#but apparently the fear is STILL THERE and rainbow's tweets are really not helping

[lovingherwasgay]

literally terrified for any way the wind blows :)

rant in tags

[x-reader-theater]

Snapshots

Relationship: Tom Holland x Male!Gamer!Reader

Summary: When you’re a streamer and your boyfriend’s a movie star, what can go wrong? A lot apparently.

Warnings: Cursing and allusions to sex

Word Count: 8513 words

A/N: Hey guys. What’s up? I started making this, had a breakdown, bone apple teeth. Also, this is like my Kouign-Amann series (read the first part here!), so I don’t know if this will be a series, but maybe? I dunno. Like and reblog. I love your asks. 

You feel the sweat beading on your forehead, and your hands are slippery as you aim your gun, looking down the crosshairs. It was just you, and one other person, and you had to kill them before they kill you. You don't dare reach up to wipe away the sweat, making sure to keep moving as you turn every corner, looking for any sign of the other person. You hear only your quiet footsteps, and the quiet patter of water droplets to your right. You feel your heart beating in your chest, threatening to break free from its confines. It aches as you hold your breath, not daring to more for fear that you might miss an important shot. Your head starts to hurt as you scrunch your nose, pushing your glasses back onto the bridge. You let out a steadying breath, and turn around. At the sight of a man, standing behind you with a knife, you shift your aim. He swings wildly, and you shoot. You wait with bated breath, just continuing to shoot until your clip is out. Blue text shows up on the screen.

Blue wins

You shoot up out of your chair, shocked, unable to say anything. Your headphones fall off you, and you hear your teammates shouting and screaming, loud enough where it feels like they're in the room with you.

"YES!" you exclaim, throwing your hands into the air. Looking over at the chat, you see a chorus of 'Congrats!' and 'GG's. You pick up your headset and scream into it, "We're going to Atlanta!"

There's a chorus of cheers, and you throw your hands up into the air again, your headset falling onto the desk with a loud clunk. It sounded like no one cared. You start screaming, and run off camera, before turning and going the other way, screaming the whole time. You have the goofiest smile on your face. You run back to your chair, the yell fading in your throat, and you put your headphones on again, where you hear your friends laughing. You laugh along with them.

"I gotta go, my girlfriend's asking why I'm so loud," you hear Stephanie say.  

There's a chorus of agreement, and you nod.

"Okay, you all get some sleep. I'll talk to you later," you say. They all say their goodbyes and log off one by one.

You sit back in your chair, and laugh quietly. "Sorry about that," you say to your chat.

You see a few 'no worries!'

"God, I haven't been to the states since I moved…"

'Where do you live now?'

"I live in the UK. Been here four seven years now. Haven't really had a reason to move," you admit. You hear the telltale sound of a cheer in your ear, and looking over you see someone gave you 1000 cheer. "Thank you so much Malicious Soprano for the 1k cheer! 'So you've been in the UK for as long as you've been streaming?' Actually, longer. I started streaming five years ago. I was just scared to for about two of those seven," you say with a laugh.

For the next hour, you answer a few questions, finish up with a storytime, and then end the stream. You smile and sit in your chair, leaning back as you roll your shoulder.

"Finished?" You hear someone ask from the doorway. Looking up, you see your boyfriend, Tom, standing in the doorway.

You smile and open your arms. "All done." He grins and walks over, and sits in your lap. He wraps his arms around your neck, and kisses you sweetly.

"So…" he says, mumbling against your lips. "I heard you screaming. Was it good screaming?"

You chuckle and kiss him, muttering back to him, "So, you know how I said I wouldn't be able to join you in Atlanta…" He nods slowly. "Well, there's a tournament there for rainbow 6… and my team and I just qualified!"

Tom yells and kisses you. Your eyes widen, but you close them quickly, placing your hands on the side of his face and leaning into it more. He shifts in your lap, and you place a hand on his hip, squeezing. He places his hands on your back, before sliding down, and placing them on your butt. You jump, and break the kiss. Tom laughs, and you frown, though jokingly.

"Come on…" Tom says, leaning forward to kiss you again.

You roll your eyes. "We'll have plenty of time in Atlanta…"

Tom groans and places his head on your shoulder. You laugh and place a hand on his soft hair. He looks up as you run your fingers through his brown locks. "I love you," he says quietly.

You smile and lean down, kissing him. You pull away and murmur against his lips, "I love you too."

You jump as something loud bangs out from the TV speakers. You push yourself harder into Tom's shoulder, hiding your face. He's laughing.

"What are you scared of?" He asks, joking. You slap his arm. You keep your face hidden like that, shivering at every loud noise. You look behind you, and see the face of the monster, before whimpering and turning back into Tom's shoulder. "There's nothing to be-" He cuts himself off by screaming loudly, and turning the TV off completely.

"Nothing to be scared of?" You ask, and he rolls his eyes. You lean up and kiss him with a smile. You're still shaking slightly.

He places his hands on your shoulders and squeezes. "Cold?" You shake your head. You reach out and pet Tessa. She leans her head into your hand and you smile. "Okay, come on."

You don't even have time to stand up before he's holding you bridal style in his arms. You squeal and hook your arms around his neck, kicking out with your legs. Tessa gets up and follows the two of you into the bedroom.

Tom waltz's in, like he's not carrying you in his arms, and throws you ok the bed. You squeak as you tumble over, rolling twice before landing on your back. Tom comes over and starts kissing you. You place your hands on his cheeks and push him back.

You look up at him apologetically and say, "I'm sorry, but I really just want to cuddle tonight."

He smiles reassuringly, and places his hands on your hips. He slips his fingers under your shirt and asks for permission without saying a word. You nod. He pushes your shirt up and over your head, throwing it onto the ground. His shirt follows soon after. You climb underneath the covers and Tom joins you, wrapping his arms around your bare torso and pulling your head into his chest. You kiss his collarbone, and you hear him sigh above you.

That's when you feel something wiggling in between the two of you. You pull apart from Tom, and Tessa's smiling face appears between the two of you. You grin and kiss her on the nose. She looks down at it, back up at you, licks it, then licks your cheek. You laugh.

Tom kisses you.

Everything is perfect.

You groan as you get shot. Again. You were losing badly tonight, and you didn't know why. You and your party members were training, streaming almost every night in preparation for the tournament. You needed a break, something to take your mind off it. Your teammates were feeling it too. It was burning you out, and you needed a break. That's why, for an entire week, you weren't going to play. It was your idea, and the rest of them were on board.

Right now, you needed a break as well. And that break came in the form of your boyfriend, who was getting dinner ready. You look over, and give your camera a look and a gesture that you'd only be a minute before getting up and walking over.

"Hey," you whisper.

"Hey," he whispers back. He gives you a quick kiss. You smile. "Dinner's ready whenever you are."

You smile and nod, and place a hand on his arm. You kiss him, and then there's a crash.

Turning around, you see Tessa's knocked into your desk, and the monitor's been turned, and your keyboard's on the ground.

"Tessa!" You exclaim, rushing over to your computer. You pick up the keyboard, and that's when you see it, the comment in chat that makes you go pale, and makes your heart stop. The comment that changed your life.

Is that Tom Holland?

Your eyes go wide.

"Shit."

You're pacing in your living room as Tom sits on the sofa, your dinners long forgotten. You have your hands in your hair, pulling at it as you try and think. The pain your hair pulling is causing isn't helping.

"Please, stop pacing. You're just freaking yourself out more!" Tom exclaims, and you sigh, doing as asked. He gets up, and walks over to you, placing a hand on your shoulder. He squeezes it and you look over at him.

"What are we going to do?" You ask, quiet.

"We're going to adapt," he says simply. You sigh and hang your head, placing it to his chest. He hugs it. "We knew this would happen eventually."

You huff and pull away, looking up at him. "I know, but I didn't think it would be so soon."

He laughs at you, shocked. "After three years, you think three years is too soon?"

You sigh. "I don't know! I guess I was just planning on… well planning something!" You push your face into his chest again. "I hate not having a plan…"

Tom chuckles, and lifts your chin with a finger, kissing your lips quickly. "I know love. It'll be okay. You'll be okay."

You nod and kiss him again. "Can we take our dinner to bed and watch a movie?" You ask, pouting.

Tom laughs, and kisses you again. "Of course love. You get into bed. I'll bring it to you."

You grin and rush off to bed.

You're laying in bed in the morning, your head on Tom's chest, when you see the tweet.

Tom Holland dating a nobody? It's more likely than you think!

You sigh and lay your phone on Tom's stomach. He hisses, and picks up the phone. You chuckle as he sets your phone on the bedside table. You lean up and kiss his jaw, smiling as you lay back down. He runs his fingers through your hair, and you kiss his bare chest. He sighs.

"I'm scared." You feel him shift under you, trying to look at you. No such luck.

"I know." You look up at him. He's looking down at you, sadness and pain in his eyes.

"Are you?" Your voice is quiet when it comes out, but deafening in your ears, the silence of the room enlarging the words so they fit their meaning.

"A little." He admits this with a frown. You kiss his jaw again.

"I'll stick by you, until the bitter end." He smiles and leans down, giving you a full-on kiss now.

"You better."

What you're not expecting when you're walking home is to see three teenage girls walk up to you with pens and paper. It's unexpected, and you're only a block away from home. They come up to you, and the tallest one taps you on the shoulder. You turn around and they hold out pens and a notepad.

"Oh, hello there," you say, a little shocked. You've never had anyone come up to you on the street before. You've seen people do it with Tom, but never you.

"Here, can you take these?" They ask.

You look at them quizzically. "And do what?" You ask cautiously.

"Ask Tom to sign them?"

You turn around, and walk away. You hear the girls start to walk after you, pestering you, following you and you grip your backpack straps. 

You take a deep breath, and bolt.

You hear the pitter-patter of feet behind you, and you cut into an alley, the wind rushing by your ears gets louder as you run into the enclosed space. You're panting, your chest hurts, but you keep going. There's a chain-link fence, and a dumpster blocking your way, but you leap up and land on top of the top of it. You rise up slowly and look behind you, making eye contact with the three girls. You see they have their phones raised, and you just turn around and vault over the fence. Your feet hit the pavement, and you feel pain shoot up your ankles, but you just keep going, keep running. Your chest aches, your head is pounding, your legs are burning, your entire body feels like it's being dunked repeatedly in lava but still, you keep running. You do a few laps around the block, checking behind you every now and again for any sign of the girls. When you finally feel like you're safe, you go home, slowing down slightly, but not by a lot.

You slam into your door and fumble with your keys, stuffing the key into the lock and unlocking it with force. You barge through the door, leaning on it as it closes behind you. You stumble into the living room, your foot catching on the rug, and you go toppling onto your knees.

Your hearing is muffled, but you can make out footsteps, a voice, hands on your back, the touch red hot and burning. You look up slowly and see Tom there, his eyes filled with worry, your name on his lips. You look at him with tired eyes.

"What happened? [Y/N], are you okay?" He asks, worried.

You mumble something and scrunch your nose, knowing it didn't come outright. You take a deep breath and say as clearly as you can through tears you didn't know were there, "Three girls. Asked for your signature. I didn't know what to do so I ran. They followed me, so I ran faster, jumped a gate. I ran for a few blocks until I thought they were gone, and came back home." You suck in a breath, you taste tears on your tongue. "I didn't know what to do!" You feel the sob growing like a balloon in your chest and Tom hugs you before it can burst. He doesn't shush you, doesn't tell you to stop, doesn't seem uncomfortable. He just holds you, petting your hair, in silence. He just sits there with you, letting you get your feelings out. You cry until you can't anymore. You sniffle and wipe your nose with the back of your hand, chuckling breathily.

"What's funny?" Tom asks, wiping underneath your eyes.

"It's just- it's just so stupid…" You say, laughing quietly to yourself.

"It's not stupid," Tom says, holding you tight. You push your head into his chest, and he hugs your head, kissing your hair.

"Stay with me?" You ask quietly.

Tom smiles and kisses your hair again, squeezing you tight.

"Never."

It's been about two weeks since you streamed, the hiatus coming at a perfect time for the two of you. All purely by coincidence. When you log on, your teammates are supportive, congratulating you, coming to your side, backing you up. You tell them thank you, but not to tell anyone or talk about it on steam. You didn't need more people getting into a conversation they had no reason to be in. They're all understanding, and you thank them for that.

