty ground (probably more hurtful to her than to him, though she’d never admit it) and stomped to the passenger seat.

He followed soon after, plopping in behind the wheel with a heavy sigh and grabbing his sunglasses off the dash with his prosthetic hand. She watched him, how he acted so normal when their situation was everything but, and failed to keep herself from speaking her mind.

“Those glasses make you look like a douchebag, Bucky.”

He stuck the key in the ignition, keeping his eyes on his movements intently and choosing to actively ignore her taunting. The car took off after a few sputters, and they were back on the road.

The first three hours, playing Bucky’s favorite Utah radio station (“Why do you have a favorite Utah station?”) as they ignored each other in bliss. The sun had begun to set, pinks and orange swirling in the sky to give off golden light across the barren land.

Y/N snapped photo after photo- it was so pretty that she had to- but that’s when she started admiring Bucky again. This time she didn’t even try to be subtle.

“Why’re you lookin’ at me like that?” Bucky questioned quietly.

“Just wondering how you kept your looks up so well.” Y/N scoffed, brushing off his question. “Only two years into college and I look like I haven’t slept since I was ten. I mean, look at these fuckin’ eye bags…”

She inspected her face in the mirror, prodding and poking at the skin. “I think you look just as pretty as you did in highschool, sweetheart.” Bucky commented.

His words woke dusty butterflies up from their slumber, their delicate wings wildly flapping around in Y/N’s stomach. It took all of her willpower to not deflect his compliment, and she mumbled a thanks under her breath.

They didn’t speak for an hour after that.

It was only once the sun had gone down and the moon came out to play did Siri warn them that the motel was coming up. Bucky’s hands hadn’t left the wheel either, keeping to a stoic expression and nearly still posture as he drove the two of them. Y/N was yawning, fiddling with her phone without a thought in her bored head, up until a song she hated came into the station they were listening to.

She leaned forward to switch it, but it turned classical and she had to groan. Her fingers tapped different parts of the screen, just begging to find something pleasing to listen to. His selection was shit.

He hit her hand away from the console, his disgruntled face concrete. “Stop touching that, it’s not a damn video game.”

“Not my fault you enjoy shitty old music.” She grumbled and hit her head against the back of her seat, turning slightly to admire Bucky’s concentrated face. Not much had changed since high school. A bit more scruff and darker circles under his eyes, but Bucky Barnes was still attractive as hell. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the motel sign in view, about fifty feet up. “Wanna fuck?”

She watched as his eyes widened and his hands fumbled with the wheel, skewing out of the lane. Cars behind him honked angrily at his mistake. Bucky’s face had turned an adorable shade of crimson, the blush rising to his forehead and down his neck barely visible in the night. Once he’d regained control of the car, he trained his eyes back on the road with a sharp glare. “I don’t want to ruin our… friendship,” he grunted.

Y/N snorted, throwing her arms behind her head and yawning. “I wouldn't call four hours of not killing each other in a car friendship, Bucky.” She didn’t catch his small frown, how his shoulders slumped as he finally pulled over into the small motel parking lot. “I won’t, if that’s what you’re really worried about.”

“I will.”

“Just wanted to get some fucking dick, but leave it up to you to ruin something simple as that.” Y/N spat back.

It was nearly cinematic, the way the music died down and the tension rose. The car came to a full stop, Bucky suddenly too aware of the angry glare aimed at the side of his head. “What the hell are you talking-“

“Oh, don’t act stupid, Bucky. Who was it who upped and left that morning, Bucky? ‘Cause I certainly know I was the one sitting and crying on the half-empty bed.”

And just like that, she was thrown back into the full rage and sadness that the summer before college brought her.

They had both been seniors, both not quite popular and most definitely excited to get out of New York. He was an MIT-bound nerd, early admittance and everything, but she was slowly breaking down and falling behind in AP physics. They’d met each other before, with ten years of friendship with Becca there was no way that they couldn’t have run into each other. But it was only when Winnie Barnes suggested that he tutored her did they become close.

Y/N had been mortified of getting a tutor at age eighteen, she should’ve been going out and enjoying what little bit of highschool she had left, but both her mother and Bucky’s had insisted. So it began with the library after school, fingers tracing sentences on a textbook and Bucky whispering formulas across the table.

She didn’t know when or how she started actually listening to those whispers, or when they started to make heat rise to her face or her heart beat a little faster. He didn’t know when the loud, energetic girl with attention issues started to grow on him either.

Over the last remaining months of school, her grades progressed as did their friendship, which was bordering on something… else. He’d come over to her house, she’d go to his and no longer did he tutor her. They’d watch Netflix, hell, Y/N even got Bucky to knit with her, and no one else batted so much as an eye. Graduation passed, and summer just brought on more time for the two of them to spend together.

It was the night at the drive in. Both of them had never spoken of it, but the way that they stared into each other’s eyes for just a second too long as Summer Nights blasted through the car radio spoke what they had wanted to say for so long. Soon enough they were driving home at an alarming speed, holding hands and giggling like idiots through the halls of Y/N’s empty house.

The night was made of shaky hands and fumbling around. Slow movements and sweet whispers of reassurance, getting caught in a night-long romance that neither of them knew would end so abruptly the next morning.

“I was just trying to protect you, sweetheart.”

Y/N scoffed, “From what exactly, Bucky? You broke my heart instead, so great fuckin’ job with that.” She tried to hide her tears with ill-fated words, but he knew she didn’t mean them.

“Hey,” he grew defensive, finally unbuckling his seatbelt so he could sit up in his seat to face her. It was only then did she realize how much Bucky towered over her still in the small car, his head nearly hitting the roof at full height. “It wasn’t easy for me either, you can’t blame that shit on me, Y/N.”

“Well as far as I can remember, you were the only one not willing to take a chance on us, asshole.”

“Don’t fucking call me that, you’re not being fair.” Bucky spat.

“It’s cute that you wanna talk about this now like adults finally, two years after it happened. You had so much time to call me about it, but you just had to save yourself from your consequences, right?” His silence answered her instantly. She rolled her eyes in annoyance, trying to stop the ache in her chest with any anger she could grasp. “Typical. I’m Bucky Barnes, I kiss peoples asses and I can’t confront anything I fuck up-“

She barely had time to process Bucky’s hands lifting her over the seat, but she had just enough mind to feel his chapped lips against hers. It was after he opened his mouth against hers, his tongue delving between her lips, did she notice the sensation of two hands on her skin, one cold, one warm. His touch lit her skin up, nerves rattling at his touch as she reciprocated the kiss with ferocity. Her hands flew to his cheeks, massaging the stubble scratching at her palms until he pulled away. Though his heart was nearly beating out of his damn chest, he couldn’t help the fond chuckle that came upon seeing Y/N’s swollen lips and lust-filled eyes. “You never just shut the fuck up, do you?”

His words took a moment to register with her, and he could tell the moment it clicked in. Eyebrows furrowed adorably, she opened her mouth to spout some more shit about how he had no right to kiss her after everything that had happened (they both knew she would pretend to have hated it), but all he could focus on was the stupid button on her jean shorts.

He cupped her cunt through the rough material, and her train of words stopped at the contact.

She was fucked.

Her hips bucked into the heel of his palm, her lips finding home on his once again. Fingers worked diligently to unbutton her shorts, both of them shoving her bottoms just low enough to straddle his thighs. She dove for his zipper, biting Bucky’s lower lip when he laughed at her struggle.

“I can smell you, sweet girl,” he smirked against her lips, “you’re really worked up, ain’t ya?”

“Shut up,” she retorted, slapping his cheek. Oh, no one had ever done that before. He liked it. “When did you learn to talk like that anyways? You weren’t nearly this good last time.”

“We were fuckin’ virgins, Y/N, I’ve learned since then. Turns out that girls in college hump anything that breathes, got quite the experience in a few years.” Her hands paused in smoothing over the burn of his cheek and his grin grew even wider when he realized she was going green. “You jealous, sweetheart? Got no reason to be, only ever thought of you.”

He lifted his hips to drag his jeans down his thighs, and good God, she did not remember them being that muscular and her pussy was just dripping for them. For him, because then he took off his shirt- fuck, he had to have lifted in the last two years. There was no other explanation for the thick, corded abs that took over his torso. Definitely not there before.

Her hands slid down his chest, finding rest against the burning hot flesh that had been revealed to her. She let her fingers dip into the scars that littered his left shoulder, those she remembered as bright as day. Their beauty, how she kissed them and told Bucky how gorgeous he was with everything he hated about himself.

She pulled away from his mouth, just for a minute, and let her lips trace that same path down the angry red lines. His eyes fluttered shut at the light contact, basking in the peace her presence brought his guilt and being.

But as soon as the moment was over, her eyes met his again, only to fly shut as she slammed their mouths together again. Teeth clattered against each other as she palmed over his erection, caged inside his boxers. Oh, he was straining. A wet patch formed on the fabric, showing him to be just as needy as she was.

Without another second to waste, she slipped her cold fingers under the elastic, feeling Bucky jolt when she wrapped her hand around him. He was hot and leaking in her hand and when she finally pulled him out of his boxers, well, she had to keep from her jaw dropping open.

His head painted an angry shade of red, precome smeared all over and she couldn’t fight the urge to tease him. Gripping him in a loose fist, she twirled her thumb around his tip, eliciting a loud groan from Bucky. She jerked him slowly, making sure to apply pressure to the prominent veins that ran up his shaft.

Pulling a condom out of the cup holder- she’d ask him about it later- she ripped it with her teeth and inspected it for just a second to make sure it didn’t tear. Bucky had to chuckle at her cute little pout as she put it up to the light of the night, her elegant features just illuminated in the moon. When she was satisfied with the quality of the condom, she rolled it on him, slowly and tortuously, so he could feel the drag of it in full sensitivity.

Her face lowered to his- with his sweat-beaded forehead, reddened cheeks, and mouth puffing out quick little breaths- and he let her think she had him. Lips taunting his with the little smirk he knew all too well, she believed that she had him under her control.

Then, before she could even catch his movement, his metal hand moved to her throat, fingers pressing at the sides, and the tides flipped. He was the one smirking then- grinning like a hyena when he saw Y/N’s eyes roll back. Her chest was heaving, hips mindlessly rutting down onto his, just begging to have him inside her, and he had her right where he wanted her.

Bucky took her silence, that very rare occasion she wasn’t mouthing off, to line up his cock to her entrance with her free hand. His warm hand sliding up the inside her thighs, he snaked it around her hip, and with one movement, guided her hips down his length. Both of them let out a moan at the intrusion.

It felt so good and natural. Maybe Bucky was lying about the other girls, he probably just watched too much porn in his dorm room to learn that type of dirty talk. He didn’t know really where the dominance came from, but what he did know was that it was doing both him and Y/N wonders by the way her cunt was clamping down on his dick.

