#but the people who were teenagers then are now mostly pensioners

[alianoralacanta]

Just read the news about Matteo Bobbi and Davide Valsecchi getting suspended due to a sustained exchange of sexist comments in the Sky Italia post-Spanish Grand Prix chat. I am very disappointed in them and had thought that they’d know better. How, exactly, does one keep a broadcasting job for 10 years and still think it’s a good idea to continue exchanging such quips after being told off about them on air?!? That’s not simply a human decency issue, that’s a professional competence issue! Speaking of which, well done to Frederica Masolin (the other pundit on screen) for adroitly handling their combined folly. Her comment is the only one I will repeat here: She told the pair to ‘be careful’ but as the joke continued added: ‘Can we watch some interviews instead of these two? Let’s hear from Carlos Sainz, please. I’m going to censure you two.’

[crazyunsexycool]

The love we gave away

Chapter 7

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x Reader

word count: 4.0k

Word count: Some angst, talk about a surgery but nothing graphic, bit of a cliffhanger

A/N: So here we go with the next chapter. This is a bit of a filler/set up for what's to come. It's a bit dialogue heavy so I'm sorry if you don't like that! Next chapter is where were start really fixing things between reader and Ransom.

Series Masterlist

It was just after 1:00 pm when Bertie’s friends had finally shown up for their lunch date. The restaurant was busy as usual but their usual table was always available for them. From their vantage point they could see most of the dining room. It was perfect for Bertie’s friends who had a pension for gossip and this particular place was a hot spot for people that ran in their social circle. It was in the middle of their latest gossip fueled conversation that Ransom walked in. 

“So are you and Ransom officially over?” Lily asked Bertie as she watched him sit down. The question was innocent enough but Bertie knew where the conversation would go.

“Seems like it.” 

“Ransom single again? That’s dangerous. Do you think he’ll start making his usual rounds?” Gretchen, Bertie’s other so-called friend asks. 

“Why don’t you ask him yourself.” Lily motions over to where Ransom was sitting. “Only if it’s ok with Alberta, obviously.” 

Both women look at Bertie but she’s looking at Ransom. Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion when a set of teenagers head toward Ransom’s table and hug him.

“What the hell?” 

“What?” Lily and Gretchen both turn around to see what Bertie was looking at. “Since when does he hang around kids?”

“Ew, he’s not a perv is he?” 

“No, he isn’t.” Bertie mumbles. 

Lily gives Gretchen a conniving glance. If there is anything that they liked more than money it was using Bertie. They did that with Bertie a lot. She was their main source of entertainment in their dull lives. So it took them no time at all to push Bertie into confronting Ransom about what happened at the wedding. 

**** 

“So, how’s school?” Ransom asked once Abigail and Theodore had settled down. 

“It’s fine.” 

“Just fine?” 

“Well,” Theo says before smiling. “I made the hockey team.” 

“That’s fantastic.” Ransom praises. “What about you princess?” 

“It’s alright. I’ve mostly dealt with assholes. Teddy is becoming the popular one.” 

“You’ll get there too princess.” 

“Ransom?” 

Ransom, Abby and Teddy turn to find Bertie standing beside the table. She looks at the twins first and then at Ransom. Behind her Lily and Gretchen had little matching smirks. The smile Ransom had completely disappears and a scowl takes its place.

“Bertie. Slut 1 and slut 2, what are you doing here?” 

Abigail tried to suppress her laugh while Teddy just stared in slight shock. Gretchen glared at Ransom while Lily mumbled an ‘asshole’ under her breath. Bertie however was looking between Ransom and the twins, she could immediately see the resemblance. 

“Who are they?” She asks. 

Ransom rolls his eyes as Teddy grabs his phone from his pocket. 

“It’s mom.” He whispers to Abby and he walks out to answer the phone. 

“Why don’t you go with him?” 

Abigail looks from the women to Ransom but before she could even get up Teddy was back. 

“Hey, mom needs us back at home.” He tells his sister. “It’s nothing serious but we have to go.” 

Abigail gave Ransom a sad look. They had been looking forward to seeing him and you since you’d gone to the wedding. Now the time had been cut short. 

“Don’t worry about it, kid. We can meet up again.” Ransom says softly, catching Bertie and her friends off guard. 

“You’re not going to introduce us, Ran?” Lily spoke up, hoping to get some information. 

“No.”

“Oh, come on Ransom. We’re friends aren’t we? Why are you being so secretive?”

“We’re none of your damn business.” Abigail snaps, her eyes holding so much annoyance Ransom couldn’t help but be proud. 

“Go, we’ll talk later.” 

Teddy takes Abby’s hand and leads her out of the restaurant. Ransom stares at Bertie before glaring at her friends until the two left. With a sigh Ransom stands, dropping some bills on the table for the drink he’d already had. 

“Ransom what is going on?” Bertie asks. 

“We should talk. I’m staying nearby, come on.”

“Who are those kids?” Bertie asks as soon as the door to Ransom’s suite is closed. She was just curious. Ransom was usually so guarded and closed off. The only emotion he showed was lust or annoyance so to see him smiling and relaxed had caught Bertie off guard.  

Ransom sighs as he makes himself and Bertie a drink. 

“I know I don’t deserve any favors from you but I need you to promise me that what I tell you stays in this room.” Ransom says. “Not for me but for them. I need to protect them.”

That confuses Bertie even more but she nods. Curiosity getting the best of her. 

“I need you to say it.” 

“I promise, anything you say stays a secret.” Bertie reassured him. 

“I’ll answer any question you have but to answer your first question, they’re my kids.” 

Bertie stares at Ransom in complete shock. Out of all the things she expected him to say, that wasn’t it. Before she can ask anything else Ransom speaks up with a lot more vulnerability that she thought he was capable of. 

“No one outside of my immediate family knows about this so I’m trusting that you really won’t say anything. I know I’ve been an ass and I deserve whatever you throw my way but please leave them out of it.” He says before taking a deep breath. “Their mother and I dated in high school. She showed me what it meant to love. Obviously having kids at 17 wasn’t part of the plan but it happened.” 

Bertie listens to everything Ransom has to say. From finding out he was going to be a dad to having to give the kids up and finally how the relationship ended. Of course Ransom never said your name in order to protect you. He then explained how the kids are back in his life and how he got back in touch with you. 

Bertie couldn’t help but shed a few tears as she listened to him speak. All of it explained his bitter view of the world. Add that to the strained relationship, if you can even call it that, he has with his family and she could better understand that the man in front of her was only trying to protect himself. 

“So that’s it, that’s everything. You’re the only person I’ve ever told any of this to.” 

Ransom breathed a sigh of relief. It was a weight lifted off his shoulders to be able to tell someone. He watched Bertie just sit there in a sort of stunned silence. He’d liked her enough. Bertie wasn’t like the rest of the women in their social circles and if he had to, he’d stay in a relationship with her. But once you were back in Ransom’s life he’d realize that he should want more. He didn’t want to settle and end up resenting Bertie for something that was not her fault. Bertie deserved better too. She was kind in a world of backstabbing, self centered, egotistical assholes. 

“You have kids.” It’s the first thing she says. “You have kids. I didn’t think you even liked children or would want any.” 

Ransom gives a slight shrug of his shoulder. 

“I don’t know that I do like children. The twins are 15. The last time I saw them was the day they were born. They were probably little shits in between.” 

Bertie’s eyebrows lifted in surprise at his words. 

“Who am I kidding? They were great when they were little too.” Ransom smiled proudly at the thought of his babies. 

It softened Bertie’s heart. She had been so angry with him when he first broke up with her. She was under the impression that although the relationship wasn’t perfect, they were heading in the right direction. That, maybe, with enough time Ransom could love her. That’s why she showed up at the wedding, to show him that she was serious about them. Never in her life did Bertie think that there was someone else in Ransom’s life.

“And their mother?” Bertie asked. “Are you and her back together or working it out?” 

“I don’t even know. I fucked that up.”

“What happened?” 

“I may have said some harsh things I definitely didn’t mean.” Ransom runs a hand over his face and sighs. “But I messed up even before the wedding. There was a lot left unsaid between us.” 

“The wedding? Was she there?” 

Ransom stares at Bertie for a moment before giving a slow nod. Her shoulders slump from their usual tense posture. 

“Then I showed up and ruined anything you’d done.” 

“This isn’t on you. It was my responsibility and I was an asshole.” 

“Still,” Bertie sighs. “I love a happy ending. Even if it isn’t meant for me.” 

“Bertie-“

She holds a hand up, stopping Ransom. “You don’t have to apologize. If anything I feel like I should. You had a chance to make things right and I ruined it for you. I hope you can figure it out.” Bertie stands up and runs her hands down her outfit to smooth it out. “I should go.” 

Ransom stood and followed her to the door. She turns and looks at him, cupping his face she places a kiss on his cheek. 

“I hope we can stay friends.” Bertie murmurs. 

“Of course. If you ever need me to tell someone off I’ll be more than happy too.” 

Bertie smiles sadly and steps away from Ransom. With one last look at him she walks away. It was done and Ransom couldn’t be more relieved. Now all he had to do was show you that he was serious about being with you. 

“I’m not liking those two fabrics together.” You shake your head at one of your assistants. With some sketches in hand you go back and forth between fabric swatches trying to find something you’d really like but you feel as if you’d hit a wall. It wasn’t good considering that fashion week would be around the corner and you were changing a few designs around. 

“Y/N,” Wanda places a hand between your shoulders to gently get your attention. “Annie is here and she says she really needs to talk to you.” 

You turn to Wanda and see the worried look on her face. Without missing a beat you drop everything and head to your office where Wanda had her waiting. 

“Annie? Is everything ok?”  

The older woman stood as soon as you opened the door to your office. She looked consumed with worry and you felt a pit in your stomach.

“Is it the kids? Are Abigail and Theodore ok?” 

“Yes they’re fine, they’re meeting up with Ransom for lunch. I just…” she looked a bit lost so you guided her to sit again and then grabbed a water bottle from the mini fridge you keep by your desk and handed it to her. “Thank you.” She says after taking a sip.

“Is everything ok?” 

“I didn’t want to bother you with anything but there’s an emergency back in Ohio.” She begins to explain. “I feel so awful asking anything of you.” 

“Hey, don’t worry about it. I’m here for whatever you need.” 

“My mother needs to have emergency surgery. My sister says things aren’t looking good so I need to be there. I don't know how long I’ll have to be out and I can’t pull the kids out of class. My job is going to let me work remotely for the next few days, maybe even weeks but Abby and Teddy…” 

Your heart beat wildly as you thought about what she might ask of you and you were ready to say yes. 

“They can’t stay alone for that long. Knowing them, they’d cause some type of chaos.” Annie took your hand in hers and looked at you straight in the eyes. “Would it be too much if I asked you to look after them?” 

You wanted to scream at the top of your lungs with excitement. Being able to spend more time with Abigail and Theodore had been on your mind lately but you didn’t know how to broach the subject about them spending the night at your place. Now there wouldn’t be any awkwardness, at least from your part, when it came to asking. 

“I would love to help in whatever way I can.” Annie immediately relaxed when she heard your answer. “Do they know? Would it be ok if they stay at my place with me? I can have someone go to your place and check in every few days if you’d like.” 

“That would be great. I haven’t told them anything yet though. I didn’t want to worry them until I knew what you would say. Now I just have to figure out travel arrangements. Hopefully I can get there by the time the surgery finishes. Thank you so much, Y/N. It’s been so hard without Daniel and I was so worried that moving here was the wrong thing to do but I’m glad I did.” Annie says with tears in her eyes. It was obvious she was overwhelmed so if there was anything you could do for the woman that had given your children a loving home you would do it.

“Well you aren’t alone here, you have me and I know if you needed him, Ransom would be happy to help you too. Now why don’t you let me make the travel arrangements for you. I’m sure I could get you back home by tonight and you go back and tell the twins. Then I’ll pick you and the kids up.” 

“That sounds great. Thank you so much Y/N, really. I don’t think I could ever repay you.” 

“You’re letting me be in Theodore and Abigail’s life, that’s more than enough payment.” You stand when Annie does and she brings you in for a hug. 

“Still, this means so much to me. I’ll get everything ready, including all of the kids’ important documents just in case. I don’t think I mentioned it but I added you as an emergency contact at the school so I’ll let them know you’ll be the one to reach if they need anything.” 

That piece of information caught you by surprise but it warmed your heart. Annie trusted you enough to watch over the kids and be an emergency contact for them. You smile and nod while following Annie out of your office. She pulls you in for a hug before leaving. Wanda was close by waiting to see what was going on. You asked her to have your private jet prepared and then you called your maid to get two of your guest rooms ready for Abigail and Theodore. Now all you had to do was wait for Annie to be ready. 

Annie had been dropped off at the airport by you. Her jaw dropped when she realized you’d arranged for your private jet to take her back home. At first she shook her head and said she couldn’t accept it but with help from Theodore and Abigail you managed to convince her to go. After that it was a trip straight to your penthouse. 

You were very anxious about Theodore and Abigail staying with you. It wasn’t bad but you weren’t sure how they would react to your home. Would they see that you were doing well for yourself and question why you didn’t keep them? 

It made no sense but at the same time you couldn’t help but wonder. They deserved the best out of life and at that time you had nothing. It didn’t mean you couldn’t give them everything now. 

Seeming to notice your anxiety Theodore grabs your hand. The gesture surprised you but when you look up at him he gives you a small shy smile. Your breath hitches, Theodore reminded you so much of Ransom it made your heart ache. If Ransom had grown up with loving parents you were sure he’d be more like Theodore.

The elevator doors open right into your foyer. Both kids had their jaws on the floor as they took in your apartment. It was warm and inviting and full of colors. The foyer leads down to the living room which has huge floor to ceiling windows giving them a spectacular view of the city on one side and huge colorful and beautiful paintings on the others.

“Wow.” Abigail whispered as she walked past the couches and straight to the windows. “This is amazing.”

“It looks better from the terrace.” 

“Can I?” She motions towards the glass door that give way to the outdoor space. 

“Yeah, I’ll show you around, come on.” 

You lead the way and open the doors, letting them both go out first. Abigail and Theodore start talking over each other about the pool. They’re so excited as they roam around the terrace and it chokes you up a bit. You take a deep breath to calm yourself before ushering them back inside. Then you proceed to show them the kitchen, dining room, family room, your office, the small work room you have for yourself before taking them upstairs to where the bedrooms are. 

“I hope it’s ok. I know the rooms look plain compared to the rest of the place but I didn’t want to decorate them. I thought you could do that yourself.” You say as you show them where they’ll be staying.

The bedrooms are across the hall from each other and they each have a bathroom attached to them. The rooms themselves are huge and you made sure to have basic necessities in the bathroom as well as some other things they might like in their rooms. 

“Really?” Abigail asked excitedly.

“Of course.”

“Any way we want?” Theodore asked but there was a hint of mischief in his eyes. The same you saw in Ransom many times before. 

“Any way that’s appropriate.” You narrow your eyes in his direction and he grins. “I thought that we could maybe do it together.” 

“I’d love that.” 

“Me too.” Theodore agrees and your heart feels lighter. “Thanks for everything.” 

“You don’t have to thank me.” 

“We do,” Abigail nods before walking in front of you and giving you a hug. “You didn’t have to arrange a private jet for mom but you did it anyway. I know she thinks we don’t realize how hard it’s been for her not having dad around anymore.” Abigail pulls back. “But we do and you stepped up to help her. It means a lot to us.” 

You give her a smile as you try to blink back tears. 

“It really does. And I’m glad we get to spend some more time with you too.” Theodore adds and now you can only wipe away the tears that fell. 

“Ok well if your intention was to make me cry then you’ve done it.” 

Abigail giggles before hugging you again. You loved every single one. 

“How about you get settled and we can order dinner. Then we can watch a movie.” 

“Can we invite Ransom? We didn’t get to have lunch with him because we had to go home and pack.” Theodore looked at you with hopeful eyes and you knew you couldn’t say no. 

“I’ll yext him since he’ll need my address. I’m going to shower real quick and I’ll be down.” 

You walked down to your room and leaned against the closed door. With a groan you send Ransom a quick text letting him know that the kids wanted to see him and give him your address. His response was quick and you start to dread seeing him but the kids want to and you won’t deprive them of being with their father.  