When the stream actually starts, it's pretty normal, though the numbers watching you stream have practically doubled overnight. No one talks about Tom, no one brings him up, it's nice. You talk about the tournament, about the game, and about nothing all at the same time, getting into an argument about Marmite at one point. You and Sadie, your Australian player, love it. The rest of them hate it. You're suspicious of the number, of the growing amount of people that seem to be joining, getting higher and higher, but you don't say anything, just keeping it to yourself. You just sit and laugh and have a good time, and not think about anything, until you see a cheer, and your face goes blank.

Where's Tom?

You clear your throat and continue playing, but as soon as you round the corner, you get downed, interrogated, and killed. You groan and curtly sound off callouts from the cameras to your team, but it's too late. You lost. You sigh and put your head in your hand, looking up at chat.

I saw Tom's name.

where is he?

omg is he here!

Guys stop, we're going to have to ban you.

yeah seriously youre spamming

I want to see Tom!

Where's Tom?

You groan again and thump your head against the table. You hear a ping in your headphones and look up. Jax messaged you something.

'Hey, you okay dude?' He asks.

You nod and type back quickly, 'Yeah. Just need a break from my chat.'

"Hey, guys?" You hear Jax say in your headphones. There a chorus of yes's. "Why don't we just get drunk and play some Minecraft?"

Everyone else cheers, leaving to get some drinks, but you just smile and say simply, "Jax, I don't drink."

"Yeah, but you love it when we do," he says, knowing he's right. He is. You don't say anything, and he laughs. "Come on, it'll be fun!"

"Yeah yeah," you retort, rolling your eyes, knowing he's right.

"Hey babe?" You hear from the doorway. Looking over you see Tom in the doorway, holding his phone out, confused. You get up and walk over, kissing him quickly, looking behind you to make sure Tessa's still in her signature spot in the corner. No one knew your dog's name; or, at least, they didn't. You had never had to say her name before, but now that everyone knew who you were living with, it was obvious who the Blue Staffy in the corner was.

"Yes, hon?" You ask. "What is it?"

Tom blushes slightly. "How- how do you do the story thing? Where you save them to your page?"

You smile and kiss his cheek, taking the phone and going to his page. "It's just that there. You tap whatever ones you want to keep."

He smiles and kisses you. "Thanks. I'm like an old man, I swear," he says as he walks off.

You roll your eyes and smile, walking back to your computer with a dopey look on your face. You put your headphones back on and say into the mic, "Sorry guys! Had something to take care of."

You don't hear what they say because your attention is turned back to the chat.

omg was that tom?

hi Tom!

Oh shit, it's Tom.Holland isn't it? He left for Tom?

Message deleted by moderator

omg tom just leave him hes not even that funny any-

You shut off chat, closing the tab on your right side monitor.

You have an amazing rest of your night.

"Let's go out?"

You look at Tom from your desk, having turned around to gawk at him. "I'm sorry, what did you say?" You ask, confused.

Tom stands up and rolls his eyes. "I said…" He walks over to you and places his hands on the arms of your chair. He leans in and says quietly, just above a whisper, "We should go out. To dinner." You go to speak, but he kisses you. "We've been inside for two weeks, barely going out to do stuff. I miss when we could just go out for a nice meal…"

You scoff. "You mean before you became a big shot movie star?"

He chuckles and rests his head on your shoulder. "Yeah yeah. Can we please just go out? I'm feeling really stir crazy…"

You sigh and kiss his head. "Fine fine. But I get to choose." He grins and kisses you.

That's how you found yourself at Château de la Nourriture, a small bistro twenty minutes from your place. You used to always go there when you first started dating Tom. Almost every week you'd go on a date. At first, all you would do was talk, but as conversation dwindled, the comfortable silence took its place. You'd never had that before, silence that felt good, felt safe. That's how you knew you wanted to stay with him, for as long as you could.

You smile at him from across the table, and he reaches his hand out. You grab it. He glows. He looks so incredibly happy and honestly, you are too. You really like being able to hold his hand, to walk with him in public with your fingers interlocked, not having to pretend to just be friends, roommates. He lifts up your hand and kisses your knuckles, making your face go warm. You smile at him.

CLICK!

You look over and see a kid with his phones out, taking a picture of you. You take your hand away from Tom's, not looking at him as the kid continues to snap pictures. Glancing over at Tom, he looks angry.

He puts on a smile though, and says to the kid, "Hey, we're having dinner right now, could you not photograph us please?"

CLICK!

That's when the parent runs over and scoops the kid up, ripping the phone out of his hand. "I am so sorry about that!" She says, apologizing furiously. "God I'm so sorry, I thought he was behind me and when I turned around he was gone and I looked over and saw him at your table. He would not stop talking about you all night and I figured if he was anywhere it had to be here and-"

You put a hand up to stop her, and she closes her mouth. "Thank you, ma'am, for collecting your child. Please tell him what not to do in restaurants," you say simply, a sad look in your face.

The mom's face falls. "You know, he's a huge fan of yours Mr. [L/N], and you're being really rude." Your eyebrows raise and you look over at Tom, who's just as shocked.

You get up from the table, and just walk away.

Later that night, you're laying in bed, looking at your phone when you see an article pop up on your feed.

TOM HOLLAND AND BOYFRIEND SPOTTED! WHO IS IS THIS MYSTERIOUS PERSON AND ARE THEY REALLY THAT UNKNOWN?

You click on the article and start reading it. It goes through your history online, starting as a YouTuber and then switching over to streaming once a week, before finally deciding to just do that full time. They have pictures from when you and Tom first started going out, when the media thought you were just friends or roommates. Then there, at the bottom, is the pictures from tonight. They're blurry, and half the time Tom's not even in the photos that were taken vertically, but there's one clear picture, definitely from a higher angle, taken horizontally. It's you and Tom, looking angry at something next to the lense.

You groan and realize it's probably from when the mother picked up her child, when you both were angry the kid had ruined your dinner. You go to keep reading, but the phone is taken out of your hand. You go to protest, but the words get caught in your throat.

There was Tom, frowning at your phone which he had clutched in his hand, completely naked. You go to speak, but the words get caught in your mouth before they can tumble out. He looks up at you, and his frown disappears, being replaced by a smirk. He throws your phone onto the bedside table and gets down on his hands, crawling over to where you're laying down.

"You know…" he says quietly into the shell of your ear. He noses at your hair. "The night isn't over…" You feel him pressed up against you, already halfway there. Your breath catches in your throat and you nod slowly. He bites at your ear and your chest clenches. "Is that a yes?" He asks low in your ear, and he starts kissing down your neck to your neck and collarbone.

He bites.

You moan.

"Yes!"

"Okay okay okay…" you mumble to yourself as you look at what you've packed. "Pants, shirts, underwear, socks, extra shoes, toothbrush, toothpaste, deodorant…" you list. "Am I missing anything?"

You look over at your boyfriend who was just laying in the middle of the bed, with no concern for your stuff. He looks up from his phone. "Hm?"

You roll your eyes and smile. "I asked if I was missing anything." He looks at you questioningly. "For the trip?"

"Oh! Um…" He looks around the bed. "Chargers?"

"Oh!" You exclaim, going into the spare bedroom to get your extra chargers. One for your phone and one for your computer. You grab an extra USB one for your phone, in case you need to charge it on the go. You walk back into your room, put the cables down, and hear the doorbell.

Looking over at Tom, you see him confused. "Were you expecting someone?" He asks, putting his phone down and sitting up.

"No? We're you?" You ask. He shakes his head. Carefully, you leave the bedroom. Looking behind you, you see Tom following, though a safe distance away admittedly. You walk up to the door, and a woman with her phone out is standing there, the bottom pointed away from her and towards you. "Um, hello? Who are you?"

She smiles brightly. "Hi! My name is Linda Grayson! I'm a reporter from The Sun! I was wondering if I could-"

You don't let her finish. You just slam the door in her face and whirl around to face Tom, wide-eyed and scared.

You hear banging on the door. "I just want to talk to you about your relationship! The readers want to know!" Linda screams from the other side, almost every syllable punctuated by the slamming of her fist. You turn around and close the bolt, and the chain at the top. The doorbell starts ringing. And ringing. And ringing.

You groan and throw your head back on the door, not moving.

"We can call the police if it continues," Tom says, but you shake your head.

"And how will that look?" You ask, exasperated. "I know your agent's already pissed at you, what with everything going on. You know with- well with me and-"

Tom cuts you off. "No. Stop it. I don't care. They can be as mad as they want. I love you and that won't change. All this press, the media, all of it. Nothing's going to change what we have."

You walk over to him and grab his hand. He squeezes and you squeeze back.

"I love you too," is all you say. It's all you need to say.

The doorbell is still going off.

"So what the fuck are we going to do about this?" Tom asks.

You sigh. "I think we should call the cops."

It was a foggy Tuesday morning when you arrived in Atlanta. You and Tom were all bundled up, but even with the fog, it was blisteringly hot. You ended up shedding most of your clothing before you even got to your car. Because Tom was a big shot movie star now, he was given access to a car to take them places. They wholeheartedly agreed to it. Getting through the airport and to the car was not a huge deal. Only a few people stopped them, but they were kind and courteous, asking politely for pictures or autographs. Neither of you were in any rush, so you indulged them. You mostly took the pictures.

The ride to the hotel was silent, but you were okay with that. You didn't need to talk. You just held Tom's hand and every time you thought about him, you would squeeze his hand. He always squeezed back. You walked into the hotel hand in hand, past all the screaming fans and paparazzi alike. You walk in unabashedly, unashamed, unfazed. You go to your room and your stuff is dropped off. As soon as everyone leaves you alone, your lips are attacked by Tom's who pushes you against the wall. He pins your hands above your head, and you just moan into his mouth.

He pulls away with a grin. "Holy shit that felt so good!" He exclaims.

"What?" You ask confused.

"Just- just holding hands! Walking outside in public without having to stand two feet apart!" He shouts, excited. You start grinning too, and soon enough, Tom's pressing up against you again. "Can this just stay like this, forever?"

You smile and kiss him. "Yes."

Day one of the event, Tom can't join you. He's busy shooting his movie, what few scenes he was doing in Atlanta anyways. You had learned through him that he was going to have to travel to Italy for most of the scenes. You don't mind. When your boyfriend was a movie star you had to make sacrifices. Mostly though, when he was doing press tours, you were able to join him. It was fun, and you got to travel a lot. Your fans before that just assumed you traveled a lot.

Day one went smoothly. Your team got further in the competition, winning three matches and losing only one. You progress to the next day. You spend the day with your teammates, just walking around the convention when you're finished, buying art of you or Tom, or just whatever's cute. You take pictures with cosplayers and just have a good time with your friends. You gorge yourselves on shitty fake nachos and introduce your Australian mates to some of the worst, but most popular, American foods.

That night, sitting in the hotel room, Tom comes in from a long day of filming. Expecting him to want to go straight to bed, you had put your pajamas on in anticipation. What he says when he comes in though is not what you're expecting.

"Let's go to a club."

You look at him, shocked. "Are you sure? Usually, you just want to sleep through tomorrow…" You walk over to him, placing a hand on his forehead.

He grabs your wrist and kisses your hand. "I want to go out, like we used to. I want to dance on my boyfriend and not care if anyone sees us. I want to get drunk and have amazing sex later tonight."

You scoff. "Well, I'm not having sex with you if you get drunk." He waves it off but you know he understands. God, you make us sound like an old married couple… Fine! Fine. We'll go out. Just, let me get changed?"

Tom nods, kissing you quickly, before letting you go get changed. You don't like to dress up very flashy, so tonight it's a simple jean t-shirt combo with a black bomber jacket. You put a baseball cap on, Red Sox, and stand by the door once you're done.

Tom grins at you and takes your hand. He leans over and kisses you. You don't break the contact.

Atlanta is a beautiful town at night, with its old neon signs lighting up the night sky, turning everyone a shade of purple or green, red or orange. It's gorgeous walking out at night, and it's even more amazing holding Tom's hand.

You get to the club, a little underground thing with flashing neon lights above it. It's quite aesthetically pleasing. You and Tom get a quick picture, a snapshot, underneath the lights. You walk inside hand in hand.

The music is loud, thumping through your ears, the bass vibrating through your heart. It's dark, hard to see except for the few choice lights, like the ones above the bar and turntable. There's no one there at the moment, but it's a Wednesday night. The one thing that's strange about this place are the people. There are people everywhere. At the bar, sitting at tables, around the outside chatting, and especially, on the dancefloor.