She made herself comfortable on his cock at first- after all it had been since that summer two years before that she’d been with someone: him- but after the delicious burn of him went away, she was bouncing up and down on his cock like a desperate whore. Bucky readjusted his prosthetic hand around her throat, pressing harder on the junctures and praying to God that they’d bruise later on. Her gurgles, her body instinctively begging for breath, made him grin, and he smacked her ass harshly one, two, three times, just to make sure she got the message that he was in charge. It may have been two long years without each other, but he was dead set on proving to her that he wasn’t planning on leaving her- never again.

“C’mon, darling, I know you can move better than that, go a little faster.” Bucky groaned.

He dragged her lips down to his by the hand wrapped around her throat, letting their tongues entwine as he slammed her hips down onto his cock. She let out a high whine into his mouth, finding it in her to bite down on his lip as her eyes met his hungrily.

Bucky continued to bring his hand onto her ass one after another, his slapping falling in tandem with that of their skin clapping together. “Bucky, oh- James,” she groaned after he hit her again, “you feel so good.”

Her knees hurt, digging into the edges of the cramped car seat, but she made no move to adjust them. Both of them were too caught up in each other to pay the space they were in any attention. Bucky’s hand trailed down her throat, moving under her shirt to feel up the soft skin of her stomach and sliding the fabric up. She whined at the coolness of his hand on her collarbone, feeling the warm air of the car peak her nipples into little buds.

The more her sweat slick torso that was revealed to him made his mind reel, and he was forced to pull away from the intoxication of her lips to taste her skin too. “Honey, you’re so, so fucking gorgeous,” he groaned against her sternum. He bit, licked and nipped, sucking to make sure dark bruises would show up, biting lightly on her nipples and marking her in every right. “Taste so good too, no one’s ever as good as you.”

Even though her mind and body were on a high of ecstasy and pleasure, his words gave her a sense of renewal, grounding her to that moment in the car with him. Her hips were losing rhythm- she was close and her lower stomach was bundling up inside, just begging to find release.

He could feel her desperation to let go too- he needed to just as bad. Bringing his right hand down to her clit with a harsh smack, he let two fingers rub her wetness around the sensitive bud, teasing the swollen flesh over the edge.

His hips snapped up into hers when her knees began to fail her, heaving with slow breaths as he staved off his orgasm for hers. “You can let go, darling, I’ll take care of you just fine.”

The feel of his calloused fingers against her clit sent her over the edge. Her hand grasped at the closest thing, slamming against the window with its freezing condensation under her palm. Her cunt clamped on Bucky’s cock with wild ferocity and her head fell back, leaving her neck exposed for him to bite down on as he chased his own release.

She continued to ride him, sensually and slowly, and soon enough he was coming into the condom, groaning praises about how she felt wrapped around his dick. He kissed her delicate skin, soothing his marks with chapped lips and pink cheeks. “You look so pretty when you come, sweetheart. ‘M so glad you were so good for me, like you were made to take my cock. God, I love you so much.”

When her cunt finished milking his cock, the soreness kicked in. Bucky lifted her off of his cock from her armpits, letting her slump forwards tiredly on his chest. She was nearly asleep, even with her sweaty hair and come leaking out of her swollen pussy, her eyes drooping heavily. Bucky wanted to clean her up, to care for her and talk with her about how much he missed her, but he could tell she needed to sleep.

Moving his lips to hair, he whispered quietly. “Hey, darling?” She hummed in response, and he could feel her eyelashes flutter lightly against his bare chest. “You wanna get cleaned up? You can get some rest in the backseat, I’ll watch out for your car.”

She sat up, rubbing her eyes blearily with pouty lips. Bucky didn’t know where they stood; he wanted to kiss her so bad in the moonlight, but he stood against it. He helped her pull her panties back up her legs, the jean shorts following behind. He wrapped up the used condom, sneaking out of the car to toss it in the trash without anyone to see him in the parking lot.

By the time he came back, Y/N was wrapped in one of his sweatshirts, curled in a fetal position in the backseat. He took a minute to look at her, longing to lay by her again.

Y/N sensed his eyes on him. His stare was never exactly subtle. “Come over here, James,” she yawned, “you make a comfy pillow.”

She sat up and before she could even fully understand what was going on, he tackled her into the seat, pressing her body against his as she squealed. “You’re squishin’ me, Buck, can we move around?”

His face flushed, and once again he was reduced to being a blushing, stuttering mess around her. “Oh God, yeah, m’ sorry.”

He laid back on the seat with his head crooked against the cold window, gesturing for her to lay on top of him. She complied happily, resting her head right under his chin, her ear right above his comforting heartbeat. Neither of them really felt sleepy anymore, the full force of what their sex was to them hitting them so suddenly. “Honey?” Nothing in response. “Can I tell you something?”

“Buck, can we talk about this tomorrow-”

“I can’t wait to talk about this tomorrow.” He recoiled at the desperation in his voice. Clearing his throat, he tried to start over again. “‘M sorry about that. I just wanted to tell you, before we fucked, like when we were driving but I was being an ass and still now, I guess-” he huffed out a sigh, lost for words as he encompassed the feeling of having her body pressed against his. It had been two years after all. “God, I’m just fucking this up, aren’t I?” Y/N nodded and he chuckled at her blatant honesty.

“I’m not good at emotions. I guess that’s why I left that night, but it’s just because I’m a huge fuckin’ coward. Was scared how big my feelings for you were and that we were goin’ to different colleges, but that doesn’t seem so scary anymore. It’s easy to say this now, ‘cuz I love you and nothing is keeping me back from saying it anymore.”

Those words. She’d been waiting to hear those words in her fantasies for two haunting years, and now that she had- it just made her the happiest girl on the planet. But she couldn’t let him get away with what he did so easily. Y/N grinned against his chest, lifting her head up to kiss his scruffy jaw. “You said that already, Buck.”

“What?”

“Told me you loved me already.” She shrugged.

“When did I- oh.”

You look so pretty when you come, sweetheart. ‘M so glad you were so good for me, like you were made to take my cock. God, I love you so much.

His cheeks reddened again, embarrassed that he had gotten caught before his big planned speech, but Y/N grabbed his hand and kissed it before resting it over her chest.

“But for the record, I love you too. It’s been a long to years without you, Buck.” She smiles. closing her eyes and burrowing herself farther into his chest. “Now get some shut-eye, we’ve got some shit to talk about tomorrow.”

[miekasa]

mie!! i’m so late to the party but i absolutely loved ‘NICE’, it made me feel so warm and fuzzy <33 it’s so unique to its own and the flow of it is beyond wonderful!

what is married life like for oc and eren in ‘NICE’? is it just like before/do you have any nice!husband!eren headcanons?

AHH I’m so happy you liked it and that you took the time to come and tell me!! Married life for them... doesn’t really differ from what their lives looked like before actually hehe. They were basically married without knowing it 🙄🙄 idiots to lovers or something like that; but here are a few head canons of the months immediately following NICE!

You officially got married in Paris on the fourth, not too long after Carla’s wedding. You guys flew in some officials, checked through all the technicalities, and signed the papers right on top of the Eiffel Tower (access granted by the city of Paris upon request of one Carla Jaeger, of course). 

Aside from having the most picturesque location in the world to sign your marriage certificate, there wasn’t anything lavish in celebration after that. Carla’s wedding was just three days earlier, after all, and was still the talk of the local press. You did have a small party with your friends (Jean, Armin, Mikasa, Marco, Erwin, Levi, Hange came from the Alps for Carla’s wedding) in your overly large hotel room. Just some music, room service, and lots and lots of champagne.

Eren extended your winter break vacation by two weeks for an impromptu honeymoon to the Bahamas before you went home. Let’s just say you did not leave the safe haven of your hotel room very often, except to dip into the ocean a few nights (benefits of a private beach).

After getting married, the rings swapped places; the band with diamonds previously on your pointer finger was put on a chain (a new one since Eren threw the other one on the ground 💀), and you now wear the engagement ring on your ring finger.

Eren doesn’t like it when you take off the ring (the ring being the engagement ring). The first time you were going into the water, you were going to put it on the chain for safekeeping, but he protested very strongly. He would rather it rest safely in your suitcase than go around your neck again.

Your wedding bands are actually very similar to the band you already have: gold and diamond encrusted. Eren’s, however, has an emerald in the center, like the two emeralds that serve as the pistils of the sunflowers in your engagement ring (for reference, that ring looks something like this, but with a gold band). The bands were the first thing Eren bought when you guys got home.

Your friends in Dubai (Ymir, Reiner, Annie, Connie, Sasha) had no idea that you and Eren got married over winter break. Safe to say they were all… very surprised to hear the news. Connie was a little bit bitter because he missed it, and wolf whistles every time he sees your ring (even though he’s seen it before because you wore it on the necklace every day).

You got married in January, but have an official wedding in the process of being planned sometime around late summer/early fall. Carla insisted that you guys have a wedding despite already being married, and Eren agreed whole heartedly. They are both very into planning it, and yes, Eren is somewhat of a bridezilla, and his mom is enabling him 100% please.

The night you signed the wedding papers, Carla lent you an off-white satin couture gown from one of her past collections. She is designing and making your official wedding dress by hand, with the help of Mikasa.

The two of them are also making Eren’s suit, and all the outfits for your wedding party. Carla will murder you if you even so much as hint at just buying other suits/dresses. This is her baby’s wedding, and she runs one of the most renowned fashion houses of the modern century; she’ll be damned if you guys wear something off the rack.

You considered a destination wedding, but settled on having it in New York. You haven’t decided a location yet, and it’s the one thing Eren isn’t actually picky about (because you know he’s gonna go ham on the decor no matter where it is bye).

Jean doesn’t know it yet, but he’s your maid of honor. Good luck and best of wishes to Eren picking between Mikasa and Armin for best man.

Even before confessing and getting married, Eren never slept much in his own bedroom. You both have California king sized beds in your rooms, and more often than not, Eren would sleep with you in your bed. You didn’t always cuddle, but he just liked to be there (for your presence, and because he was grossly in love bye)… you ended up cuddling a lot of the time tho.

He wants to renovate your apartment now that you both “officially” live in the same bedroom, even though it’s not necessary. He just likes renovating things.

You guys go to dinner every weekend, and sometimes you even go dancing. Eren still can’t dance and he doesn’t actually care to learn; it just reminds him of being in Nice with you.

He kisses your ring finger every morning waking up and every night before going to bed; sometimes he even does it subconsciously in his sleep.

He holds your hand way more often. Not just because you guys are together now, but because he likes seeing the ring where it’s meant to be. He also notices that it helps to curb your anxiety, which is a good bonus.

Eren wants kids, but he hasn’t really brought it up yet. He knows you both are fairly young, and that you’re still technically in school, but that’s not really a deterrent for him.

