#cruising through the doom days

[honeybunhottie]

new story idea! are yall in?

You’ve always wanted a close knit friend group. Your entire life, it seems like you’ve spent longing for one. And one day, you believe you’ve found it! Only for your world to be completely turned topsy turvy when they not so accidentally sacrifice you during a camping trip gone wrong.

Suddenly you wake up and it’s 2013 again. Flappy Bird is the hottest new game, everyone is doing the Harlem Shake, and vines and dodge memes are the pinnacle of humor. Mustaches and Chevron are everywhere, and "Keep Calm and blah blah blah" sayings are on everything.

You don’t remember much from this year, but everything seems a little off. It’s like everything is a little to the left. You take it as nostalgia clouding your memory and decide to just coast along. You'll invest in bitcoin and become a youtuber or something. Everything is going perfect, your plan aligning until your first day at your new high school that your 'not parent' parents enrolled you in. It's been a couple of months of you working non-stop at Starbucks, you're feeling established, you even got a cute owl necklace to be fashion backwards forward! The day itself was going well, until a slightly younger Sam Giddings is giving you a mini tour of the school.

Oh shit.

You were desperate for a friend group, yes. But not THAT desperate. They barely even like each other! Most of them ended up dead in your playthroughs, and it was basically at the hands of their friends! Every. Single. Time.

Well, except that one time with the remaster. You somehow managed to keep everyone alive. Not a great track record though! Especially if you somehow got thrown into this now VERY real life weird game mix.

It should be obvious how to avoid calamity here, there’s even a few options! Beg your 'not parent' parents to transfer you to another school? Okay that was a fail, its only been two days of the semester, but fear not, there’s other ways to avoid certain death! Beg your counselor to switch your classes? This one works a little TOO good, and now all of your classes have at least one cast member in them. Your last hope is to ignore and avoid them,  entirely denying their existence in the first place. You think that it'll be easy enough...

Except you never stood a chance. Not when Sam looks at you with that amused quirk of her lip when you trip over your words as her lab partner. Not when Jess hits your arms incessantly as she laughs at your sarcastic responses. And certainly not when Josh throws his arm around your shoulder, treating you like he’s known you for years despite your short time together. These guys were crazy! They were insane in the game! Why are they growing on you? This just doesn't make sense!

Except it does.

Because here’s the thing: 

If the universe was working overtime to send you here through your possibly a cult old friend group, maybe this is life’s weird way of answering your years of tears and begging for a group of people to love and be loved back by.

And there's nothing wrong with that! You're allowed to have some fun in your life!!! You can totally just cruise on by with them, go to a few parties and sleepovers here and there, then say no to the lodge hangouts. Maybe you’ll visit your 'not grandma' grandma across the country?

Except that plan becomes doomed as well. Very inconveniently, your 'not grandma' grandma dies a month before your planned visit. Your 'not parent' parents are heading out of town that weekend for their anniversary. And possibly the most damming and inescapable of all, you’ve grown quite attached to the Washington sisters.

How could you, in good conscience, leave them to their fate without at least trying to save them? These people, YOUR friends, who you’ve exchanged hearts with? You’ve got to at least attempt it. That's what friends do!

So hit the gym! And take up a weird outdoorsy sport or two. There’s roughly 6 months until the events of the prologue take place, and you aren’t going down without a fight.

[janceezer]

“There must be something in the kool-aid,

cruising through the doom days,

God knows what is real and what is fake”

“Let’s pick the truth that we believe in,

Like a bad religion, tell me all your original sins”

“So many questionable choices,

We love the sound that our voice makes,

Man this echo chamber’s getting loud”

“we’ll be the proud remainers,

here till the morning breaks us,

we run away from real life thoughts tonight”

[icky-rickyy]

Joy Ride

Motorcyclist!Logan x Motorcyclist!reader

I am currently obsessing over street bike tik tok. Taking a short break from my multi part I am writing to supply this beauty.

Rated: E for everyone.

Should I do a part2

“Do you really think this is a good idea?” Marissa, your roommate spoke from her bed. She was laid in snuggly under the covers, chin tucked to her chest and cell phone resting on her abdomen as she dedicated the first half of the day to ‘doom scrolling’ as she called it.

“Yeah why not? I never meet anyone, and I never get to show off. I haven’t gone on a joy ride in months.”

You were tugging the zipper of your armored pants up, making sure they were fastened tightly to your body.

“You’re going to go cruising into a bike meet? A male predominant space and expect to get treated like one of the guys? Your tits are out!” She inched up in her bed, resting her back against the headboard.

“The last time I went to a bike meet was with Ethan. And I went as a backpack. I didn’t even have my own bike to show off, I was just eye candy while riding bitch and holding on to him.”

“And I look better on a bike when my tits are out anyways!” You looked down the front of your white cropped top, tugging the bottom hem down.

“Are you going by yourself?”

“Well….. no. I was going to ask Ethan to meet with me. Buutttt, if you wanna play backpack then I won’t invite him.” You were pulling on a thin zip up jacket, zipping it only a quarter of the way.

“I am so sorry but this is my only Saturday off all month, I am not getting oogled at and then being scared for my life while you drive recklessly.” She shrugged her shoulders.

“Kay fine. Don’t be mad when I come home with some biker hottie and we’re knockin boots all night.”

You grabbed your helmet from the end of her bed, tucking it under your arm with a firm slap to the top of it.

“Don’t die, and don’t get any STD’s!” She cheered after you as you headed through your apartment to the front door.

You dialed quickly on your phone, tucking it between your ear and shoulder as you pulled your keys from your pocket. It only took two rings before it answered.

“Uh hello?”

Ethan was on the other side, asking pensively.

“Are you going to the bike meet at the abandoned Jiffy on 10th?” You hung your helmet on the handle bar of your bike, swinging your leg over to mount it.

“Yes. How do you even know about that?” You could hear him shuffling on the other line.

“You’ll see. I’ll be there in 20.”

You hung up the phone quickly, locking it on to your phone stand and reaching for your helmet. You pulled it on over your hair, tucking the loose strands up in the back before fastening it tightly around your chin.

The bike roared to life beneath you, and your heart settled happily in your chest. You were excited for the evening, ready to see what the rest of the day could hold.

You weren’t even sure where to park.

The abandoned parking lot was already half filled with bikes of all shapes and sizes. Riders stood talking to one another while others stayed perched on their motorcycles simply observing or scrolling on their phones. There were at least 30 people stood waiting, and the meet wasn’t meant to actually start for another 10 minuets.

You tried not to shy away from peering eyes as you rolled into the large group of people, looking for an open spot to put the kickstand up on your bike and put it in park.