You barely have time to take it all in before he drags you over there. He doesn't even let you take a break before he starts dancing on you. You have no idea what to do. You don't dance, you sit in a chair all day and play video games or edit. Tom's always been the dancer in the house, dragging you into impromptu slow dances or just grinding on you while music played. There was one time he gave you a lap dance and you couldn't keep your hands off him. You didn't even last through the song. You vowed you'd never let him do that again. He vowed to break that.

You end up just swaying in time to the music, though you couldn't really find a beat. There were no drums to keep you on track. You try and find a bass line, but the completely electronic music is making your head spin and you can't pinpoint any of it. That's when you feel someone grabbing your arm, dragging you away from your dancing boyfriend who was in his own moment. You look up and see a handsome guy, long black hair that hangs just above his shoulders, wearing the most disgusting and outlandish tropical button-up you'd ever seen. He starts dancing on you, and you freeze. He doesn't stop though, doesn't sense your discomfort. You go to back away, but he grabs your arm, and says over the music, "Where do you think you're going?"

You tense up. This is why you didn't go out. This is why you didn't talk to people. Where's Tom?

"I-I'm going back to my boyfriend!" You exclaim.

He scoffs. "What boyfriend? Where? I don't see anyone here." He leans in closer. You can smell the hard alcohol he's been drinking.

You see a hand reach up, and tap his shoulder gently, with the grace of a spider. The man turns around suddenly, letting go of your arm. Standing in front of him, is Tom, arms crossed and a very annoyed look on his face.

"Excuse me, I think that's my boyfriend you're touching," he says, enunciating every syllable in the word 'boyfriend'. The man looks at him, shocked and a little confused.

"I'm sorry, when did they let a teenager in here? I thought this was a club!" He shouts over the music.

You see Tom getting defensive, and the guy is getting angrier by the second. There's a crowd forming around you, and while the music is still playing, you think they turned it down a little. You clench your fist and grab the guy by the shoulder spinning him around just as he extends a punch. You fuck and it swings over your head, just barely missing Tom's. He follows through too heavily with the punch, and before he can strike again, you push yourself upwards, your fist going straight into his jaw. You hear a crack and he grips his face, howling in pain. Security guards and bouncers alike pull the two of you apart, and you are forcefully ejected from the building. You stumble out onto the street and Tom catches you, making sure you don't fall. Looking up at him, he's grinning like a madman.

"Holy shit [Y/N]!" He exclaims, placing a hand around your waist. "That was incredible!"

You shake your head and grip your hand. "Yeah, that wasn't really worth it though…" You look around. "Shit I'm sorry, I saw him going for you and I know how Marvel would feel if you got hurt and I know how it-"

Tom cuts you off with a finger to your lips. You stop mid-sentence and look down at it, confused. He pulls away, apologetic, and says calmly, "Well, thank you for that. Now, let's get you back to the hotel, and I'll help you patch up your hand. I need you at peak performance for tomorrow."

You grin and let him walk you back.

Day two is much like the first. Even with your hurt hand you still manage to get into the semi-finals, though just barely squeaking by. That night, Tom doesn't want to go out. You sit in the hotel room and watch some funny movies. You end up falling asleep halfway through Hot Fuzz. When you wake up the next morning, there's a note on the pillow next to you.

Gone out for the shoot today. Get some rest. I love you. ~T

You smile at the note and set it aside. You get up and get dressed, putting on your team's jacket. The UK Controls. It wasn't the best name, but it was as good as you could come up with. It was also funny because you're the team captain and the only UK member on the team. You don't even sound British.

The event is largely the same on day three. You get there, practice a few rounds, then take a break, walking the floor and taking pictures. You don't get a single person mentioning Tom or your relationship. You're ecstatic by the time the actual competition comes around. You sit down in your chair, add your specific specs for your weapons, and the game begins.

Your team is on defense first. You go around, placing fortifications on the walls you know need them. Soon enough, everyone has armor and the walls are not going to break when shot at. You crouch behind the open doorway, and lean out. Nothing. You move up slowly, your gun in your hand. You hear footsteps behind you, but Jax says he's going out with you, so you don't turn around to look at him.

You peek out the next wall, and take three shots, destroying a camera, cursing that it took so many bullets. Jax just continues to follow you. You hear the muffled voice of the announcers in the background but you ignore it.

Something explodes next to you, and you look. The window you were next to was just shot out. The bullets all went above your head. You pop your head up and take five shots. Headshot. The crowd cheers. You keep focusing.

You crouch back down, but keep an eye on the window. If they were smart they'd travel in pairs of two. You hear gunshots and pieces of the window fly into your vision. Jax peeks up and takes a few shots. Downed. Killed. Jax is at half health. You and him continue moving. Stephanie yells that there's someone on the stairs. You and Jax rush over as she kills one but is downed by the other. He kills her, you get a headshot on him. Two left. Four of you.

You hear screaming, Sadie, who's being shot by two at once. She goes down. They interrogate her and kill her. She shouts that one is at half and the other's almost dead. You and Jax go towards where she died, your last teammate, Harry, going as well. Jax doesn't get very far; he gets headshotted. You immediately dart around the corner, peaking your head out to get a few shots off. You down the one who was low, and just shoot them until they're dead. There's only one left. You hear Harry say he's almost there, he turns a corner, and he's lit up. He manages to get a few shots off, but gets downed almost right away. You peek around the corner, and fire off a single shot. Headshot.

Round over.

You cheer, the rest of your team cheering as well. It's a short game, and you beat them four to nothing. The rest of the day goes the same, you dominating everyone. You make it to the finals.

During your last game, you stand up in your seat you're so excited. When the crowd starts chanting your name, you do some random, silly poses, just making everyone, including yourself, laugh. It was incredible. You're still grinning as you make your way back to the hotel. You get stopped for a few pictures, and some fans ask about Tom. It doesn't deter your mood.

You walk into the hotel room, and see Tom, sitting on the bed, looking at his phone. He looks like he only got home a few minutes ago, not much earlier than you. He looks up at you, going to say hello, but you just rush over and kiss him. Hard. You close your eyes, and you feel him open his wider, his eyelashes brushing against your cheekbones. Pretty soon, his hands are on your face, and he's passionately kissing you right back. You lean into him, pressing a knee in between his legs, and he moans, low and deep, the rumbling of thunderous lust vibrating his skull. You bite his lip and pull back, letting go with a smirk. He sits there, confused but very turned on.

"What was that for?" He asks.

You shrug. "I had a really good day."

He smiles and kisses you. "Well, would you like to make it even better? I need something to wind down with…"

You grin, and say yes.

You wake up, your face smashed into the pillow and your arm around Tom's bare waist. You smile, and sigh in content. You lean over and go to kiss him, and the alarm goes off. You groan and reach over, smacking the top of it. Tom groans and covers his face with a pillow. You chuckle and lean over, kissing his forehead before walking to your suitcase and taking out your jersey you've been wearing since the beginning of the competition. You were going to have to wash it when you got home.

Tom sits up in bed and squints at you. His hair is sticking up all over the place, and he's looking at you confused. "What are you doing?"

"Getting dressed. I have a final to win," you respond with a joking smile. His eyes widen and he starts getting out of bed. "What are you doing?"

He rushes over to his suitcase and starts going through it, trying to find something clean that he can wear. "Well, I don't have work today, so I'm going to join you!"

Your eyes widen. "Really?" You grin and Tom leans over, kissing you.

"Really. I wouldn't miss it for the world," he says. You kiss him again.

"Thank you."

You collect everything you need, and wait by the door for Tom. You hand him your backpack. He raises an eyebrow. "Why are you giving me this?"

"I need someone to hold it. I can't cover my jersey!" You turn around with a goofy smile and point at the back of your jersey. It says [L/N] on the top, and in the middle in big white text, it has 42 in the middle. You look over your shoulder and see Tom laughing at you. He has the backpack slung over his shoulder.

You reach out with your hand and he grabs it, squeezes it. You squeeze back.

The walk to the convention center is pretty uneventful. Only two people stop you, and they just want a picture with you. Now it's Tom who's taking the picture. It's usually reversed. You tease him about it when you walk through the metal detectors.

You know Tom's been to Comic-Con, multiple times, but this is different. There aren't a million people all crowding around you, making it impossible for a celebrity to walk. There were maybe three hundred people at most at the entire event at one time. Most were in the main hall watching everyone warm up.

You take Tom around back and say hi to your teammates, introducing them to Tom for the first time.

He watches in the wings while you warm up.

Looking over at Tom from your seat, your heart clenches in glee, at him standing there, watching you with a smile. You win all your practice rounds. You walk over to Tom and he gives you a kiss and a congratulations. Everyone 'Aw's around you.

Until you go on stage, fight the final fight, you have three hours. Jax offers to take everyone out to food, but you and Tom say you're not hungry.

You end up splitting off from the group and walking the floor for a few hours. A few more people ask for pictures, but other than that, nothing really happens. You show Tom some artwork, and he even buys a couple himself. You tell him if you got one already so you don't buy two of the same. You have to leave extras for everyone else.

You feel a tap on your shoulder and you turn around, switching the hand that's holding Tom's when he turns around as well. It's a woman, not much shorter than you, who's holding out her phone. She looks shy, like she can't quite say what she wants.

"Do you want a picture?" You ask. She nods.

Tom takes the phone and starts walking away, but she stops him. "W-wait!" She exclaims. "Can I get a picture with the two of you?"

Tom looks genuinely shocked, but nods anyway. He sidles up next to you and all of you smile, though her more awkwardly, and he takes the picture. Handing the phone back to her she says, "Thank you. My-my girlfriend and I have been big fans of yours [Y/N] for a really long time, and when we found out you were with Tom well… we binged all your movies and became instant fans." She says this sheepishly, and Tom offers her a consoling smile. "And your story inspired us. We came out to our parents." She looks away and you smile sadly at her. "It went well actually." Your smile turns into one of relief. "We were able to come out because of your story. Because of you, we're able to be open and out."

You look at her, you feel the telltale pinpricks of years forming in the corners of your eyes, and you grab Tom's hand.

"Thank you," you say quietly.

She nods and smiles, before turning around and walking away. You see her go to someone off to the side and whisper in her ear, before kissing her on the cheek. She looks even shyer than the woman who came up to you.

Tom kisses you on the cheek, and you smile, turning your face to kiss him. You walk back to the main stage hand in hand.

The hour up to the final fight has you shaking, and Tom has to sit you down to comfort you. He grabs your hand and says to you, "You'll do amazing."

You nod and kiss him once. You get up and join your team at the entrance. Jax takes your hand and squeezes.  You squeeze back before letting go. You look behind you and Tom is there, smiling.

Everything happens in snapshots, the getting up, the hand, the looking behind. It's like you can only see the world in so many ways, like every time you blink, you take another picture. You hear your name being called. You walk out with your team. You wave at all of the attendees. The lights are bright, so bright you can't see them. You wave anyways. You stand with your team in front of your computers and look at the other team. Cloud nine, one of the best in the world. Obviously. They were here. You give each other a nod, some smile some don't, you don't, and you walk behind the desk. You sit down in your chair, look at your teammates, and put on your headphones.

The games are a blur. You don't know if you're winning or losing. You think you see more blue than orange.

You look up at the scores. Tied. Last game. You sigh and turn back to your computer. As you're thrust into the game, you realize you're on defense. Looking up at the score on your computer, it's tied there as well. Sudden death. You feel your arms shaking as you put up fortification after fortification. You grab some armor and hunker down by one of the windows. A bullet goes over your head. The parts of the window fall around you. You pop up and fire off a shot blindly. Headshot. You hear the crowd go wild but you don't think about it. You just keep playing.

Jax downs someone. Interrogates him. Kills him. Jax is killed. Stephanie kills them. Everything's happening so fast you almost don't notice the two rouge fighters entering the room. You dive behind the table as they light up where you just were with bullets. You pop your head up and fire off a few shots. One manages to hit, but he gets out of the way before more damage can be done. You shout off calls, who's where and who's vulnerable. You see Harry and Stephanie coming around the back. You pop out, they shoot, and you manage to only get hit a few times before the pop back down to reload. You walk around and start shooting at them. You down one and hurt the other. You get downed as well. They go to kill you, but the one who's up gets headshotted, his brains and blood splattering over you. The one who's downed is also killed, and Stephanie runs over to you, helping you up. You get up, and she goes down. Looking over you see the window, and by the time you turn back around, she's dead. You quickly run out of the way and to the window, waiting for the guy to shoot again. Jax breaches the window and you step back, watching it explode in front of you. Going back to the window you crouch down below it, popping up to look and see where he is. Jax does the same and gets a bullet in the skull. You take that time to shoot.