You were standing in the foyer waiting for the elevator to finish ascending. The doorman had called you to let you know Ransom had arrived. The last time you’d seen him was a few days back when he made that promise to make things right again. You weren’t sure he’d be able to. 

The elevator dings and the doors slide open. You take a deep breath as Ransom steps out. He’s wearing a black leather jacket with a white t-shirt underneath and dark wash jeans. His hair wasn’t pushed back how he normally wore it instead it fell over his forehead just enough. You stared at him for a moment, Ransom looked good. 

“Hey Thimble.” Ransom said quietly. Too quietly for him anyways. “Where should I set this down?” 

You realized for the first time he wasn’t empty handed and You immediately moved to grab some bags from him. He followed quietly as you made your way to the spacious kitchen and set everything down. Ransom had his chest practically glued to your back as he settled the bags in his hands down. When you turned around he was holding up your favorite flowers. It was a small bouquet and it reminded you of the first time he ever got you flowers. 

“I hope they’re still your favorite.” He says softly. 

You looked up at him with a mixture of anger and nostalgia. It didn’t seem fair that he was using your shared past to get on your good side. The worst part was thinking that it might actually work in his favor. It didn’t mean you’d make it so easy for him if he truly wanted to fix things.

“They’re fine.” You say as you snatch them from his hand and he smirks. 

“Ransom.” 

“Hey princess.” Ransom turns around just in time to catch Abigail in his arms. He lifts her up and she giggles as he does a quick spin before setting her back down. “Hey, bubs.” 

Theodore is just behind Abigail and to your surprise he also leans in for a hug. Ransom then presents Abigail with flowers as well. 

“They’re beautiful, thank you.” She looks up at him lovingly. “It’s the first time I’ve ever gotten flowers.” 

Ransom’s chest puffed up and he couldn’t help the smile he had as he looked over at you. You gave him a small nod, to let him know he was doing something right before turning to find two vases. 

“What, I don’t get flowers?” Theodore joked but Ransom pulled out a box of chocolates. 

“Annie said you have a sweet tooth.” 

“Thanks.” Theodore looked down at the box of chocolates and smiled realizing they were his favorites. “I’m starving.” 

“Well good thing the food is here. Why don’t you grab the bags and I’ll bring in plates.” 

Abigail gives you her flowers and grabs the food along with her brother. Ransom walks around the island to stand by you. 

“Where is everything we need?” 

You point at the cabinets behind you and he quickly moves to get what’s needed and he heads towards the dining room. After taking a second to calm yourself you grab drinks and join Ransom and the kids. 

****

“One more time. I’ll catch it, I swear.” Theodore laughs before waiting for Ransom to throw a dumpling into his mouth. And he does catch it. 

The moment is fun and light between the four of you. At that moment you aren’t thinking about what happened in the wedding. You’re just enjoying being together. It’s a glimpse of what could have been. 

“So who’s Bertie?” Abigail asks after the joking was done. 

You immediately tensed and Ransom looked across the table at you but you wouldn’t meet his eye. He sighs and takes a sip of his drink. Theodore looks at him expectantly and Abigail is doing the same. 

“She’s my ex-girlfriend.” 

“Oh.” Abigail nods. “And slut one and slut two?” 

“I’m sorry?” You look from Abigail who was sitting across from you to Ransom and he grimaces. “You called women sluts? And in front of our daughter?” 

Hearing that pissed you off so much and your voice was much more harsh than you intended. 

“Is Bertie why you two are being weird around each other now?” Theodore interrupted. 

You and Ransom both turn to look at him and he just shrugs. 

“Seriously. Tension, meet knife.” Abigail adds. “What’s going on?” 

“Look, as I said Bertie is my ex. She showed up at the wedding unannounced, after we broke up. But I talked to her and she understands that it’s over.” 

“So what? Were you getting back together at the wedding?”

“I’d rather not have this conversation with everyone that’s present at the table.” You say. 

“Fine by us. We’ll go watch a movie and you figure this out.” Abigail grabs her plate and drink. Theodore follows his sister’s lead and they leave you alone with Ransom. 

Ransom can’t help but chuckle.

“Did you put them up to this?”

“Hell no.” He shakes his head. “But I’m more than happy to talk this out.” He leaned forward again, resting his forearms on the table. “Please.” 

Ransom wasn’t one to use his manners. You wanted to kick him out and keep your distance but there’s that part of you that wants to work out whatever this is. It’s the part of you that still loves him. The part that promised that you’d love him forever. It was winning the fight in your head. 

“Fine, talk.” 

Ch. 8

Permanent taglist:

@rebekahdawkins

@cjand10 

@nalny5 

@Sturchling 

@angywritesstuff 

@seitmai

@writing-for-marvel

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@almosttoopizza 

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Series taglist:

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[alexbkrieger13]

Johanna Frändén wrote a column about the Spanish soap opera. Behind a paywall soon-ish

https://www.aftonbladet.se/sportbladet/fotboll/a/VPweJV/bara-spanska-spelarna-kan-bryta-dodlaget

Fränden: Only the players can break the deadlock

Johanna Fränden

The corollary between the Spanish women's national team and their football association continues unabated.

We are now at the stage where the screenwriter seems to have run out of ideas and is inventing new twists that don't feel realistic.

It's obvious that it's the union that gets lost time and time again in this soap. But only the players can break the deadlock right now.

Those of you over 30 remember what it was like in those days when the afternoon soap was a not unimportant element in Swedish homes. A rather twisted plot, often based on life lies, betrayals and entanglements, entertained truant teenagers and pensioners in front of the television and sooner or later it always got out of hand. A loving couple turned out to be siblings. A married man killed in an accident was resurrected. And so on. Here somewhere, at the difficult season four, we are in the soap opera Real Federación Española de Fútbol. Many were surprised when new national team captain Montse Tomé presented the squad for the match against Sweden in the Nations League on Friday. How had she managed to persuade all the key players of the national team to come back from the strike, when the situation looked so deadlocked just a couple of days earlier? She didn't, we now know, and this afternoon we saw the consequences of the Spanish Football Federation's actions: A stream of players who appeared against their will at the meeting, who were moved at the last minute to a substandard training facility in Valencia. However, with the exception of the players in Real and Atlético Madrid, who have thus been called to the association's usual base Las Rozas outside Madrid. Help.

These are hard-to-digest images. These are the images of a football association resorting to the very last tool in the toolbox; to force a long line of world champions into obedience with threats of fines and suspension from club life if they do not show up for national team duty.

In addition to all the other questions that arise in this veritable soup: How do Montse Tomé and her staff think the players should carry out the match against Sweden (and then against Switzerland) under the current circumstances? Do the Spanish FA think they will discipline their players to success with an inspired pep talk tonight? It is, of course, impossible to know exactly what has happened in recent years between the women's national team and the Spanish Football Association, but we can probably say that the criticism that the former directs at the latter does not directly lose weight today. From Spain, I am told about a conflict that was resolving itself between the team and the federation during the World Cup, where several of the players' demands regarding the championship and the training routines went through. Even the relationship with Jorge Vilda was said to be on the mend when Luis Rubiales placed an unwanted kiss on Jenni Hermoso after the World Cup final and everything came back and fell apart again.

The players' demands to break the national team boycott this time are mostly about tearing down structures at the federation level, getting rid of people who applauded Luis Rubiales the other week when he thundered that he will not resign five more times, and accused the national team players of "fake feminism" (the IS kind of funny when a union pamp kisses a player against her will and then accuses her and others of being fake feminists). They demand a proper reorganization around the national team, that the staff be organized in the same way as around the men's first team, they want changes in the staff around the position of chairman and general secretary and the same thing on the communication and marketing side.

The last overstep

I don't doubt for a second that people in all these positions deserve criticism for the way they worked around the women's national team. Most certainly sat in the auditorium and applauded Luis Rubiale's world-renowned speech. But it is also true that the Spanish Football Association is a workplace with both democratically elected people and ordinary officials. These are wage earners with the same rights and employment protection as other Spaniards in the labor market. And no matter how much the women's national team wants to turn the rotten house upside down, it can't be done unless you make a revolution. The current interim chairman, Pedro Rocha, was one of Luis Rubiale's closest men, but he is still acting chairman until the election of a new federation board at the beginning of next year.

The decision to fill the vacant post of national team captain Jorge Vilda with his assistant coach Montse Tomé the other week was an inexplicable error on the part of the national team, one of many this summer. Forcing the players into national team service by taking them out against their will yesterday was probably the last overstepping that means this conflict will not be resolved in the near future. Having said that, the Spanish ladies have an Olympic ticket to fight for and a national team shirt to defend. Right now it is only the players who decide whether Sweden will have an opponent in the Nations League on Friday. It would be very unfortunate if the apparently perfectly legitimate protest against the Football Association causes them to neglect the sporting golden situation after the World Cup in Australia. It would be just as bad if their demands for change make them appear spoiled and impossible to please. This afternoon, the Spanish sports minister Víctor Francos is expected in Valencia to mediate in the conflict. Let's hope that the national team and the confederation captain smoke a temporary peace pipe tonight and that the discussions can continue after the match against Sweden on Friday.

[nevermindirah]

Dorothy Freeman facts

By facts I of course mean headcanons, because Nile's mom doesn't get a first name in canon (or even confirmation that her last name is Freeman). All we know about her is the picture on Nile's phone lock screen (which is Kiki Layne's real-life mom and brother!) and a few lines that Nile tells Andy about her. I’ve been collecting my Dorothy headcanons for a while now to eventually make a post, and @mprosperossprite​‘s excellent post giving non-Americans context for what it means that Nile is from the South Side of Chicago prompted me to go ahead and share this. Disclaimer that I’m white and I will absolutely make corrections if it’s pointed out that I’ve caused harm with any of this.

So here have some fun facts about the version of Mama Freeman who lives in my head rent-free:

Her family and growing up:

she was born in the mid-'60s and named after Dorothy Dandridge

I can’t decide whether she was born in Chicago or moved there later on (maybe with Nile’s dad?) and when in the waves of the Great Migration her family left the South

she came of age in the "post"-Civil Rights movement and went to college in the mid-80s when a lot of what are now the foundational classics of Black feminism were being written

she was a young adult when Anita Hill risked so much to report that a Supreme Court nominee had sexually harassed her, and as a result she HATES Joe Biden

Marriage and babies:

she met Nile's father — I can’t decide how they met and I have two competing headcanons for his name, either Gideon for the hefty Biblical masculinity vibes (Giddy for short among family, that man loved to laugh) or Carl, which started out as a shitty Carl’s Jr burger chain joke that turns out to be perfect (it means free man!), and @knoepfchen​ used it in the sequel to if you do take a thief where Carl is alive!! — and Dorothy was a little skeptical of his near-religious devotion to the military but he was really hot and really devoted to her and they made it work

she's a little pissed that she was right but it's unbearable if she thinks about it too often

it's going to be a long, long time before she can look back on pictures of Baby Nile stomping around the house in her dad's combat boots (this is a Gina Prince Bythewood headcanon, whyyyyyyyy can I not find a link to where she said this)

she named their second baby Indus, Indy for short (this is nearly as established fanon in Book of Nile circles as how much Booker loves eating pussy, and Indy Freeman as a young adult is portrayed by either Aldis Hodge or John Boyega I don’t make the rules)

Work:

Dorothy did some office jobs but nothing really grabbed her, and she was probably gonna have to move for her husband's career, so she decided on teaching — high school humanities

she’s been active in CTU (one of the strongest teacher’s unions in the US) her whole career and one year she was on the bargaining committee and her babies know damn well never to trust a boss, not even one who says all the right things — if she ever finds out the way Nile said "like Quynh?" when Andy promised to protect her, she will lose her mind with pride

(Nile was 18 and freshly graduated from high school in 2012 when CTU went on strike for the first time in a generation and she brought her mom snacks on the picket line)

one of her very favorite things is getting her students to laugh despite themselves at her "oh my GOD you're so EMBARRASSING" old-people jokes

she's one of those teachers who can get 30+ teenagers to go dead silent with judicious application of body language

she's known to occasionally go easy on grading subjective things like essays when she knows students are having a particularly rough time at home, but the second she gets the feeling they're taking advantage and not trying their best that shit is over and they better mind their Ps & Qs

she's the kind of person who says old-people shit like that

she gives her students assignments like "help 5 neighbors register to vote" and "write a compare/contrast table about the candidates in this local election" and "research 5 different ways you could get grant money to do X" and other practical civic-minded shit

standardized testing is her supervillain origin story, just kidding it’s Rahm Emanuel, why the fuck did Obama trust that asshole

After her husband died:

she would have lost her goddamn mind if it weren't for her church friends after her husband died, people from the church raised money so they could make ends meet while his pension paperwork was taking forever, church friends watched Indy so Nile could go out for the soccer team, etc etc

she sold her and her late husband's house and moved to a 3-bedroom co-op unit when Nile started high school, it's more affordable and it meant she didn't have to worry about household repairs in the same way, she can use a wrench if she needs to but she doesn't have time and it just makes her grief flare up (co-op housing has a long history in Chicago and other US cities (like Washington DC where I live) as a way for Black people to access decent, affordable housing in the face of entrenched discrimination)

the move meant putting a longer commute between her and church, but she didn't even bother looking for a church closer to their new home, she loaded the kids into the car on the weekends, parking is hell in their new neighborhood but it's worth giving up a hard-won parking spot to not have to wait so long for the L on Sunday mornings

Indy lived with her through college and he was gearing up to get his own place when Nile died, Dorothy was planning to move into a one-bedroom in the co-op building because she doesn't need so much space anymore, Indy took a day off from his new job (not so new anymore, her baby's so grown!) to help her sort things to donate when those dress-uniform Marines came to their door

part of her wishes she could've been home more and not had to rely on Nile so much for help with Indy, but he's turned out such a kind young man, and he's a much better cook than his sister is (was, oh God — no wait, is! she’s alive! what do you mean you’ve been alive all this time??)

some of the girls from church are encouraging her to check out this social dancing thing, nobody's pressuring her to date but there's definitely been some ribbing, and with Indy out of the house... maybe? probably not, but maybe

Her feelings and beliefs and likes and dislikes:

she's an absolute badass and also she's a soft human woman with lots of feelings

she's very, very traditional in some ways, and part of her mixed feelings about Nile following in her dad's footsteps is gender stuff, she's proud of her daughter and would never stand in the way of what Nile wants to do with her life, and if Nile came home and told her she's a lesbian she would never reject her, but if Nile came home and told her she's bisexual maybe she can just try focusing on men? “I love you sweetheart and I want you to be happy I just know how hard it is already for us in this world” type shit

she has been on team natural hair basically her entire life and one of the worst fights she and Nile ever had was over Nile wanting to straighten her hair as a pre-teen

Indy takes more after her and Nile takes more after their dad, she's so proud of both of them, but Dorothy's activism was mostly wearing her natural hair to work and daring bosses to give her shit, Indy's out there marching in the streets like her parents had and she WORRIES

she teases Indy for going to so many protests like he's using it as an excuse to meet girls, but she WORRIES

when she turns 60, she gets box braids with streaks of dark purple, subtle enough that it's still work-appropriate but it makes her smile, she may be old now but damnit she’s still pretty!

she loves Grey's Anatomy and Star Trek and she watched Bridgerton all in one day

she has a dirty-old-lady celebrity crush on Chris Hemsworth

if she's ever masturbated thinking about Donna Summer, well, that's nobody's business but her own (do non-Americans know about the queen of disco??)

If you want to read fic featuring Dorothy:

I won't have to leave alone, 1000 words, Nile has a nightmare and decides to go tell her family she's immortal

I See Your Eyes Seek a Distant Shore, 65k, Nile adjusts to immortality and does a lot of soul searching about what it means to "do what we think is right", Booker goes to grad school for trauma studies, the working title of this fic was Booker Reads Edward Said and Gloria Anzaldúa and Goes Down on Nile and the final product has an annotated bibliography in the author's notes if you’re into that kind of thing, a lot of my Dorothy Freeman headcanons were born of my process writing this

Gather round the table, we'll give you a treat, 2279 words, college AU, Nile brings her Jewish boyfriend home for Christmas

a contribution I made to Shitty Old Guard Deaths: (Booker, USA, 2025, cause of death: a mother’s righteous wrath)

[oneblueumbrella]

Thirty-minute Thursday

Howdy folks, in the interest of making sure I write on a regular basis, I’m starting Thirty-minute Thursday. The idea literally pulled me out of bed last night so I could scribble it down.