There was an open spot next to an older model Harley, the owner stood leaning against his bike puffing a half smoked cigar as he looked to the others suspiciously.

It was a stark difference, your bike next to his.

His classic looking motorcycle next to your lilac purple crotch rocket. Dark black leather next to pink and white accents and flashy rims.

You pushed the kickstand down, staying mounted on your bike as you fiddled with the helmet strap. Your hair fell from its tucked in position, setting your helmet on the gas tank and pulling your gloves off to run your hands through your messy helmet hair.

You tried not to look at the man next to you, watching his eyes scan as his large chest huffed with each inhale of his cigar. He had a leather jacket folded on the seat next to him, clad in a white beater tank top and bootcut jeans help up by a large silver belt buckle. His arms were big and muscular, covered by a vast sea of body hair. A tickle of the dark hair peeked up past the neckline of his tank top and teased at the base of his throat.

He looked many years you senior, and hot as fuck.

“Hi, nice to meet you.” You stuck your hand out to him sheepishly, introducing yourself.

“Logan. Like your bike.” He nodded down, eyes narrow with a stern look on his face. His words were curt but friendly.

“Right back at ya.” You chuckled back, pausing your next sentence when your phone began to ring in your pocket.

“Sorry.”

You dismissed yourself, answering Ethan’s incoming call and pressing it to your ear.

“Hey. Yeah. I’m next to an all black Harley. It’ll be hard to miss me. Yep. See you here.” You pushed your phone back into your pocket after ending the call, adjusting your seating on your bike.

Logan was still looking around, watching people walk past and nodding to the few that gawked openly.

A group of girls still wearing their helmets were walking by, whispering and squealing quietly to themselves at the sight of your bike. They all came by to swoon with you, asking where you got it and identifying questions you weren’t unfamiliar with answering.

You could hear the signature roar of Ethan’s bike as he approached, the girls standing near all making a clearing as he pulled in behind you and parking his own bike. He dismounted, swiftly pulling off his helmet.

“Wow. I’m impressed. You might have just out done me.” He stood with his hands on his hips, watching as you pulled your leg over your bike approaching him with a hug.

It had been nearly six months since your breakup that you had last seen Ethan. You tried a few times after the initial ending of your relationship to rekindle, but it never seemed to work out.

“I didn’t even know you got a bike.” He held you proudly by your shoulders, stepping back and putting his hands to his side when the group of people around the two of you finally registered in his brain.

“Well I was tired of being a backpack, what can I say? This is your fault though. You started this addiction.” You laughed open heartedly to him, watching him nod with a smile.

“Well I have a few buddies here to catch up with, but I’ll cruise with you when we get going later.”

You nodded as a quiet response to him, smiling as you watched him walk away and into a group of guys that all hugged and high-fived him happily.

“Boyfriend?” Logan asked from next to you.

You had almost forgot he was there, looming quietly from his bike.

“No.” You laughed to him. “Ex. This is actually the first time we’ve seen each other in months.” You pulled your phone from your pocket again, sending Marissa a quick text that you had arrived safe and sound.

“His loss.” Logan muttered quietly, pulling a final drag of his cigar. You looked over with a flash of shock, watching him smirk as he flicked the tobacco to the ground and stomped it to ash.

All you did was nod with a shy smile, looking to your street shoes and kicking a loose pebble around.

The entire group of bikers waited for another 10 minutes before everyone loaded up. You pulled on your gloves and helmet again, tugging the strap tight and hopping back on to your bike. Ethan mounted his behind you, you both shared an excited glance before you flicked down the visor of your helmet. Logan pulled on his jacket, climbing onto his bike without any protection. He smirked over to you, you blushed behind the darkness of your helmet.

Your whole body was vibrating in excitement when the group of bikes roared to life. There were at least 50 of you. It was too hard to count when the front of the group sped from the parking lot and out into the street.

Ethan replaced Logan’s spot on the side of you, keeping steady pace as you all began to race down the pavement. Logan followed shortly behind.

Passer-bys in their cars all gawked at the lot of you, heads swinging on a swivel as the singular headlights went by in a flash.

The group was picking up speed, going through main traffic until you took enough turns and ended up on an open paved backroad.

Evening was dwindling down, and the traffic was decreasing by the minute. This left the wide open pavement to the entire fleet of motorcycles to cruise in and out of the two lane road.

People were synced up to each others helmets, talking joyfully through about their lives while others shared music with each other in a collective jam session. You typically would enjoy far too loud music while riding, but you left your ears open to hear the herd of rumbling bikes race down the streets and to pick up on any important or urgent comms messages.

Logan managed to squeeze in between you and Ethan, his classic bike groaned and rumbled deeply as he yanked on his throttle in show. You laughed aloud at his ego display, looking between him and the road as he smiled brightly.

Logan leaned over as much as he could from the distance between you, sticking his hand out in invitation. You veered your bike closer to his, placing your hand in his open palm. He clasped his hand around yours, pulling your gloved knuckles up to place a soft kiss upon them. He squeezed your hand before sending you a wink and letting go.

You put your hand over the mouth of your helmet, tilting your head to mock grace at his chivalry. He threw his head back in a laugh, adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.

When you both quit giggling you watched Logan’s eyes flash dark with mischief. He scanned the area quickly, locating and calculating the closest bikers before he yanked down on his throttle.

His bike was absolutely screeching, hollering in a deep grumble as he pulled down harder and shifted gears. He was flying through the group, weaving in and out of everyone as he accelerated through them all.

You were almost shocked, watching him navigate the group with ease. You watched a few people flash back to you with confusion. You decided, why the hell not, and yanked down on your throttle just as hard.

The wind was whistling against you as you leaned down into the tank of your bike, feeling yourself accelerate even faster with the aerodynamics. It was a flash of headlights and rainbow colored modifications as you passed each biker swiftly in urge to catch up with Logan who was now coasting freely at the front of the group.

Your comms system was catching nearby voices, hearing them whisper in confusion or holler in excitement.

Logan was looking back as often as he could when he heard your bike accelerating behind him, a wide smile on his face when you finally caught up. You flipped up the visor of your helmet.

“You tryna race?” You yelled over to him.

He shook his head from side to side. “Not tonight doll, just wanted to show off a little.”

“Maybe next time?” You inquired with a smile, watching him roll his eyes playfully.

“Yeah, maybe next time.”

It was nearly 10 pm when you all returned back to the abandoned parking lot. Many of the bikers wished a good night as they broke up from the group to head home, the others followed back and were now parked in the meeting spot. Most were walking around in the light of the street lamps engaging in conversation or perusing the parked bikes in admiration.

You’d mainly went back to bid a goodnight to Ethan and then head home, to thank him for showing and for inspiring you to chase this particular fulfillment in your life.