Headshot.

Everyone around you jumps up in their chairs as you see the familiar blue text in front of you.

Blue Wins

You sit there shocked as everyone around you starts hugging you. You stand up slowly, in shock, hugging the rest of your team back. There's screaming all around you, but you hear over all of it;

"UK CONTROL IS YOUR WORLD CHAMPION!"

You're handed a trophy, and you grin as your picture is taken. You look off to the side and see Tom standing there, cheering and clapping louder than everyone else in the room. You're ushered off stage and you hand the trophy over to Jax before running and jumping into Tom's open arms, kissing him.

"I'm so proud of you," he says quietly over the screaming from the other room. You kiss him.

This is the best day of your life.

[stuartledrew]

Neat Thought...

We're viewing our pasts, from our presents, as we step into our futures.

That is to say:

When I look at you, I'm seeing where you were, not where you are.

The speed of light Doppler effect...The “light barrier”/screen...Am I on yet?

Anyway...

Be nice.

Be happy.

Be you.

How?

We're a light/dark energy/matter, double rainbow...Well, we will be...

Once you find the “you” that you were born to be.

Balance, harmony, diversity, eternity...Life.

Or...

An eternal, double, infinite, single wave length (...-1.0.1...)...Life?...

Take your pick.

Some interesting things start to happen, when you think in terms of the speed of light, being directly connected to, the number of beings on the network. - Truly just beings there are.

The more of us who join, the more harmonic we become.

We begin to think as one mind, not the same thought, just the timing of...We begin to beat...And all time exists at the same time.

Just a thought.

https://stuartledrew.tumblr.com/

Another neat thought:

Given that I'm viewing my past on a slightly convex screen (time plane), with a very concave retina, + rod/cone placement + transmission speeds = 3D = Evolution (Hunting)

Oops...Got a bit lost there myself...

We're the present, a singularity of time.

We're centered.

So...

Simpler biology...Concave, to concave, flipped...

Anyway... Enjoy...

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NAEppFUWLfc&list=RDMMNAEppFUWLfc&start_radio=1

“Stone walls do not a prison make,

Nor iron bars a cage.” Richard Lovelace

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YkgkThdzX-8&list=RDMMNAEppFUWLfc&index=2

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HTTAPCUtbc8&list=RDMMNAEppFUWLfc&index=5

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UpoP4YSFKGA&list=RDMMNAEppFUWLfc&index=4

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vZA5heWazIQ

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QGJuMBdaqIw

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xCorJG9mubk

P.s.

This will be my last post, tweet, comment...ANYTHING!!!...On this subject.

In 2008 I got a “tap on the shoulder”. That night I was run through the gamut...I was once Jesus...No, apparently I was Satan...Nope...Wait...I was God...Until I screamed out into the darkness, “NO!!! It just doesn't work!!!”. Then I got to thinking...

I told the doctor (I was “told” to), and ended up being diagnosed as schizophrenic, and being hospitalized. Tip, unless for some reason you wish to be hospitalized, don't tell a doctor that you were once god. Anyway, whilst hospitalized, I briefly lost my temper with my psychiatrist, and got assigned an interview with another psychiatrist, to confirm that I was bipolar too...WHAT?...

Anyway, at that meeting, things got a bit emotional. The psychiatrist's student, started crying and had to leave...And I got a confirmation of bipolar disorder...WHAT?...

I made an RCMP officer cry once too, a male one. He was left to “watch over me” in a room at the hospital, on one of the occasions that I had been told:

“This is a big thing! A REALLY BIG THING!!! You understand that, right? Well the only way they're willing to get you guys together, at the moment, is in a controlled environment. Get yourself checked in to the hospital.”...Phone RCMP...Say “This is Stuart Graham LeDrew I live at...I used to be god, and I fear that I may do harm.”...BINGO!!!...Hospitalized, but no meeting!...No kidding!...Nearly 13 years!...Anyway, back to the RCMP officer I made cry...We talked for a bit and I asked him, “If it isn't, EVERYBODY, what's the bloody point?”, and he began to cry.

Long story short:

Either I'm pure probability, and simply mad.

Or I'm right, and we all win!!! But if so...Where is she? It's the communications era! I'd have been there the next day.  If I hadn't been told, that I have to wait here. Katy has to choose to come to me. I must just be mad! The next day!!! I'd probably have been arrested and detained, but I'd have had to!!!

The way I figure it...

If I'm just mad: I have hyper-inflated lungs, and COVID's on the rise, shouldn't be long now.

If I'm right: Maybe I have to go through all of them, one-by-one, for some reason, and I'm just losing again. C'est la vie.

If I'm, right, right: It has to work, first time. Otherwise,  it's just a trick of sorts, possibly unjust, and personally unacceptable. Something may be back...BUT IT WON'T BE ME!!!

And I'm not “Going long”, that's just the same thing, a trick.

If anyone can hear me...You can't mess it up! Why? Because I'm still here!

HELP!!!

Or not...Your choice...That's the point!

Well, one more.

I WILL FIND A WAY!!!

I'm back, but then again, I did say that I'd find a way.

Perhaps it would illustrate my point, “Stuff like this doesn't 'Just happen'!”, if I give you a few examples.

I was 'told' to go upstairs 'right now!', and watch a video...”Which one? 'You will know.'. I did so. The video was:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xCorJG9mubk

Which is basically a synopsis of this whole thing.

Then, one evening at 10:10 on the 10th, I wondered, “What is 101010 in binary?”. Turns out it's 42. Douglas Adams' “The Meaning of Life, the Universe, and Everything”.

In the video, “This is the part of me”- Katy Perry, at 2:23 Katy is wearing a watch. It's 10:10, and the minute hand is pointing to the 10 on the outside dial. I only just noticed this fact, and I've been watching it for years.

I first encountered Katy with the release of the “I kissed a girl” video. I was walking through the living room, and the video for it came on tv...Our eyes met...I walked away thinking “Oh well, just another talented, pretty girl, they'll “throw away” in a couple of years.”. I mention this because as I said, our eyes met...Then, I walked away at the end of the video. But what happened between those two events...(blackout)? It was odd, but I didn't think much of it at the time (loads going on). Now, did I see Katy, then get my “tap on the shoulder”, or visa versa? I couldn't tell you, it was all too long ago now.

In late 2010 there was a forum called “The Meaning of Life, the Universe, and Everything”, upon which I was posting. It was the usual stuff...Drunks in Florida, “Killing time”, and people only interested in their own theory's. So there really wasn't much point, but one day, a 12.5 year old girl, posted a link to:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QGJuMBdaqIw&list=PLNNEgHxrnU5xrECkqd-mbgyOf6X7_6W9p&index=95&t=0s

And asked, “Is this the sort of thing that you mean?”. I told her that it was basically exactly what I meant, but thought nothing more of it. That's not strictly true. What I meant by it was that I made no connection to Katy or the “I kissed a girl” video. I don't think that I even noticed that they were the same person. If I had, I'd probably have thought something along the lines of, “Oh, still going...Gosh!”. As to the song itself...That has saved me countless hours of thought...We're all on our own “perfect road” leading us all to our own “perfect door”. No need to keep 'checking'/cross referencing etc:. BRILLIANT!!! Anyway...

All of this had fallen into the background, for a couple of weeks or so. It was odd, but nice, a quiet mind. Then on 3/14/2018 Stephen Hawking died. Within 4 hours of his death I had a basic understanding of how all this works. I explained it all on physics forums. My model fixed all of the various problems/oddities in their model, but they would have none of it. Got banned!

Christmas 1987 my mother asked me what I'd like for Christmas. I usually got her to get me a record, but this year the really wasn't one that I had my eye on. So I said “Pop goes the world by Men Without Hats.”, because I thought that the girl in the video was cute. Turned out, I never really listened to it, I didn't really care for it much. But!!! Now, the anomaly in the video that has been bugging me for years becomes clear. What anomaly? What are those floating bubbles with the red bits on them? Do they mean anything? Because, again, the video is pretty damn on-the-nose!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3zUUtf7gOe8

Or the video for “Imagine” - John Lennon, he was a tad over zealous, here and there, but, imagine. Why do they zoom in on the window that has “THIS IS NOT HERE” printed on it? I'm demonstrating that it isn't, so...

And finally, well for now anyway, in 1994 Elastica released “Connection”. Huge amounts of this process have related to music videos. “Connection” was one of those “instant fav's”. The original video is a masterpiece, but could cause epileptic seizures due to the quick cuts.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gY2s4hJ8kuA

“Another heart has made the trade, Forget it, forget it, forget it, I don't understand how a heart is a spade, But somehow the vital connection is made.”

I have to know this! How is a heart a spade? It's ridiculous! It could be anything! Oh well...

Then two days ago, for no reason the thought Juice Newton “Queen of Hearts”, so I played the video. 35 seconds in...

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P0DK-0fIKCw

I could go on. My day, everyday, is just a continuous “coincidence” stream. Stuff like this doesn't “Just happen”!!! Well technically it does, but...

I will find a way...I mean, what else ya' gonna do?

Especially after the most powerful moment of this whole thing...

The weekend before my birthday in 2017, Katy had a “Witness Weekend”, four days, on air 24 hours'ish, a day. I'm not entirely sure why I watched, Katy was “relevant” by then, “Firework” had saved me so much time. I watched probably 3-4 hours, or so, each day, but I have a problem with, “I may be wrong...”, so I didn't want to feel like a stalker.

Katy had a psychiatrist come in to the theatre, to have a session with. As the session progressed, Katy started to cry, and Katheryn came out. Our eyes met...And it was literally like a double laser out of her eyes! Then I knew! Her image was burnt into my soul...She must “Meet her Prince Charming!”, it doesn't have to be me, but she has to be happy...I hear tell...

“Friends describe Katy and Orlando, as 'More than in love'.”...

Then there's Daisy Dove...

I think it's wonderful. Orlando's a really nice guy (he played himself on “Extras” with Ricky Gervais), life's complex sometimes, and it's a big house...Anyway, I'm either quite, quite mad...Or right...

And it REALLY SUCKS not knowing for sure, for sure, because I am ya’ know?

[alphacrone]

and i'll use you as a focal point [bittyrans vampire au]

[Read on AO3]

There was something off about Bitty.

At first, Ransom thought it was the gay thing—but not in a bad way! Ransom was, like, 90% sure he was bi, so the idea of Bitty being gay didn't make him uncomfortable, per se. It was just, they'd never had a guy as small or as feminine on the team before. Things were weird because a lot of the guys clearly didn't know how to act around Bitty. But no one was an outright dick to Bits, except Jack, but he was a dick to everyone in the pre-season, and soon Bitty was just another teammate.

Even then, Ransom couldn't shake the feeling that something was off about Bitty.

Most of the time, the kid was a sackful of sunshine and puppies and rainbows, bustling around the Haus kitchen and making the best fucking pies appear out of thin air. But sometimes...sometimes there was something sharp in his smile, something harder in his gaze.

Bitty let slip in a conversation once that he'd been bullied growing up, and for a while Ransom believed that was the secret he'd come to believe Bitty was hiding. After all, no one as kind and bright as Bitty could harbor anything more sinister than that in his heart, could he?

The thing was, when you were best friends with Adam Birkholtz, you tended to live half your life in fantasy.

And not in a fun, sexual way. Hell, not even in a regular fun way most of the time. Holster consumed media the way most people consumed oxygen: constantly and effortlessly. And he exhaled commentary on it like it was carbon dioxide. Ransom knew far more about Netflix shows and web comics and sci fi novels he'd never even seen than he felt was appropriate or even possible.

So it was really all Holster’s fault when he started noticing the signs.

The first was the most concerning, in the beginning. After a year of team meals and literal buffets of pie in the kitchen, Ransom looked across the dining hall table one morning to realize he had never seen Bitty eat. Bitty baked and cooked constantly, attended every team meal, even made himself plates of food, but he never, ever put anything in his mouth. Ever .