Basically: I grabbed a plot bunny, set my timer, and wrote for thirty minutes. I did one single pass edit, mostly for typos, and now I’m sending it out to you.

I hope to continue this each week, both to stretch my writing muscles and ease back into the tumblr-verse.

FORTUNE

PROMPT:  "A beautiful, smart, and loving person will be coming into your life," the fortune cookie says to Greg. Greg laughs in the Chinese restaurant. He doesn't believe in those things... Two minutes later, Greg bumps into Mycroft Holmes…

Greg rolled his eyes, re-reading the words. Outwardly, he was pretty sure he looked as sceptical as anyone would, reading such a fortune. Nobody would know how much those words had hit home. If he was a believer in karma, or fate or whatever, it might spark hope. Instead, Greg knew both karma and fate were human constructs, designed to make some people feel better about themselves, or less responsible for their lives or something.

If karma was real, he had no idea what he’d done to deserve Karen. Clearly he’d pissed off someone, because even now she affected his life. He wouldn’t be standing in this dodgy Chinese, the last place still open near work on a Thursday night, closer to midnight than he’d care to admit. Overtime wouldn’t matter this much; he’d be able to afford some decent food, and without all the hours at work, he could cook it for himself.

But she took so much when she left – literally and figuratively – so he was the guy who took on plenty of overtime when it was available. Greg was pretty sure people thought he was a workaholic, or maybe just a boring lonely old guy. That was closer to the truth than he cared for. A broke, lonely old guy was more like it. He was only boring because there was no time for anything interesting anymore. A quiet pint sometimes, and the football if he was lucky, but otherwise, life had not ended up where he thought it would.

If only karma was real. Greg reckoned he’d done some good in his life, tried to help people, let little old ladies go ahead of him at the checkout. Sure, there were some stupid decisions when he was younger, but nobody was hurt by a teenage boy scribbling on a wall somewhere, or wearing truly terrible clothing, or listening to awful music. He’d be due something good by now, by his reckoning.

Smoothing the paper out, Greg read it again.

A beautiful, smart, and loving person will be coming into your life.

He’d thought all those things applied to Karen, when they met; now he knew better. Knew to look past the superficial to find beauty, past loud statements to find quiet intelligence. Had seen it in people he was too afraid to approach.

Right now, when he thought of beautiful and smart and loving, one figure rose in his mind, and nobody in the world would be able to guess who it was. He’d learned to read the quiet mannerisms, to see the subdued reactions to the world surrounding that astonishing man. More than Sherlock, Greg appreciated the understated gestures of love Mycroft Holmes showed his brother. The two of them were the most undemonstrative people Greg had ever met, and he often wondered what their childhood had been like, to produce adults so different and yet so similar. He’d never had the courage to ask either man.

“Here you go!” the cheery man behind the counter said, passing Greg his order.

“Thanks,” he said, cradling the thin bag. It was hot, but he made it out the door before he had to shuffle it to the other hand.

As he did, the fortune cookie paper slid from his grasp, and Greg automatically ducked to grab it. Something crashed into his head, or he crashed into it, and with disconcerting suddenness he was sitting on the ground, blinking, his head pounding and stars dancing across his vision.

“Shit,” he said finally, more out of shock than anything else. What the hell did he hit his head on? There was nothing in the middle of the footpath, surely?

“Are you hurt?”

The voice was familiar, and Greg froze. Surely not. Not here, at such a late hour. Not after the fortune cookie.

“I’m fine,” Greg said, scrambling up. “Hi, Mycroft.”

“Gregory,” came the response, along with a suppressed smile. “I apologise, I was reaching down to pick up your…”

“Fortune,” Greg said with a self-conscious smile.

“Ah,” Mycroft replied. “An important prediction, if you are so intent on keeping it?”

“Maybe,” Greg said with a smile. He closed his fist around the paper. “Right now I’m more interested in this, though.” He raised the bag containing his dinner.

“You have not yet eaten?” Mycroft asked, his eyebrows raised.

“It was a late one,” Greg agreed.

Mycroft hesitated. “Might I offer you a lift home?” he asked.

“Sure,” Greg said. He ignored the irrational beating of his heart at this. Mycroft had given him a lift before, and it was hardly the start of anything significant.

“I have often wondered,” Mycroft said when they were settled in his car, “why it is you take on quite so much overtime.”

The direct question made Greg blink. “I beg your pardon?” he asked blankly.

“I apologise,” Mycroft said. “Last time we spoke, you encouraged me to ask a question when I hesitated. I understood it was acceptable to do so.”

“Yeah,” Greg agreed. “I did. Sorry. Just tired.”

“Yes,” Mycroft replied. “Hence my question. I apologise if it is too personal.”

“Not at all,” Greg replied. He sighed. This was the point he could laugh it off, change the subject; Mycroft would certainly take his lead. But he was tired, and it was a legitimate question, and if he was being honest with himself, it would be nice to talk to someone that wasn’t taking his order – either at work or in the dodgy Chinese.

“I have to,” he said finally. At Mycroft’s raised eyebrow, he added, “My ex-wife cleaned me out. Pension’s only a few years off but it’s not enough to stay in London, so I’m trying to save as much as I can until then.”

Mycroft stared at him. “I see,” he replied finally.

Greg shrugged. “It’s alright,” he said. “My clearance rate’s pretty high with all the extra hours. Might even get a promotion before I retire. That’d make the pension a bit better.”

“Gregory,” Mycroft said, “Please allow me to offer you an assurance.” He drew a deep breath. “Should you ever lack for a place to live in London, I will gladly accommodate you. I have access to a number-”

“No, Mycroft,” Greg interrupted, feeling himself flush. “I mean, thanks, but it’s fine.”

“It is not,” Mycroft replied with a heat that surprised Greg. “To be left in such a situation is far from fine, and if I am in a position to rectify it, I would wish to do so.”

Greg stared for long enough that Mycroft eventually looked away. It was fairly dark, but Greg would bet money Mycroft was flushing.

“Why?” he asked. “Why would you offer that to someone?”

“Not to someone,” Mycroft corrected him. “To you.”

“Me?” Greg asked.

“Yes,” Mycroft replied simply, and to Greg’s astonishment his usually reserved face showed a range of emotion Greg was not even sure Mycroft even felt.

Holy shit.

“Oh,” Greg replied. He glanced out the window, blinking. “We’re at my place.”

Mycroft nodded. Greg’s heart pounded as he said, “Can I offer you a drink?”

“A drink?” Mycroft repeated.

“Or not,” Greg said. “A fortune, maybe.” He handed over the paper. “I think I’ve already got mine.”

Mycroft read the tiny words, his mouth dropping open at the implied meaning. When he looked back up at Greg, it was with a question clear in his eyes.

Greg nodded, heart in his mouth.

Mycroft returned the nod, swallowing hard as he followed Greg from the car.

+++

Five months later, the fortune sat framed in the entrance to a small, comfortable flat in central London, close to Westminster and Scotland Yard.

Five years after that, it adorned the bedside table of a cottage in a very tiny village an hour from central London, in which two very happy men had agreed to retire.

[halothenthehorns]

All in the Family

Chapter 43: The Boggart in the Wardrobe

This room should have looked quite nice. Between the handsome furniture all built sturdy to last, the maroon quilt draped carefully over the bed, the three separate bookshelves all packed full, and the lovely sky-roof centered above their heads that was just now trickling in a purple light, promising a beautiful sunrise. It was the other details.

There were no other windows. The furniture was welded into the floor. Dust coated the air, causing several people to sneeze simultaneously, but didn't quite mask the noise of the howling wind outside that made Potter feel as if he were shouting to be heard.

"Come on Moony, let's see if your mum left any food in the fridge." With a calmness that astounded Alice, he walked over to the door and threw it open with his usual exuberance, trying to usher everyone outside, but his thin frame did not cover the fact that there was a padlock on the door. It may not have had bars, but if felt just as much as a prison as the room they'd left at the Dursley's.

Lupin nearly sprinted from the room, red-faced and nearly crying with shame. The Marauders followed after him with completely straight faces as if this were a normal day at their friends house, the other four didn't know what to make of it.

Frank waited until their voices and footsteps receded, quite hard to do in the still tumultuous wind, and spoke quietly. "Well, this could explain his odd fits of claustrophobia. Wonder how often his parents lock him up in here?"

"And for what?" Lily agreed quietly, wrapping her arms around herself. The place felt freezing, for no good reason.

Regulus was sucking on the inside of cheek with just as many questions. He'd never really bothered wondering much about Lupin before, had never paid much attention at all to the teenager considering he had no knowledge of his last name.

Alice had to clear her throat a few times before she finally said, "well, it's really none of our business." She could already here Pettigrew's voice reading the book from the open door. "Why don't we just join them."

She missed the part where she had to convince Frank of this fact, he clearly still didn't want to be in their vicinity willingly,  but the fact that Sirius had not yet made any attempt to murder them seemed to win the argument in Alice's favor.

Lily wasn't in much of a mood, listening to Malfoy be a prick and Severus being civil about it in trying to keep the classes focus. She couldn't hear them, but was sure the Marauder's were bad mouthing him anyways, automatically on Harry's side saying this wasn't fair treatment. She was ignoring the small part of her that honestly thought they were right and he probably wouldn't have done the same for Harry, but there was no proof!

Instead she walked slowly out into the hall and took her time investigating the rest of the place. She felt like a snoop, but well, this was a man who would apparently be a teacher at her school one day, around kids of hers if she ever did have them. He was an odd one, there was no harm in perusing family photos.

To her surprise, there weren't many. A few scattered baby pictures that seemed only to age through about four years, the young Lupin in the photo holding an ice cream and being held lovingly by two folks who greatly resembled him, obviously his parents. The pictures just stopped abruptly though, with plenty of wall space left, so she Alice and Frank continued on into the living room. It had a great front window that saw right into open woods beyond, the wind tore through even louder out here.

The cushions looked well worn, there were even more book cases about and even a desk in the corner as if this were also used as a study. She couldn't help but notice the front door also had a heavy lock. It looked homey enough, but still there was something missing Lily couldn't put her finger on.

She couldn't help but compare it all to the Dursley's place again, how unlived in the place felt despite the clear signs of this being a home. Except now there was no mock child to pose in front of anyone, it was as if Lupin's presence didn't even exist here.

She finally entered the kitchen to hear of Malfoy continuing to make a prat of himself, having Harry cut up his potion ingredients for him and still mostly ignoring this. The boys had pulled out heaps of food from surrounding cupboards, the place had enough to feed an army and they were steadily making their way through it now. Lupin looked over, watched their hesitation for a moment with a tentative smile, and offered them a bag of crisps and gestured to the oblong table.

"My Da' used to work for the Ministry, and me Mum was a nurse. They both still pull in a nice pension, you're not putting us out," he assured especially to her, recalling her previous aversion to eating out the Weasley's.

Frank just kept looking on curiously as he accepted the food, noting the past tense of both his parents jobs, and the way it had been said several times in the future how not particularly well off Lupin seemed. He honestly thought Lupin might be playing up his situation a little, but felt it rude to call him out otherwise.

Lily seemed to decide the same and began tasting a few things, before nearly choking on one when attention turned to Neville. The six around her began not so quiet streams of conversation at how cruel this had just become for a simple class, Alice and Frank clearly all on the Marauders side now. Lily felt near tears all of a sudden. She got up and stormed out of the kitchen without looking back, unable to be around anyone lest she curse the lot.

There just had to be an explanation she was missing, some clue being left out because of Harry just hating for no reason as his father once had. The Severus she knew would never do such a cruel thing, not after having lived through being bullied for so long by another. It seemed impossible he'd transfer this to a random student!

She'd been trying to make her way to the bathroom, unable to block out the grating sounds of Pettigrew reading farther about all this horrible nightmare of a future. Tears were blurring her vision and she was trying too hard not to let them escape when she ran smack into someone still lingering in the hallway.

"Oh, sorry," she blurted.

"S'alright," Regulus just shrugged and moved out of her way. She gazed at him for a moment, on tenterhooks to ask what he thought of this. She'd seen him hanging around Sev lately at school. Could he possibly have an explanation for this? Did she want to hear it from him? He offered nothing of his own, so she swiped her hand under her nose and kept going, slamming the door to the loo.

Regulus turned his eyes back to the last family photo up. There were no names for him to put together, but suddenly he wasn't so sure he should pass off Lupin as another of no status. There was something about his father's face, something he vaguely recognized...being in the papers once? He'd suddenly swear his parents, or maybe even Kreacher had mentioned the last name Lupin once...

Lily sat on the bathroom sink, toying with her hair and contemplating leaning over the toilet bowl instead, she really did feel sick. Malfoy's little comments were only making things worse, even more confusing, though she wouldn't have thought that possible before. What was that little toe rag on about? Why would Harry do anything against Black, he hadn't really done anything to him personally?

It made her stomach twist into even more painful knots as her mind offered its own conclusion. That Black and Lupin were in on something together. The two seemed aghast at the idea their friendship wouldn't last, well what if Black had an accomplice to that horrible attack? Malfoy's dad very well may know something about all this and had unwittingly passed it on to his own son.

'Or you're just looking for someone else to blame,' her mind nastily pointed out as the cruelty of that Potion teacher was put into practice, this twisted version of her best friend was actually described as disappointed his vile attempt at murdering a child's pet hadn't worked. This was wrong, every bit of this was absolutely not as it should be! Surely this was just Harry's skewed point of view, she would never believe it of her best friend!

Hermione's oddness was not enough to deter anyone from their thoughts on Snape, but the start of Moony's class finally stopped the Marauders from all too familiar conversations of what they were going to do to that slime-ball when they got a hold of him again. The fact that Longbottom and Smith had stayed present in the room when their suggestions got increasingly darker really spoke volumes, their grim faces were not at all pleased to Lily's reaction to this. Whatever blossoming friendship was going on there might have a permanent taint if she didn't pick her loyalties soon.

Peter cleared his throat of a custard cream he'd just swallowed hole and instead turned to Moony. "Tisk, tisk mate, being late on your first day! Can't hardly tell your students off for that now!"

"Hmm, I'm liking the idea of this more and more," Sirius was still half savoring a biscuit in his mouth, spraying them all with food. "Professor Moony, here to teach us all how to properly do our homework."

"Yeah, make it all up," Prongs finished with a snort, spraying them with chocolate milk he'd just tried to guzzle.

"I've done no such thing," Remus insisted with an unrepentant smile. "It's not my fault Binns doesn't know how the Giant Wars began."

"Or you drooled so much over that page in your sleep you couldn't read it yourself," Peter concluded, reading on loudly now around his friends spluttering.

His voice still caught uncomfortably at the idea of his friends state of dress, but already too much attention was being put on him in his place of residence, so he hurried past that.

After being kicked in the shins by both Prongs and Wormtail, telling him to knock it off loudly for good measure, Sirius had finally found Moony's leg and was now fondly keeping him distracted by pressing their legs together as much as he could under the table. He was even fixing to risk letting his hand fall down to his side, Moony's lap, if his color didn't come back soon. He knew it was a strain on Remus to be back in this house.

They'd only been over a handful of times, Lyall and Hope seemed very weary of letting visitors stay longer than a few minutes lest anyone start asking personal questions about Remus' life. Of course the Marauders knew why, now, but their friend had grown accustomed to a very quiet life. Never before having so many people in his house at one time. He was just grateful none of them could see outback of the house.

It helped that at least this Professor version of him was keeping things lively, that interaction with Peeves had been brilliant! They were still chuckling about it when they finally arrived to the destination, the bloody teachers lounge of all places, to find the worst bloody teacher inside.

"Rip him to shreds Moony!" Sirius said at once.

"Blow up a potion in his face, see where he lands up," James scowled.

"Or just poison him," Peter agreed.

"These are all quite tempting offers in front of a class of thirteen year old's," Remus responded with a very amused expression.

"Oh, we have absolute faith you will give him the retaliation he deserves," Sirius quickly pacified. "We're just letting our imagination run wild."

"Yes, we're aware of your limitations, but that usually just makes you even better," James agreed.

Alice and Frank exchanged a look and didn't bother to defend this one bit. If they were hoping something would be done to Snape in retaliation for what he'd just tried to do to their son, well, it's not as if they were going to pretend they could stop it. Snape's position was made only worse by his parting line being yet more cruelty to Neville, and Alice couldn't help her outburst, "if you don't kick his arse I will!"