It’s was hard to ever consider a time when you didn’t have a bike. From the moment you met Ethan and you began riding tandem with him, you were obsessed. The adrenaline, the quick feeling of flying through the open roads, the deep contentment that settled your soul and helped you sleep at night.

“Thanks again.” You confirmed to him, seeing his bright smile underneath his helmet. He held your shoulders kindly and his bright blue eyes shimmered down in pride.

“I’m proud of you. I hope you know that.”

You could have teared up at his endearment. Sometimes you wondered what it would have been like if this managed to work out with him.

“Thank you. Let’s plan another time to meet up, maybe without the other seven million people.”

Ethan nodded in confirmation with a laugh, pulling you in for one last tight hug before separating to head to his bike parked nearby.

He waved to the group and his friends as he drove away on his bike, peering out into the road before he filtered into the straying traffic and was gone in a flash.

Logan had still loomed by, leaning against his bike and finishing another cigar. You were ready to leave and head home, but felt compelled to talk to him.

“Thanks for the fun tonight. This was my first ever meet solo and you, uh, you just made it a lot better.” You stuck out your hand as a formality.

Logan reached out and shook it, his large hand wrapping around your gloved one like earlier.

“Thank you for playing along. Recklessness can get boring.”

You chuckled in response, nervously tucking your hand into your pocket and looking to the ground.

“Hey?” Logan asked, tentatively reaching for the bottom of your helmet. He tugged you closer, tilting your head up to look up at him.

“Let’s do this again, just you and I? Next week on Tuesday work?” He puffed a cloud of smoke out of the corner of his mouth.

You nodded wordlessly.

“Meet here? 10 am?”

You nodded again.

“Perfect. Good night, and get home safe doll.” He released his grip on your helmet, watching you stay frozen in shock. He stomped out his cigar like he did earlier, mounting his bike swiftly.

You watched in awe as he rumbled it to life. He sent a flirty wink before pulling up his own kickstand. Logan flew out of the parking lot and into the street.

“Oh fuck me.” You groaned, flicking down the visor of your helmet and mounting your own bike to head home.

[setmeatopthepyre]

thinking about the capsized cruise ship, a world upside down and uninhabitable, with doomed loved ones trapped within it. how it's cut off from the land of the living by a vast body of water. thinking about the prophetess Cassandra firefighter Hen Wilson, who took matters into her own hands when her warnings of impending disaster went ignored by those in charge

thinking about one ferryman helicopter pilot Tommy Kinard, bending the rules to safely guide mortals LAFD through a storm and across the deep dark depths to cross into the realms of the dead foreign waters so that they may attempt to retrieve their loved ones from the underworld upside-down cruise ship

thinking about Athena goddess of war and wisdom who aided heroes on their journeys and once bested Poseidon Grant shooting an illuminating light from a weapon flare into the sky in a last attempt to guide rescue towards their position and save them all from the ocean's grasp

thinking about Bobby being pulled up from the depths of what could have been his grave by Buck and Eddie. thinking about Bobby and Athena, two lovers just escaped from the underworld cruise ship, reuniting in the light of day in a world turned right-side-up again, back in the land of the living with all those who love them

(thinking of Buck finding himself, later, in a different kind of storm emotional turmoil, only for the clouds to part and reveal our ferryman pilot Tommy ready to help Buck cross into this newer, more complete version of himself)

[joelswritingmistress]

You Scare Me, Professor: Chapter 38

Summary: The reader is taking graduate classes at a local university in the wooded upstate New York. She is drawn to her professor, Dr. Joel Miller, though she is also inherently aware that he has something dark about him that she can't quite put her finger on. As the reader's attraction grows deeper, she has to decide whether to endure the danger or run away as fast as possible. 

Pairing: Professor Joel Miller x f!reader 

I made myself paranoid all day. At work I avoided going down the long hallway to the isolated bathroom for as long as I could. I had been in that bathroom more times than I could count without a thought. My coworkers were right there. There was no chance this mysterious lady killer was in our building. Still, I felt anxious, peed quickly and hurried out there.

The same thing happened on the ride home and the stop for gas. I wanted to get out of there. I felt like death was a dark hanging cloud over the area and I just needed to go. My parents practically begged me to come home, but I assured them that a “girl’s weekend” away was the best thing for me. I didn’t know when I planned to tell them about my much-older boyfriend - who happened to be my professor. I was planning on leaving that detail out.

My eyes hit the rearview mirror as I cruised around. I was tempted to swing through the Dunkin Donuts drive through for a quick pick-me-up, but my nerves even talked me out of that. I couldn’t stop thinking about Trevor and his odd behavior as of late.

Could it be him? Was he actually sneaking up behind me the night he got into it with Dr. Miller on the sidewalk? Would he ever be crazy enough to follow me up this way?

I was suddenly thankful I had put my social media on private. At least there was a digital barrier, not that that would help me in the physical world. When I was certain no one had followed me home from work, I made the turn up the driveway to Dr. Miller’s mansion. I still couldn’t think of it as ours. I probably never would, even if I was lucky enough to marry him one day.

When I got there, the gate was open and I could see him loading up some luggage into the back of the pickup truck. He gave a wave and after parking I greeted him with a quick hug and a kiss.

“You okay?” He asked me, putting a hand on my cheek.

I nodded. “This just feels surreal.” I sighed, “I’m glad we’re getting out of here for a few days. “I need a break from the gloom and doom and the death.”

Dr. Miller nodded and pulled me in for a hug, kissing my forehead. “Now will you consider dropping Dr. Stevenson’s class? I don’t want you on campus.”

“I’m paranoid everywhere,” I admitted, glancing up at him. I shook my head with a little laugh, “I was nervous going down the hall to the bathroom at work today after they told me about the third body.”

“I get it. It shakes you up. If it didn’t there’d be something wrong.”

I looked up into his eyes and we shared another peck of a kiss. My eyes stayed locked on his as I stared up at him.

“What?” he asked.

I gave a half-smile. “Nothing. I’m just thankful I have you.”

Dr. Miller smiled back, “Let’s get the last couple things and we’ll hit the road.” He grinned and tugged on my sleeve, “Don’t forget your bathing suit.”

The ride to the resort gave me time to decompress. With each half-hour that passed, I felt the weights of Woodbridge falling off my shoulders. We alternated taking turns listening to songs we chose, talked about anything except for the murders and even played a silly game from passing cars’ license plates at the tail end of the trip.

And then, by nightfall, the gorgeous, illuminated snow slopes came into view as we made our way through the final stretch of the Vermont countryside. It was even gently snowing as we pulled onto the grounds of the resort. Another perfect winter wonderland.