Ignoring his own dirty joke setup, Ransom continued to spiral down this path. Bitty was super thin, he already knew that. Jack was always harping on Bits to eat more protein, to Bitty’s annoyance. But Ransom had met Mrs. Bittle and she was tiny too; he'd just assumed Bits was naturally... bitty.

Now, Ransom wasn't Holster. His first thought wasn't some grand conspiracy theory. Instead, he approached Bitty on a sunny September day, a baggy of kolaches from Svoboda’s in hand. No one could resist Svo’s jalapeño-cheese kolaches. No one.

Except Bitty, apparently. Ransom found him lounging on a blanket by the pond, textbooks open but blatantly tweeting instead of studying. Bitty was stretched out like a cat, languid, and his tank top was rucked up a little to show off the thin, blonde happy trail running down his stomach and disappearing beneath the band of his shorts.

“Bits, bro,” Ransom said, plopping down next to him, shoving one of the books away. “Have some kolaches with me, man. They're fresh.”

Bitty grinned up at him, wide and amused. “Those are klobasneks, you heathen.”

Ransom, who already had one shoved into his mouth, barely managed to say, “But the sign-”

“It's not uncommon to lump the two together,” Bitty continued, tucking his phone back into his pocket and turning to better look at Ransom. “Especially since the Svobodas are from Texas and it's a whole, complicated thing there. But kolaches have fruit filling; klobasneks have sausage or cheese or eggs.”

Ransom was a bit taken aback. Swallowing the half-chewed pastry roughly, he asked, “How did you know these were cheese and not fruit?”

Bitty shrugged. “I could smell them. Plus you and Holtzy love the jalapeño ones.”

Ransom couldn't argue with that. He held out the bag to Bitty, shaking it a little. “Eat me, Bitty!”

Bitty laughed and shook his head. “I'm good, thanks.”

Ransom frowned. Maybe Bitty’s food issue were worse than he thought. “Dude, I don't wanna sound, like, intrusive, but honestly...I have never seen you eat. Is it…? Do you need to talk to someone? You can always talk to me.”

Bitty’s smile turned endeared, and he shook his head. “I can smell garlic in those.”

“Huh?”

“I'm allergic,” Bitty clarified. “I have quite a few food allergies. It's why I have a mini fridge in my room, it's stocked with things that are safe. I really can't eat most of what I bake, but I love baking so much I do it anyway. And I go to team meals to socialize, not eat. I promise I don't have an eating disorder,” he said, touching Ransom’s arm gently. “But thank you for being concerned.”

“Oh.” Ransom frowned, then gasped and tossed the bag of kolaches away from Bitty. “Shit, dude, I'm so sorry-”

“Ransom, it's okay.” Bitty laughed again. “There isn't a whole lotta garlic in there, being near it won't kill me.”

“You've really got a strong nose, eh?” Ransom asked, leaning back on his elbows. Bitty shifted onto his side, and Ransom couldn't help but note the sharp lines of his silhouette, the stark brushstrokes of muscle in his shoulders and arms, the thickness of his thighs in contrast to his small waist. When they were on ice, Ransom was guilty of thinking of Bits as small and fragile; it made him a more ardent d-man, for sure, being on Bitty’s line, always looking out for his bittiest bro. But here, in the reddish sun of early Fall, Bitty was nothing if not a perfect specimen of raw, compact power. It unsettled Ransom, mostly in a totally gay way, but also, a little, in a way that made something small and primal at the back of his mind cower in fear.

“Ha, yeah,” Bitty said, in response to the question Ransom had forgotten he'd asked. “Survival instinct, I guess. You know, because of my allergies,” he added quickly.

“Right,” Ransom said, feeling hot and awkward under the gaze of Bitty’s dark brown eyes. “Allergies.”

When he eventually excused himself to go to class, Ransom didn't even remember to grab the bag of kolaches from the ground. It wasn't as if he had much of an appetite anymore.

After that, it was little things that made Ransom wonder just what Bitty was hiding behind his sunny, southern facade. Though he wasn't proud to admit it, Ransom had started an Excel doc just to keep track of everything, titled ERB and hidden deep in his pirated comics folder on his laptop (labeled PORN, of course, just in case).

Bitty wore sunscreen constantly. He tried to claim it was a southern thing, but Holster had family in Texarkana and claimed that they all had nasty, leathery skin because they literally never wore sunscreen ever and that Bits was full of shit. And he didn't just wear it in the summer—Bitty showed up to morning practices in January smelling like Coppertone. It was one of those quirky things about him. Absolutely no cause for alarm.

But then there was the way he was always cold. Bitty’s hands could rival ice cubes, even in the heat of August or after working out. “Poor circulation,” he'd explained once while drunk. “What can you do?”

Except, it wasn't just his hands. Bitty didn't let people touch him often, but Ransom had held his legs for kegstands and clapped his shoulders and even, once, slapped his bare back in the locker room and every time it had felt like Bitty had just stepped out of an ice bath. That couldn't be normal, could it?

And there were other things: his freakishly good sense of hearing and smell; how silent and still he was when he slept on roadies, barely seeming to breathe; the way he went on and on about his church back home but didn't attend at Samwell. Ransom had them all marked down in his spreadsheet, and on nights when Holster was dead to the world and Ransom sad supposed to be studying, he'd make whole charts of possible ailments, disorders, and lifestyle choices that could add up to the enigma that was Eric Bittle.

A small part of him—the part that had been forced to binge-watch those godawful Twilight movies with Holster and Shitty—whispered that there was another answer, one far simpler than the impossibly rare diseases he’d researched.

But that was the same part of him who believed he was being haunted by two dead sororities girls, the same part of him that got scared when Lardo and Nursey exchanged their favorite urban legends, late at night. There was no fucking way Bitty was a v-

He couldn't even think the word, it was so ridiculous. Bits was just a quirky dude with health problems; there was nothing paranormal about it.

Still, there were times Ransom felt Bitty’s gaze on him, and a chill would involuntarily run down his spine. And only a little in a gay way.

Everything came to a head when Ollie got decked in the face by a puck.

The dipshit had removed his helmet in the middle of drills, so Ransom didn't have that much sympathy for him, but it still looked like it hurt like a bitch. His nose broke with an audible crunch and Ransom saw the blood on the ice before he even realized what had happened.

“Shit, fuck, man, I'm so sorry!” Wicks called, skating over as fast as he could. “Bro, are you okay?”

But Ransom didn't hear Ollie’s answer; he was too distracted by Bitty.

Bitty was staring at Ollie with his mouth agape, eyes large and- not scared, or angry. Shocked seemed a closer description, but didn't feel quite right. Determined, maybe. His hands were shaking in his gloves, and his knees were bent, like he was poised to rush over to Ollie at any second. What was most unsettling, however, was the fact that Bitty didn't appear to be breathing at all.

Before anyone could blink, Bitty was in front of Ollie, half-crouched, eyes black in the weird light of the rink. He opened his mouth, but said nothing, and everyone fell deathly silent in their confusion.

Then Bitty was gone, sprinting from the rink faster than anyone on skates should be capable of. Ransom stared after him, unsure of how to process what he just saw.

“That was weird,” Holster said as Wicks moved to get Ollie off the ice. “Li’l dude can't handle the sight of blood?”

“I guess,” Ransom murmured. “Weird.” 

As soon as practice ended, Ransom rushed to the Haus. Normally he hung out at Founders until class in the mornings, but today he was on a mission. One way or another, Ransom was going to figure out what Bitty was hiding from them, from him.

Without even bothering to check the kitchen, Ransom sprinted up to the second floor, throwing his bag to the side of the hall and knocking on Bitty’s door. “Bits, bro, you okay?” He called. When there was no reply, he pushed open the door.

Nothing could have prepared Ransom for the sight in front of him.

Bitty’s room was a mess. Books had been knocked off his desk and the chair was overturned. His mini fridge was wide open and empty, cool air drifting to brush past Ransom’s shins. Several IV bags and plastic tubs were scattered across the floor, empty but stained pink by something . And Bitty-

Bitty was curled into a ball in the corner, half hidden by the bed, face pressed into his knees. His whole body was shaking like a leaf in the wind. He hadn't even changed out of his under armor.  

“Bits?” Ransom moved around the bed slowly, lowering himself to his knees in front of Bitty. “Hey, are you okay?”

Bitty raised his head from his arms slowly, and Ransom almost screamed. Bitty’s lips were stained red, and protruding over them, just slightly, were two fangs, clear as day. But the fear in Bitty’s eyes kept Ransom from running. He'd never seen Bitty look so small.

“I nearly attacked Ollie,” Bitty whispered, not meeting Ransom’s gaze. “I...I thought I was getting better. I thought I could handle things like that.”

“But you didn't attack him,” Ransom said, trying desperately not to let any hysteria seep into his voice. “You ran away. That's…that's good, isn't it?”

Bitty groaned and covered his face in his hands. “Not good enough. I can't just run away every time there's blood…”

“Is it-?” Ransom paused, grimacing. “Are you-?”

“It’s a rare disorder,” Bitty said quickly, voice monotone. “Porphyria. It’s why I wear sunscreen all the time, why I don’t eat with the team-”

“You don’t have any of the other symptoms though,” Ransom interrupted. “Pain, seizures, vomiting. And it doesn’t make you crave human blood . Bits.”

Bitty looked up at his name, shaking a little with...fear?

“It’s okay if you’re a vampire,” Ransom continued, not missing the way Bitty flinched at the word. “I mean, as long as you’re not killing anyone.”

“Ransom,” Bitty said glibly. “You’re pre-med, you don’t believe in- in monsters .”

Ransom shot him an unimpressed look. “I live with Holster. I’ve seen Twilight. And, like, weird shit happens to me all the time.”

“The ghosts?” Bitty asked softly.

“Yeah, them,” Ransom huffed. “Pretty sure my neighbor growing up was a werewolf. Or maybe just a hairy alcoholic.” At Bitty’s confused and horrified look, he added, “Dude woke up naked in our backyard, like, a hundred times.”

“You can’t tell anyone,” Bitty pleaded. “Please.”

“Of course,” Ransom said, sitting back on his heels. “Not that anyone would believe me…”

“I need to clean up,” Bitty said after a moment, looking around the room. “If MooMaw hears about this…”

“She won’t, because nothing happened,” Ransom said, standing and holding out a hand to Bitty. He took it and rose, slowly. “You just got nauseated at the sight of blood and left practice early. Tomorrow you’ll take a pie down to the coaches and apologize. Bits, it’ll be okay.”

Bitty sighed and began picking up plastic tubs. “If I end up killing someone again, the Council is gonna make me go back home to Georgia and live in the compound. I can’t be out there, or bake for anyone, or even listen to my music. There’s no skating, no hockey, nothing .” He sighed and sat down on the bed, face distraught. “If I go back there I’ll die .”

“Then, we’ll...work on it,” Ransom said with a shrug, feeling a little too much like Jack in this moment. “Somehow.”

Bitty’s lip quirked up at one corner. “Sure. We’ll just run some drills, learn not to murder people. Easy.”

“That’s the spirit,” Ransom said, clapping Bitty on the back. Bitty flinched involuntarily, then let his shoulders droop.

“You’re a good friend,” he said quietly, picking at some dirt under his nail to avoid looking up at Ransom. “And weirdly okay with... all of this .”

Ransom shrugged and picked up a few scattered IV bags. “Got your back, bro.”

Bitty laughed and Ransom’s heart skipped a beat. Definitely in a gay way.

[My writing tag]

[gracewithducks]

#blessed (Matthew 5:1-12)

I am so glad to be back with you all today. I’ve been feeling a bit of whiplash, though, making the transition from a week with my family in the happiest place on earth… back into the real world. We spent several days rubbing shoulders with families from all over the world, where we heard many languages spoken, where my girls lit up with wonder to see that It’s a Small World after all; we spend a week in a place where – for all the tantrums, and yes, there were plenty – a place where nevertheless we were surrounded by people who smiled at us, who helped us, who went out of their way for us, who treated my children like royalty, who did everything they could not just for our family but for every family there.

 And then we came home… we flew home on Inauguration Day, and it quickly became apparent that things are changing and changing quickly. I don’t know about you, but my head has been spinning – trying to keep up with “alternative facts” and executive orders and gag orders, hearing the voices of neighbors fearing for their immigration status, families terrified of losing their health care, couples wondering if their marriages could be overturned, not to mention the sheer number of people who do not see the painful irony of closing the doors to refugees on the very same day of a “pro-life” march and remembrance for the victims of the Holocaust.