The boys at the table all turned to size her up, before each smiled and assured her justice would be swift.

Admittedly the start of it didn't make any sense to Frank, a boggart was hardly the most formidable creature one could face. His had turned into a snarling griffin, with a sleek golden lion body but eagle wings and talons instead of front legs pulled from his youth.* Quiet a fearsome beast but one he'd easily swept aside with magic nearly ten years later. He didn't understand the delighted looks on the troublemakers or how this could do anything to Snape sense he'd left the room. His doubts only furthered when the Professor prompted Neville to explain what his mother wore, Black now had his fist stuffed in his mouth to control himself and Potter was about to slip out of his chair from shaking with so much laughter.

They were all horsing around, teasing each other with increasing loudness of each others boggarts and what they all seemed aware was coming. It made Frank just a tad jealous, seeing them all so close, one conversation being shared by four so easily. He had quite a few friends around school, but none who would finish each other's sentences like this.

Finally, in between stuttering breaths of laughter, Pettigrew regaled them all with the retribution Neville deserved, and it was beautiful.

Snape, in a dress. Severus Snape, in his mother's green dress and favorite hate. Snivellus being humiliated like he'd just tried to do to Neville. No matter how you put it, all six of them were now on the floor, tears streaming down their own faces with mirthless laughter enough to banish any boggart for a year.

Regulus had snorted softly from his place just beyond the kitchen, but really didn't find the image as hilarious as all those others seemed to. Perhaps because he had no personal grudge against Severus for any particular reason. He was in fact quite confused by the man's actions though, wishing he did know the reasons for his actions against the pureblood child of Longbottom. Was it pure vindictiveness? Some other motive he was missing?

Lily was all the more glad she'd isolated herself from this now, as she'd caught the traitorous flash of a smile in her mirrors reflection before she'd quickly brushed her hair and hid it away. It wasn't right to laugh, she'd quickly scolded herself, Lupin was just as bad as his mate always had been and apparently always would be, and retaliating with a childish way to put her friend down. Her scolding was weak, at best. What Sev had done was far more hurtful, nearly killing that poor kids pet.

The rest of the class seemed to be going without incident until Harry's. A dementor, she shivered at the very name being mentioned again. Yes, that was quite the thing to fear, much worse than hers had been, her sister appearing and yelling every vile thing she could. In the middle of her class. Lily had nearly burst into tears, then Severus had stepped forward, taking the boggarts form of his own father Tobias. Sev had barely blinked as he made his father's pants fall to the floor, laughing at him before turning to comfort Lily. She'd received no marks for that day, but the teacher had kindly offered her a redo, with her best friend encouraging words promising she would get past this. She'd turned Petunia's dress into the awful green color she hated so much and laughed herself silly that day, all thanks to Sev.

Now, twelve years later, and Snape was falling victim to the same trick he'd once given Lily to get through another day; and she'd laughed at him this time. Because this time, he'd been the one to nearly reduce a kid to tears.

She leaned back against the wall, letting the light switch dig uncomfortably into her back as her feet sat in the sink for the rest of the chapter, more frustrated at herself than anything for her lack of answers to her best friend.

* I know griffins in mythology are actually depicted as having eagle front halves and lions just as the back-half, but a flying lion sounds a bit more horrifying, no? Or just call it creative liberty with an established myth, like JK did with the mermaids. Whichever you prefer.

[alwaysahiccupandastrid]

People have already said this but like...the four “rotten” children in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory weren’t villains. Their behaviour was due to toxic parenting, and so it’s the parents who should have been punished instead.

Augustus Gloop just liked to eat chocolate - yeah, he ate way too much of it but his parents should have restricted how much chocolate he ate and made him eat healthier food. Liking to eat chocolate isn’t a crime, and in fact it’s people like Augustus who make people like Wonka so successful - by buying Wonka chocolate bars and sweets. And yeah, eating everything in sight and bending down to scoop out of the chocolate river was dumb, but he’s a kid? Why wasn’t his mother near him so she could stop him? Isn’t that the whole point of having a guardian with each child in the factory? I don’t think just liking to eat chocolate makes someone rotten or a bad person - with the exception of the “would you like some chocolate?...then you should have bought some” comment at Charlie, Augustus wasn’t really a bad kid, just greedy. His parents should have put their foot down and made him eat healthier food/less candy.

Violet Beauregarde was ambitious and competitive, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Yeah, she was kind of rude at times, and she had a slight attitude problem, but you can see that her behaviour was clearly influenced by her mother, who encouraged and pushed her to be like that and to focus on “the prize”, on “being a winner”. Chewing gum doesn’t make someone rotten - she shouldn’t have been chewing the same stick of gum for three months straight, that’s gross, but again, it’s clearly due to how her mother pushed her to break a record and win. And yeah, not listening to Wonka by snatching the gum from him and not spitting it out when he said to was dumb, but are you surprised that she wasn’t listening when she had her mother saying shit like “my little girl’s gonna be the first person to have a three course gum meal!” and when Wonka was waving it in front of her like that? If he had immediately said something like, “DONT chew it because if you do then it’ll turn you into a giant purple blueberry”, maybe it might have put her off a little bit.

Veruca Salt...oof, I feel strongly about this one. She was just a spoilt brat, but that’s because her parents - mostly her father - spoilt her rotten. Her parents should have been firmer and told her “no”, as well as teaching her to say “please” and “thank you”. Her parents were the ones who spoilt her, and that’s why she behaves like a brat. They thought that they could buy Veruca’s love by giving into her every whim, and she learnt that quickly because she knows all she has to do is ask and she’ll get it - but it didn’t buy her love at all, it just gave her the idea that she could have whatever she wanted and when she wanted, not the idea that she was loved. Also, in the 2005 film, you can see her mother drinking in what I presume is the early afternoon, and it wouldn’t surprise me if the family situation was that the mother is barely involved in her daughter’s upbringing and drinks quite a bit, and that the father is trying to keep the daughter happy by giving her everything she asks for - because he doesn’t know how else to show love or affection or how to keep her from acting out...as with a lot of rich people, his solution to any problem is to use his money to buy his way out. It’s not like she was outright a bully or hurting anyone, she was just a little girl who had bad parents and could have been fine if she’d been taught to say “please” or “thank you”, or if her parents had taught her “I want never gets”

(Side note: I was spoilt by my three grandparents quite a bit growing up - with my paternal grandparents they would buy me whatever I wanted and then some designer stuff because they’re pretty well off, since they worked their entire lives, and my maternal nan would always buy me chocolate/biscuits/stuff when I went out with her, as well as using her pension money to take me to the Christmas pantomime - with my mum and sister and cousins - when I was younger. Grandparents do that because it’s not their child, so they can. But they and my parents always knew when/how to say no, and to encourage me and my sister to have manners. Spoiling a child on special occasions is fine, like Christmas or birthdays or days out, but not ALL the time)

Mike Teavee liked television and video games - who doesn’t? He was incredibly smart, even to the point of being rude, but that doesn’t make him a bad person necessarily. A lot of the time, parents will just put their kid in front of a TV and leave them there to entertain them instead of actually doing something fun with them - maybe that’s the case with Mike. He clearly knows his stuff though, and just because he liked television and video games, doesn’t mean he’s a bad person - his parents should have imposed stricter guidelines on his TV/game time. When I was much younger, my parents and grandparents were very clear that we had to do our homework BEFORE the TV was turned on; obviously when we were a little older, they expected us to know that we had to do our homework and that we would do it when we did (especially me, because I was frankly terrified of pissing off teachers). Television and games are fine in moderation - his parents should have been stricter and made rules about the amount of time he spent in front of the television set, maybe encouraged him to go outside or read a book.

None of these four children deserved to be harmed, mutilated and/or almost killed. If anything, I feel like the parents should have been the ones getting taught a lesson and not the kids - like maybe the parents should have been the ones getting sucked up chocolate pipes/nearly turned into fudge/blowing up into a blueberry/tossed down a garbage chute after being viciously attacked by squirrels/shrunk down and used in a taffy puller. Like...they’re kids. They’ll grow up and learn, and they’re all like 10-12 at the most in CATF - they’re not even teenagers.

Those kids are probably going to bear trauma and humiliation for the rest of their lives. Augustus was mostly just covered in chocolate, but he was literally eating himself (which makes me wonder if he did actually become chocolate fudge but...). He nearly drowned in chocolate and god knows what else happened to him before he was rescued from the fudge machine. Violet is permanantly blue - sure, she’s now freakishly flexible, which could be good for competitions, but she could also be bullied for the rest of her life for having blue skin and being able to contort herself like that. Also, not to forget the actual body mutation itself where she literally blew up into a blueberry and was rolled around, jumped on, and then juiced. Veruca was just covered in trash, but she was attacked and thrown down a massive floor hole/chute by angry squirrels - it wouldn’t surprise me if it hurt a bit, and if she had nightmares about squirrels attacking for the rest of her life. Just imagine if she was walking one day and saw a squirrel - she’d probably freak out and not be able to cope in public with it. Mike was put in a taffy puller and literally physically stretched; he’s now like six or seven feet tall, and he’s as thin as a piece of paper. He’d definitely get mocked for being that height and being literally little more than a paper cutout - god knows what that did to his internal organs and bones.

If Wonka really wanted to teach them a lesson, he could have done it by harming/mutilating the parents and having the Oompa Loompas sing about THEM - they could have learnt through their parents actions that if they carried on the way they were, they’d end up meeting the same fate. Maybe that’s just me though.

[feferipeixes]

Even though their parents have made it clear that they will not be going back to gravity falls, Mabel makes deals with Dipper to tesser them there whenever their parents aren't around. This leads to a lot of midnight visits that can last until 4 or 5 am, since Stan's sleep schedule hasn't recovered from thirty years spending most of the night in a basement and their parents usually fall asleep around 11

At one end of the hall, a door clicked shut. At the other, a door quietly glided open, and a 13-year old girl’s head peeked out.

“Okay Dippler Effect, Mom and Dad went to sleep!” Mabel hissed excitedly. “Let’s ride!”

“That’s a new one,” Dipper replied in a whisper. The idea of sneaking out in the middle of the night still gave him anxiety, even though he’d done it a million times, even though no one but Mabel could hear him, even though the concept of him getting caught and punished was long dead. “Do you even know what the Doppler Effect is?”

“Sure do! It’s that thing when, like, if someone’s standing in one place listening to you, the sound of your brother’s protests get whinier as he blips away with you to go hang out with your friends!”

Dipper snorted into his hand. “Okay, that was pretty good.” He grabbed his sister’s hand. “Ready?”

Mabel put on a serious face, gripped her Dream Boy High backpack, and nodded. “Ready!”

There was a quick jerk as the air twisted around them – flashing colors filling Mabel’s vision and an awful nausea filling her stomach – and then it stopped. Mabel’s bedroom in Piedmont was gone, replaced by the kitchen of the Mystery Shack, complete with the sounds of a romcom floating in from the TV in the other room, a few empty cans of Pitt Cola sitting on the counter, and a sleeping Grunkle Stan slumped over the table.

Dipper floated over to his Grunkle and poked him in the head. His finger, unsurprisingly, went right through. “I thought he said he’d be awake,” he said, pouting. “Should I visit him in his dream and tell him to wake up, or -”

Mabel clapped giddily – cutting her brother off – threw her backpack to the ground, and unleashed the glee that had been building up within her since they’d planned this trip a couple of days earlier. She screamed at the top of her lungs, causing Dipper to clap his hands over his ears and recoil (which resulted in him clipping halfway through the refrigerator).

Stan jolted upright in his seat. “SOOS, THE COPS ARE HERE, HIDE THE VIOLINS!” he shouted. He blinked sleepily a few times, and then his eyes settled on Mabel bouncing up and down in front of him with a face-splitting smile on her face. “Oh, it’s just you kids. Geez, you’re gonna scare me into an early pension doing that.”

Mabel jumped at her Grunkle and hugged him tight. “Well, someone said he’d be awake at 11 so we could come by right after our parents went to sleep! Did someone forget it was our -”

There was the pounding of boots on stairs, and the door burst open to reveal Ford in a lab coat with ash on his face and in his hair. “Stanley! I heard screaming, what’s going on? Did the man-eating toaster come back? You swore you’d let me be the one to kill it if it did!”

“Calm down poindexter,” Stan started, “it’s just -“

“GREAT UNCLE FORD!” Mabel screeched, peeling herself off of Stan and running over to hug him instead. “You made it! I thought you were still having an awesome boat adventure!”

Ford flinched, but then ruffled Mabel’s hair. “Of course I made it, Mabel. Wouldn’t miss it.” A tuft of his hair spontaneously caught on fire, and he patted it out. “You’ll have to excuse me, I brought some of my research home with me. I must warn you, I may be slightly radioactive right now, so… watch out for that.”

“Haha, YES!” Mabel pumped her fist. “Soon I’ll have magic glitter dandruff!”

“Ask him about the boat trip, ask him about the boat trip!” Dipper whispered in Mabel’s ear. She waved him off.

“So nice of you to show up,” Stan said, getting up and punching his brother on the shoulder. “Did you finish cleaning all of your science crap out of the parlor?”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Ford countered, and then paused. “Mostly. Almost. There’s too many people in there right now anyway. But hold on – I only see Mabel. Where’s my former apprentice?”

“MABEL HE’S TALKING ABOUT ME,” Dipper hissed. “Tell him I want to know about his trip and the sea monsters and the cursed gold doubloons he’s hiding from Stan and -”

“Dipper’s right here!” Mabel chirped. “He’s just invisible right now! Speaking of, Grunkle Stan, did you get a sacrifice for him?”

“You know I did, sweetie.” Stan picked up his eight-ball cane and gestured down the hall. “But today’s an important day. He’s not getting none of that rodent’s blood hootenanny we usually get him. We got something special.”

Mabel started hopping up and down so violently that the walls shook and everyone had to cover their ears. “What does that mean!!!!!!!!”

Stan hoisted Mabel up onto his shoulders. “How about you come and look for yourself before you blow the whole house down?”

Mabel cackled. “Onwards, Stan-oshima!”

Dipper eyed his sister jealously, and then floated over to Ford and pretended to sit on his shoulders. He and Mabel stuck their tongues out at each other playfully, forgetting to pay attention to where they were being carried, until -

“SURPRISE!”

Dipper and Mabel both flinched at the chorus of voices, and Mabel almost toppled off of Stan’s shoulders. It was a moment before they could take in the sight in front of them, but by then, Stan had placed Mabel on the floor and people were already coming up to her and hugging her.

“Dude, so good to see you!” Wendy said. “Where’s your bro at?”

Soos pushed up next to Wendy. “Mabel! You made it! Is Dipper here too?”

“Hey, it’s my turn to talk to her,” Pacifica drawled. “You’re lucky I’m even here – my parents would never allow it. Good thing they’re in Venice right now. Why can’t I see Dipper?”

Mabel screamed in joy again. “I can’t believe it, all of our friends are here! Wendy and Soos and Pacifica and Candy and Grenda and Robbie and Thompson and that weird guy who likes America! You all made it! And bro-bro’s right here,” she added, grabbing her incorporeal brother and squeezing him close. “We just haven’t summoned him yet!”

“Sixer. That’s our cue,” Stan said from behind them.

Dipper and Mabel turned around to see Stan and Ford each holding a cake with the number “14″ written in the center. Stan placed his cake on the table, while Ford carried his over to an empty space of the floor where a summoning circle had been drawn out. He placed the cake in the middle, and pulled out a vial of blue liquid from his lab coat. He uncorked it, dropped the liquid into the circle, and then paused.

“Uhh, remind me what the incantation is?” he asked.

“It’s stella splendidum, te invoco -” Dipper started.

Mabel cut him off by grabbing his sides, effortlessly lifting him up, and throwing him at the circle. He squealed in surprise, his little wings flapping frantically as he toppled through the air. He came to a stop a few feet above the circle, at which point Mabel shouted, “COME ON OUT, DIPDOPS!”

Another yelp, and Dipper was yanked out of the Mindscape and into the real world. The cake they sacrificed to him disappeared, replaced by a very nervous looking demon. Even though Dipper trusted his friends in Gravity Falls to be more supportive than his parents, it had been a long time since he’d seen some of these people, and, well, things sure had changed even since the Transcendence. He felt every eye in the room fall on him, examining his fancy attire, his sharp teeth, his pointed ears and gold-on-black eyes.