“I wish I knew how to ski,” I said with a laugh, “This looks awesome.”

Dr. Miller, linked his hand with mine as we cruised down the long, bumpy driveway. “Well, there’s always time to learn. I think there’s a hill for snow tubing if you’re up for it.”

“No way.” I knew my face perked up like a small child at the thought of tubing down a hill.

“Way.” He chuckled at my reaction.

We found a parking spot and made our way to check in.

“I wonder who’s here yet from the wedding party,” Dr. Miller said aloud. We approached the front desk of the on-site hotel. “Here for the Brennan-Miller wedding,” he told the woman behind the counter.

“Ahh, yes.” She grinned to herself and glanced up at him. “What’s the name?”

“Joel Miller.” He reached into his back pocket for his wallet, handing her a card to put on file for the room.

After punching in the information to the computer and retrieving a pair of key cards, she looked back at us with a smile. “You’re on the top floor, room 522. Pool is on floor one. Gyms are on every even numbered room. Continental breakfast runs from 6-10 every morning.”

“Great,” Dr. Miller said with a nod. “Thank you. Have any of the other wedding guests checked in?”

“I can’t really tell you that,” she said, but whispered, “A few of the rooms have already been claimed but I can’t tell you who.”

He chuckled when she winked. “Thanks so much.”

“Enjoy your stay.”

I gave a friendly goodbye wave and made our way with our luggage toward a visible elevator. When we got inside and the doors closed, I glanced over at Dr. MIller.

“You know what being in this elevator alone with you makes me think of?” I wiggled my eyebrows at him, and he took the hint, giving in to a laugh.

“I know what you’re going to say.” Dr. Miller pulled me for a playful kiss.

“You had me wrapped around your finger that first time I had a drink with you.”

“I probably shouldn’t have said what I said, “ he told me, still with a sly grin.

“Yes, you should have.”

Our lips met again and we kissed until the little bell rang and the doors swung open at floor five. We both read the little golden plate on the wall across, tell us with numbers and directional arrows which way to go for room 522. 

Each window along the way gave a snapshot view of the slopes, where skiers and snowboarders still whipped around in the dark under the display of bright lights. It was a cool, new atmosphere that I wasn’t at all used to - but would be happy to embrace.

At 522, Dr. Miller placed the key card up to the slot and a blinking green light let us know we could enter.

“Here we go.” He glanced over his shoulder at me with a wink and I trailed him inside. 

Just as I had suspected, the room was another little slice of heaven. King sized bed, small kitchen, small hot tub on an enclosed balcony. When I walked into the bathroom I called him in. 

“This shower has like four shower heads,” I exclaimed, “And two more down by your legs.”

“Well, I know what our first activity should be.” Dr. Miller huffed a laugh and gripped his tongue between his teeth.

“We haven’t tackled that one yet.” I wrapped my arms around him and we indulging in making out for a moment. “I really could use a shower.”

“Well, let’s not waste any time.” Dr. Miller unzipped my jacket and then reached into the pocket of his when his phone buzzed. He read the text aloud, “Meet for drinks in the lodge at 8?”

“Carol?” I asked him.

He nodded. “It’s seven-fifteen now.”

“Plenty of time.” I grinned and unzipped his jacket now. In a jokingly sexy manner I slowly took off mine to reveal the striped sweater I still had on from work.

Dr. Miller laughed out loud and did the same, giving another wink for good measure.

I then tiptoed toward the shower and cranked the lever, almost immediately sending a pool of steam into the small cubicle when I shut the door.

I proceeded to strip down in front of him, flicking my lacy thong toward him with my toes and he hummed a, “Mmm,” of approval.

“I see you’re in a lighter mood,” he pointed out the obvious, still grinning as he removed his jacket and tossed it out the door onto the floor.

“I know a way to make it even better.” I opened the door to the shower and the pitter patter of the water grew louder.

When he joined me inside, the stress of real life all but disappeared. Dr. Miller was the perfect medicine for that. A getaway with him was just icing on the cake.

@untamedheart81 @suttonspuds @cesspitoflove @michilandcof @grogusmum @morallyinept @akah565 @brittmb115 @magpiepills @poodlebae @gobaaby-blog-blog @mermaidgirl30 @mandijo17 @shotgun-shelby @itscatrodriguez-thepearl @macaroni676 @acciowolfstar1 @smolbeanzzz @sarcasm-theotherwhitemeat @bandluvr97

CLICK HERE FOR THE NEXT CHAPTER

[blinktwicebaby]

Whumptober 2024

Day 6- unhealthy coping mechanisms

Fandom- thunderbirds

Also posted on ao3 here :)

* *

Drowning was a natural system, one that every animal on the planet was susceptible to in some way. Even whales gave up at the end of their lives and fell to the bottom of the ocean, water flooding their massive bodies and stopping them from going on anymore.

Sometimes land animals lost their way and fell into the water, screaming and thrashing until their tired bodies couldn’t keep their head above the water. They gave up because they had to, sometimes with hours of panic before their airways were blocked with water for the final time.

Sometimes they just went down too deep and couldn’t come up again in time to take a breath, doomed to their watery grave with only a couple of minutes at most with the certainty that they were going to drown.

Of course it wasn’t entirely grim. Other creatures in the water took the provided nutrients and they got to live on, at least until the water eventually took them too. From huge sharks to the tiniest microbes, the creatures in the water always won.

Gordon had seen three people drown.

He’d seen them struggling for their last gasps for air, taking in water where they’d desperately needed oxygen.

He’d seen the hope in their eyes dwindle to terror and fade to a blank, dead stare void of whatever identity they might have once had.

It happened twice in his stingray years; the first was a man named Thomas Uggins who tried to detonate a bomb underneath a cruise ship. They were supposed to bring him on board and arrest him, but he chose to drown himself instead of face the music. He died with a smile on his face that flittered almost immediately because of the current, his lifeless body drifting like a plastic bag.

The second was a teenaged boy barely younger than Gordon at the time, Gregory Axle, who’d fallen off a boat and been hit by the propeller. It cut partway into his neck and he bled out before Gordon’s team could reach him. He’d been face down in the water, the red still streaming from him. If he’d just managed to get his mouth out of the ocean, even a little bit, he’d have lived.

Neither of those had been a result of negligence, and there were plenty of brain damaged people in the world to prove the fatality of a life that a near drowning could inflict. It seemed that in some instances, death really was the much kinder alternative.

That’s what Gordon told himself at least. The sanctity of his work counted in lives opposed to livelihoods.

What about the crippling debts some families faced after emergency medical interference? Would they have preferred their loved ones deaths? Gordon didn’t think there was anything wrong with a family regretting a life, or mourning the person they’d once loved. Was it worse to live with the fact that he knew he was the one doing it to them?