 And what hurts my heart the most are the number of our Christian brothers and sisters who don’t see it. I keep hearing in my head the echo of Paul’s words to the Galatians: I am astonished that you are turning away from the truth of the gospel, that you are being fooled by a false gospel – because that’s what we’re seeing. So many pastors, so many of our neighbors and colleagues and friends, are falling in line behind and preaching a gospel where might makes right, where God’s favor can be earned, where riches are a sign of God’s blessings, and only the strongest survive.

 That’s not the gospel I know; that’s not the gospel Jesus preached… that kind of gospel is really only “good news” to the rich and the powerful – and a gospel that is only good news to the rich and the powerful is one Jesus wouldn’t recognize at all.

 That is, I think, why these familiar words from the Sermon on the Mount, why they are so profound and radical indeed. What’s happening here is, it’s very early in Jesus’ ministry. He’s been tempted in the wilderness, he’s just called his disciples, and then he went on a tour through the area of Galilee. And this area, it wasn’t the richest area. It was an area populated by fishermen and their families, by farmers and their families, by working people just trying to take care of one another. Jesus went through the area teaching, and giving good news, and healing many who were ill. And the news began to spread, that there was a new young teacher in Galilee who spoke good news and offered healing, so that people started to travel from all around to find him, bringing their sons, their daughters, their parents, their neighbors, themselves, looking for relief from pain and possessions and all the suffering that they faced. And Jesus welcomed those desperate people, and he healed them, and this large crowd of those looking for help and those who’d found it, this large crowd started to follow him.

 And Matthew says, when Jesus looked at the crowd, that’s when he went up on the hillside and he started to teach. As he looked out at the crowd of local families and foreigners, the crowd of hurting and sick and poor and grieving people, the crowds of people hungry for bread and hungry for hope – Jesus started to speak. And he said,

 “Blessed are the poor in spirit…

“Blessed are those who mourn...

“Blessed are the meek…

“Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness…

“Blessed are the merciful…

“Blessed are the pure in heart…

“Blessed are the peacemakers…

“Blessed are those who are persecuted for the sake of righteousness, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

“Blessed are you when people insult you, persecute you, lie and say all kinds of evil about you, because of me. Rejoice and be glad, because great is your reward.”

 Those crowds, just like the crowds today, had long been told that they didn’t matter, that they weren’t important. They’d been taught that God’s blessings came in the form of money and power – and because they had neither, they didn’t matter to God, and they didn’t matter to the world, either. They were nobodies. They were expendable, bit players in the corner of the global stage, and while the high priests and the caesars were off shaping the world, they were forgotten; no one saw them, no one heard them, no one even knew their names.

 Jesus looked out at those crowds – and he didn’t see nobodies. He didn’t say, if you just worked harder, if you just tried harder, if you had enough faith and did all the right things, then God would bless you, because God helps those who help themselves.

 No, Jesus said:

 You are already blessed.

 You are already blessed, when you can’t help yourself. You are already blessed, when you can barely get out of bed in the morning. When your heart is breaking, when you’re alone and afraid, when you’re hungry for justice, when you’re just plain hungry – God has not forgotten you. You are not abandoned; you are not forsaken. God doesn’t look at you and see a nobody; God looks at you and says, You, I love; You, I know; You are mine, and you are blessed.

 Is anybody on Twitter at all? Basically, Twitter is one a way that, if you have something you want to say, you can “tweet” it – you put it out on Twitter and send it into the universe. And there is this thing on twitter called a hash tag. What you can do with a hash tag is put a tag, a label, on your post, so that everyone who’s interested in a certain topic can find what people are saying about them. People hashtag politicians, they hashtag disasters and popular TV shows, they hashtag #MissUniverse and #WomensMarch and #love and #cute and #SuperBowl.

 And this week, I decided to see what people were saying that they chose to label with the hashtag #blessed.

 Let me give you just a sample of what I found:

 The very first thing that popped up was this – someone posted, “Got pulled over doing 42 in a 30. Told the police officer I’m in a rush [because] Popeyes closes at 9:30 and he let me go. He a real one #blessed”

 Many of the posts were similarly – we might say, trivial? Like the college student who tweeted, “I just realized I only have one class tomorrow… at noon #blessed”

 Or the food fan who posted, with a picture, “There’s a twenty-layer rainbow crepe in Queens #blessed.”

 One young lady gushed, with an ad for a clothing store attached, “I have this sweater in pink and its my favorite thing and now they’re 60% off (hearts for eyes emoticon) (crying my eyes out emoticon) #blessed”

 How about the – I hope sarcastic? – post: “I have lived to see the era of Artisanal Pop-Tarts #blessed.”

 Ah, yes, I remember well when Jesus said, “Blessed are you when your artificial breakfast pastries are slightly less artificial, for yours is the breakfast of heaven.”

 There are, of course, plenty of #blessed posts about boyfriends and girlfriends and spouses and children; I found a surprising number celebrating the blessing of snowdays and school delays. There were the obligatory folks bragging about days on the beach or trips-of-a-lifetime, and others giving thanks for new jobs or promotions or raises. But there were also many about make-up and mac and cheese and new cars and cups of coffee… And it really, really amazed me to discover that, at this time of year, more than half of the #blessed posts have to do with offers to play college football. I lost track of how many times I read “I am committed to play at” or “Proud to have an offer from” (insert university name here) #blessed.

 Don’t get me wrong: there’s a lot to be said for celebrating the good things in our live, the big ones and the small. There’s something healthy about celebrating hard work paying off with good grades or scholarship offers; there’s something healthy about celebrating friendships and relationships; and there’s something healthy about being thankful for the little things, for favorite socks and a good cup of coffee. I get that.

 But I just can’t help but think that, when Jesus said, “Blessed” – that’s not what he meant. Could you even imagine what those tweets would look like?

 They say God won’t give me more than I can handle, but I don’t even know where God is any more #blessed

My mother just died; I am heartbroken and don’t know how I’m going to live the rest of my life without her #blessed

Got yelled at at work again today; I know it’s about them not me, but I still cried in the bathroom #blessed

I am so hungry, my check doesn’t come in until next Friday, feeding my kids ketchup sandwiches while my stomach rumbles again tonight #blessed

Tried to make peace at family dinner but plates were still broken, hurtful words were yelled, and I ended up alone again #blessed

Going to lose my job because I told the truth #blessed

I am so lonely #blessed

I can’t get out of bed today #blessed

Crying so hard, it’s hard to breathe #blessed

 But that’s what Jesus says: you’re blessed when you’re mourning, when you’re feeling weak, when you’re hungry for justice, when you’re thirsty for truth, when you can’t make ends meet, when you’re good to those who don’t deserve it, when you’re trying to make peace, when you’re lied about, when you’re losing the fight, when you’re feeling alone… when you’re feeling cursed, that’s when you’re blessed.

 Which begs the question: What does “blessed” mean? – does it mean happy? Lucky? Privileged? Fortunate? Favored?

 It can’t be the same as our usual understanding, where being #blessed has to do with escaping speeding tickets and catching footballs and eating desserts. Jesus never says happy are the rich, happy are the popular, happy are the powerful and the comfortable… He says, happy, blessed are the mournful, the poor in spirit, the hungry, the peacemakers and the meek.

 And there are lots of theories about what Jesus means when he says that, but I think what he meant was – as he looked out at that crowd that day, the crowd of people who’d been forsaken and overlooked and ignored all their lives, he said: you, and you, and you are blessed. I see you; God sees you. You are blessed, right in the middle of your mess – not because everything is easy, but because it’s real, and it’s in the real stuff of living that God meets us. You are blessed, because it’s in the real mess of life that Christ chooses to be. God didn’t send a king, an emperor, or a president to save us; God sent a child, born to two poor parents, born in a barn, raised in a modest home, taught to work for a living – God came as someone who knows what it is to be ordinary, to be overlooked, to struggle to make it through.

 Jesus said, if you look for me, look among the poor and the hungry and the naked and the sick and the imprisoned, look with the immigrants and the refugees and the outsiders, and I’ll be there.

 When we feel as far away from #blessed as we can be – that’s when we need to know that God is still with us, God see us, God loves us, God chooses us…

 Which means we have two questions before us today:

 First, do we really believe that God is with us, that we are beloved by God, even when we’re struggling, when we’re suffering, when we’re weighed down with grief and doubts and pain? Dare we call ourselves “blessed” when nothing comes easy, and it really takes an act of faith to do it?

 And the second question is, dare we call others “blessed” too? Are we making room at our table for those whom God has called beloved and blessed? Do we welcome the hungry? The struggling? The ones who are filled with difficult questions? Do we welcome the strangers, the immigrants and refugees? Do we welcome those who try to walk the narrow middle road, to make peace? Do we welcome those who speak truth and call us to justice?

 Do we really want to be blessed? Do we want to be with those whom God called blessed? Are we willing not just to “serve” but to be served? Will we listen, will we learn, trusting that as we do, we will get a clearer picture of the heart of God?

 Especially in the world we face today, we need to be brought back again and again to the real good news: God is not on the side of the loudest or the most powerful; God is not on the side of the rich insiders of the world. God is always on the outside; and when we feel left out, God is there with us; and when we see others being left in the cold – God is with them, and God challenges us to be with them, too.

 God’s grace, God’s love, God’s blessing is big enough for us all.

 You are blessed today. You are blessed, you are beloved, you are welcome, you are wanted, you are seen, you are heart, you are loved.

 Let us know that we are blessed; let us bless others, in the name of the God who loves us still.

  God, you challenge us today. You challenge us to reconsider how our priorities line up with yours. We long to be comfortable, to be safe, to be happy; we want things to be easier – but you remind us that you are closest to us in the midst of the struggle. Comfort us as we mourn today; teach us humility, and make us hungry for justice and thirsty for what is right. Help us to show mercy, to love not just the people we agree with, to help not just those whom we deem worth – but to love as generously and help as graciously as you do. Show us how to be peacemakers, and when the path leads us to persecution, when we struggle, when we stumble along the way – bless us with your love, bless us with your strength, bless us with your courage and your grace once again. Help us to make peace; help us to have peace. May we be blessed; may we be blessings. In Christ’s name we pray; amen.

[pie-and-shotguns-blog]

Title Lyric from “Patience” by Guns and Roses

Courtesy canonspngifs.tumblr.com

We really aren’t sure what to do with this ep. (I vote cry, rage, and then pick up the pieces and move forward.—Marge) On the one hand, it was a really good episode, beautifully written by Robert Berens and a perfect setup for the backdoor pilot to Wayward Sisters, the much anticipated SPN spin-off. On the other hand, they fucking killed one of our favorite BAMF WOC characters, and they did it off-screen AGAIN, and they kinda fridged her AGAIN. Yes, her death was noble and she was bad ass to the very end, but it still felt a lot like we—and she—got screwed.

Anyway. So apparently there is a wraith (one of those creepy-ass human-looking things with the stabby-spiky-appendage that descends from their wrist so they can eat your brains. Remember the ‘Pudding’ episode – 5×11?) and he eats nothing but psychics. Real psychics, mind you, not the ones that litter every major thoroughfare of every street from the suburbs to the big cities, with the neon hands of fate and TAROT CARDS and quite often “for rent” signs, which always make us wonder how they didn’t see that coming, hahaha. But this is Supernatural, so there are real psychics, and he eats them.

DAWN: How many REAL psychics can there be, though, even in SPN-land? That wraith looks pretty well-fed for someone whose only food source is relatively rare. MARGE: I wondered about that too but then I thought about how many we’ve seen in comparison to how many we’ve seen of other creatures… Seems like psychics might be plentiful? Possible, not probable? ERICA: Y’all think of things much differently than I do. My main thought was “what happens when he runs out?” MARGE: I mean, I think it’s just a taste he’s acquired. He can go back to eating us regular old humans, I guess. It just won’t be as satisfying for him. Poor little-dissatisfied wraith… Ugh. ERICA: I don’t know though…the way he phrased it, it struck me as an addiction thing, sooo…. MARGE: Wraith rehab? No? lol

Back at the bunker, Dean is isolated in his room, listening to music, drinking lots of beer, and being sad in general. Sam is checking on Jack, who hasn’t left his room since they got there and he got settled in. Sam gives Jack the video message that Kelly recorded for him while she was still pregnant. Just as Jack begins watching his mom, which was so very sad, Sam’s phone rings.