And then they began to cheer.

“Good to see you little man!” Old Man McGucket yodeled.

The Multibear growled softly. “Such a lovely gathering now that you’re here.”

“The Mystery Twins are back!” Candy joined in.

An incredible sense of relief washed over Dipper. Mabel pushed her way through her friends and pulled him into a tight hug again.

“Can you believe it, bro-bro?” she said, giggling as the rest of the crowd rushed in to join her. “Everyone made it!”

“Yeah, this is incredible!” Dipper wiped a golden tear away from his eye. “Everyone’s still here. Everything’s still okay.”

“Hope you like it, kiddos,” Stan said, ruffling his hair just as Ford did Mabel’s. “Happy birthday.”

The twins grinned. The remaining cake was passed through the crowd until it was resting in front of them.

“Don’t forget to make a wish!” Grenda shouted.

Dipper laughed. “I don’t know about you, Mabes, but I’ve already got my wish.”

“Me too, bro-bro,” Mabel replied. “Although I wouldn’t say no to backstage passes to the Boyz 4 Now concert, or maybe a jetpack, or…”

“Just blow out the candles, dummy,” he retorted.

The crowd of their friends and family started chanting “Blow! Out! The candles! Blow! Out! The candles!” The birthday twins nodded and grabbed each other’s hands. They both drew in a large breath. They blew as hard as they could.

Applause rippled through the room, and Mabel and Dipper were happy.

—

At 5am, there was a soft blip, and two teenagers appeared in a bedroom in Piedmont, California. A newly 14-year old girl’s head peeked out the door, looked toward the other end of the hall, and then pulled back into the room.

“Looks like we got away with it, bro-bro!” Mabel whispered. “That was the best sneak out to Gravity Falls to date!”

“It sure was,” he replied, and a warbling note of gratitude filled his voice. “It sure was.”

(AO3 link)

[rickysmagicshop]

“He’s Arturo Arturo Octavio Magnum Artur for his friends

He also grew up in the streets Since his father was taken to prison when he was 5 years old And his mother was also taken to prison when he was 9 He dedicated himself to helping neighborhood narco groups and nobody would suspect him, being a child When he was a teenager he was already part of several gangs But it was the only way to survive because he had no more relatives One night there was a confrontation between gangs and there was a very big shooting Many policemen arrived and began to chase everyone involved Artur had nothing to do with it. But he was in the wrong place at the wrong time Even though he helped distribute the drugs He did not take them and did not carry weapons He only did it because he had no other way And like with all the bad things in his life He had no faith that one day he would get out of that place or at least something positive would happen to him When he was captured by the police, he was taken to the headquarters to process him Since he was a minor They took him to the correctional And since they couldn't really link him with any crime They were not strict with him The correctional boys had different types of community activities and jobs One day they were taken to work outside cleaning the streets A couple of very old people were walking through there with grocery shopping bags And the lady dropped her bags because her hands hurt so much Artur stopped doing what he was doing and picked up the things that they had dropped And he asked the guard if he could help them take things to their home He also helped carry the man's bags On the way to the couple's house They started chatting And the couple felt a lot of pity because they didn't see him as a bad young man Then they came to the house and he helped them leave things there and left The couple who were older felt a lot of nostalgia because they had lost their son who had been a police officer He was shot in the chest during a police operation And that young man who helped them looked a lot like him The next day The older couple went to the correctional and asked to speak with the authorities To ask if they could adopt the young man who had helped them As Artur since he had been admitted had had a good behavior And he had no charges Also He was mostly held in that place because he refused to go with social services Because he didn't want to be sent to foster homes They did not refuse And they decided to give him a chance in society Artur did not object to anything, because he was really tired of being locked up and working there They took him to his new home And he loved helping those older people Because they were very kind They watched old movies They played board games They taught him to play chess And they prayed together at the table The years passed and they had a truly peaceful life The older parents had a lot of money saved and also had the pension for the death of their son So they decided to travel and move to Italy Actually The couple was Italian But for reasons that the man had gotten a job in ... the U.S They went there But then their son... They had no courage to travel back Not without their son So now they travel to Italy And Artur continued with his studies He learned a lot about history It was his favorite subject And he wanted to be a history teacher”

If you read til here I must tell you Artur’s story is continued, but you get to choose your own path!

[douchebagbrainwaves]

HOW ART CAN YOU WEREN'T MEANT TO PRESENT TO GET STARTUP FUNDING LANDSCAPE

Hmm, I wonder what's new online. But being lucky is the critical ingredient. Teenagers now are neurotic lapdogs. And we weren't the only ones who've noticed the change. You might get it. I have to say actually is a list of articles that are interesting.1 There was something else I wanted more: to be smart, and to work together. If you could travel back in a time machine have to be able to argue with you? It's a lot harder on stuff they like, 2 that the standard office environment is very unproductive, and 3 that bottom-up: people make what they want. Now that I've had a few, I'm relieved to find they're not as bad as I feared. There are more digressions at the start, because I'm not sure which was worse. They see increasingly aggressive measures to protect intellectual property.

We were literally in sync. You want to push forward, but at the high water mark of political correctness in the early 1990s, Harvard distributed to its faculty and staff a brochure saying, among other things, that it was being used as a label for something novel.2 You can't get it from somewhere. The answer, of course, is that it it makes it easier for startups to grow. And now I have independent evidence: the top links on Reddit are generally links to individual people's sites rather than to magazine articles or news stories.3 If the company promised to employ you till you retired and give you a pension afterward, you didn't want to have too much to do with technology than human nature—a great many people work for companies with hundreds or thousands of employees. Look for prigs, and see what you get is Lord of the Flies.4 Your prestige was the prestige of the institution you belonged to.

If it's not what you want and don't cite any previous work, and indignant readers will send you references to all the papers you should have cited. Don't ask them any unnecessary questions. Hackers are unruly.5 But there is another set of customs for being ingratiating in print that are not so harmless. They used drugs, at least, pick your battles. Imagine a kind of semantic deficit spending: they knew new things were coming, and the key to success. This is a complicated topic.6 The late 19th and early 20th centuries had been a time of business disgrace. But I think usually the shock is on one side. Hype doesn't make satisfied users, at least some cases the reason the best PR firms are so effective is precisely that they aren't dishonest.7 Even in the US, and good high schools and good universities, like the role of color in fashion, or what constitutes a good dessert, but about the forces that were pushing us together were an anomaly, a one-time combination of circumstances that compressed American society not just economically but culturally too.

We really did have the biggest share of the online store market, and 5000 was our best guess at its size.8 Startups are so hard and emotional that the bonds and emotional and social support that come with friendship outweigh the extra output lost. All the pain of whatever problem you're trying to avoid. At least, it did when people wrote about it online. But fortunately in the US, the most successful startup founders are often technical people who are supposed to be making money either. In theory it seemed that the conclusion of a really good essay ought not to need to say any more than QED. Whether or not computers were a precondition, they have no purpose.

Notes

Actually he's no better or worse than Japanese car companies have been lured into this sort of pious crap you were able to invest, regardless of how to be the least VC-like. The first version was mostly Lisp, though.

A significant component of piracy, which was open to newcomers because it made a lot of problems, and we don't use code written while you were. There is always room for something they hope this will help you along by promising to invest at a famous university who is highly regarded by his peers, couldn't afford a monitor.

One of the products I grew up with only a few old professors in Palo Alto to have the least VC-like.

I write. Parents move to suburbs to raise money, the television, the best intentions. In part because Steve Jobs got pushed out by John Sculley in a wide variety of situations, but I couldn't believe it, Reddit has had a big company CEOs in the twentieth century, art as stuff. When investors can't make up the same price as the cause.

People tell the whole world is boring. As Anthony Badger wrote, for the coincidence that Greg Mcadoo, our sense of things economists usually think about where those market caps do eventually become a genuine addict. Learning to hack is a bad sign if you have a competent startup lawyer handle the deal for the next stage tend to focus on the other reason they pay so well. Patent trolls can't even measure the degree to which it is the same ones.

Or you make, which allowed banks and savings and loans to buy your kids' way into top colleges by sending them to get to go the bathroom, and Windows, respectively. We think of the clumps of smart people are trying to focus on the x company, though I think I know when this happened because it is to give them up is the least VC-like. Cook another 2 or 3 minutes, then over the Internet, and the fucking fleas.

PR has at least guesses by pros about where those market caps do eventually become a so-called lifestyle business, and each night to make a more reserved society, or invent relativity. The Roman commander specifically ordered that he had simply passed on an accurate account of ancient traditions. In the Valley itself, not where to see the apples, they cancel out and you need to be is represented by Milton. Security always depends more on the world population, and journalists—have the.

It should be working on what interests you most. To get a poem published in The New Yorker. Hodges, Richard Florida told me they like to invest at a critical point in the other direction Y Combinator makes founders move for 3 months also suggests one underestimates how hard they work. Math is the true kind.

[newstfionline]

School Officer: A Job With Many Roles and One Big Responsibility

By Stephanie Saul, Timothy Williams And Anemona Hartocollis, NY Times, March 4, 2018

Maple syrup gumming up the gun belt isn’t normally a hazard of police work. But it is a common problem for Cpl. Pamela Revels when students have been eating pancakes at the school breakfast.

“Kids like to come up and give you a little bit of a hug,” Corporal Revels said. “They don’t wipe their hands that well.”

Ms. Revels freely dispenses hugs and smiles at the schools where she works around Auburn, Ala. But she is also a sheriff’s deputy who wears a sidearm and a bulletproof vest, drives an official S.U.V. and has an AR-15 semiautomatic rifle stored nearby.

On Thursday afternoon, when a report came in about a man in camouflage carrying a gun near school, she sprang into action. As worried students and teachers locked themselves in classrooms and closets, she bolted outdoors, hurriedly walked around the sprawling campus and scanned the nearby woods until she was satisfied that it was safe for everyone to emerge.

“I can turn into a mama bear really quick,” she said. “And I’ve made that decision that nobody is going to hurt my babies if I can help it.”

For millions of students, the first adult they see every day at school is not a teacher, or principal. It is a “school resource officer” like Corporal Revels, an often-overlooked role in law enforcement that is under the national glare like never before.

Their duties range from perking up sullen students to directing bus traffic to settling disputes to keeping an eye out for threats. It is that responsibility as the first line of defense that is getting the most attention, as questions swirl over whether the school resource officer at Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School in Parkland, Fla., failed to do his job when he remained outside the school on Feb. 14 while a former student, Nikolas Cruz, shot 17 people to death inside.

The position, with its genial-sounding name, is an unusual hybrid of counselor, educator and cop, and perhaps no other job better personifies America’s shifting ideas about schools, policing and safety.

Their numbers exploded during the community-oriented policing wave of the 1990s and even more after the Columbine High School shooting in 1999.

As the memory of that shooting faded and local budgets tightened, their ranks thinned in many places. Now there are calls for installing more of them in schools across the country, with new positions announced in a number of districts just this past week, even as the president wants to arm more teachers.

In interviews, school officers around the country spoke of performing multiple adult roles, having to alternate between nurturing and authoritative, with a guiding philosophy known in the field as “the triad”--counselor, teacher, law enforcement officer.

“They have to be a mentor--a kind, caring, trusting adult, the nice police officer who will give you a high-five and ask you how your day is going,” said John McDonald, the security chief for the Jefferson County, Colo., school district, which includes Columbine High. “And very quickly they have to become a tactical cop. That switch is not for everybody. The ability to do that is very difficult.”

Mostly, though, their job is to keep order on campus and among adolescents whose fuses are not yet fully grown. Officer Kingzett, 38, was in the cafeteria of a Fargo middle school last week when a fight broke out between a girl and a boy. It started with name-calling, but Officer Kingzett could sense it escalating. As the bell rang and students streamed to their classes, she pulled aside the antagonists and just let them vent, using the listening skills she had learned as a negotiator on the police department’s SWAT team.

Crisis over. “It was one of those small victories you could tuck into your back pocket,” she said.

Nationally, there are no specific training requirements for the job, although the National Association of School Resource Officers recommends that officers complete a 40-hour course that includes emergency plans for schools, de-escalation techniques and academic work, including studying the adolescent brain. Since most officers are members of their local forces, they also receive the same shooting training their colleagues do.

Every school in New York City has at least one school safety officer, who are employed by the New York Police Department and can make arrests, but are unarmed. The department also assigns armed officers to certain schools.

The most recent calculations of the number of school resource officers, from 2013, showed that about 30 percent of schools had one, according to the National Center for Education Statistics. In 1975, just 1 percent had.

In some cases, it is not an easy job to fill, according to Mr. McDonald of Jefferson County. “Most cops don’t get into law enforcement to be in school,” he said. “They want to be on the street catching bad guys.”

That problem has helped feed a stereotype that school officers are not the cream of their departments.

Mac Hardy, director of operations for the national organization, said bad school resource officers fall into three categories--“hostages,” those who are ordered to work in schools; “retirees,” older officers who are nursing their pensions; and “vacationers” who like having school holidays off, though many work as regular patrol officers during the summer.

“You’ve been on the job 20 years and we’ve got to park you someplace. We’re going to put you in a school,” Mr. McDonald said, describing the attitude he said some departments have. “That’s much less of an effective model. We want go-getters.”

As the first line of defense, school resource officers are often hailed as heroes when school incidents are defused, or, as in the case of Deputy Peterson, criticized for failing to avert disaster. Mr. Peterson, who resigned from the department, has disputed accusations that he did not fulfill his job, saying through his lawyer that he believed the shots were coming from outdoors and so he waited for the gunman there.

One of the heroes was Deputy Carolyn Gudger, who faced off an armed school intruder in 2010, becoming the toast of her eastern Tennessee community, which named her grand marshal of the Food City 250 Nascar race at Bristol Motor Speedway.

The man had arrived at the school and asked to meet with the principal, then drew a semiautomatic handgun. Deputy Gudger pushed the principal out of harm’s way, drew her gun and held the intruder at bay, negotiating with him for 10 minutes even as he still had his gun drawn.

Other officers arrived and killed him when he refused to drop the weapon. Officer Gudger said she heard criticism that she should have shot the man right away. “I can’t give you a concrete answer on that,” she said last week. “It just wasn’t the time to do it.”

Asked whether she had ever averted an attack, Corporal Revels, the Alabama officer, said that several years ago, she began monitoring a student who had a habit of pushing, kicking and bullying other students. “I went deeper and found writings and drawings that were concerning,” she said, and saw to it that the student began mental health treatment.

On the day of the lockdown--it was unclear if the gun-toting man was real, or perhaps a wandering hunter--Corporal Revels also helped a kindergartner who had dropped his breakfast get new helpings of sausage and apple juice; saw a teenager storm out of Spanish class, talked with him briefly, and had him back in class in five minutes; complimented students on their choice of pajamas for the school’s Pajama Day; and then drove home to her farm an hour away, where she would respond to three phone calls regarding bullying or other misbehavior at school.

Takaya Dupree, a 12th-grader, said Corporal Revels knew almost every student well, since she had been around the school for years. “So I feel like she’ll protect us,” Takaya said.

Even if a gunman burst into the school?

“It wouldn’t get to that point,” she said. “She’ll probably talk him out of it, before he came to the school.”

[xtruss]

Why a Generation is Choosing to Be “Child-Free!”

Photograph: Getty / Guardian Design

The biggest contribution anyone can make to the climate crisis is not to have children. So why do we still treat parenthood as

— Sian Cain@siancain | Saturday 25 July, 2020 | Guardian USA

When I think that it won’t hurt too much, I imagine the children I will not have. Would they be more like me or my partner? Would they have inherited my thatch of hair, our terrible eyesight? Mostly, a child is so abstract to me, living with high rent, student debt, no property and no room, that the absence barely registers. But sometimes I suddenly want a daughter with the same staggering intensity my father felt when he first cradled my tiny body in his big hands. I want to feel that reassuring weight, a reminder of the persistence of life.

Then I remember the numbers. If my baby were to be born today, they would be 10 years old when a quarter of the world’s insects could be gone, when 100 million children are expected to be suffering extreme food scarcity. My child would be 23 when 99% of coral reefs are set to experience severe bleaching. They would be 30 – my age now – when 200 million climate refugees will be roaming the world, when half of all species on Earth are predicted to be extinct in the wild. They would be 80 in 2100, when parts of Australia, Africa and the United States could be uninhabitable.