Of course, most of the people he’d ever saved went home with a bad cough or a sore throat, at worst uncontrollable vomiting. Worse than the few who’d drowned, he also remembered the names of those few he’d doomed to new, harder lives.

Harriett Field. A girl who was pushed from her friend’s boat when she was 8. They’d abandoned her in the water and Stingray happened upon her by coincidence. Gordon did an hour and a half of CPR before she was put on oxygen in the ambulance, and she was still alive. She lost all conscious mobility in her limbs and was fed through a tube, and that was because of Gordon.

Johnathon Sanders. He’d had an allergic reaction while working on an electricity rig and Stingray was called out urgently. Gordon pulled him from the water, his lips purple and twice the size of his head, and given him an epipen. Water had trickled into his lungs and now he couldn’t breathe without assistance from a machine that cost thousands of dollars a month to run.

Anthony Pearson. He broke his back when his sail knocked him into the water so violently that he shattered his hips. He was still adjusting to a life without legs or function in his right arm two years later.

Felix Sellerman. Ahndeep Singh. Hillary Bethany Phillips. Roger Biller. Nancy Derwent. All of them were still adjusting to their new lives. Did they wish they’d drowned, or did they still know how valuable they were?

No. Even with the cost, the loss of limbs, the crippling medical situationships, it was better to be alive than whatever the condition of drowning made them.

The third person he’d seen drown had been a woman, Amanda Sorelli. He said she was a woman, but she’d only been 19.

He dived into the family’s 25 metre pool the next morning and ran his usual practise; a 1km warmup followed by intensive. The sun was peeking over the horizon, the orange and pink sky blotted with grey clouds that wouldn’t reach the island for hours.

His intensive swim consisted of all 4 strokes on repeat. Where his focus was usually on form, he decided that he was well overdue for strength training. Every recovery was fast, and every push was hard.

Kick off, six butterfly kicks, freestyle, stop at the other end. 20 laps, 30 seconds from one end to the other per lap. Kick off, split stroke, breaststroke, 50 metres with a turn, 20 times. Kick off, butterfly, one breath per lap. Kick off on his back, 6 butterfly kicks, lowest number of arm rotations per lap, if he didn’t match it or beat it he added two more laps.

He didn’t time his swims unless the pacer clock was needed. What he didn’t have was a real clock to tell him how long he’d been in the pool for.

The rain started tinkling down on him lightly, completely unnoticed. When it pelted down, disturbing the water and blowing light waves, he noticed but kept going. It was nothing compared to the ocean conditions he’d endured hundreds of times before. Not even the thunder brought him out. It eventually disappeared, fading into the background without his notice.

Freestyle. Two laps without breathing. Three laps. Four- his head started spinning partway through the fourth lap on his five lap pace and he threw his arm over the lane rope dividing him from the rest of the pool- the zone his brothers dubbed ‘the fun part’. His mouth didn’t quite clear the water when he took in a huge gulp of air and it delved into his lungs mixed with chlorinated pool water, piercing his lungs without any warning.

He curled into the lane rope and coughed harshly, his lungs hacking up the water with difficulty. He held onto the lane rope for dear life. When he finally recovered, his cheek was touching the water, his mouth sucking in air only a centimetre above it. He thought briefly of Harriet Field, brain dead but alive. She was quickly dismissed for Amanda Sorelli, who was simply dead.

“There’s a mission off Italy” someone called from the diving block.

Gordon kicked his legs lazily underneath him, hands still firmly on the lane rope. He’d had a go at everyone in his family at some point for doing the same, but this was different.

His chest felt frozen, like he’d been sitting outside on a freezing night. He could feel heat coming off his face and he was still heaving from the near drowning he’d given himself. It took him a moment to register what Alan had said and he shook the water from his hair. It probably didn’t improve his hearing at all, but it had become such a habit that he was convinced that it did.

“A mission?” He asked monotonously.

“Yeah, off Italy.”

Alan was sitting on the diving block with his bare feet hovering above the water kicking back and forth, a towel draped around his shoulders. The rain had reduced to a light spray that made his hair shine, but didn’t penetrate it to the roots.

“I’ll be in Thunderbird 2 in 2 minutes.”

“Scott’s taking this one” Alan said quickly, his lips curled into his mouth as he anticipated Gordon’s reaction.

As expected, he kicked his way to the diving block with venom in his eyes. He tried to pull himself out of the water, but immediately he fell back in with a splash.

He grabbed the rope instead and stared up at Alan with that same nasty look, completely ignoring the fact that his arms had just given out on him.

“He’s taking Thunderbird 4?”

“It’s an underwater rescue, so yeah.”

“Why didn’t anyone tell me!?”

He sounded angry, but more than that he sounded hurt.

“You’ve been out here all day. Virgil saw you jump in before 5:30 this morning.”

“And!?”

“You’ve been swimming for 12 hours.”

Ah.

His eyes dropped shamedly and his mouth went under the water. Tiny ripples moved under his nose with every breath and his muscles started screaming at him for stopping. He grunted, the sound muted into bubbles.

“Come on” Alan said, reaching his arm down towards Gordon.

Defeated, Gordon took the hand and let Alan pull him up out of the water. He sat on the edge and Alan threw the towel from his shoulders around Gordon’s.

He felt heavy out of the water. With every effort, he lifted his legs and swivelled around so he was sitting on the dry side. Alan tugged him up and they stumbled back inside just as the rain decided to fall harder.

12 hours. Had it been enough?

“Was it a good swim at least?” Alan asked, opening the door for him.

“I don’t know yet.”

Alan laughed. “What does that even mean?”

“I’ll know the answer the next time I have to swim out to someone.”

Alan stiffened and his entire demeanour changed. His shoulders slumped sympathetically and his head cocked to the side, his fingers flexing and unflexing. Suddenly he couldn’t meet Gordon’s eyes.

“It wasn’t your fault. You did your best-”

“And it wasn’t enough” Gordon interrupted harshly, “I need to be better.”

Alan gaped at his brother.

“You’re an Olympic gold medalist! If you couldn’t get to her in time, no one could. Your best is THE best.”

“Yes, but I need to be better. Amanda Sorelli is dead… because of me.”

Water was still dripping from Gordon’s hairline. It might have been on purpose because his eyes looked shinier than they usually did.

Alan sighed. There was no getting through to him, and he knew it. Tracy stubbornness was next level.

“Scott said he’ll ban you from the pool if you keep beating yourself up.”

“Not beating myself up.”

Alan pulled a face that suggested he strongly disagreed with Gordon’s assessment. Gordon didn’t see it though because he kept closing his eyes tiredly, exhaustion pulling him from the adrenaline of his 12 hour intensive swim. He was dragging his legs and hardly seemed to notice.