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This psychic-eating-wraith from the opening scene is the lead-in for the return of our favorite BAMF-but-soon-to-be-dead character who is also our backdoor for the Wayward Sisters spin-off: none other than Missouri Moseley, folks, played by the inimitable Loretta Devine (yas queen). We’ve missed her and we’ve always wanted her back so the fandom was THRILLED to learn that she was going to re-appear this season. She tells Sammy she’s been out of the life for a while but now she needs some help on a case with which she has a personal connection.

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We’re just gonna come right out and say it. No point in teasing this one out. Missouri comes back for this one episode, y’all, and they kill her ass off in the first 20 minutes without breaking a sweat, breaking the hearts of the entire fandom and enraging more than a few, us included.

MARGE: I actually threatened to riot on Twitter… It was an emotional moment. DAWN: I am displeased. Very displeased. ERICA: “Displeased”….such a gentle word for the rage that consumes me. MARGE: I also scream-tweeted at Robert Berens. Oops. Sorry, sir… ERICA: Ditto, fam.  

So it was awful, it hurt, but did she go out like the badass that she is? Yes. Yes, did she ever. She chose her death, in order to save her son and granddaughter from the wraith because she saw that it was the only way they would live—literally she saw that, because Missouri is psychic AF, and she checked to make sure. And then she sends Dean into the fray, with the directive to save her family. So, he did. Kinda. Really, her family sort of saved her family, with Dean’s assistance, but we’ll get there in a minute.

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Missouri sent Dean and Jody to find her son James Turner (played by Adrian Holmes), and granddaughter, Patience (played by Clark Backo), and to protect them while she stayed behind at the murder scene of her protege, Dede, knowing that she was going to die. Then she basically told the wraith to get fucked:

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DAWN: Their last name is Turner, not Mosely. Rufus’ last name was Turner. Headcanon accepted. MARGE: Definitely! I LOVE the idea that Missouri and Rufus were a thing… Maybe that’s why Rufus was such a hateful old cuss. He had an awesome thing with someone as badass as Missouri and lost it?… I wanna feel like they had the kind of love folks write fairytales about. Ok, enough speculation on that or I’m gonna get all misty-eyed. DAWN: Yeah, I’m going to need that fanfic in a hurry. Somebody get on that. MARGE: We should add it to our ever-growing list of things we want to write… LOL

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SO, Jody and Dean run off, find James and Patience, who Missouri believed was psychic before James cut her out of their lives (initially because Missouri ‘incorrectly’ predicted that James’ wife would survive an illness but also for fear that Missouri would ‘influence or poison’ Patience).

MARGE: Total speculation, but I think Missouri probably told her boy his wife was gonna live because she didn’t want to break his heart… maybe that was it. Geez.

Patience dreams of being attacked by the wraith and then goes to school, which is where she was attacked in the dream, and just so happens to be… guess what… attacked by a wraith. Everything looked a little deja-vu-ish, of course. Who would’ve thought? Channeling a little of granny’s badassery, Patience knees the wraith in the dangly-bits and then breaks off his stabby-spiky-thing. Signs of spunk—we like it. Patience is pretty cool so far. The acting could use a little bolstering, but we definitely believe she’ll get there. It’s hard to judge based on first appearances but who are we kidding, we do it anyway. Dean and Jody show up just in time to confront the wraith but he manages to elude them and almost hits Dean with his van while escaping.

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Cut to the Turner home where Dean, Jody, and Patience break the news to James about the attack and the likelihood that Patience is, in fact, possibly psychic (DUH! Missouri Moseley is like never wrong.—Marge) He decides it’s time to run, sends Patience to her room to collect her things, and then, gee, what do you know, the fucking wraith is hiding in the closet. Cue – classic-horror-genre-girl-scream and Dean, Dad, and Jody scrambling upstairs to find an open window. The wraith has kidnapped Patience so Dad uses a little divination he learned from his mama to find her… yes… the skeptical father who cut MISSOURI MOSELY out of her granddaughter’s life is like, meh, desperate times… let’s do some magic real fast to find my girl. Which is reasonable… but still. What an asshole.

Patience is in what appears to be an abandoned warehouse, tied up, and the wraith is being a total fucking creep—talking about how he’s going to feed on her over and over and really draw it out… just…ewwwww. And then, what a shock, Patience has a vision… in which her father, Jody, and Dean all get stabbed to death. It doesn’t look like a vision at the time though, so yano, we think everyone just died horribly painful deaths. It was sort of awful but then we realize quickly it was actually a vision and Dean, Jody, and Dad are just arriving on the scene to save the day. This is the part about how Missouri’s family actually saved themselves with Dean’s assistance. Because of her vision, even though she is tied up and can’t fight, Patience is able to warn her Dad, Dean, and Jody all before the wraith can land the stabbing blows that supposedly killed each of them earlier. Dean manages to take the wraith out and Patience is freed. Hooray for happy endings… except MISSOURI IS STILL DEAD.

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Meanwhile, back at the Bunker, Sam is trying to “train” Jack to use his powers and Jack is basically a surly teenager who doesn’t want to do his homework. Sam pressures him; Jack freaks out; Sam leaves him alone to cool off.

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And then we see Sam, reading a book about parenting gifted children while surveilling Jack via his laptop, which honestly was the cutest thing ever and very likely caused the entire fandom to spontaneously ovulate. Even the men.

MARGE: That takes talent.

Sam is distracted by his reading, so it takes him a few minutes to notice that Jack is no longer on-camera. Cue Dad-panic at it’s finest from Sam Winchester. He runs to the library and finds Jack hiding in the corner.

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They have a heartbreaking talk about being different and misunderstood, how hard it is, and why Dean can’t deal, and honestly, Sam would have been such an amazing daddy and it’s horrible that he will (probably) never get that chance. *SOBS* Jack confesses that he already believes he is probably evil because his powers have never presented unless something negative was happening. Sammy gives him a little bit more sunshine and rainbows and Jackieboy seems to be feeling better about things.

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MARGE: Seriously folks, we talk a lot about Jensen Ackles’ award-worthiness, but for real Jared Padalecki deserves just as many accolades. He is just as capable of an amazing emotional portrayal of Sam Winchester and it hits us in the feels just as hard as Jensen’s Dean. This scene was so incredibly well done.  Also, while we’re throwing praise, Alexander Calvert, is absolutely killing it as Jack so far! Excellent casting choice, for sure! ERICA: I think this is the point in our live-tweeting that I thought about what a good dad Sammy would’ve made if only JOHN WINCHESTER HADN’T DISAPPEARED DURING A FUCKING HUNT. GodDAMNIT John. MARGE: I tweeted something about how Sammy and Jessica’s kids would have turned out. *crying in the corner*

Back to Dean, Jody, James, and Patience. They’re back at the Turner house and discussing the future, of course, because Patience has just found out she’s psychic… Dad tells her to bury her gift (proving that he has learned NOTHING from all of this), Dean gives the typical ‘this life is nothing but “pain, horror, and death” so if you’ve got a shot at normal you better take it’ speech, and Jody, (ALWAYS mother of the year even when they aren’t her kids) drops some truth about what happens when you try to suppress some part of yourself to please others. She lets Patience know if she ever needs anything, Jody is just a phone call away.

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And this is how you set up a spin-off folks! We are SO PUMPED about Wayward Sisters. Dean and Jody head out and we are left to wonder what will come of Patience Turner.

Dean returns to the bunker, he and Sammy briefly discuss the case and Missouri’s death. Then Dean asks Sam if Jack’s gone dark yet, of course. Sam confronts Dean about telling Jack he would kill him if need be and then we have another emotional brotherly battle because Dean lets loose about his animosity towards Jack. He tears into Sam about how he shouldn’t pretend to care about Jack since he only cares about what he can use him for. He says Sam just wants to use Jack as a “can-opener” to the dimension where Mary is trapped with Lucifer. Dean screams at Sammy about how he can’t even look at Jack because when he does “all he sees is everyone they’ve lost”. Sam remarks that their Mom took her shot—she chose her path. Dean replies with “What about Cas?”. Ouch. This is where we see broken-boy Dean Winchester at his finest. He lets Sammy know that the reason he can’t get on board with being Jack’s care-taker is because Jack is the reason they lost Castiel. That Jack made Cas promises, Cas believed everything he said, and what did it get him?

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ERICA: Let me preface this next comment by saying that I love Jensen Ackles and his acting–it’s exceptional. But I’m not gonna lie–I’m having a REALLY hard time with Dean this season. Like. We get it. You’re pissed at the world. We get it. Guess what, booboo, this is the life you signed up for. This is the life you dragged Sammy into 13 years ago. You flat out told Patience that it’s all death and horror and blah blah, and yet here you are, acting like you DIDN’T drag your brother into that life. Time to stop acting like a child. I expected this 13 years ago, but you’ve grown from here. Time to act like it. (Addendum: I’m also super salty lately, so there’s that.) MARGE: I’m with you on a lot of that. I just wanna scream STOP BEING MEAN TO SAMMY in order to process your grief. I know it’s a normal psychological response, and that he doesn’t have anyone but Sam to take his frustrations out on, but come on man, Sam loves Cas too… Sam just lost his mom too, AGAIN! What makes your pain more important, Dean? End rant.

Jack is in the hallway, listening to every single word of this heated exchange of course and somehow, through his powers that are yet to be determined, he reaches out to Castiel. Final scene: CASTIEL IS ALIVE! We actually get to see Cas alive (at least he appears to be). We don’t know where he is, but he looks relatively normal, if a bit confused. At first he’s on the floor looking dead, but evidently, he is actually asleep, knocked out, or ???, and as Jack whispers his name, he wakes.

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We didn’t get to see any apocalypse world action in this episode, which made us sad since that is what we’ve been living for so far this season. We did, however, get the promise that it is coming via a few interactions on Twitter (Fan-girl Squeal!):

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Roll credits. I guess there’s some hope left from this episode after all.

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“All we need is just a little Patience” Supernatural recap 13×3, “Patience” Title Lyric from “Patience” by Guns and Roses Courtesy canonspngifs.tumblr.com We really aren’t sure what to do with this ep.

[robertrluc85]

Ad-mageddon! Ad blocking, its impact, and what comes next

Since the mid ’90s, the internet has been filled with examples of something tiny becoming something big — and changing everything. Ad blocking is another of those stories that will be told, in years to come, around smoldering tweet-fires by grumpy old digital marketers like me.

Ad blockers have already had a huge impact on the digital landscape. This impact could only grow larger if the popularity of blocking ads reaches a critical mass on mobile as well as desktop. For this article, I talked with numerous publishers, users, the Interactive Advertising Bureau, media agencies and Adblock Plus itself to get a complete view of the varying perspectives on ad blocking, and most importantly, to try to tackle where it will all wind up.

Ad-blocking background

Skip ahead to the next heading if you already know the ad-blocking basics. If not, ad blockers are desktop/mobile browser add-ons or standalone browsers that cause most paid advertising to completely vanish from your surfing experience.

Tired of ads intermingling with your search results? Install an ad blocker and enjoy ZERO sponsored ads. Weary of watching a 30-second Facebook video with a 15-second mid-stack ad shoved dead in the center? Simple fix: Download an ad blocker, and voila, video only — c’est la vie, Zuckerberg.

The same applies to most every site, from YouTube video ads to click-bait style (“see what happens next”) modules at the bottom or right rail of most popular content.

There are other reasons to download ad blockers as well — security reasons, like: stop the bad people from accessing my webcam. Did you know that even innocuous sites can open your mic or access your cam? Did you ever get a bizarre feeling that somehow all sorts of different places know you were looking at that “Nicolas Cage rainbow pillowcase?” HOW?

Well, a little plug-and-play add-on or mobile browser can help stop all of that dead in its tracks.

There are many instances (some intentional and some not so intentional) of ads creating malware issues. “Malvertising” has been found not just on seedy sites you would expect to have privacy or security issues with. Even The New York Times and the BBC last year had an issue when they inadvertently ran ads that attempted to hijack the computers of visitors.

Many well-recognized sites have had similar issues to varying degrees. Using ad blockers eliminates most of these issues from ever being a concern.

The user perspective

While there are many different reasons given for using an ad blocker, the bottom-line motivation is pretty simple. Either users are sick of being bombarded by ads and experiencing their effects on the user experience, or they have security or privacy concerns.