The only reason he’s waiting to say something is because you guys have a lot going on with wedding planning and settling in to “married life”—there’s a lot of tedious paperwork to be done and documents to update. He’ll bring it up next year when all that is settled.

On the subject of school, you are still attending university, but have been eligible for graduation for a year now. You had enough credits to graduate last (the year before NICE) December, but there were a few more classes you wanted to take out of interest that hadn’t been running in past years, so you stayed for all four years. Eren picks you up from your lectures.

Eren graduated in December before you guys went on vacation. By normal standards, that’s a semester early. However, he was supposed to be in this Honors Arts and Sciences program, that should have taken him another two semesters. He decided it wasn’t worth it, and dropped the honors part, and with that, had enough credits to graduate, so he did.

A college degree is really more of an accessory for him anyway, and school was never his thing. He’s decently smart, sure, but he never enjoyed school because of the emphasis on exams; he’s more of a creative person, a dreamer if you will. The only reason he even went to Columbia was because you decided to go there. 

He and you both have enough money to live more than comfortably if neither of you decided to get a job after graduation… way more than enough/ But Eren isn’t doing nothing; he’s actually sorta been working his way into the world of professional interior design, and he really loves it. You’re proud of him, and more than anything, happy that he decided to go for something he loves.

Armin and Jean also graduated a semester early. Armin’s been living with Mikasa since Connie got his own place off-campus in January. Jean is a little upset blondie is living with his girlfriend before he is, but it’s whatever 🙄if it’s gonna be anyone, at least it’s Armin. 

Carla mentioned that Eren got married sometime during a NYFW interview (along with talking about her own recent marriage), and since then you both have interviewed for two magazines, one of which featured pictures from your smaller party in Paris. You’ve gotten requests from Vanity Fair and Vogue about your bigger wedding later in the year, but you guys haven’t invited any media officials as of yet.

You and Eren attend the MET Gala almost every year. You don’t walk the red carpet and nobody is scrambling to take your pictures; but you have passes because of Carla. Also, you could just buy your way in if you wanted you (and your friends have in the past). This year, Eren had to pay two security officers $10k in bribes because you two snuck away to fuck in… a part of the museum not sectioned off for the event. Whoopsies.

Even before Eren got him arrested, going out to brunch was kind of your and Armin’s thing. Eren insists he should be invited now that he’s your husband. He is not. (His bitterness grows when he learns that Jean has secured himself an invite somehow).

Eren sold the car he got arrested for drag racing in. He never told you why—and as far as transportation goes, it wasn’t a big deal because you guys have other cars—but, to him, it was a kind of symbol. He thinks it’s dumb if he thinks too long about it, but he just didn’t wanna have that there are a reminder of how he’d hurt you and his mom.

Jean still drives you to your therapy appointments, but now Eren picks you up. Eren also goes to therapy himself, and has been before you guys got married; his therapist says he’s undoubtedly happier in recent sessions… like a weight’s been lifted off his shoulder.

As far as drugs go, there’s, of course, weed on a happy occasion, or at a party; but he hasn’t touched coke since that one time (which was also the first time he’d ever done it). That’s not even him being a changed man, he just didn’t like it—he only argued with you about it because he was being stubborn. He’s more of a drinker than anything, and absolutely loves to get you drunk on a special occasion, too; he always has. He thinks you look cute, and he likes taking care of you.

You have lived in that apartment with Eren for years before marrying him, yet he insisted you needed to christen the place like it was brand new… at this point, the only places you haven’t fucked in are the elevator itself, the foyer, the storage closet, and the pool. The latter only because it’s been too cold in NYC… trust and believe pool sex is coming lmfao.

Eren bought the apartment and renovated and designed it, but he never did like being in it all alone, and that’s been magnified since you got married. If he’s there by himself, he’s usually in the living area, napping on the daybed. He waits for your faithfully every day, and is hardly in the bedroom if you’re not.

Eren has not stopped introducing you as his wife since January. Even to people in passing like cashiers and bartenders, everyone in the whole damn city probably knows you guys got hitched.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Misread Details, Part Two

CW: Described death of whumper, BBU, implications of pet whump, references to noncon, dehumanization, sadistic whumper

Part One: Nanda | Part Two: Brute | Part Three: Robert

The Unsolved Murder of Henry “Brute” Hanlon and the Box Boy Killer

r/LetsTalkTrueCrime

•Posted by u/oshaycanyousee

2 weeks ago

I’m back, r/LetsTalkTrueCrime! I really appreciated the questions and discussion under my last write-up, and a few of you really encouraged me to keep working to provide a part two to my Serial Killer Box Boy series, so here it is!

In Part One, we looked at the mysterious death of Nathaniel “Nanda” Benson, who died of cardiac arrest due to an undiagnosed heart defect (and likely head trauma played a part) and was found at the bottom of the stairs inside his California home. The only valuable possession missing from his property was his legally-purchased Box Boy, who fled the city wearing Nathaniel Benson’s shoes and using his money to buy a bus and then train ticket. 

The last confirmed sighting of the runaway Box Boy (and Benson’s possible killer?) was in Red Hills, California, a large-ish city a couple hours south of Benson’s house by train. 

Questions remain around Benson’s death: did he suffer cardiac arrest and fall down the stairs? Did the Box Boy push him, with the shock of the trauma and injury leading to the heart attack that killed him?

Is the Box Boy merely a witness to a tragic but natural death, or the prime murder suspect?

And most importantly: If he wasn’t guilty, why did he run?

Less than a full calendar year after Benson’s death, the question of where the Boxie went after Benson died was answered… but even that answer only opened up more questions, and the sudden death of a second man places even more uncertainty into the story of a Boxie who might simply be an innocent victim - or who could be a serial killer whose makes a victim out of those who give him shelter.

Which leads us to the story of Henry James Hanlon, known to nearly everyone - including his wife - as “Brute”.

Henry Hanlon was born in a small town in Texas, but moved to Red Hills, California after finishing a stint in the Air Force. 

His parents, James Hanlon and Estella Hanlon, maiden name Brickers, had had their first child, Henry’s older brother William “Bill”, right out of high school, born six months after their wedding day. Henry came three years later, and his sister Roberta “Bobbie” one year after that.

Henry was a perfectly normal, cheerful little boy, always toddling after his older brother and trying to join in the games of the older kids in town. His parents recalled him as the quintessential “middle child”, always resolving disputes and quietly getting things done. He received his nickname of “Brute” in fifth grade, when a classroom bully was harassing a female friend of Henry’s and Henry decided to take action. The only information I could really hunt down on this was some old school records that I found on a message board, and I can’t really verify if they’re real, but they suggest that the bully was sent home injured and Henry received a three-day suspension.

After that, it seems, anyone and everyone - even teachers - called Henry Hanlon “Brute”, and he never seemed to mind.

He received perfectly average grades, enlisted in the Air Force, served without distinction but without any significant incidents, and afterwards he moved out to California, where he settled into Red Hills (then a city with a thriving industrial district that was slowly beginning its slide into something rougher) and took a job with a manufacturing company, working in their warehouse.

“Brute” dated around a bit, but it wasn’t until three years after his move that he met the woman he would marry, Ellen Patricia Barry. She was a few years younger than him, and they met at a local bar that both were known to frequent. One of Brute’s former coworkers told police that Brute was big into pool and poker, both of which he would engage in when he went to the bar, and that he met Ellen during one of the poker nights, and that Brute stated that how easily she beat him was one of the reasons he was interested in her romantically.

Ellen claims they first spoke while playing pool, not poker, and also claims she’s never played poker in her life. Why Brute would have told his coworkers a different story is unclear. 

They dated for about a year before they wed at Grace Baptist Church on a sunny summer day in 20XX. Ellen’s father gave her away while Brute’s little sister was the maid of honor. A year later, Brute’s daughter Elizabeth was born, and a couple years after that, their son Daniel.

The Hanlons lived a charmed life - they owned a cute three-bedroom cottage home (bought and given to them by Ellen’s parents as a wedding gift) in a good part of town with a little white fence around the property and a yard big enough for the children and dog to play in. Ellen was part of the local PTA and active in her church, and Brute himself had the appearance of a man totally content with everything he had.

But Brute Hanlon had a secret.

Ellen continued to believe he was employed by the manufacturing company, but he actually left his employment there years before his death. Instead, he seems to have transitioned into making his money “under the table”. Ellen wouldn’t discover any of this until after his body was located… in a secret house he’d never told her about, in one of the roughest parts of Red Hills.

Without her knowledge, Brute purchased a two-bedroom home with cash directly from its previous owner that was badly in need of repair in the Pauls Mill neighborhood. Once a “company town” from the 1930’s - 1950’s that was absorbed into Red Hills as it grew in the 60’s, Pauls Mill today is the kind of neighborhood where everyone knows if you belong there, or don’t, and it’s best if you belong.

Brute performed a few very cursory repairs to keep it livable, laid down some new carpet, and then used it as a kind of secret base for the unsavory activities he didn’t want Ellen or the children to know about.

While his family believed he was at work at the factory, Hanlon was in fact hosting poker games, selling illicit narcotics and unlicensed firearms, and generally making quite a bit more money than he had with legal employment entirely under-the-table. He would spend his day making connections (and money) through these activities, then go home right at 5 pm sharp to his loving family, eat dinner at 6 pm, help his kids with their homework and hear about their day, and settle in for an evening playing the loving husband and doting dad.

Somewhere during this time period, Brute told Ellen he was setting up a “poker night” with his friends again, now that the kids were school-aged. 

What he did instead was drive down to the corner of Holt and McCormick streets, known to all locals as the Red Hills “red light district”, and pick up prostitutes, usually simply meeting with them in his car, but occasionally taking them to a nearby motel.

After his body was found, police showed his picture around to a variety of the individuals who make their living at Holt and McCormick, and more than a dozen locals immediately recognized him. 

Some described him as a regular customer who wasn’t particularly special or notable beyond the simple fact that he never tried to renege on payment and could be relied on to always be looking for someone on a particular night of the week… but others, almost entirely male, said he could be violent. A few described being injured enough that they had to seek medical treatment after meeting him. The same individuals stated that he insisted on using dehumanizing and insulting language to speak to them during these encounters, and that he was often unable to perform unless he did so.

One individual, who gave his name as “Mix”, mentioned that the last few times Brute had engaged his services, he had brought along a collar and insisted Mix pretend to be a Box Boy. 

During this time period, Brute continued to be an active, involved, and loving parent. 

He was home right on time every night except “poker night”, attended his chlidrens’ recitals and baseball games on the weekends. He often took them to the Red Hills Zoo, local parks, and even did a weekend trip to Berras to see the Berras Aquarium, stay overnight in a hotel as a family, and then visit a redwoods park before returning home.