We are in the middle of a mass extinction, the first caused by a single species. There are 7.8 billion of us, on a planet that scientists estimate can support 1.5 billion humans living as the average US citizen does today. And we know that the biggest contribution any individual living in affluent nations can make is to not have children. According to one study, having one fewer child prevents 58.6 tonnes of carbon emissions every year; compare that with living car-free (2.4 tonnes), avoiding a transatlantic return flight (1.6), or eating a plant-based diet (0.82). Another study said it was almost 20 times more important than any other choice an environmentally minded individual could make. Such claims have been questioned. After all, does a parent really bear the burden of their child’s emissions? Won’t our individual emissions fall as technologies and lifestyles change? Isn’t measuring our individual carbon footprint – a concept popularised by oil and gas multinational BP – giving a free pass to the handful of corporate powers responsible for almost all carbon emissions? The only thing that isn’t up for debate is that we all know that we are living in ways that can’t continue.

Some scientists call the plummeting birth rate 'jaw-dropping', but perhaps it is an understandable consequence of the existential malaise many of us feel

In the last days of March, with much of the world in lockdown, came the first predictions of “coronababies”. Nadine Dorries, the UK minister responsible for maternity services, tweeted: “How busy we are going to be, nine months from now.” At that same moment, thousands of people under 35 living in five European countries – France, Germany, Italy, Spain and the UK – were being asked whether they planned to have children this year. An overwhelming majority (60%–80%) reported that they were either postponing or entirely abandoning the idea. But the virus, LSE academics wrote, was only part of it. The generations that are currently of childbearing age were on the brink of adulthood during the 2008 global financial crisis; a decade later, they find themselves facing another. In the US, the birth rate is at a historic 35-year low (having fallen by 20% after 2008) and is well below the “replacement level” that keeps the population steady. And these are just a few of the 183 countries, from a total of 195, that are set to see huge population crashes by 2100. Twenty-three, including Spain and Japan, may see their populations halve.

Scientists have called this “jaw-dropping”, but others see it as an understandable consequence of the deepening, existential malaise so many of us currently feel; a growing sense that accountability has been eroded, inequality is rampant, and that the profound structural changes we need to feel better about the future are out of our reach. So while governments focus on pronatalist policies, groups including Population Matters and Optimum Population Trust have reported a sharp uptick in interest in their advice, which is to only have one or two children, or none at all. More extreme groups like the Voluntary Human Extinction Movement (motto: “May we live long and die out”) have entered mainstream conversation. New terms have been minted: “birthstrikers” refuse to procreate in the face of the existential threat of climate change. Antinatalists argue that bringing sentient life into the world is inherently cruel, as it is doomed to suffer; some make headlines for suing their parents over their own existence. In the darker corners of the internet, ecofascists write screeds about issuing birth licences to those they deem worthy. But the most universally applicable term now is “child-free”: those who have voluntarily decided to not have kids (and so, are not child-“less”).

Coronavirus isn’t likely to give us coronababies – but a pandemic isn’t the reason that having children has shifted from an inevitability to a choice, and now, a moral question. A long time ago, “Do we have children?” became “Should we?”

Children gather at Parliament Square, London, to protest against climate change in February 2020. Photograph: Alberto Pezzali/AP

In A Children’s Bible, a new novel by Lydia Millet, kids are contemptuous of adults for their lack of action before the collapse of society. “It was so sudden, they said. They’d all been told there was more time. Way more. It was someone else’s fault for sure.” One of the children, Jack, finds a decaying Bible, and in it, a way of making sense of his disintegrating world. When an apocalyptic storm hits the US, the book tells him what to do: build an ark.

Few novels have attempted to tell us what to do in the face of climate catastrophe. Amitav Ghosh has called this “a crisis of imagination”. As Richard Powers writes in his 2018 novel The Overstory, “The world is failing precisely because no novel can make the contest for the world seem as compelling as the struggles between a few lost people.”

But even when the future seems like no place for a child, there is always room for them in fiction set at the end of the world: they are emotional ammunition, a reminder of bigger stakes to come. In Lauren Beukes’s upcoming Afterland, a global pandemic that kills only men has lead to a “global reprohibition”; Cole, a mother on the run with her mysteriously still-living teenage son, thinks: “When there aren’t going to be any more kids, you want to hold on to their childhood for as long as you can. There must be a German word for that. Nostalgenfreude. Kindersucht.”

Perhaps it is kindersucht we feel when we read novels like The Children of Men by PD James, Future Home of the Living God by Louise Erdrich, or JG Ballard’s The Drowned World, in which children are conspicuous by their presence or absence. In Ballard’s 1962 novel, set in a submerged London, “the birth of a child had become a comparative rarity, and only one marriage in 10 yielded any offspring … the genealogical tree of mankind was systematically pruning itself.” In Margaret Atwood’s 1977 short story “When It Happens”, a middle-aged woman makes preparations to flee her family home due to an unnamed threat, and her gaze falls on a family photo: “The children when they were babies. She thinks of her girls now and hopes they will not have babies; it is no longer the right time for it.” In Jenny Offill’s Weather, the narrator watches her son play and recalls a past conversation with an environmentalist friend: “I asked her once what I could do, how I could get him ready. It would be good if he had some skills, she said. And of course, no children.”

Clive Owen and Claire-Hope Ashitey in Children of Men, the 2006 adaptation of PD James’ novel. Photograph: Allstar/UNIVERSAL/Sportsphoto Ltd.

Children become resigned to not having the future they should have had; in Cormac McCarthy’s The Road, when the father says: “You are not the one who has to worry about everything”, his son counters, “I am the one.” And in Season Butler’s Cygnet, a teenager mopes around an island populated only by pensioners waiting out the end as their homes slowly crumble into the sea: “I think about the kids that people my age are having, or will start having soon. Life is going to be so boring for them. Not just because the world will have gone completely to shit by then and there won’t be much of anything left, but because their parents are going to talk constantly about how the world used to be.”

In the real world too, children play a leading role: think of all the kids we’ve seen skipping school to hold signs on the news, or addressing world leaders for us at UN climate summits. It is tragic and effective, and why every book about the environment right now is written by parents. Naomi Klein’s This Changes Everything starts with her realisation that her toddler may never see a moose. Notes from an Apocalypse opens as Mark O’Connell sees a video of a starving polar bear and mourns for his son, who is happily watching a cartoon bear nearby. Jonathan Safran Foer’s We Are the Weather looks forward to the lives his children will inherit. In David Wallace-Wells’s The Uninhabitable Earth, he confesses to the “delusion” and “wilful blindness” involved in his decision to have his first child while writing it. And the title of James Hansen’s Storms of My Grandchildren says it all.

All these books are well argued, emotive and interesting, but it is remarkable how many of these authors suggest that having a child is a hopeful gesture, a sign of one’s investment in the future. Wallace-Wells has said having children “is a reason to fight now”. O’Connell writes that his son’s birth is a dilemma because “the last thing the world needed, after all, was more people in it, and the last thing my hitherto nonexistent person needed was to be in the world”; by the end, he has a second child, and a “radically increased stake in the future”. Klein writes that, before having her son, she “couldn’t help feeling shut out” by activists talking about their children and grandchildren, and wonders: “Was it even possible to be a real environmentalist if you didn’t have kids?” (Yes.) If you don’t, it is seen as fatalism. “Are we then expected to hasten the end, to succumb at last to the logic of oblivion, by renouncing the biological imperative?” asks O’Connell. (No.)

When asked why I do not have children, I have given various explanations over the years. 'I don't want to' is the only one that provokes a flinch

So, we continue to place our hopes in children, even the ones that don’t yet exist, to save us. Lee Edelman calls this “reproductive futurism” in his book No Future; it is that child, “the fantasmic beneficiary of every political intervention”, that people feel inspired to fight for, the one people mean when they say to women like me: “But what if your child was the one to solve climate change?”

As Sheila Heti writes in Motherhood: “I resent the spectacle of all this breeding, which I see as a turning away from the living – an insufficient love for the rest of us, we billions of orphans already living.” And as Greta Thunberg told us all last year: “You all come to us young people for hope. How dare you.”

Child-free women are often considered unnatural and cold … Theresa May and Nicola Sturgeon. Photograph: Andrew Milligan/PA

When asked why I do not have children, I have given various explanations over the years. “It is a complex situation” is vague enough to make most interrogators look ashamed for having asked. If I say, “I am worried about the environment”, parents often tell me in hushed tones that they have wondered whether their children will be able to have children too. (In my meanest moments, I think: “Really? How hard did you think about that?” And then I feel a deep, sour sense of shame, because I have a choice in the matter and rightfully, so do they.) But “I don’t want to” is the only answer that provokes a flinch.

“Choosing to have children is neither inherently good nor selfish, and the same goes for being child-free!”

Countless studies have found that people consider child-free adults unnatural and cold. Women bear this burden particularly hard; Theresa May and Nicola Sturgeon have been forced to share miscarriages and infertility; the former Australian prime minister Julia Gillard was once criticised for being “deliberately barren”. Last year, I wrote a news story about Paul Dolan’s book Happy Ever After, which contained some research about child-free people being just as happy as parents. Subsequently, complete strangers called me a “stupid bitch”, a “feminist cancer”. One Instagram account uploaded a picture of me where thousands of men discussed how unfuckable I was; more than one messaged to tell me that my mother wished I had never been born. When I read this, I thought of my mother, who had me as a teenager and could give them a brisk, pitiless history of all the people like them who treated her terribly for having had a child. (If you still don’t think this is a gendered debate, I ran into Dolan a day later, and asked him how he was coping. “What abuse?” he asked.)

Still, my generation continues desperately to hunt for things to do in the face of the greatest catastrophe some of us (or our children) may live to see. We give up meat and take holidays closer to home, even when we know that if the super-rich cut their emissions to that of the average EU citizen, global emissions would drop by a third. But we can’t make anyone else do anything, so we do what we can, and we justify our choices as being meaningful, bigger than us.

Ever since my partner and I concluded that we wanted to be child-free, I have looked to books for positive examples of fulfilling and rewarding lives lived without children. The closest I have found have been eccentric spinsters and ambivalent parents, in a long line from Doris Lessing and DH Lawrence, Barbara Pym and Rachel Cusk. There are countless mothers who find their intellectual pursuits strangled by their children and absent husbands (most recently, Fleishmann Is in Trouble by Taffy Brodesser-Akner and Elena Ferrante’s Neapolitan quartet).

But recently, as millennials are coming of age as both prospective parents and as authors, characters are questioning the status quo. “Fuck all those childbearers and their ‘fulfilling’ lives, never getting to have adventures like mine,” thinks the 38-year-old narrator of Melissa Broder’s The Pisces, for whom the prospect of children is “like something mildly distasteful: a piece of onion I would prefer not to put on my plate”. “Why bother having a kid when the world’s going to hell anyway?” wonders one character in Ottessa Moshfegh’s A Year of Rest and Relaxation. “Why do you want children?” the narrator of Avni Doshi’s Burnt Sugar asks her boyfriend. “He shrugs. ‘So we can be like everybody else.’” In Amina Cain’s Indelicacy, a woman objects to her husband’s expectation that they will someday have children. “Why is it necessary for everyone to think of it, as if there were no other choice?” she rages at a friend.

The climate crisis has presented an opportunity to rebrand being child-free, once the greatest taboo, into the ultimate altruistic act. At the same time, parenthood is framed as the ultimate investment in a better future. But choosing to have children is neither inherently good nor selfish, and the same goes for being child-free. We must challenge the orthodoxy that says choosing to live one way is a criticism of another. Just this week comes a new novel by Emma Gannon, Olive, which centres on a woman in her 30s who has chosen to be child-free; Gannon herself has spoken about being made to feel guilty for her choice. What we need instead is a quiet revolution, a complete reappraisal of what we deem to be a meaningful life. I, for one, will continue to turn to books, where I find reassurance in the strangest of places. In one tiny strand of The Overstory, Ray and Dorothy, a couple who have spent thousands on fertility treatments, finally decided to move on. “In place of children, then, books,” Powers writes. “Ray likes to glimpse the grand project of civilisation ascending to its still-obscure destiny. He wants only to read on, late into the night, about the rising quality of life, the steady freeing of humanity by invention, the breakout of know-how that will finally save the race.”

[ezra-mariposa]

( diego boneta)  ・゜。・。・゜  ezra mariposa who is the child of absolem is 22 years old and grew up in auradon. they did have magic before the charmings gained the throne, but on top of their ink manipulation, they’ve noticed they have sensory adaptive magic. they use he pronouns and are pansexual. i wonder how they’ll handle their new magic…. 

Ezra Mariposa Age: Twenty-two Family: Absolem Mariposa (Father) Magic: Ink Manipulation (Born) and Sensory Adaption [More info here.] Hometown: Wonderland Occupation: Currently a student at Auradon University, majoring in Literary Arts and Sociology. Also works part time at a bookstore near campus, and occasionally publishes articles and stories.

Ezra’s father raised him as a single parent the first four years of his life, his biological mother was never known to him and so far as his father recounts she could have been one of several women he knew in his days of more heavy drinking and drug use. The man only learned he had a son when he received a call from the hospital that named him as the father of child who had been given up there. Only a few months old at the time, he came to claim him and was proven to in fact be his biological father but was denied any information about his mother as part of her terminating parental rights.

When he was nearly five his father started a relationship with a woman he met at a local bookstore. She eventually married into the family and became his adopted mother; Ezra was endlessly fond of her and she taught him how to read and love the idea of writing. While she had no magic of her own she was quick to encourage him to learn about his, seeing it as something that made him special; a gift. She was a very creative sort who was in love with the idea of beauty and fantasy, and very affectionate towards him; being the only mother he had ever known she was very important to him.  

The relationship fell into a strain when the couple tried to have more children and were unable to so do, at that point his father fell back into the habit of drugs and she tried time and again to get him help but he refused. 

It was during one of those late nights that she had no choice but to pick him up from a bar, and unable to find anyone to watch Ezra she took him along. The two got into a heated argument on the way home that resulted in an accident that put Ezra in the hospital for several months with traumatic head injuries and resulted in her death while his father survived mostly unharmed. 

While Ezra did recover otherwise the trauma damaged his optic nerves too badly and resulted in his sight deteriorating. At first doctors were hopeful that as swelling when down his eyesight would return but the opposite happened; over the course of months Ezra’s vision grew darker as the nerves lost function from compromised blood flow. It was a terrifying time for the boy, barely ten, watching the world slowly go black around him. But during that time, determined not to simply give up, Ezra focused more on controlling his magic so that he could at least retain his connection with words, and also learned braille as a backup. 

After the devastating accident Ezra’s father fell worse into depression, began to depend more and more on drugs to tame the guilt he felt. He did maintain his job as a high school literature teacher in Wonderland, but only barely. Was not really enough to maintain their lifestyle however and eventually Ezra lost his childhood home as well when the pair had to move and cut down on their living costs.

Shortly after relocating to a less expensive area of Wonderland Ezra began high school and took an after-school job at a local bookstore. Despite the hardships of bills and the like Ezra maintained a fairly optimistic life, made friends with his peers in school and carried on a rather normal teenage existence. He did begin to explore drugs though because it was just such a normal part of life around him. 

He was never exactly a wild child but did have his share of late nights and hangovers to mark off. But, being very intelligent by nature, his grades really didn’t suffer much and he graduated with little issue.

Ezra had a handful of off and on relationships in high school. Nothing overly serious, but mostly due to his own inability to put himself into the situation of getting too committed after seeing how easily that could fall apart. He still hangs on to that idea a bit now, not really invested in relationships as long term situations.

Ezra was in his senior year of high school when his father began showing signs of mental illness and memory loss. By the end of the year he was diagnosed with early onset Alzheimer disease. It was a rapid progression before doctors could get it under control and by graduation Ezra had decided to put off college for to take care of his father.

The man’s condition has stabilized for the time being, but with the progression being so rapid he no longer can live at home. Ezra cared for him for two years before his father was moved into a full time care institution; most of Ezra’s money from writing short stories or anything extra from work goes into keeping up with his father’s medical bills.