He needed a shower, but there was no way he’d last through one alone.

Alan deposited him onto the shower floor and turned the stream of water away from him. He got it to a warm temperature before he turned it back. Gordon hugged his knees and closed his eyes. He might have fallen asleep, but once Alan had rinsed him and run shampoo and conditioner through his hair, shut off the water and draped a huge fluffy towel around him, he came to enough to stand up and hobble back to his room with Alan’s help.

Alan pulled pyjamas on over Gordon’s swimwear and dumped him on the bed. He’d probably get a rash, but that would be his problem.

He seemed to fall asleep somewhere between standing and lying down because his legs were dead weight as Alan slid them under the covers. He pulled the quilt over his older brother’s shoulders and watched him sleeping for just a little while longer.

He’d been so close to saving Amanda Sorelli. If he’d been a little bit faster, he would have made it and she might have come out of it unscathed. She also might have suffered irreversible brain damage, Alan reflected, and really which was worse?

But the answer was simple in his eyes. This could go on for days or weeks, with Gordon killing himself in the pool, unable to stand the fact that no matter how hard he trained, he would never save her.

Gordon didn’t know that Alan knew his phone’s password, and even though this might reveal the fact it was worth it. He turned off Gordon’s 5am alarm and put the phone on charge before leaving the room, aware that he’d have to do the same thing all over again tomorrow.

[unicorn-virus-syndrome]

let’s goooo, doing yet another one. They are very fun to make.

Baxter is causing mass destruction and mayhem with a flying cruise ship that he definitely did not steal from anyone.

Baxter: “Mwahahaha!! Yes! Cower before me demons! Accept your doom!! You are all no match for my genius!”

A small fish-bot wearing a business tie nods along with Baxter.

#23 Fish-Bot: “I concur, Dr. Baxter. Your cognitive abilities cannot be replicated.”

#33 Fish-Bot: “You have shown those imbeciles who’s in charge of this fiery purgatory. All will fear your presence.”

Baxter nodded happily.

Baxter: “Indeed! At this rate I shall cease control of the entire east-side of the pentagram by the end of the day! And no one shall stand in my way!”

#67 Fish-Bot: “Hazzah! Three cheers for Dr. Baxter and his destructive capabilities!”

#98 Fish-Bot: “Hip Hip Horray!”

Baxter: “Hell will belong to me, and everyone shall flee in terror of the name Doctor B-“

Velvette: “Bitchboy!”

Baxter: “Wha- Hey!! Who said that?”

#45 Fish-Bot: “Twas not us Dr. Baxter. Perhaps we have an intruder on this airborn vessel?”

Baxter: “An intruder?”

Just then, a small bouncy-ball with a star on it crashes through a window and lands right between Baxter and his minions. Wait. Is the ball beeping?..oh shit.

Baxter: “ACK! Take cover!!”

Baxter jumps out of the way as the ball explodes into a cloud of…glitter?

Baxter: “COUGH COUGH- Eughh, what the fuck was that?”

Another demon stands before Baxter, glaring at him with annoyance. Next to her flies a mini drone, seemingly recording the fight.

Velvette: “What the fuck do you think you’re doing on my turf, you pompous little bitch?”

Baxter: “…What???”

Velvette: “My turf. I claimed this area already so why don’t you fuck off!”

Baxter: “What are you talking about? I claimed this side of pentagram city, not you! I appeared with a battleship and everything! All you have is a glitter bomb and an attitude!”

Velvette: “Oh if you think you’re getting an attitude now you just wait! I’ll fuck you up so hard even your own mother won’t recognize you!”

Velvette proceeded to pounce at Baxter.

Baxter: “Oh shit-“

[loveletterstoeverything]

on smelling the flowers

Walk One

My dog takes great pleasure in our evening walks. I have not always felt the same. Our walks, historically, go like this: she pulls on her leash, and I follow behind doom scrolling social media on my phone. The heat of the evening feels oppressive, the breeze hot and taunting. She is happy, and I think only of getting back inside to lay down in the AC. She insists on smelling every fallen fruit and darts after bugs with joy. I endure.

On one of our very first walks together, Daisy rolls on her back, feet in the air, happier than I have ever seen her. I pull out my phone to take a quick video of her joy, feeling it rise in my chest as well, until my nose catches up with the situation. My dog, finally out of the shy shelter dog phase, has rolled in feces. Any joy I felt is lost in the realization that I will now need to wash a three legged dog who hates bath time and that I might be late to work because of it. Daisy, despite being covered in shit, seems to be even happier. 

I envy my dog for her seemingly natural propensity for joy, especially in the face of hard times. I brought her home 10 days after she lost her hind leg to a car accident, her side still scraped and scarred from the pavement. And yet the first moment we met she came bouncing over, sat in my lap and licked my face. She was sniffing flowers with her entire cone in the bushes, tail wagging like nothing bad had ever happened to her. Could I ever do the same?

In church I grew up hearing that happiness was a feeling, but joy is a choice. To a 17-year-old with severe depression, this sounded like bullshit shared to shift the blame of our pain from God to ourselves. I spent my life with a clenched fist, nails digging into my palm, enduring what the church might claim was God’s plan for my life. Expressing unhappiness was met each time with a smile and a condemnation: happiness is a feeling, joy is a choice; your feelings don’t matter, do a better job at getting rid of them. Truthfully, I still believe that this mantra was shared with the purpose of absolving the Almighty of any hand in our affliction, though I have found meaning of my own in them since.

Walk Two

My favorite time to walk with my dog is right before the sun fully sets, when the heat has started to seep out of the concrete and dissipate into the air but it hasn’t quite become dark yet. We walk along the fence of our complex, where bushes of purple flowers bloom when it rains. My sweet dog, with her flopping ears and wagging tail, has always believed in smelling every single flower for as long as necessary. I, with my allegedly important life, believe in shorter, functional walks. I believed that feeling joy and that noticing the beauty of this world and this life was something I could only achieve through time and medication and luck. 

I want to be clear: medication is for many (and certainly for me) a prerequisite to study and participate in joy. But I thought medicine would be magic. I was disappointed to discover that it functions more as a life jacket than a cruise ship. I wanted joy to happen to me, and I was frustrated to find that all the mood stabilizers and anxiety meds in the world wouldn’t bestow immediate happiness upon me. 

But here was this dog sniffing flowers. 

Why could I make hours of time for things that made me miserable but not take these ten minutes to be present, outside, a spectator to my dog’s delight? Why was I so annoyed when our walks would take longer while she took the time to smell every fallen olive from the trees, as if each would be a brand new scent? Maybe they are to her. Maybe each sniff makes her heart feel lighter, more excited to go to the next, the way I read books when I was young and joy was easy. Maybe if I stood here with her, I could learn her secret to happiness. 