Six months before his death, Brute’s visits to the red light district abruptly stopped. Instead, he apparently met with a local prostitute, engaged his services, and took him home… for good. 

The best record we have is that one woman, Needie Brandt, remembered seeing Brute leading a shorter, angular young man to his car one night, and described the young man as “one of those runaway Boxies, collar and all. Poor thing was half-starved”. 

Runaways, especially Romantics, are picked up by police from time to time in Red Hills. Most Romantics don’t really know any other way to survive, so prostitution is a common way to make ends meet. Needie said the young man had been seen around the area for a couple of weeks, right alongside the rest of the working people in the red light district, and that after this one night she saw Brute Hanlon lead him into the car, she didn’t see him again.

Asked if she remembered a name, Needie only shrugged and said that even if she did, it wouldn’t be a real one. Which is probably a good point. 

Somewhere in here, Brute began to date outside of his marriage while his family believed he was out with friends playing poker. He took dancing lessons with one Susan Krieger, had a serious relationship with a Lucy Graham, and was apparently occasionally taking a Natalie Dorn out for dinner.

Ellen was never informed about these out-of-wedlock interests. 

Brute’s family knew nothing. When his eldest son went to state with marching band his freshman year of high school, Brute Hanlon was right there cheering him on.

Then, just two days later, he presumably went right back to brutalizing the Box Boy he was keeping in his secret second home.

We don’t have a record of what exactly transpired within the house after Brute took the runaway Box Boy in. What we do know is what the police found later on.

On October 18th, 20XX, around midnight, Ellen Hanlon called police to report her husband missing after he did not return from his regular poker night. His car was located in the parking lot of an abandoned FoodMart, but a friend of Brute’s came forward to say he often parked there and carpooled with friends when going out.

None of Brute’s possessions were inside, and it didn’t appear the car had been touched by anyone but Brute himself when it was dusted for fingerprints or signs of DNA. Brute’s friends who knew about his secret activities weren’t telling, and Ellen and the children didn’t know anything about their seemingly loving husband and father’s double-life. 

At first, the trail seemed like it would go cold, and investigators were frustrated that they had so little to go on.

Then, on October 29th, 20XX, Brute’s neighbor (who apparently asked that his name not be given) called the police department complaining about how the small two-bedroom house next door had begun to smell “like something died in there”, and that he hadn’t seen his neighbor leave or return in days, which was very unusual.

When police arrived, the front door was unlocked. Officer William Keys, the first one inside, later described the smell as “unmistakable. I knew exactly what we’d find the second we walked in that door.”

He was right.

What they found was the bloodied and decomposing body of Henry “Brute” Hanlon, lying on his back in the middle of a small unremarkable living room, on a dirty and stained carpet. He had been viciously stabbed more than fifty times. One even went so far into Brute that there was an exit wound through his back. Medical examiners would later state that at least seven of his wounds would have been directly fatal, but that he had died within the first few and most of the wounds were technically post-mortem.

The murder had been committed by someone who had a very personal reason for the killing. Investigators believe this individual was “absolutely enraged”.  

Next to his body was the murder weapon, along with a set of buckles and strips of leather that mystified the officers. These were eventually identified as modified leg braces, but rather than straightening bent or injured legs, they forced the wearer to keep their legs at nearly right angles, which would ensure they had to crawl rather than walk. They appeared to be homemade.

Bloodied smears and footprints led the officers down a hallway and to the bathroom, where there was evidence someone had showered, changed clothes, and then left.

The same neighbor who informed police about the smell also remembered seeing, on October 16th or 17th (later determined that it was likely the 17th, the day that Brute did not return home from “work”), a young man wearing an oversized coat, sweatpants, and a too-large t-shirt walk out of Hanlon’s house and down the street. The young man was on the short side, the neighbor said, had an angular face, and a visible scar at the corner of his mouth and another along the side of his face. He had the collar of the coat flipped up, and the neighbor doesn’t recall if he wore a collar or not.

He had dark eyes, and short but shaggy dark hair that seemed to have been cut hurriedly and unevenly, and he waved at Hanlon’s neighbor without pausing or speaking as he walked past.

Tests on fingerprints and DNA located within Brute Hanlon’s secret second home would reveal that the Box Boy who once ran from Nathaniel Benson after his death was the exact same one who ran from Brute Hanlon after murdering him. The Boxie’s fingerprints were all over the murder weapon… and everywhere else, too.

Within Brute’s home, more knives were found, along with what looked like a badly-crafted homemade whip and some other supplies. A few of the things investigators found appeared to be essentially identical to what was found in Nathaniel Benson’s home. Other things were different (“animalization” was mentioned in some of the reports, but what I’ve been able to find is seriously vague for some reason). 

Possibly related, a series of dog leashes purchased from a local pet-supply store were found throughout the home, but there was no evidence of an actual dog. In the home’s main bedroom was a perfectly normal queen-sized bed that was clearly Brute’s, with a small side table, a large dresser, and an attached bathroom. 

There was absolutely nothing outwardly out of the ordinary, besides the room being very plain and impersonal. Makes sense, since Brute almost never slept there. 

In the second bedroom, however, there was army-style cot with a thin blanket and sheet, three folded shirts on the floor, two sets of bloody metal handcuffs hanging off the cot’s frame at the top and bottom, and a bucket next to the bed. Two metal bowls, clearly of a style meant to be a dog’s food and water bowls, were next to the door. One still had water in it. The window was painted and nailed shut, and bars had been installed over the windows.

Investigators determined the bars were on the house when Brute Hanlon purchased it and had been installed by the previous owner. No reason for that installation was ever given.

Investigation revealed trace amounts of evidence of blood, but nothing much. However, the living room and dining area both showed poorly-cleaned bloodstains that were much older than Hanlon’s murder, including discolored patches on the walls.

A contract for a 24/7 “master/slave” style relationship was found in the top drawer of the dresser, signed ‘Pet’ at the bottom, and with Brute’s name alongside it. However, both signatures match Hanlon’s handwriting, and the Boxie is not believed to have actively signed it, as he would be illiterate at best. Plus, Box Boys are not legally allowed to enter into any contract, anyway, since they can’t understand obligations at that level, so even if he had signed it, it wouldn’t have been considered remotely valid.

I mean, not that those contracts are legal, but... you get my point.

Also located in that drawer were more than one hundred photographs showing the Boxie in a variety of compromising situations and positions. Several of these photos had Brute himself clearly visible in them, and a few had other individuals who have since been identified as Brute’s associates in his more illicit activities.

Interrogations of those associates led to more than seven further arrests for illegal gambling, the production and sale of illicit drugs, and illegal weapons sales. Those interrogations are also how we know about what Brute Hanlon was up to in-between Little League games and Girl Scout meetings.

Those associates claim that Brute kept a “secondhand Box Boy”, muzzled him so he couldn’t speak whenever guests were over, and that often ‘poker night’ simply turned into a game where the assorted guests and Brute himself repeatedly assaulted the Boxie. The associates claimed they thought the entire thing was consensual, but frankly… given the overwhelming evidence that the Boxie had to be kept restrained and was often seriously injured by these assaults... that’s doubtful.

Ellen and her children, who had previously been very visible and spoke often to local news stations about Henry’s disappearance, withdrew after his body was found and his second, secret life revealed - and have never given a single public statement or made a public appearance since. 

Ellen moved her children out of Red Hills, moving back in with her own parents, briefly, in northern California. Where they went after that is unknown, but they appear to have left the state and Ellen may have changed her surname. Investigators are firm in their belief that Ellen knew nothing about her husband’s secret life.

I would give my right arm to know what his son and daughter think about it, and if they ever suspected what their devoted dad was up to when he wasn’t at home.

So, what happened to the Boxie after he left the house and disappeared down the block from the witness who saw him?

In short… no one knows for sure.

After murdering Brute Hanlon and cleaning off the evidence that must have been all over him, the Boxie simply fades away. He could have been anywhere, doing anything at all. There is a brief sighting of him on CCTV footage at the local bus station, where he is in line to buy a ticket… and then abruptly looks up, apparently noticing the camera and looking directly into it, then turns and walks quickly away.

The footage is grainy, but the Boxie does appear to be wearing his collar.

He isn’t seen in Red Hills again.

Instead, he reappears one more time before his final murder and disappearance… more than a year later, in a little town right along the border with Nevada.

Part 3 will go into how the investigation into the death of a quiet little oddball named Robert Weber reveals a basement full of skeletal bodies. But our Boxie isn’t the cause.

Instead, Robert Weber’s murder solves a series of related murders police had been stymied by for more than a decade, and a Box Boy who may have been meant to be Weber’s next victim instead turned accidental vigilante with a final killing of his own.

Or maybe I should say, his final killing so far.

-

@astrobly @finder-of-rings @burtlederp @whump-tr0pes @raigash @eatyourdamnpears @orchidscript @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @boxboysandotherwhump @outofangband @whumptywhumpdump @whumpfigure @thehopelessopus @downriver914 @justabitofwhump @butwhatifyouwrite @newandfiguringitout @yet-another-heathen @nonsensical-whump @oops-its-whump @endless-whump @cubeswhump @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @whumpiary 

[firstfullmoon]

Do you have favorite quotes related about the importance of small details?

“The precious intimacy of little things.”

— Daphné du Maurier, I Will Never Be Young Again

“On my windowsill when I got home, there was a tumbler with pink jelly in it, and embedded in the jelly, sliced strawberries and bananas… [my neighbour] cooks at odd hours. She must have made the strawberry jelly this morning. When I buy baklava, which is not often because I eat too many, I leave a few for her on her windowsill, with a headscarf over them so the wasps don’t come. For these little gifts we don’t thank each other with words. They are commas of care.”

— John Berger, From A to X: A Story in Letters

“I suppose I could spend time theorizing how it is that people are not bad to each other, but that’s really not the point. The point is that in almost every instance of our lives, our social lives, we are, if we pay attention, in the midst of an almost constant, if subtle, caretaking. Holding open doors. Offering elbows at crosswalks. Letting someone else go first. Helping with the heavy bags. Reaching what’s too high, or what’s been dropped. Pulling someone back to their feet. Stopping at the car wreck, at the struck dog. The alternating merge, also known as the zipper. This caretaking is our default mode and it’s always a lie that convinces us to act or believe otherwise. Always.”

“One of the woman was gently arranging an older woman’s collar beneath her sweater, freeing it from the cardigan’s neck, using both of her hands to jostle it free but also seeming to spend a little more time than necessary, creasing the fold of the collar, the other hand kind of resting on her shoulder, the two of them chatting the whole time, sitting there holding each other, nodding, my head twisting toward them like a sunflower as I finished the stairs and walked by, so in love was I with this common flourish of love, this everyday human light.”

“but her need to share the photo with me [...] smiling and looking at it, smiling and looking at me looking at it, me smiling and looking at her looking at it, which is simply called sharing what we love, what we find beautiful, which is an ethics.”