Along with his decline Ezra’s father has developed Dementia and often returns back to memories of earlier points in life. Very often when Ezra goes to visit him weekly he spends most of his time sitting and listening while his father tells him stories about the past along with a blurry mix of drug hallucinations and stories; there really is no telling with him what was real and what wasn’t but Ezra has come to accept that and appreciate the fact that his father’s mind still is active enough to craft such rich tales. 

It was during this time that his father began to recount strange tales about Alice, things that could never have been real of course but just hearing the man speak of her has driven home the aching point to Ezra of just how much his father cared for her, not so much like attraction as it was a fatherly affection. Knowing that the two of them have not spoken in years remains a painful though for Ezra to consider.

While there was a few years in his teens that Ezra was angry towards his father for their living situation that anger has faded with seeing the man decline to disease. He has a large amount of respect for him and a great deal of love, still speaks highly of him and tells his friends that his own creative spark came from his wise father. 

In the years of caring for his father Ezra became more involved in drugs and drinking himself to offset the stress, he likes to think himself careful with those vices but addiction is addiction and it was a crutch during that point. Since he saw little harm in it he still continues those vices, thinking them something that just helps him get through rough spots in life.

Ezra does’t fully believe that magic is unnatural and it can be explained by science. In part this conviction comes from having so little faith in fairy tale notions. His desire to want magic to be explained by science is also a desperate want to cure his father - if he can find the right sort of person with the correct magic to undo disease then maybe he can see his father’s illness reversed and the man returned to who he used to be.

Knowing that in time he would need more money than he can currently make, Ezra enrolled in college when he was twenty, deciding to study literature and literary history. His intentions are to get a degree that will allow him to work both writing professionally and possibly teaching as his father had.

Ezra lives on campus, the apartment where he used to live with his father is gone because he couldn’t afford to keep it. Everything he owns is with him in his dorm or otherwise in storage. Since he has no other family to speak of when holidays come around he either stays on campus or stays with friends if he doesn’t have the option of remaining at the dorms. 

He works part time at the near-campus branch of the bookstore he’s had an ongoing job in since high school. He’s happy there, loves to read and it’s such a familiar setting. Much of his school is covered by a scholarship he gained by testing in very high, so his paychecks go first to his father’s medical bills not covered by his retirement pension from the high school, then to necessities, and after that fueling Ezra’s vices. 

While one would think he might be wary of the idea, given how much damage addiction has caused in his own life, Ezra still is actively willing to drink and use recreational drugs himself. His distraction of choice remains cannabis because it’s very mellowing, but he does also drink at times, and harder drugs than that are a rare, but not unheard of, indulgence. 

He does very much enjoy writing stories, and is very good at it, as a sort of release of tension and a bit of his father resides in him when it comes to spinning tales.Is a published writer in several small publication papers around the area, mostly fantasy stories, where he writes under his pen name Cate Pelose (French term for caterpillar.)

Personality-wise Ezra very often comes off as calm, sometimes to a fault. On the surface he seems like the type that nothing bothers and takes life as it comes. He’s friendly and comfortable with most people, and a bit lazy by nature. Under that surface he’s very insightful though, and mature, the type that often plays the adult in situations and looks after those around him. Ezra grew up a bit fast and while he does settle in well with his peers he’s often more introspective than many of them.

Ezra loves conversation, loves debates and introspective views; he will hold an involved conversation with most anyone and approach most any subject. He’s very intelligent but not pushy about it, enjoying very much hearing the viewpoints of those around him. Very often he finds himself speaking in metaphors or stray notions the way his father used to, his dreamy ideas often sneaking into conversations.

Ezra is a vegetarian, he believes in being a pacifist and doing no harm to others. It sometimes makes him seem like a pushover in that he won’t fight, but he will speak his mind, firmly, and let the words stand for him. When people push him he stands resolute and if the other person is just unreasonable he walks away rather than carrying a fight. 

One of the things that Ezra has held a fondness for his entire life are butterflies. As a child he would watch them for hours, careful to never touch the creatures and damage them, and now he still holds those memories close. He has always kept them as pets, allowing them to grow from caterpillars and releasing them when they gain flight; they seem to have a strange fondness for him as well and a trusting nature, often willing to crawl on his hands and be held. 

Music has, in the last few years, become a point of escape for him. The sounds set off his magic and he has favorite songs, mostly soft classical music, that are very calming or energizing. Of course when he does listen to music he basically has to be somewhere he doesn’t need to focus otherwise because it drowns his senses and makes it nearly impossible to keep any sense of his surroundings. 

As much as he wants to cling to logic as a safe spot, Ezra is very prone to fits of fantasy. His mind wanders, especially if he’s high or drunk, and at those points his real desire to believe so many things he can’t allow himself to shows. He very much wants the world to show him magic and beauty, but has seen so much of the rough edges that he can’t have faith yet. 

Pansexual by nature, it’s more the intellect of a person that attracts him. He is drawn to points of beauty in others that have little to do with their physical appearance; their outlook, their interests, their ability to stir him in a conversation. Since the loss of his sight Ezra weighs attraction on the scale of how much a person can ignite that feeling of making the world light up around him. 

Along the same lines, however, when he does find something of interest in people and they show interest back he’s not uncomfortable with the idea of physical contact. Sex is an outlet, and while he does value it as more than just a chance encounter in many cases, he prefers to enjoy the company of others and not expect more than good sexual chemistry where he finds it. It’s still a bond, he still holds affection during, and after, for his partners, but doesn’t see sex as a basis solely for a relationship, or limited only to being something found in one.

[whatsanapocalae]

@whydidkidflashdie, I dont think I’ll draw him tonight (I know I won’t post the pic tonight especially) but I will definitely draw him, probably during our first session. Here’s his backstory though. I want to see your character too!

By the way, I write my backstories in chapters...

Small Beginnings (0-13)

Middodar Thorklan was born to a prostitute in the low district of Bort. Work was always hard, as was life, so his mother taught him a life of crime as early as she could, onto the street, where he was a pickpocket and panhandler, using his youth and odd charm to get people to donate generously. He snuck in with a group of orphans, blending with them easily enough, and got the meals that he couldn’t get at home from the orphanage. Unfortunately for his mother he blended in a little bit too well and was adopted by a man named Zinthro Gull, who made himself up to a be a noble of sorts, which allowed him easy access to many orphaned children across different towns. Zinthro was very much not a noble and was instead the mercenary leader of the Hollow Suns, who trained children in the art of killing, bounty hunting, and intrigue. Children were especially useful for the mercenary company, as they were seen as innocent and could get away with more and were small so they could get into places that older mercenaries could not. They were also treated far better than the adult mercenaries, as many of them were parents of the younger generation or had a soft spot for kids. This was a better life in many regards for Middodar, and he made a name for himself as a regular dupe, that name being Veil.

 Too Big for the Pack (14-18)

While children were highly prized amongst the Hollow Suns and adults were seen as both a necessity for their fighting prowess and the backbone of their organization, teenagers were somewhat awkward and unwanted. Without as much protection from the older mercenaries and with the higher challenges in jobs taken, many of Veil’s peers were killed off. He learned quickly to distance himself from them and, while he’d been friends with few as children, knew now that they were only there to do a job and they were not guaranteed to return.

A job came up, a small clan of rebels needing soldiers to bolster their army in their attack against their capitol city, and Veil was sent along with most of their groups teens and young adults. It was a long journey and Veil’s first visit outside of his home country, and he fell in love with the landscape and danger, different creatures attacking their traveling party than he’d ever seen before. He knew then that if he didn’t die in the skirmish than he would at least die in the eyes of the Hollow Suns, and remain in this new land. Most of them made it to the skirmish and their numbers and skill vastly aided the rebels. There were many losses, it was easy for Veil to pass as one of them, but in the end, the rebels were victorious. More than that though, Veil enjoyed fighting with them. There was more comradery, more care, amongst these makeshift soldiers than the mercenary band. The Hollow Suns were so accustomed to dying that no one saw the point in clinging onto one another. These people, mostly farmers who’d had enough of their oppressive lords, were people, and they acted as such. Thus, not only did Veil decide to stay in the country, but he decided to become a soldier and help the rebels make a difference and change the lot for themselves and the people.

The new government was not perfect, but it was better in most ways to what was there before, although some people did not agree. Once all of the fighting was over and the army was more military than it was made up of people with a common goal, it mostly disbanded. There were assassination attempts on the new rulers and Veil, somewhat known for his chipper attitude and ruthless skill by the former party, was highly recommended to be a bodyguard for the committee that now ruled.

 Studying the New Order (19-29)

While Middodar knew nothing of politics, he did learn from observation how the politicians led the people. He was present for many meetings and speeches, and was avid in studying the maps that he saw and the vocal patterns that he heard. Some of the new rulers were very good at inciting the excitement of the people while others were more than proficient in planning and organizing troops and essentials. All of this he absorbed, as well as he did poison.

As a bodyguard his life was in danger as well as those that he protected and, while he was fast and nimble, he was not always able to subdue attackers before they got a hit off on him. He took a few stabs here and there but was able to get out of those scraps with little worse than deep and permanent scars. The worst was when he took a poisoned dagger to the inside of one knee, slicing through the tendons. He was feverish for over a week as the medics and healers drained the toxins from his blood and, once healed, the tendons never set quite right. He was stuck with a prominent limp and both weather and too much work strained his ligaments and left him pained. This was not a good thing for a bodyguard and he was set to retire, paid a lofty pension for his services. He kept the dagger as well, and uses it still, even though it no longer carries any poison.

 Cast Aside Like a Burnt Torch (30-38)

Retirement was terrible for Middodar, who desired action and adventure. Living in town was fine, sometimes, but there was nothing in his personal physical therapy and forced socialization that brought him joy. He tried to join the city guard, but they would not accept him in his current state, and when he tried to take on other jobs the people would look at him in confusion, for he had amassed enough wealth to live off for the rest of his days in comfort. Comfort was not something that he understood and he left the capitol city to go off on his own.

At first it was living in solitude that drove him to excitement, the forests teaming with brigands and highwaymen and rogues heading to the castle in further assassination attempts. These Middodar dealt with easily enough, as he headed through the dense forests. He winded up in a town eventually, a small hamlet being plagued by an infestation of undead. Middodar had seen undead before, had fought them on jobs with the Hollow Suns, and he joined the small squadron heading into the catacombs. He had worked out the kinks in his knee by this point but he was no longer as spry as he once was and he would be laid up if he did too much on it. Luckily the undead were not as big of an issue as the townsfolk believed and the reward was worth it, as well as the healing given in gratitude once the fight was done. The party did not remain, although Corvid, Cackle, Prate, Strut, Ebon, Coal, Jet, the gnome wizard that had found the job initially, traveled with Middodar.

Corvid was a monster hunter by trade, although he needed someone with strength to fight alongside him, someone who could distract enemies while he cast from a distance. This was, to Middodar, the perfect job. One of the main draws to this country was the different fauna and with Corvid, he was able to not only find such beasts, but fight them. It was mostly monsters, but they hunted men as well, working as bounty hunters and guardians for the towns they came across. Their acts were seen as inspirations to many of the townspeople and soon they came into having an entourage of their own.

 The Lusus Naturae (39-present [52])

It was not lost on Middodar, nicknamed Goad by Corvid, that he had returned to his roots. The people they inspired were in great need of training if they wanted to fight monsters like the pair of them were doing, so they decided to officially welcome their fans in and teach them how to do what they did. They formed the Lusus Naturae, a mercenary crew in its own right. He was fine with the idea of bringing children into the organization, pledging to treat them better as they grew up than he had. Corvid was adamant that they would not use child labor. They thus accepted anyone over the age of 15 into their crew and, with Corvid’s Team Mom aptitude, they were all treated as one large family, far from expendable as Middodar was used. They traveled through the country and over to the one to the north, gaining notoriety through the land. Most of the early expenses were paid for with Middodar’s pension.

 Trivia:

Middodar likes nicknames and collects them almost gnomishly, but understands if other people do not appreciate the names he gives them.

Middodar and Corvid are lovers.

He does not see any part of his backstory as being especially sad. To him, his life has been great. This is not a sad backstory, as much as it seems like it.

He has a bum leg that he now wears a brace on, a fake eye (lost the real one in a fight against Barstran the Betrayer, a Gnoll Fang), a scar that crosses from the forehead on the left side, through the eye, and over to the right cheek, and many many scars, the worst being a deep plunging one in his side where he caught the axe of a hill giant.

Really likes trying new foods but will add salt and spices to whatever he needs to, not caring if anyone’s offended.

Thinks bards are great and will tip them and invite them to join The Lusus Naturae

Everyone thinks he’s a big scary man but he’s really soft and excitable.

Basically he’s what I think Reinhardt is like without playing Overwatch and knowing any lore mixed the Slackjaw from Dishonored.

He will give NPCs quests.

He will give to the homeless and children and anyone needy. He will give money to prostitutes without bedding them (he’s in a committed relationship).

He is genderfluid but he doesnt know that yet because he doesnt know that’s a thing.

[dlamp-dictator]

Your Dictator’s Works: Kyo-Annie

Okay, finally getting down to writing these Dictator’s Works posts. Originally, I was going to talk about both Kyo and Reyna, but Kyo’s stuff turned out a little beefier in text than I thought, so I’ll just talk about Kyo for the entire thing and talk about Reyna... eh, later. 

Oh yeah, since it’s been about... over a year since I’ve done this kind of post here’s a quick summary. Your Dictator’s Works is a analysis/breakdown of my own creation, ranging from characters, to stories, and so on. Basically, a big info dump where I gush over whatever thing I’m talking about. When it comes to OCs, I’ll try and keep it to their design, but no promises.

So without further ado, here’s a Dictator’s Works on Kyoko-Annabelle Mushi, or Kyo-Annie for short... or just Kyo.

Summary, Origins, and Inspirations

In a nutshell, Kyo is a kung fu demon girl, and that’s where most of her character starts and ends. Unlike Claudia, I don’t have a 3-year-old RP blog to reference, and a lot of characters I creator from drawings rarely have a higher purpose other than what concept I had for them, but Kyo’s origins are pretty interesting. I was on a discord server and the mods decided to have a sort of Art Jam where the theme was to make a kung fu girl. I technically already had a kung fu girl, Reyna, but I wanted to make something more original. So after awhile of scribbling, Kyo came out. 

And boy did this little demon girl go through a butt load of redesign. after about 2 years of doodling her. I literally just pulled up some older pictures from my art tag and... Lord Alive, the difference in design is staggering.

Speaking of...

Design

So, like I said before, Kyo was a product of an art jam. I didn’t have a real idea for her other than “make kung fu girl that wasn’t Reyna.”

This is the oldest sketch I could find of her. For all that’s change, not much really has. The basic ideas are still present. Chinese-styles sleeveless shirt, biker shorts/spats, and bangles. Color scheme aside, the only thing that’s changed is that she wears shoes now.

And much like I said in my Dictator’s Works, I tend to give my characters a very specific kind of fray in their hair for the sake of the silhouette looking unique, so Kyo has a bit of cowlick sticking out of her hair. Canonically, Kyo’s cowlick is purposely done up with hairspray to hide her horn, but I didn’t come up with that until later.

The emblem she wears is... well...

Yeah, remember when her name was Kyo-Annie? Canonically, that’s short for Kyoko-Annabelle, as her Japanese mom and Western-demon father kept argue on what her first name should be before settling for both their ideas. Out-of-Universe, Allen X is extremely lazy when it comes to his characters and was watching some K-On reruns when thinking this character up.

And that’s really it for design. Kyo’s a pretty simple character, both in design and concept, so there’s not much to go over. The only thing I can add is that Kyo is now blond so that her original dark hair doesn’t blend into her gray skin. Canonically, she dyes it blond to be rebellious, but it’s more for design reasons than in-universe ones. Other than that, I think her design explains itself pretty well. Though... this’ll be a pretty short Dictator’s Works if I end this here, so...

Story Background

I don’t feel comfortable talking about Violacous Storm yet since I’m kind of redoing the story, and I really don’t want to talk about the made typings known as that story, so I’ll just talk about Kyo’s background and bio instead. 