Walk Three

I think Daisy knew what all dogs innately know: to experience joy we must choose to participate in it. Every walk, she knows to smell everything in reach of her nose: pink and purple flowers, a grasshopper before it leaps away, even the occasional snake. I wish I could say it only took one or even a handful of walks for my perspective to change. But it took years of walks (and of therapy, and of finding the right balance of medication) before anything clicked. Walking a dog is consistent; it requires intentionality and participation. Joy is similar. 

We cannot choose the perfect set of conditions to experience joy any more than we can make flowers bloom, but we can choose to seek all those places where the conditions are right for it. And when they do bloom, soft orange petals bursting open to the light, dirt still soft from the rain, we can choose to give into it. When we are consistent in looking for where our heart finds joy, in noticing where that little pull in our chest whispers “pay attention”, we can choose to experience that joy fully. 

Daisy reframed joy and happiness for me. Happiness is a feeling, yes – one of the many across the spectrum I can experience and express fully and with no shame. And joy is a choice; even when I might be covered in shit from my roll on the grass, I can choose to feel joy that I am alive, joy that there is grass to roll in, joy to not have a cone around my neck any longer. Daisy would.

On our walks now, when Daisy smells a flower, I smell one too. The yellow ones make me sneeze, and the purple ones smell a little like feet to me, but each time I breathe in the flowers with my dog I find myself smiling and marveling at what it is to be alive. Daisy rolls in the dirt, and even though a part of me wishes to pull her back to avoid trying to de-mud a 3-legged dog who hates baths, I take off my shoes and jump in puddles with her. I laugh and her tail wags and I realize that this is the way we choose joy. 

[novocaineheart]

Fronnie Week 2024 Day 1 - Space Heroes

Captain Freddy And The Attack of The Mutant Space Rabbit!

Captain Freddy faces off against a monsterous mutant space rabbit to save the sole survivor of a party cruise spaceship! Sort of...

Rating: General Fandom: Five Nights At Freddy's Security Breach Pairing: Glamrock Freddy/Glamrock Bonnie Characters: Glamrock Freddy, Glamrock Bonnie, Gregory Universe: Alternate Universe, Furry AU, Anthropomorphic

The ship was completely compromised and all the crew and guests were dead. The only survivor was a young boy who’d managed to hole up on the bridge and send out a distress signal from the space cruiser. From what Freddy could make out from the garbled message and the boy’s pleads a monster had snuck on board and attacked everyone in sight save for him. Freddy found himself running as stealthily as he could through the once bustling party cruise ship halls with his blasters in hand hoping the boy was still alive. He’d avoided the monster entirely but heard it lurking around as he made his final dash to the bridge where to his relief he found the boy safe and very eager to get off the doomed vessel.

They were on the home stretch now back to his own ship but had still yet to encounter the creature, which was quite horrifying from the boy’s, Gregory’s, description.  Freddy peaked around the open elevator door down the dark hallway to the stairs they needed to go down into the cargo bay where his ship was docked. He motioned the boy to follow him, creeping down the hall with his blasters held high and primed to shoot. He cleared each room they passed with the blaster lights, checking the shadows of each murky room for the monster. He still didn’t find it but had a bad feeling it was waiting for them in the docking bay and it would not let them leave alive.  They crept down the stairs, Freddy sweeping the bay with his lights over the many cargo crates and machinery that moved them around. The hair on the back of his neck stood up, it was here, hiding, waiting to attack, they had no choice but to press forward if they were to escape.

They were almost at the docking door when it finally revealed itself, leaping out between them and their exit growling. It was as horrific as the boy had said, a giant mutated rabbit with elongated limbs that would twist and twitch. It snarled though its jagged teeth and foaming mouth, glowing red eyes pierced the dark and it raised its wicked claws to attack as it stalked towards them. Freddy opened fire on the creature but it was quick to dodge his shots; hiding behind anything it could while inching closer to them, herding them to the stairs to force them back into the ship. He was able to get a few hits on it but they proved ineffective, only making the monster angrier. Full of fury it leapt at him, grabbing his blasters to throw them away. He resorted to his laser sword at his hip; it hummed as he swung its red blade at the beast but it was nimble and dodged each strike, eventually knocking it from his grasp as well to land near the frightened boy.

The boy called to him, the monster using the moment of distraction to whack Freddy to the floor and begin raking its claws over his chest, through his armor. Of all the monsters he’d fought this was the worst and he feared he wouldn’t make it this time. He looked back to the boy who yelled for him again, telling him to run and save himself but with a determined face he screamed back ‘NO’,  grabbed the sword and sliced it across the monsters chest. It screamed and stumbled back to clutch it’s bleeding chest, the boy using the opportunity to attack other parts of it. It swung at him wildly but he was able to duck from each swing. In a final move he aimed the blade high to its chest and stabbed the monster through its heart. It screeched and flailed before collapsing, a final gurgle came from its maw and its slimy tongue lolled out of its mouth. It was dead, its victims were avenged.

The boy went to Freddy to help him up who kept a hand to his chest to cover his wounds, putting his arm over his shoulder to try and help his much bigger rescuer back to his ship, sitting him down on a seat inside.

“Thank you Gregory. I had thought I would be coming to your rescue but in the end you came to mine, you have my deepest gratitude and I shall be forever in you dept.” He bowed his head to the boy.

“I was just doing what you told me to do when you found me, to be brave oh look the lights are back on.”

Freddy looked up from the pool chair he was sitting on to their house now lit up again after the black out.

“Dad come on we can finish the movie now!”

He followed his son back inside, watching him sidestep the Nerf guns and darts littering the floor before jumping over the mutant space rabbit still playing dead on the floor.

“Dad get up!”

“Can’t, you killed me.” Bonnie rasped around his still out tongue.

Gregory pulled the foam sword out of Bonnie’s armpit where he ‘stabbed’ him and started hitting him with it to get him up only making Bonnie laugh before yelling ‘it’s still alive!’ and grabbing the brown bear boy to mercilessly tickle him in penance for his attack. He wasn’t related to them by blood but he was just as ticklish as Freddy. He managed to wriggle out of Bonnie’s hold giggling while he ran to turn the TV back on.

“Can we have ice-cream?” Gregory asked Freddy who’d watched the whole scene amused.

“Sure, pick whatever flavor you want.”

Gregory scrambled over to the kitchen while Freddy came to stand next to his husband who was still lying on the ground.

“Are you going to get up?”

“Can’t, I’m dead.”

Freddy huffed but reached down for Bonnie to grab his offered hand and pull him up.