— Ross Gay, The Book of Delights

“He’s got a fever. He’s all alone. So I’m gonna buy him something to eat.” “The congee downstairs is quite good.” “He doesn’t want congee.” “What does he want?” “Can’t taste anything so he wants sesame syrup.” [...] “What are you cooking?” “I had a sudden craving for sesame syrup.”

“Why did you call me at the office today?” “I had nothing to do. I wanted to hear your voice.”

— In the Mood for Love, dir. Wong Kar-Wai

— Danusha Laméris, “Small Kindnesses”

“It all matters. That someone turns out the lamp, picks up the windblown wrapper, says hello to the invalid, pays at the unattended lot, listens to the repeated tale, folds the abandoned laundry, plays the game fairly, tells the story honestly, acknowledges help, gives credit, says good night, resists temptation, wipes the counter, waits at the yellow, makes the bed, tips the maid, remembers the illness, congratulates the victor, accepts the consequences, takes a stand, steps up, offers a hand, goes first, goes last, chooses the small portion, teaches the child, tends to the dying, comforts the grieving, removes the splinter, wipes the tear, directs the lost, touches the lonely, is the whole thing. What is most beautiful is least acknowledged. What is worth dying for is barely noticed.”

— Laura McBride, We Are Called to Rise

“I’ve never told you this,” she said. “But there’s something about taking the cart back instead of leaving it in the parking lot. I don’t know when this came to me; it was a few years ago. There’s a difference between leaving it where you empty it and taking it back to the front of the store. It’s significant.” “Because somebody has to take them in.” “Yes. And if you know that, and you do it for that one guy, you do something else. You join the world…You move out of your isolation and become universal.”

— Andre Dubus, “Out of the Snow”

“It’s true that, in Vietnamese, we rarely say I love you, and when we do, it is almost always in English. Care and love, for us, are pronounced clearest through service: plucking white hairs, pressing yourself on your son to absorb a plane’s turbulence and, therefore, his fear. Or now—as Lan called to me, “Little Dog, get over here and help me help your mother.” And we knelt on each side of you, rolling out the hardened cords in your upper arms, then down to your wrists, your fingers. For a moment almost too brief to matter, this made sense—that three people on the floor, connected to each other by touch, made something like the word family.”

— Ocean Vuong, On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous: A Novel

— Ada Limón, from “The Great Blue Heron of Dunbar Road”

“I’m doing a balancing act with a stack of fresh fruit in my basket. I love you. I want us both to eat well.”

— Christopher Citro, from “Our Beautiful Life When It’s Filled WIth Shrieks”

“One of the primary ways we connect with each other is by eating together. Some of the connection happens simply by being in the same place at the same time and sharing the same food, but we also connect through specific actions, such as serving food to one another or making toasts: ‘May I offer you some potatoes?’ ‘Here’s to your health and happiness.’ Much of our fundamental well-being comes from the basic reassurance that there is a place for us at the table. We belong here. Here we are served and we serve others. Here we give and receive sustenance.”

— Edward Espe Brown, Tomato Blessings and Radish Teaching

“Attention is the beginning of devotion.”

“Now in the spring I kneel, I put my face into the packets of violets, the dampness, the freshness, the sense of ever-ness. Something is wrong, I know it, if I don’t keep my attention on eternity. May I be the tiniest nail in the house of the universe, tiny but useful. May I stay forever in the stream. May I look down upon the windflower and the bull thistle and the coreopsis with the greatest respect.”

“it is a serious thing

just to be alive on this fresh morning in this broken world.”

— Mary Oliver, Upstream: Selected Essays / from “Invitation”

— Wendy Cope, “The Orange”

“After learning my flight was detained 4 hours, I heard the announcement: if anyone in the vicinity of gate 4-A understands any Arabic, please come to the gate immediately. Well—one pauses these days. Gate 4-A was my own gate. I went there. An older woman in full traditional Palestinian dress, just like my grandma wore, was crumpled to the floor, wailing loudly. Help, said the flight service person. Talk to her. What is her problem? We told her the flight was going to be four hours late and she did this. I put my arm around her and spoke to her haltingly. Shu dow-a, shu-biduck habibti, stani stani schway, min fadlick, sho bit se-wee? The minute she heard any words she knew—however poorly used—she stopped crying. She thought our flight had been canceled entirely. She needed to be in El Paso for some major medical treatment the following day. I said no, no, we’re fine, you’ll get there, just late. Who is picking you up? Let’s call him and tell him. We called her son and I spoke with him in English. I told him I would stay with his mother until we got on the plane and would ride next to her—Southwest. She talked to him. Then we called her other sons just for the fun of it. Then we called my dad and he and she spoke for a while in Arabic and found out, of course, they had ten shared friends. Then I thought just for the heck of it why not call some Palestinian poets I know and let them chat with her. This all took up about 2 hours. She was laughing a lot by then. Telling about her life. Answering questions. She had pulled a sack of homemade mamool cookies—little powdered sugar crumbly mounds stuffed with dates and nuts—out of her bag—and was offering them to all the women at the gate. To my amazement, not a single woman declined one. It was like a sacrament. The traveler from Argentina, the traveler from California, the lovely woman from Laredo—we were all covered with the same powdered sugar. And smiling. There are no better cookies. And then the airline broke out the free beverages from huge coolers—non-alcoholic—and the two little girls from our flight, one African American, one Mexican American—ran around serving us all apple juice and lemonade, and they were covered with powdered sugar, too. And I noticed my new best friend—by now we were holding hands—had a potted plant poking out of her bag, some medicinal thing with green furry leaves. Such an old country traveling tradition. Always carry a plant. Always stay rooted to somewhere. And I looked around that gate of late and weary ones and thought, this is the world I want to live in. The shared world. Not a single person in this gate—once the crying of confusion stopped—has seemed apprehensive about any other person. They took the cookies. I wanted to hug all those other women, too. This can still happen anywhere. Not everything is lost.”

— Naomi Shihab Nye, “Gate A4″

“Then there are the things, if you are particularly lucky, that this person has done for you while you’re away: how in the pantry, in the freezer, in the refrigerator will be all the food you like to eat, the scotch you like to drink. There will be the sweater you thought you lost the previous year at the theater, clean and folded and back on its shelf. There will be the shirt with its dangling buttons, but the buttons will be sewn back in place. There will be your mail stacked on one side of his desk; there will be a contract for an advertising campaign you’re going to do in Germany for an Austrian beer, with his notes in the margin to discuss with your lawyer. And there will be no mention of it, and you will know that it was done with genuine pleasure, and you will know that part of the reason—a small part, but a part—you love being in this apartment and in this relationship is because this other person is always making a home for you, and that when you tell him this, he won’t be offended but pleased, and you’ll be glad, because you meant it with gratitude.”

— Hanya Yanagihara, A Little Life

[maidsmordern]

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[winnix85]

About Lewis Nixon’s mother Doris Ryer Nixon (Mrs Stanhope Nixon)

Source: mostly from old newspapers and digitized documents (I can’t guarantee the accuracy because they are fragmented information. I will just put it out there for someone may find some interesting useful backstories).

Doris Ryer was born on Oct 1 1894.

Her father Fletcher Ryer was a wealthy pioneer agriculturalist in California. He owned 6,600-acre (27 km2) ranch on Ryer Island, which was named in their honor. Because Doris was his only heiress, this ranch all went to Doris and then to Lewis Nixon III and ultimately to Grace Nixon. It's an agricultural (instead of livestocks) ranch. They grew crops, fruits and vegetables such as wheat, milo, safflower, pears, apples, cherries, grapes, tomatoes and asparagus. They produced such large amount of asparagus that Doris's mother, Mrs Ryer was nicknamed Asparagus Queen back then. This farm is still up and running today, managed by Clarence Hester from 1950s to 1990s (Nix' war buddy, the regimental S3, the one who wrestled with Dick in that photo), after him by his son Thomas Hester.

Doris was educated at Madame Payen's school in Paris from 1906 to 1914 (her entire high school).

Fletcher Ryer died an early death in 1911 (when Doris was about 16). Doris was close to her mother Mrs Blanche Ryer. Mrs Blanche Ryer, though very charming, married very very young. As a pretty, attractive, wealthy widow she determined to ensure that her daughter Doris have a brilliant "bellehood" as a girl. She took Doris to tour around the world. For example, in Sep1913, they traveled to Russia to present Doris at the court of Tsar Nicholas II (Very inconvenient timing, I have to say).

Doris was very sweet and attractive, with pretty black eyes. Her mother has always been most ambitious for her handsome daughter. She aimed to marry Doris to British aristocracy. Doris was presented at Buckingham Palace in 1914, wearing "a white satin princess gown embroidered in pearls and brilliants". Mrs Ryer has had her eye on several members of the British aristocracy for Doris, "but this cruel war, of course, smashed all of her well-laid plans to smithereens." She has to stoop so low to choose from American heirs.

Doris married Stanhope in Jan 1917 in New York at Church of Heavenly Rest. Their wedding was the social event of the year. Guests from coast to coast attended Nixon-Ryer wedding.

The bride's costume was soft white satin, made in combination with pearl embroidered net. She worn a lovely veil, the same that had been worn by her grandmother at her wedding, which was held in place with a band of diamonds. Her only other ornament was a necklace of diamonds with a large pear-shaped diamond pendant, the gift of the bridegroom.

Because the father of bride has died, she was given away by governor of New York Charles S. Whitman. Among those in attendance were the Brazilian ambassador and Argentine ambassador.

After the wedding the new couple went to Bermuda for honeymoon and then they lived at 52 East Fifty-second Street NYC (but later moved to 46 East 65 Street). In 1920 census, the household of the new couple included Stanhope the head of the house, Doris the wife, Lewis the one and half yr old old baby son, and a butler and 3 maids. They also have a suburb house at 167 Grange Ave, New Jersey (a 20-room estate, equiped with oil burning hot water heat, a 4-car garage, servants quarters, a boat house and a stable).

After marrying off her daughter to the Nixons, Mrs Blanche Ryer re-married in 1920 to Clifford Erskine-Bolst, a British conservative party politician. Mr Erskine-Bolst was elected to the British House of Commons in 1923 and again in 1931. To help him win the election, she made generous donations to King George's Hospital in England. She campained hard for him, making speeches and appealing to the constituency in the South Hackney district. 

In 1920s, mama Doris bought a villa at Riviera France from the late Grand Duchess Anastasia of Russia. She lived there until her death in 1939 (This villa went to Nix. But he didn't like living there, too much hassle to open the house. He prefered to stay at the hotel Cap Estel. In 1950s he leased it to the Kennedys).