If I were writing a confession, I would tell a tale about how I nearly lost my sanity as my mobile phone choked on a 20-slide, “click-bait”-style gallery. It was ever resizing, lagging, and ads kept “enlarging” where the “next” button was located, causing me to click an ad instead of the next button. Yes, this was even on WiFi.

That was when I began using ad blockers on my desktop and phone. Maybe it was one of the first cases of PTAD (Post Traumatic Ad Disorder) ever recorded. I’m getting long in the tooth and don’t appreciate having my precious remaining moments sucked up by ads.

The publishers’ perspective

I’ve worked with some of the biggest names in media over the last 18 years and might be a little more empathetic to their plight than a typical consumer. Publishers seem to be getting it from all sides. The way people consume news has vastly changed and impacted many publications.

Then, you have instances of Google depriving the publications of more and more clicks over time from direct results (“answers”) to the “view original image” additions into Chrome. Now, many sites who actually do get a visit from a human fail to monetize the pageview because that person has ad blocking enabled.

I’ve reached out to numerous publications about the issue, and many of them either declined to comment or stopped responding when they heard about the topic of the article. Like saying “Candyman” three times in a mirror, it’s almost as if they don’t want to even utter the name, for fear it will have bad consequences.

Some publishers, such as Forbes and Business Insider, have taken fairly aggressive action by blocking those with ad blockers. Others, such as The Guardian, take a more subtle approach and attempt to appeal to a reader’s logic.

To be fair, many may have gone a bit too far with jamming ads into content or trying to inflate page views artificially using tactics like multi-page slideshows. Unfortunately, whether or not they were part of the inception or rise in popularity of ad blockers, all publishers are now dealing with the effects.

Something I’ve seen lately are publications that attempt to trick ad blockers using various techniques. One maddening method I ran into involved about 20 to 30 separate scripts running that would auto-load and insert ads if one happened to get blocked. This was set up on a news site. When I attempted to block the actual ad object, another script and ad would be loaded in its place. I’ve dubbed this the “whack-a-mole” strategy. To me, it appeared to be an indicator of desperation.

Another interesting method publishers have been using is to use their own server as an ad server. This tricks the blockers into thinking the ad is not really an ad. While this method may trick casual users, advanced users can easily block those ad sections with a right click setting in their ad blocker.

Publications such as Wired and City A.M. at one time reportedly blocked ad-blocking readers, but have since stopped doing so. Other publications like Forbes and Business Insider have stayed the course, apparently still blocking all users with blockers, asking them to whitelist them or disable the blocker. While I understand the thinking, this approach seems to anger quite a few users, and there are many message boards and social chatter with derogatory posts raging about this practice.

As an aside, I think companies that employ this technique should be advised that using Google’s “cached” version of the page gets around the ad-block wall. Tighten that loophole up, and cast a scowl at your consultants.

I do occasionally see other approaches, like an “article limit,” which allows you to read a couple of articles free a month or other set period of time.

I contacted Alon Zieve, COO of Seeking Alpha, who appears to be navigating the ad-blocking issue in a logical way. Zieve reports that blockers have definitely had an impact on SA revenue. They’ve taken efforts to block certain ad-block users and offer them an option to whitelist or subscribe to the ad-free version. “Fortunately, because our users love our content, we have a relatively good take-up rate on these options.”

Interestingly, he finds that users actually have a hard time trying to figure out how to whitelist the site when they decide to do so. Seeking Alpha also has their own version of Google’s Contributor Service, a great email strategy, and other marketing strategies in place.

When asked about what publishers need to do to survive, Zieve responded, “At Seeking Alpha, our approach to survival is simple. Produce great, valuable content that our users love, and there will always be a way to monetize it.” Their multi-pronged approach appears to have been successful for them in mitigating the ad-block issue.

Adblock Plus’s perspective

I conducted a Skype interview with Ben Williams, director of communications at Adblock Plus. He had some interesting things to say about the history of Adblock Plus, the challenges, and where he thinks it will be going.

I happen to agree with Williams’s view that Adblock Plus was just answering the call for what was desperately wanted out there. The big bad wolves tried first to sue small companies into submission (some are still at it) and then, when that failed, some decided they would work with them.

Adblock Plus doesn’t appear to have any axes to grind. Williams was surprisingly zen about the lawsuits and negative press. In fact, the media outcry was met with Adblock Plus lightening up a bit and not blocking all ads, but setting the sensitivity setting (if you will) a little lower.

It’s also important to note that Adblock Plus can be paid to default whitelist your ads as long as they adhere to their quality guidelines, and many large players have done so.

Adblock Plus supports the new models of how publishers will get funded, and they don’t think the ad-blocking genie will ever get put back into the bottle. When asked for his thoughts on the “tug-of-war” that has happened in the past with publishers trying to get around ad blockers, Williams replied, “It doesn’t really serve the consumer very well.”

He added that instead of “jumping into a tech arms race, (publishers) should consider the fact that so many people are blocking ads and should make better ads.” He believes, for the most part, that’s what has been happening. There are some publishers out there that believe fighting the tide of ad blockers is their best option, but Williams thinks that might be a pretty bad way to treat their users.

When asked about the problem with apps and how they prevent ad blocking, he stated that there really isn’t anything that can be done about that yet. Adblock Plus used to have an app that allowed users to block those ads, but it was kicked out of the Play Store in 2011.

Williams does believe that many people are still using browsers to access sites and that the future of ad blocking on mobile is with the blocking browsers. When Twitter announced it will be using Safari for anyone following a link from iOS versions of its app, it was a huge lift to any one of Twitter’s 328 million users that may have ad blockers installed.

I asked Williams what he thought about Google announcing its own “ad-blocking” features on Chrome and what that would look like. He replied, “What Google has announced so far sounds more to me to be a pop-up blocker.” He believes the ad-blocking community is going to still want to block things like YouTube video ads.

Williams guesses but doesn’t know if those features will be included in the Chrome update. “It all depends on the implementation,” he said. My personal guess is that YouTube video ads won’t be defaulting to the off position — does anyone think they would?

Williams’s view on the future of ad blocking is that it isn’t going anywhere anytime time soon. He believes that recent moves from Apple and Twitter using Safari will only make blocking ads easier. Interestingly, when wondering where things will go on mobile devices, Williams tells us to “look to the East,” saying that people in China, Indonesia and India are blocking ads on their mobile devices at higher rates than we’ve ever seen on desktop.

A survey Adblock Plus recently conducted discovered why US users aren’t using mobile ad blockers the way they are in the East. Williams said the overwhelming response was that they “just didn’t know it exists.” If that survey is correct, I think a safe bet is that we’ll see a surge of mobile ad blocking in the US sometime in the near future.

Looking down the road, Williams feels the best way for publishers to approach their ad-blocking audience is to “reach them with a specialized experience that can also be profitable.” He feels that a “frictionless payment system” for publishers might work out well for those who understand they need to support content that they consume.

Media and agency perspectives

It’s no secret just how much companies like Google, Facebook and other big media players depend on ad revenues. In 2015, advertising generated close to to 90 percent of Google’s total revenue. Facebook makes 84 percent of its ad revenue from mobile. When you’re talking billions, even a small dent can make giants sit up and take notice.

One doesn’t need to be Sherlock Holmes to see a definitive pattern in all the recent moves from the big players. We’ve seen the IAB putting out its acronym-rich strategy in an attempt to slow an outbreak of mobile ad blocking by decreasing the demand for it. Google has been pushing the “contributor” service along with other moves that seem to telegraph a reaction to ad blocking such as:

I could talk about each one of these, but this article is already starting to get longer than “Les Misérables.” Each one of these moves appears to have some component that’s meant to deal with ad blocking in some fashion.

I corresponded with Dennis Buchheim, SVP and general manager of the IAB Tech Lab, about the Coalition for Better Ads (CBA). Buchheim reports that their global effort is focused on providing education and guidance on the user experience, along with guidelines for “better ads” — the goal of which is to slow the motivation to block ads.

Buchheim believes the “installation of ad-blocking technology is often motivated by consumers dealing with ad experiences from other parties who aren’t interested in adopting these guidelines.”

But what is a publisher to do? “IAB created the IAB Ad Blocking Primer to help guide their efforts. The primer describes the risks and benefits of a wide range of tactics, including subscription models and micropayment models, that can be employed,” he said.

The impact on other marketing channels is unclear. Does the more difficult ad landscape increase the spend for SEO, email, social and so on? While he is unclear if there has been a real impact to date, “presumably other channels that can demonstrate their effectiveness would secure increased spend, if digital ad inventory decreased dramatically because of blocking.”

“Before that happened, it’s likely that the price of digital ads would increase as volume decreased,” he added.

What about agencies?

If blocking ads reaches the same fever pitch here in North America and Europe as it has in the East, I can see many paid media reps stating, “Brother, can you spare a dime?” It’s quite difficult to know how successful all of the moves by Google and the IAB will be in slowing the adoption of mobile ad blocking. I, for one, believe it will eventually be on the majority of mobile devices.

I reached out to Andrew Goodman, founder of Page Zero Media, for an agency take on what comes next. His thoughts: “As device-specific computing gives way to futuristic home and mobile concepts, the Internet of Things, voice search, facial recognition, AI and machine learning, etc., the whole concept of interrupting people with advertising may be undermined.”

In the future, Goodman sees companies like Apple and Microsoft potentially in an advantageous position since they “can lean heavily on business models that provide function to consumers, rather than relying heavily on advertising to supplement whatever consumers might pay for function.”

Goodman sees “many current ad models and agencies as doomed within five years, unless they find new stuff to do.”

Closing thoughts

I don’t think ad blocking is going anywhere anytime soon. In fact, I’m predicting that in spite of all the measures the IAB and its members have taken to slow down the demand for ad blockers, mobile blocking will eventually be as common in the United States as it is in the East.

Efforts to slow the outbreak will delay the rate at which it’s adopted. However, as more and more US sites attempt to monetize their mobile content, mobile blocking will inevitably lose the war. For many users, this is a win-win scenario. They’ll see better and less annoying ads overall thanks to the CBA efforts — with or without a blocker in play.

Not to sound too unsympathetic, but I’m not breaking out a violin to play “My heart bleeds for Google and Facebook.” Even though it might put a dent in their pocketbooks, I’m predicting they’ll still come out of it just fine. I’ll play that violin for the many publishers who are deserving and in need of those ad dollars.

As for the Google “ad blocker,” I don’t think even Vegas would carry odds on whether or not that will block video ads from YouTube. Once upon a time, pop-ups were a big problem, and you could download a pop-up blocker plugin to prevent them — until most of the browsers included it by default. In this example, you solved the problem and eliminated a step for the end user.

I get the feeling that the announcement to incorporate the blocker into Chrome is a play to keep the unenlightened in the dark a bit longer. This way they can say, “Hey, yeah, I block ads” when in actuality, they don’t even know what a real blocker does. I don’t think this will have the prescribed effect they believe it will for very long.

I would love it if people began to embrace ad blockers as an effective protest tool. Hate fake news? Completely block the ads on that publication! You don’t have to cause a stink and hope advertisers pull their ads; you have the power with the click of a button to create the same effect.

Just remember to make sure you whitelist those publications you believe are deserving; many desperately need it.

As for the pubs that put up walls for ad blockers, I only see that as a Band-Aid that is easily peeled off. I can see an interesting future if, in fact, many large news sources go subscription only. I can almost see a Napster or BitTorrent for news emerging so that people can consume news without paying for it. Walls generally keep people out, though, not encourage them to walk a few miles to find another entrance.

I believe that the decrease of paid ads puts an increased importance on areas such as social, search, email and so on. Getting your content in front of a user will take more skills than bid, tools or resources to keep auctioning. I don’t know of many that consider an organic Google result for a term to be an ad — and that, in my opinion, is how the future of paid media, on the whole, should look: as innocuous as an answer that Alexa would give to the asker. Having a true, number one position for an important phrase really can’t be more valuable in a future without easily acquired sponsored ads, can it?

I would love to hear your thoughts on where you think this will all end up. Be sure to check out my video breakdown of the article as well:

Some opinions expressed in this article may be those of a guest author and not necessarily Marketing Land. Staff authors are listed here.

About The Author

Anthony Muller is one of the best-kept secrets in the SEO industry at the enterprise level. He is the founder of ZenSEM and, for over 17 years, the Zen Search Engine Marketer has gained clients through C-level referrals for the most part. He has worked with and coordinated the search strategies for many of the largest names in media, retail, and politics. 

Go to Source Author: Anthony Muller

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