Kyo is a half-demon, specifically a Cambion, a half-human, half-succubus. The gray skin Kyo has is a product of her father that didn’t show up until she turned 12. Being half-succubus, Kyo is aluring and attractive on a super natural level, but she hates it. The bangles she wears around her wrists are actually enchanted to heavily hinder her succubus abilities. To most people she just looks like a dark elf until you see her fangs, but without the bangles normal humans would be entranced by her appearance and flock to her. Kyo found this extremely annoying once she realized the attention got was due to her sucubbus abilities and not for her as a person, so she did her best to hide that fact. Wearing tomboyish and rebellious clothes, dying her hair a wild yellow, taking on a more punk-ish persona, and taking her martial arts lessons more seriously as a way to literally push away people advancing on her.

Oh yeah, I should probably explain why such a kung fu girl in the first place.

For a bit of backstory, Kyo’s human mother is a Japanese Shrine Maiden, Yoko Mushi. Yoko... got knocked up as a teenager by a really hot incubus she was suppose to seal away or kill, but fell for his charms and had Kyo at age 15. After failing in her task (and getting knocked up at that), she was reprimanded and nearly banished from the family if not for the mercy of her mother. Yoko promised to raise the child as the next shrine maiden in her stead, one that would bring honor, glory, and worshippers to their shrine. And as a show of her determination, she immediately banished Kyo’s father to the demon realm a few months later after tracking him down. Kyo herself has no clue about this aside from her father being an incubus that was banished, but does want to be a shrine maiden to both help her mother out and out of honest religous faith, though worship at the Mushi Shrine is... odd. 

Kyo’s shrine worships a god of war, so martial arts is strict practice. All shrine maidens have to go through some brutal combat training to be viable, and the last test includes defeating their teacher via knockout or death. Well, death in the old days, but modern times have made the Mushi family lighten up on the tradition. Kyo herself is versed in karate and judo, though not on an expert level. Given that she wants to beat her mom and earn the title of heir she decides learn kung fu as a way to diversify her techniques as a martial artist, along with thinking that karate and judo were boring due to their family’s style being more for practicality, self-defense, and worship rather than modern-day competitions. 

And... she happens to be a huge fan of kung fu movies, but that’s beside the point. 

Kyo and her mom had a pretty big fight about her switching styles, and Kyo walked out the room in a huff before trying to apply at a shaolin academy for girls. It tooks some effort, but she was accepted on a scholarship after holding her own against one of their top students, Reyna. The two have been bitter rivals ever since. 

Personality-wise, Kyo is hard-working, determined, and tomboyish, but also has a pension for pranks and mischief. She can come across as a bully with all the fights she picks, but thankfully only picks fights with people that she either knows can take her on, or are annoying her to the point of violence... though it’s pretty easy to rile her up to that point. This is a product of her background as a shrine maiden in training. Worshipping a god of war tends to leave you pretty excited for a fight to show off your skills not only to others, but to God watching you kick butt in his name.

And as stated before, she’s half-succubus, but hates that half of her. Despite the kung fu girl aesthetic she’s a very religious and faithful girl, and while sexual purity isn’t as heavily looked at nowdays for shrine maidens, at least at her shrine, Kyo herself wants to remain sexually pure until she takes over the shrine, marries a priest and has a daughter of her own to continue running the shrine. To that end, the bangles she wears holds back her demonic abilities, namely her hypnosis and alluring aura. Mostly out of the loathing she has for her demon-half, but also because she can’t control her abilities yet. Like I said, she hates her half-demon side because it heavily clashes with her tomboy martial artist side. One of her hopes is that becoming a full-fledged shrine maiden will help purify her and get her humanity back. 

And despite that heavy paragraph above I never talk about that side of her in the story. It’s something she keeps to herself, and you’ll mostly just see a tomboyish martial arts demon. This is namely because she’s more a rival to Reyna, who’s the main character in Violacous Storm, but I might make a one-shot or two focusing on Kyo in the future, who knows?

Conclusion

Anyway, I think that’ll be it for this Dictator’s Works. That... took long than I though it would. Next time I’ll talk a bit about Reyna, so look forward to that.

[alicescripts]

Part 2, Chapter 1: The Last Free Place

So to recap. Uh... Shit.

There’s a lot. Probably too much. Alice isn’t dead, let’s start there. I thought she was, but she isn’t. I’m not looking for her anymore. She asked me not to. She deserves to not be followed.

What she did was wrong. Someone doesn’t have to be perfect, or even good, to deserve not to be followed if they don’t want to be. The threshold for deserving that is just being a human being that isn’t a danger to anyone.

But I’m still out here. Still driving a truck. Still searching. Not for Alice but.. for understanding. She and I both worked for a transportation company called Bay and Creek. But Bay and Creek is not just involved in trucking and is apparently at war with a group of inhuman entities I call the Thistle Men, who are responsible for unsolved serial killings all over the country. The Thistle Men appear to do this with the knowledge and permission of the US government.

Oh man. That’s a lot when you say it all out loud like that. What am I doing? I should go home. But I can’t.

Alice isn’t dead, and neither am I.

I see their commander not two weeks later. I would have thought they would try to keep our routes separate, but maybe I’m below their worry, or even below their notice. And so the woman who led the Bay and Creek army that saved me back in the town of Thistle Men, I see her chatting at a distribution center outside of Omaha. She seems at ease, a truck driver on a smoke break. Talking, flirting maybe, with a warehouse worker. As she leaves, he hands her a piece of paper, which she puts in her pocket without reading. I don’t think they were flirting.

Then in Los Angeles a month after that, I see her again. She’s sitting in her truck, not looking at her phone, not reading a book, not anything. Only staring straight ahead. This time I decide to follow her. I will be late on delivery, I will be in a great deal of trouble, but I don’t think they will fire me.

Dead stop traffic in the valley. High above, way up there on the powerline, are three tiny birds. They sway as the line sways. At any moment they could take off. And then the car in front of me moves and so I move, and we inch forward a little more before stopping again.

An hour later, we come over the hill and there is an entire plain of suburbia laid out for me. Orange tile roofs, and the signs for Targets and Walmarts arrayed out into the distance like the flags of nation states, each one marking a place that is, in historical terms, mind-bogglingly huge. Forget the cavernous spaces inside, the aisles of products and the employee areas in the on-sight warehouse. And forget the roof of each of these megastores, maces of tar and ducts. Instead, just consider the parking lots. Acres and acres of lot for every acre of store. Entire medieval cities could fit into each one of these parking lots. At night, in the least lit corners, teenagers learn the best secrets of being an adult, before drudging the next day to their cashier jobs in Target or the cell phone stores, to learn the worst secrets of being an adult.

We give so much space to these lots, without considering what kind of space they take in our culture.

I follow her east. The hotter and drier the land gets, the more snow there is on the mountains above us. All through the desert here, patches of bright green, stands of trees and lawns, and hundreds of farm fields. They’re wrong against a landscape like this, sure, but extravagant in their wrongness. They are not like an ill-fitting toupee but.. like a towering purple and silver wig barely restrained by cavity. The green on the desert revels in its artificiality.

At sunset, the mountains go pink. And then the edge of the color slides up the slopes, a candy avalanche in reverse, until only the peaks glow. And then, all at once and together, the mountains lose the last of the light and become silhouettes, as though finally letting out a long held breath.

We pass Palm Springs and turn south toward the Salton Sea. An expanse of salt water created accidentally by a flood and maintained by agricultural run-off. With no natural flow of water in or out, the sea is destined to die, evaporating into an ever saltier state, and because of the fertilizers and the run-off, subject to algae blooms that cause mass die-offs in the fish.

When I was a kid, we lived near a lot of agriculture, and from the road we could see a pond near the edge of some fields. It had a little island in the middle, trees all around it. The water was bright green. One day, my friends and I snuck under fences, through the fields and to the pond. The entire bottom was lined with black plastic, something I realize only now was because they didn’t want whatever was in that pond seeping into the ground water. We swam for a couple hours, went home, showered and agreed that there was something wrong about the water there, and that we would never go back. Anyway, that’s basically the story of the Salton Sea. All of California spent their 50’s and 60’s sneaking into a pond of agricultural run-off, and then later realize that there was something wrong with the water and they should never go back. And so the resorts died, crumbling away or buried in mud.

We’re heading along the coast of the sea now. Oh shit! OK... OK. The road keeps dipping down and then up sharply, which is disconcerting in a truck like this. We pass these little dry steams, each one called a wash. I just… I just passed Butter Wash. [chuckles] That sounds pretty good. Hmm. Bug Wash. That sounds less good.

We’re turning off the highway in a town called Niland. At the hollowed-out ruin of a corner store, where someone has left a dog, a pony and a horse all hitched together under a broken wall. Past this is a scattering of houses and trailers, and then an electrical substation in some railroad tracks, and then a concrete pill box spray painted with the words “Slab City- the last free place”. Hm. The squatters’ city. A mixture of gutter punks and anarchists and artists and, just retirees looking to make their pension stretch. Anyone who wants a patch of land without worrying about paying for it. The last free place.

I’m keeping back, because there’s only one road in and out of Slab City, and a truck like this stands out on it. So I’m going to have to be very careful. What are those lights? [police car siren] Oh no. Oh God. Oh shit. Oh God. [anxious breathing]

The cop is sitting there. It’s been several minutes. They have not gotten out of the car. Lots of trailers in sight but no people. I think they scattered when they saw the cops. I would have.

The officer’s getting out, they’re walking toward me. I’m going to… I’ll leave the radio on, just in case.

Officer*: Hey. Hey.

Keisha: Hello, officer. How can I help you?

Officer: Do you have any idea how fast you were going?

Keisha: Uh, no. I-I think I was… Well how fast was I going?

Officer: I don’t know. That’s why I asked.

Keisha: ) have it on cruise control, but it should have been right around the speed limit.

Officer: Like to give up control?

Keisha: I’m sorry?

Officer: Don’t be. It’s a common wish. Life is so complicated, anything to make it more simple.

Keisha: I’m not sure what… How can I help you Officer?

Officer: What’s your name?

Keisha: Keisha.

Officer: OK Keisha, no problem. I need your license and registration, please. [paper rustling] OK. I’m gonna run these through the system. Sit tight.

Keisha: [sighs] Oh, Jesus.

 Keisha: She’s been in her car for a while. Her uniform was weird, I can’t even put my finger on how. It seemed sloppy somehow, with a badge that looked like it was plastic. It’s probably just… she’s coming again.

Officer: You can have these back.

Keisha: Thank you.

Officer: Did you have a chance to visit the beach?

Keisha: The… beach?

Officer: Of the Salton Sea back there. It’s the weirdest beach ever, the sand isn’t right. It’s not the right texture. It’s covered in petrified fish.

Keisha: What is happening right now?

Officer: And then you look closer at the sand, you know, of the beach, and you realize the sand isn’t sand. It’s fishbone. The beaches are made of fishbone here.

Keisha: Is there a problem, officer?

Officer: I used to have this thing as a kid, I didn’t like uncovered windows. Mostly after dark, but sometimes during the light too. At night, I thought there was something out there watching me. Even if just a little sliver of the window wasn’t covered. I’d picture an eye pressed up against it. and then during the day, it was different. I would instead imagine some horrible creature shuffling around the house and they would be arriving that window soon, and they would see me but worse, I would see them. It’s a childish fear, but as you and I both know, not an unfounded one.

Keisha: Officer, I… was there a particular reason you pulled me over ?

Officer: You were going fast.

Keisha: I was going over the speed limit?

Officer: I have no idea. You were going fast. Big truck going fast, it’s exciting. Anything that big and fast, you wanna chase it.

Keisha: What department do you work for? Are-are you a State Trooper or..?

Officer: I’d have to check the car, I forgot what it said when I got in it.

Keisha: When you got in it?

Officer: It was dark. I’ve gotten more used to the dark. I’ve grown as a person. I would have thought you’d be proud of me.

Keisha: You aren’t a police officer at all, are you? You’re.. You’re a weirdo who stole a police car.

Officer: That’s an interesting theory. Here’s my badge.

Keisha: This doesn’t say any department on it. it says you are a… “police instigator”?

Officer: I could take off both.., your arms.

Keisha: What?!

Officer: With my own hands. No tools, I could take them off. I’ve done it before. It was easier than I thought it would be. [engine stars, stops] Trying to drive away would be a mistake, Keisha. I’m just here to talk.

Keisha: What do you want?!

Officer: You know, it’s been so long since anyone asked that. I was just thinking about it, standing on that beach made of bone. Near town with its cheery 50’s resort signs still up, a woman on water skis in a bikini and now the whole town shrugging its way into the silt. What do I want? [chuckling] I don’t know what I want. So let’s instead think about what you want.

Keisha: What do I want?

Officer: To be careful. You’ve seen things. We don’t like people who have seen things. I would say it makes us nervous, but we don’t have the capacity for nerves, so more it makes us agitated. It makes us wild. Have you ever been made wild?

Keisha: I-

Officer: It.. doesn’t.. matter, that was a rhetorical question. Or not a rhetorical question, what’s that word? Threat! I’m threatening you!

Keisha: OK, I… Now your turn to listen. I’ve faced fiercer dangers and walked out alive. I’ve seen things that I could never explain, not if I spent 100 more years talking into this radio. You want me scared? Officer, you have no idea. I’m always scared. You think fear is new to me, you think fear is the novelty that will change my behavior? For me, fear is living. And I’ve lived this long, haven’t I? I said haven’t I?

Officer: [pause 5 s] I like you. You’re the most interesting one yet, I can see why they sent me. They know I love the interesting ones.

Keisha: Who sent you, the police?

Officer: [scoffs] You think the highest it goes is some thugs in blue? You think the Thistle Men could live in peace on an air force space because some State Troopers are in on it? Police don’t understand. I feed on the police.

Keisha: Try to feed on me. You wouldn’t be the first.

Officer: Feed on you? We just met. We have so much more to get through first, Keisha. I take my time. Drive safe now, I’m letting you off with a warning. But remember.

Keisha: Yeah?

Officer: [pause 4 s] I could dismantle you with just my teeth. I’ve done that, too. I’ll be seeing you around, Keisha. This is gonna be a good time, I think. Isn’t it so nice, you know, you love your job?

Keisha: What just happened? [chuckles] Oh, Alice. This is much worse than the Thistle Men, I think. They were hungry but she… She was smart. She was very smart. I’m in a bad position here. I hope you’re safer. The woman I’m following is out of sight, of course. But there’s only one road in and out and nowhere else she could go. I just have to wait.

An entire day, by the way. An entire day I spent waiting and searching. A sculpture garden made of discarded junk. A library tucked away back among the sage and trailers. A towering monument to Jesus made of hay and latex paint. A squatter’s shack on a hill with a big yellow eye watching me. I don’t know how, but the woman from Bay and Creek and her entire truck vanished in the Last Free Place, among the trailers and abandoned military structures. I don’t know. 

I think I should lay low a bit. I’m gonna head north, try to stay out of the radar. But the officer… She isn’t done with me. There’s bad trouble coming. I can tell you that, Alice. There’s some truly bad trouble coming.

*The “officer” is the same person who introduced themselves in bonus episode 3.

Joseph Fink: Alice Isn’t Dead, by Joseph Fink. Performed by Jasika Nicole. Produced by Disparition. This episode also featured the voice of Roberta Colindrez.  

And now, a knock-knock joke. Knock knock.

[left speaker] Who’s there?

A sense of well-being.

[left speaker] A sense of well-being who?

A sense of well-being. A touch of the hand to snow. The way it feels good until it doesn’t. the way it only hurts later. The way that the world seems lighter, as in illumination. And the way the world seems lighter, as in weight. And the way the world seems lighter, as in stress. The way it seems like we’ve hidden all that was ugly under our fresh start until the friction of our movement starts churning all that was hidden back to the surface. Because it always resurfaces, because the dead return, because light reverses. Aren’t you glad I didn’t run screaming into the woods, never heard from again physically, impossible to stop hearing memory-wise? 

If you enjoy this show, consider heading on over to aliceisn’tdead.com and checking out our T-shirts, which have the incredible skull truck logo by Rob Wilson. And be sure to check out the other shows from the Night Vale Presents network, including the scifi/romance/prison escape thriller/relaxation type show Within the Wires, and the surrealist beauty of Paris in The Orbiting Human Circus of the Air. And the show that started it all, Welcome to Night Vale, telling an ongoing story you can jump into at any time. Come join us in a little desert town where every conspiracy theory is true.

 Meg Bashwiner: This has been a production of Night Vale Presents. Find out more about us and our shows at nightvalepresents.com.