Doris and Stanhope seemed to be ok in 1920s. They attended social events together and traveled to England together. After Lew, they had a baby boy in 1922 (who tragically died in 3 months. Doris' mother went to New York to be with her.) Then they had Blanche Nixon in Aug 1924 (also born in NYC). While living in NYC, it seems little Lew was often spending time with his grandfather. Grandpa often took him to play at central park. For example, he took Lew to that model yacht regatta in central park when he was 7, and to skate in central park in Jan 1927 when lew was 8. In 1927, Doris took 2 yr old Blanche to France to visit her mother, but she didn't take Lew (maybe he was too naughty?). Anyway, Doris took Blanche to see grandma almost every year but Lew was only with them on one visit when he was 10 yr old.

Doris appeared to be lonely and out of place in the social circle of New York. Here is a social note about her in 1929: "A remarkable girl with her embroidery frame, actually engaged in a simple, normal occupation in a land where the atmosphere is charged with hang-overs, gambling-losses and mistrust. Nobody around here looks twice at a woman with mauve hair like Madame de Roch, or at a man with ear-rings and a bracelet on his ankle. But let a girl take out a half-finished centerpiece and commence embroidering and every lorgnette in the crowd is whipped into place."

At the end of 1920s, Doris seemed to be so unhappy to live on the east coast anymore, and she still regarded CA to be her real home. Stanhope sold their house in New Jersey and bought a new house in Montecito (also a mansion with a large stable and everything). In the 1930 census they were living at 180 Cold Spring Road, montecito, CA (Stanhope, Doris, Lewis (11yr), Blanche(5yr), and a French governess, and 2 servants). Lew attended boarding school at Cate School in Santa Barbara.

In social notes in 1930s, Stanhope and Doris mainly attended social events in CA (Santa Barbara and San Francisco), they also travel to New York to visit Mr and Mrs Lewis Nixon Sr.. The family traveled a lot, not only back and forth between east-west coasts, but also trips abroad. Doris always took Blanche with her, but Lew traveled on his own even when he was as young as 15 yr old. It appears that Doris and Stanhope's relationship has gone sour in 1930s. For example, in this 1934 social note: "The Stanhope Nixons will spend the Christmas holidays with his parents, Mr. and Mrs. Lewis Nixon. Mr Nixon will return to California on Jan 1, and Mrs Nixon will sail for Europe to spend six months on the Riviera with her mother." (almost as if Doris was running away from Stanhope and hide in France after briefly met him on Xmas day. Meanwhile 15 yr old Lew was at boarding school in CA).

In 1940 census, Doris and Blanche were still living at 180 Cold Spring Road, montecito, CA (with a housekeeper, a cook and a maid). Stanhope was no longer in this household. Maybe they have separated. Lew was also not in this household for he has left for college.

Among the CA high society, Doris was a all-around likable person: "Doris is always bubbling over with enthusiasm, her joy of living and her wit making her a welcome guest at any affair". She was very enthusiastic about opera (and art events in general, such as oriental dance). She attended the openning of Opera Season at San Francisco every year (usually with Blanche, and she will grab Lew when she can catch him). In 1940, she offered a prize for the "Best one act play" to stimulate interest in the Lobero Theater of Santa Barbara. She also went to see excellent plays in New York when it's in season and made some witty comments about the remarkable fashion trends in New York: "The only lavender and old lace that you see today is on the individual--the lavender in the tinted hair, and the lace on the dainty unmentionables."

After the Pearl Harbor Attack, Doris turned from a socialite to a civic leader. In 1942 she became the national vice-president of the American Women's Voluntary Services (AWVS) (and during ww2). The AWVS recruited and trained women to harvest crops, do nurse works, driving trucks and sell war bonds. She encouraged women to show more interest in international affairs. She also founded Guide Dogs for the Blind in 1943 (primarily to help the blinded veterans) and she made generous donations. In addition, she was the state commander of the California Cancer Society.

The AWVS duties kept her so busy, she has to relinquish her box at the opera house. She only had long enough time to have a toasted chicken sandwich for lunch. She put generous amount of English mustard on her sandwich. When her friends cautioned her not to put too much, she said:"If it puts me out, I will be a most excellent subject for the first aid class I am about to attend, and we will all find out how much we know!"

In the summer of 1945, Doris and Stanhope finally divorced (Stanhope even filed counter-suits seeking divorce on the grounds of desertion). They divorced in August, and Stanhope married "the Blond" in September 1945.

In June 1948, Doris died at home (944 Chestnut Str San Francisco CA). She had a stroke (and she always had hypertention). It seems her death was an unexpected sudden death because one month before she was still traveling around France with her daughter Blanche. Her will dictated to split her legacy equally between Blanche and Lew. She also left generous amount of money to employees such as housekeeper, secretary. For a former maid, she gave her $225 monthly for life.

[shewhoworshipscarlin]

Lillian Randolph

Lillian Randolph (1914/1915) – September 12, 1980) was an American actress and singer, a veteran of radio, film, and television. She worked in entertainment from the 1930s until shortly before her death. She appeared in hundreds of radio shows, motion pictures, short subjects, and television shows.

Randolph is most recognized for appearing in It's a Wonderful Life (1946), Magic (1978), and her final onscreen project, The Onion Field (1979). She prominently contributed her voice to the character Mammy Two Shoes in nineteen Tom and Jerry cartoons released between 1940 and 1952.

Born Castello Randolph in Knoxville, Tennessee, she was the younger sister of actress Amanda Randolph. The daughter of a Methodist minister and a teacher, she began her professional career singing on local radio in Cleveland and Detroit.

At Detroit's WXYZ, she was noticed by George W. Trendle, station owner and developer of The Lone Ranger. He got her into radio training courses, which paid off in roles for local radio shows.

Randolph was tutored by a Caucasian actor for three months on "racial dialect" before getting any radio roles. She moved on to Los Angeles in 1936 to work on Al Jolson's radio show, on Big Town, on the Al Pearce show, and to sing at the Club Alabam there.

Lillian and her sister Amanda were continually looking for roles to make ends meet. In 1938, she opened her home to Lena Horne, who was in California for her first movie role in The Duke Is Tops (1938); the film was so tightly budgeted, Horne had no money for a hotel. Randolph opened her home during World War II with weekly dinners and entertainment for service people in the Los Angeles area through American Women's Voluntary Services.

Randolph is best known as the maid Birdie Lee Coggins from The Great Gildersleeve radio comedy and subsequent films, and as Madame Queen on the Amos 'n' Andy radio show and television show from 1937 to 1953.She was cast in the "Gildersleeve" job on the basis of her wonderful laugh. Upon hearing the Gildersleeve program was beginning, Randolph made a dash to NBC. She tore down the halls; when she opened the door for the program, she fell on her face. Randolph was not hurt and she laughed—this got her the job. She also portrayed Birdie in the television version of The Great Gildersleeve.

In 1955, Lillian was asked to perform the Gospel song, "Were You There" on the television version of the Gildersleeve show. The positive response from viewers resulted in a Gospel album by Randolph on Dootone Records.  She found the time for the role of Mrs. Watson on The Baby Snooks Show and Daisy on The Billie Burke Show.

Her best known film roles were those of Annie in It's a Wonderful Life (1946) and Bessie in The Bachelor and the Bobby-Soxer (1947).

The West Adams district of Los Angeles was once home to lawyers and tycoons, but during the 1930s, many residents were either forced to sell their homes or take in boarders because of the economic times. The bulk of the residents who were earlier members of the entertainment community had already moved to places such as Beverly Hills and Hollywood. In the 1940s, members of the African-American entertainment community discovered the charms of the district and began purchasing homes there, giving the area the nickname "Sugar Hill". Hattie McDaniel was one of the first African-American residents. In an attempt to discourage African-Americans from making their homes in the area, some residents resorted to adding covenants to the contracts when their homes were sold, either restricting African-Americans from purchasing them or prohibiting them from occupying the houses after purchase.  Lillian and her husband, boxer Jack Chase,  were victims of this type of discrimination.  In 1946, the couple purchased a home on West Adams Boulevard with a restrictive covenant that barred them from moving into it. The US Supreme Court declared the practice unconstitutional in 1948.  After divorcing Chase, Randolph married railroad dining car server Edward Sanders, in August 1951. The couple divorced in December 1953. 

Like her sister, Amanda, Lillian was also one of the actresses to play the part of Beulah on radio. Randolph assumed the role in 1952 when Hattie McDaniel became ill; that same year, she received an "Angel" award from the Caballeros, an African-American businessmen's association, for her work in radio and television for 1951. She played Beulah until 1953, when Amanda took over for her.

In 1954, Randolph had her own daily radio show in Hollywood, where those involved in acting were featured. In the same year, she became the first African American on the board of directors for the Hollywood chapter of the American Federation of Television and Radio Artists.

In William Hanna and Joseph Barbera's Tom and Jerry cartoons at the Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer cartoon studio during the 1940s and early 1950s, she was uncredited for voicing the maid character, Mammy Two Shoes. She voiced Jerry Mouse in The Milky Waif (1946, uncensored version), in the scene where Jerry and Nibbles hide in the closet and disguise themselves as a pair of black people. The character's last appearance in the cartoons was in Push-Button Kitty in September 1952. MGM, Hanna-Barbera and Randolph had been under fire from the NAACP, which called the role a stereotype. Activists had been complaining about the maid character since 1949. The character was written out entirely. Many of these had a white actress (June Foray) redubbing the character in American TV broadcasts and in the DVD collections.

This was not the only time Randolph received criticism. In 1946, Ebony published a story critical of her role of Birdie on The Great Gildersleeve radio show.  Randolph and a scriptwriter provided a rebuttal to them in the magazine. Lillian Randolph believed these roles were not harmful to the image or opportunities of African Americans. Her reasoning was that the roles themselves would not be discontinued, but the ethnicity of those in them would change.

In 1956, Randolph and her choir, along with fellow Amos 'n' Andy television show cast members Tim Moore, Alvin Childress, and Spencer Williams set off on a tour of the US as "The TV Stars of Amos 'n' Andy". However, CBS claimed it was an infringement of its rights to the show and its characters. The tour soon came to an end.

Lillian was selected to play Bill Cosby's character's mother in his 1969 television series, The Bill Cosby Show.[8] She later appeared in several featured roles on Sanford and Son and The Jeffersons in the 1970s. She also taught acting, singing and public speaking.

Randolph made a guest appearance on a 1972 episode of the sitcom Sanford and Son, entitled "Here Comes the Bride, There Goes the Bride" as Aunt Hazel, an in-law of the Fred Sanford (Redd Foxx) character who humorously gets a cake thrown in her face, after which Fred replies "Hazel, you never looked sweeter!". Her Amos 'n' Andy co-star, Alvin Childress, also had a role in this episode. She played Mabel in Jacqueline Susann's Once Is Not Enough (1975) and also appeared in the television miniseries, Roots (1977), Magic (1978) and The Onion Field (1979).

In March 1980, she was inducted into the Black Filmmakers Hall of Fame.

Lillian's daughter, Barbara, grew up watching her mother perform. At age eight, Barbara had already made her debut in Bright Road (1953) with Harry Belafonte and Dorothy Dandridge.

Choosing to adopt her mother's maiden name, Barbara Randolph appeared in her mother's nightclub acts (including that with Steve Gibson and the Red Caps) and had a role in Guess Who's Coming to Dinner (1967). She decided to follow a singing career.

Randolph died of cancer at Arcadia Methodist Hospital in Arcadia, California on September 12, 1980, at the age of 65. She was buried in Forest Lawn Memorial Park (Hollywood Hills). Her sister, Amanda, is buried beside her.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lillian_Randolph

[stetervault]

Steter fics from 2019/any Steter fics you feel like reccing

2019 Steter fics, let’s see… Here’s a bunch of random ones I’ve enjoyed over the past year:

Where I Want to Be by Tahlruil

Peter wasn’t exactly surprised when he ‘woke up’ in hell.

He’d known his wounds were fatal as soon as he’d gotten them. In truth he’d never expected to still be standing after his quest for revenge had been completed. What mattered was taking the Argent family down with him and making sure they died before he did. Peter had saved Kate and Gerard for last; they had looked into his eyes as they bled out. They had known that he was the instrument of their family’s doom and he couldn’t ask for more than that.

You Are A Call To Motion by neglectedtuesday

Here at Hale Industries ® we don’t believe in limiting one’s pleasure. That’s why we’re dedicated to bringing our clientele the best in Jackbot technology. Whether you’re a busy dom in need of a service sub or a baby boy desperate for an Alien Daddy, Hale Industries ® has the perfect bot for you. Built to your specifications, our customer service team is devoted to building a bot that will never fail to meet your needs. And if you discover something new you want to try, you can subscribe to our monthly upgrade packages in order to add or remove kinks at your leisure.

Hale Industries ® - The Only Limits Are The Ones We Place On Ourselves.

Here Begins the Land of Phantoms by Triangulum

Stiles is four and scared of the dark. There are things in the shadows of his room, whispering to him, showing him terrible, violent things.

There’s something in the basement, too. He can feel it while he’s sitting on the old, worn sofa, its presence curling around the edges of the room. He thinks he can see something sometimes, a mass shimmering in the corner, but he always looks away. He doesn’t want to know.

Or

Peter is a demon that lives in the Stilinskis’ basement.

From Ashes Rebuilt by ambersagen

“You shouldn’t be alive,” Stiles finally admitted. He sounded sorry, smelled like anxiety and hunched in on himself as he fell back from Peter to land in the dented chair. “I heard the doctors telling your niece. She wasn’t quiet about it, and no one cares if I’m around anyway so I heard the whole thing, about your burns. I snuck in to see you.”

“Like a sideshow freak,” Peter sneered, starting to understand.

“Like a miracle,” Stiles corrected.

MCSZ-LW by Bunnywest

Mayor Whittemore gives John his widest politician’s smile. “It’s one of the best- a Halebot. You work so hard for the city, and with Claudia gone five years now, we thought you’d appreciate some company. A service bot is perfect. I mean, you deserve more than the standard gift certificate. “

“Would have preferred the gift card,” John huffs under his breath, but he plasters on a smile and makes all the right noises, because this is an elected position, and as jackbots go, Halebots really are the best. He just doesn’t know quite what he’s going to do with it.

Baby Whisperer by twothumbsandnostakeincanon (somanyofthekids)

“What. Is that.”

Scott looked up at him, apprehensive.

“Her name’s Lily.”

Stiles stared at the fuzzy head peeking out of the papoose.

“Her. Her name. That is a real live human baby. Oh my God-”

“Actually I don’t know if she’s human?” Scott said with a confused frown. “Becca didn’t say.”

“Who the fuck is Becca?!”

Care for Me, As I’ve Never Known by lavenderlotion

“Why…why did you offer me the bite?” Stiles asked quietly, the cover of night and the hum of the Jeep’s engine giving him courage he wouldn’t usually have.

Peter hummed thoughtfully, taking a turn smoothly. “That is quite the question you’re asking. I’m not sure the answer is one you would be happy to hear.”

A Love for Millennia (a story never told) by OneSmartChicken

Stiles had to go into the woods that night. It didn’t make sense. She was lured by the sense of adventure, but there was a more that dragged at her.

Or: Stiles is the only one to realize she and Peter are soulmates. She doesn’t mention it.

Wind Chimes by wynnebat

“Why are you here?” Peter asks, his brow furrowing in confusion. “I can understand curiosity, but Stiles, you have visited me nearly every day for years. It can’t be that simple.”

Stiles shrugs. It’s both simple and not. For him, who grew up with the wind, who is inseparable from it in the best of ways, it is absurdly simple. For Peter, who doesn’t trust the wind as Stiles does, it may not be. “The wind says you’re mine. That’s all I need.”

Robber Foxes (Have No Fears) by RayShippouUchiha (WIP)

In the end all Stiles really has left is his dad, a lonely house, the key and deed to the loft, and a chest filled up with emptiness.

A void, yawning right behind his sternum.

That and the laughter of a fox trapped right beneath his skin, echoing in the hollows of his skull, whispering behind his teeth.

Stiles should have known it wasn’t over.

Magic stains everything it touches after all.

Keep You (Safe) Within my Shadow by lavenderlotion

Stiles has never been scared of the dark. The shadows are his friends.

Into Eden by GracieBirdie

Stiles deciding to bring home the stray alpha he’d hit with his jeep probably made him certifiable, if it hadn’t turned out Peter was as crazy as he was.

Trust in the End by ShebaRen, Tahlruil

Stiles had always kind of assumed that the end of the world was going to be full of fire and panicking people. Nuclear warfare had pretty much been his guess as to how it would all go, but he could be flexible on that. His only certainty was that it would be man-made, because people always messed things up.

He hadn’t expected the end to be full of snow and freezing cold. He hadn’t expected to be so alone while it was happening, hadn’t thought he would be making a trek from California all the way up to - if his maps and bearings were right - Washington State. He definitely hadn’t expected for it all to happen while his parents were away on a trip for their second honeymoon.

Thankfully he’d fallen in with a wolf who had saved his life and then hung around like a bad penny afterward.

Making Marks by Udunie

Stiles woke to his phone ringing at four in the afternoon, because apparently, he’d never even heard of a healthy sleep schedule before, and also; hated himself.

He blindly found it in the pocket of his jeans thrown haphazardly to the floor, and blinked at it for a few seconds before picking it up.

“‘Sup, Lyds?” he asked, just because he knew she hated the nickname, and she did wake him up.

“I’m killing Jackson,” she announced with unusual honesty. To be fair, any kind of honesty was unusual from her, considering her and Stiles only reconnected recently - and it wasn’t like they were too close in high school either.

“Congratulations?”

You Just Got Ghosted! by Ragga

“What’s your name, angel?” little Stiles murmured even as his eyes fell closed, quickly losing his battle against sleep.

Stiles smiled. It was a little sad but also heavy with the knowledge that what he was doing was the right thing—heavy with the knowledge he didn’t deserve the moniker bestowed upon him.

“You can call me Mietek.”

Or the one where there’s time travel, feels abound, two Stiles in one timeline, and one of them stuck somewhere between the planes of existence. Yet a ghost can still manage to save the day and get the girl. Or the wolf. Manly wolf. Because Peter.

Toothed Morality (Send Me Flowers) by rightsidethru

“The world is a dark place, moje kochanie; it is one filled with monsters, always ready to gobble you whole. Be wary of the promises they give: seal every vow with blood and bone and Name. A True Name, one that will bind them to their word.”

“But how will I know that they’re telling the truth, Matka? Couldn’t they lie…?”

“You’ll know, mały płomień.”

Everyone is King When There’s No One Left to Pawn by Bittah_Wizard

The AU where Stiles is an old trickster—just not the one you’re thinking of.

Beefcake Mountain by twothumbsandnostakeincanon (somanyofthekids)

Shortly after moving back to Beacon Hills, the left hand of the Hale Pack opened a text from a mysterious number.

“Is there a mirror in your pants? Because I can see myself in them.”

What the f—

Wild Creatures by neglectedtuesday

The treaty is signed while Stiles is being laced into his wedding corset. Ink splatters parchment as a maid pulls the ribbons, tighter and tighter. Stiles’ breath and future are taken away, all to save a village. He is a sacrifice more than a bride. The maid assists in fixing a choker around Stiles throat. Her hands are cold despite the roaring fire in the grate. The choker is a string of blood red rubies, they reflect the firelight with a wet shine like an open wound.

First to Know by Twisted_Mind

They fold to their knees in the vee of his legs. His hands cradle their cheek and the back of their neck, and they lean into the touch, eyes closing. “It’s mine.”

“What’s yours, darling?”

They drag in a shaky breath, and look up into the face of the man they love. “The magic. It’s mine. My spark did this.”

Chances by SpookyMiscreant

Supernaturals have soulmarks, everyone knew that, but it was ignorant to think that supernaturals only fell in love with supernaturals. It wasn’t necessarily rare for humans to have marks, but not common either. Supernatural kids all anxiously await the full moon after their fifth birthday, but human kids let the full moon pass without much anticipation.Stiles’ mother had made him stay up that night in his underwear as she searched him with a flashlight, intent to see if he was supernatural like his father. The inherent problem here was that Stiles was then and always will be covered head to toe in moles, freckles, and birthmarks.

walk walk (fashion baby) by rightsidethru

Derek shrugged a shoulder and moved the chopsticks through the broth. “Cora’s decided that she wants to transfer out to Berkley, and Uncle Peter has decided to relocate here again. Unfortunately, his reputation is preceding him and not even the three grand we’re offering for the photoshoot is enough to get a model to stay.”

At hearing the amount of money that Derek was actually offering to pay someone for one temporary job, Stiles choked on his noodles and began wheezing for breath as he went into a coughing fit. “Three? Three grand? Three thousand dollars??”

Three thousand dollars would be enough to pay for his rent for the next few months. Or—pay for the upcoming month and give Stiles a chance to buy some of the more advanced books on magical theory that Elder Potter was willing to let Stiles borrow but not keep. Being able to buy his own copies… Stiles’ fingers twitched in almost immediate booklust.

“I’ll do it,” Stiles announced.

Cause I Want You (all to myself) by LadySlytherin

Stiles has an odd habit of licking Peter, seemingly at random and without much thought. Peter takes a lot longer than he should to figure out why.

or

Six Times Stiles Stilinski Licked Peter Hale…and one time Peter licked Stiles instead.

If I Could Kiss You Again by Triangulum

“Summer plans?” Peter asks, eyes on where Isaac is now trying to inch along the ceiling beam toward the wall where he can slide down a pipe.

“Leaving for Stanford in September. Saving the world and working in between now and then,” Stiles says. “Why, gonna miss me?”

“Considering I’ll be left alone with Derek? Yes,” Peter says.

“You’ll have Cora,” Stiles says. “And Isaac will be here to make up a few high school credits.”

There’s a shriek and a thud as Isaac loses his grip, falling on top of Erica and Boyd, sending them all to the ground in a heap.

“Yes,” Peter says flatly. “Thank god for that.”

OR

Five times Stiles kisses Peter and one time Peter kisses him.

Orbital Distance by neglectedtuesday

Artemis, the capital city of the Moon, where movies are born and stars are made. The crown jewel of American cinema and simultaneously Hollywood’s biggest rival. The money may be dollars, it may be counted as the 51st state but the studios run this city, making cinema and waging war. No real bloodshed but equally cutthroat in its own way. Peter has devoured article after article about the industry, from in-depth journalism to gossip rags, desperate for every detail, every scandal, every glorious moon moment.

Hooverville by twothumbsandnostakeincanon (somanyofthekids)

Town to town, train to train, tent to tent.

By 1932, the dust had begun to blow and the jobs were gone.

Anonymity was a byproduct of looking for work, which made it both necessary and convenient.

Stiles had enough secrets of his own to know to look the other way when he saw something that shouldn’t be possible.

The ghost of a tail giving enough balance to disembark a moving train.

Near silent Latin whispered on the edge of a tent encampment.

A flash of burning eyes.

He had more than enough to worry about without adding the oddities of others, and besides- having unusually sharp teeth certainly didn’t make a man worse than the ones running from the wife and kids they couldn’t feed.

So Stiles kept his observations to himself. He kept his everything to himself.

Until he met a man. One with eyes so blue they seemed to glow- and then they did.

Stiles tried to look away, but for the first time he was stopped.

“Don’t be like that sweetheart. Aren’t you curious?”

Rhythm of the War Drums by HyperLittleNori (Shiguresan)

The foreboding song of the drums rumbled through the stands above, made his heart, his blood pound with their increasing rhythm. He’d seen this so many times now, heard the sickening, morbid excitement of the rabble. He readied himself for the carnage, but even nearly a year after he’d first stood in this spot, it still filled him with dread.

As always, he watched the sandy arena through the barred steel gates. They vibrated with the movement, with the almost deafening sounds of the crowd and the drums. A sea of guards stood at his back, but they were not there for him…

Two Worlds Collided by Bittah_Wizard

It was always meant to be Stiles and Peter.

Always.

A Stranger Comes to Town by Bunnywest, DiscontentedWinter, Twisted_Mind

Peter claps his hands together once. “Right! Let’s start getting to know each other, shall we? We can all take turns introducing ourselves, and explaining who we are as writers. I’ll go first.” He stays standing, and spreads his arms wide for a moment. “As I hope you all know, I’m bestselling author Peter Hale. If there’s been a terrible mistake and you didn’t mean to be here, this is your chance to run.”

He gives another charming smile to the tittering biddies on his right. He sketches a dramatic little bow, and then goes on. “Twice a year, I come out here to teach The Masterclass on writing, providing new talent,” he winks at the MFA-wannabes on the left, tucking his hands in his pockets, “with a safe environment to share your work and equip yourselves with the tools for success. I’m looking forward to getting to know you all this weekend.”

Keep You Like An Oath by Green

After 7 years in prison, Peter has important matters to attend to — and at the top of his list is the young mate he left behind, unclaimed for their own protection. But, for all his good intentions, Stiles has always needed him — now more than ever.

Too Much Of A Good Thing by GracieBirdie

Stiles can’t just leave Boyd and Erica chained up in a hunter’s basement, and if the only person willing to listen to him when he asks for help is a formerly dead psychopath? Well, Stiles supposes he could do worse. But of course nothing in Stiles’ life is ever just that simple…

All The Things We’d Do by GracieBirdie

Stiles’ time travel spell doesn’t work out quite right but he figures he should make the best of it, starting with Laura Hale.

The Promises Of Yesterday, The Pledges Of Tomorrow by ShippersList

Stiles is a kid with serious concentration issues and definitely not a guide—let alone a guide strong enough to calm down a feral Sentinel wolf. It’s just not possible.

Thighs Verse by Bunnywest

I’ll give you what you need, pretty boy. And you can call me Sir.

The hairs on the back of Stiles’s neck prickle at that, and his dick throbs. He clicks on the profile and the picture that pops up is UN-FUCKING-FAIR. Jesus Christ on a bicycle, nobody should look like that. The man’s staring into the camera, a smile that’s almost a sneer on his face. And what a face it is. Intense blue eyes, cheekbones like cut glass, and a strong jawline covered in the perfect amount of stubble. His neck, what Stiles can see of it, is thickly muscled, and Stiles can see the beginnings of a tattoo that travels down. There’s the tiniest scattering of grey at his temples, and Stiles breathes out, “Oh yes, Sir,” as he drinks in the details on the profile.

Or, the one in which Stiles experiments with Grindr, and finds his Sir.

The Boy Sleuth by Shey

Stiles is eight when he discovers a box of his mom’s old Nancy Drew Mysteries in the back of the guest bedroom closet.

Magnificent Mischief by twothumbsandnostakeincanon (somanyofthekids)

“Marvelous Miss and the Magnificent Mischief!” the carnival barker shouted just outside the corridor with all the food tents. “Come see Miss Paige do amazing tricks with her talking raven! He not only speaks, but he jokes! He teases! He philosophizes!”

Escaping by Green

“We have to go. Now, Peter.”

Peter’s holding his apartment door open, standing in shock, looking at Stiles. “What? How do you even know where I live?”

The Chasm and the Clash by twothumbsandnostakeincanon (somanyofthekids)

Stiles has dreams of the Alpha after he dies. It makes no sense. He didn’t know Peter before… did he?

Did Peter know him?

And why does his head hurt so much?

[emaidsoforangecounty]

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[deepestlusts]

ADONIS INTRO

❛ michael b jordan, cis male, he/him/his ❜ was that adonis king i just saw clocking in? the thirty-three year old has a reputation for being short-tempered + reserved, which i guess is why they’ve been working as an escort here since february 2017. their paperwork lists that they are pansexual and into rough sex + choking.

— FULL NAME: Adonis Devontae King — NICKNAMES: Don, Donnie — PRONOUNS: He/Him/His — AGE: 33 — DOB: November 18 — BIRTHPLACE: Oakland, CA — SEXUALITY: Pansexual — OCCUPATION: Escort/Boxer

(tw: violence, prostitution, cancer, death)

—*&; the biography

Adonis King was born Adonis White in Oakland, California in 1988, to a father who had recently been arrested for armed robbery and a mother who was desperately trying to feed four children on a hotel maid's salary. From the first wail that Adonis let out when he came into this world, his mother knew he would be troubled. She had no idea the extent of it.

Growing up, Adonis' mother was working more than she was home. The welfare checks paired with her work checks were barely enough to put food on the table, let alone keep the electricity and water on or pay the rent that was due every month. She had no choice but to turn to illegal prostitution to make ends meet, and even that opened the door for more danger to come into their house. From the moment Adonis was able to walk, he started fighting. It was like he was born with this anger in his veins, an insatiable rage that, no matter how many times he punched something or someone, he could never seem to get a grip on it. Needless to say, his constant anger and violent tendencies landed him in lots of hot water when he started school. And, just as his mother had feared, he was labeled a "problem child". When his mother was caught and arrested for illegal prostitution one night, Adonis and his siblings were quickly rounded up by child services, and split up into different homes. Adonis was only seven years old, and he was alone.

The anger didn't get any better in the homes, if anything it got worse. Adonis was angry at his situation, angry that he had been ripped away from the only people he knew, the only people he trusted, and that was his family. He bounced from one home to the next, always causing trouble that the foster parents simply couldn't handle, not that most of them were trying to be positive influences in Adonis' life...or any of their foster children's' lives for that matter. He felt like no one cared about him.

One night, when he was nine years old, Adonis got into a fight on the bus. A pretty bad one, at that, and he never saw another foster home again -- instead he was staring at the cement walls of a juvenile detention center. There was a plus side to this new arrangement though, even though it was practically imprisonment. At least here, in the detention center, he knew what he was going to get, he knew he wasn't going to be tossed from one place to the next at break-neck speeds. Of course, though, he still fought, he stayed in trouble, even though he was in jail -- he wasn't learning anything about changing his behavior. That is until one man walked into his life and changed the course of it for the better: Walter King.

Walter had been told by a friend who worked as a child psychologist in the detention center that he was the only person who would be able to save Adonis. Not only that, but the psychologist felt that Adonis could become the son Walter never got to have. Walter was an older man, pushing sixty when he took him under his wing, and soon adopted him -- making Adonis White, Adonis King -- and moved him back to New York City with him.

Walter owned a flourishing boxing gym in Brooklyn. Walter had been quite the boxer himself in his day. He was someone who had been born into poverty much like Adonis, and someone who suffered from that same insatiable anger, but had made a name for himself in the neighborhood and built his little gym from the ground up. Walter had a lot of things that he taught Adonis: the craft of boxing and the art of controlling and channeling his anger into a fight. The transition wasn't easy. Adonis was a broken kid, he had been labeled a problem, and he knew that. Walter was aware of this too, though. Walter took his time. He taught Adonis discipline, he trained him, and taught him that the label he had been given was an unfair one and untrue. He wasn't a problem. Adonis was a man, a black man at that, who had been easily tossed into the narrative that many black men were thrown in to, but Walter was there to make sure that Adonis pulled himself out of it.

And Adonis did, slowly, but surely, he became the man that Walter knew he could be. Adonis learned to control and channel his anger into boxing, and a sport he quickly fell in love with. He was constantly training, pushing himself to the limits, learning, growing, and becoming the best fighter and best man he could be. Something else Walter taught him was that it's okay to be yourself, but you can only be yourself in secret -- among those who are close to you, trusted places, secret places. Walter was gay, but he was damn good at keeping that a secret. Adonis started making a name for himself in the neighborhood too, but then Walter got sick.

It was lung cancer from years of smoking cigarettes. Stage four when they caught it. It took everything in Adonis to convince Walter to fight it. They had to take a second mortgage out on the gym, the house, and plenty of other possessions to pay for the treatment. Soon, just winning fights wasn’t making enough money for Adonis. That’s when he turned to something he never thought he would -- stripping. It brought in a lot of money, he was good at it, he had the body and the moves and the swag, but it still wasn’t enough. So, at Club Iridescence, stripping bled into escorting.

It’s been three years since Walter King succumbed to his disease.

Adonis feels alone. He keeps people out of his life, he likes being alone. He’s still working as an escort to still pay the medical bills that he’s drowning in.