“Did you use whipped cream to make it look like you were foaming at the mouth?”

“Yep, did it work? Did I look like a terrifying mutant space rabbit?”

“Oh yes it was very terrifying, I thought you’d truly gone rabid.”

Bonnie scoffed and was pulled closer to Freddy by the arm around his waist.

“You do still have some cream on your lip though…”

Freddy leant down to kiss Bonnie which only led to more kissing then an exaggerated ‘eww’ from their young son in the kitchen who thought it was gross watching his dads kiss, so they did it more until he told them he wouldn’t let them have any ice-cream if they kept doing it which just made them laugh more, they’d never want to miss out on that.

[ohmystarrynight]

The Miller Farm in June

There is no progress without fear! No growth without discomfort! Being so brave and sharing my writing even if it makes me writhe in agony :) enjoy the little blurb/snippets about my oc below the cut if u want ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Cassius lay in bed, thoughts continuing to swirl around in his head as he drifted between sleep and wake. It was a blissfully peaceful state he hardly found himself in. That is, until this summer began.

There was always a gnawing sense of dread or impending doom to be felt with his line of work, an unrelenting knot in his stomach and a racing mind that couldn’t be silenced. Everyone was always out for blood, or revenge or god knows what else. But here…

Here, time was slowed, as if in its own little bubble. It was safe from anything and everything outside of it, untouchable. Here, his work couldn’t possibly interfere. Here, he could breathe.

Clark had made him feel incredibly welcome from the very beginning, of course. Nothing, however, could have prepared Cass for the days after that first semester; of their first meeting. Never before had he laughed so much, nor had he ever truly, properly relaxed. Not once, in his twenty-one years on earth, had he expected anything Clark had in store.

Not the malt shop, not the carnival. Not the cruises in Clark’s truck with Elvis Presley and Patsy Cline and Doris Day and Johnny Mathis coming through a staticky station. No, not a force on earth could have prepared him for the accidental grazes of their hands, nor their proximity when they sat on the tailgate sipping sweet tea, leaving no space between each other. All too often Cassius found himself thinking -more than he should- of the way the summer heat would leave their thighs stuck and faces flushed. The way they would bump together while Clark mindlessly swung his feet as they talked for hours. Or even of the feeling that shot through him the first time Clark had yanked him into an exuberant embrace while he cheered about something on the television. They were watching The Lone Ranger… or something along those lines… Cass could hardly care to recall. The rest of that night was spent staring at his ceiling gnawing on his lip while his heart hammered against his chest. Though he wondered how many of those times were just the sweat and the heat and how much of it really was…. Regardless, the suspense to follow in wake of these ‘accidents’ left Cass reeling. Each night would end the same way, with confusion, fear and guilt writhing and churning and fighting for dominance until he could finally persuade sleep to take over. It wasn’t always just those three, though. Sometimes fondness and warmth joined the mix, along with curiosity and a fascination with it all, which really only lead to confusion again. The cycle continues. Before this summer, if someone had told him any of this would happen, he would have thought them insane. Because for him to have a life like that, well, that sounded a lot like having a home.



Home.

He supposed he did rather think of this place like home. He’d never had a home before, nor a friend, but he could tell Clark was a good one. All because…

Well, because he feels like home.

Cass’s eyes snapped open.

Home??

His heart raced as icy panic shot up his spine, tensing every muscle he had.

You know damned well why this cannot be home. Get ahold of yourself.

What was he doing? What was he thinking? He wasn���t sure what terrified him more: the risks Clark and his mother unknowingly took by insisting he stay with them during the summer, or how easily he gave in to them. Was it all that tempting?

Surely, his will was stronger than a few pleas? An offer of a place to sleep and home-cooked meals?

Stronger surely, than all those hot days spent swimming with Clark in the lake.

Or than the nights spent in the back of his truck bed watching fireflies dance and stars twinkle while crickets and peepers and owls sang their serenades in competition with the radio.

Incredibly selfish. The very idea- the danger you’ve already put them in… that you continue to put them in, every day you spend here!

Cassius ran his shaking hands over his face, scrubbing away whatever lingering feeling of sleep his sudden anxiety neglected. He tossed the covers back, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. The alluring temptation to lay down again almost instantly beckoned him. To simply put his head back on the pillow and be welcomed once more by the serene dreamlike trance he was in just moments earlier. To hell with the day, to hell with this sudden anxiety.

But no.

Opting instead to stand, to somewhat clumsily make his way to the bathroom and splash cold water on his face, Cass pushed the panic and guilt back down inside his chest, somewhere deep and far enough away to allow for a halfway decent rest of his day. It could churn and writhe as much as it would like when he tried to find sleep again later. For now, he was completely. Fine. He owed them that much at minimum.

Clark was a bit more perceptive than Cass really liked, but he would never push Cass into an explanation. That much he could appreciate. But Clark’s mother was a force to be reckoned with. Her radar was truly the most fine-tuned instrument of empathy Cassius had ever encountered, (must be one of those ‘motherly’ things) and he’ll be damned if he gave it any reason to go off. Their generosity and hospitality, their kindness; it was already more than he could afford. There was no need to worry them.

Surely, any threat would have presented itself by now? Wishful thinking, Cass knew, but it was the only thought keeping him from losing it completely, or from up and leaving in the dead of night to lure any impending danger away from his beloved little ‘family’. It wouldn’t be hard to do, of course. And he’d, of course, have no trouble at all leaving any of this behind. The thought of his other life colliding with his new one was just as nauseating as it was dangerous.

Family?

Was that how he thought of them? Who was he kidding? What on god’s green earth had he gotten himself into?

So to the thought he clung, with all of his confusion and guilt and fascination and hope attached. Desperately. Needily.

Selfishly.

[warningorder]

THE LAST STAND OF THE GUARDS

The Gulf War’s Ground Campaign and Iraqi Resistance

Good day everybody! Since I loudly declared I would be leaving Twitter until the Afrikaner rodent was dead or missing, I felt I should post this pet-project of mine here instead of on Twitter as a thread.

The Gulf War, at least in its political aspects, was a modern iteration of the Battle of Waterloo, as it represented the decisive military triumph of reaction over progress and development. It was, as Victor Hugo once described Waterloo, “intentionally a counter-revolutionary victory”. It was Iraq against the status-quo. It was the revolutionary Arabism of Baghdad against the triumphant imperialism of Washington D.C, the reactionary backwardness of Riyadh, the comprador-ship and treacherous realpolitik of Cairo and Damascus. The final extinction of that vast people which had been in eruption for thirty-five years, since 1956–such was the dream.

However, that is not what I will be talking about today. See, as much as I would like to delve into the political & historical consequences of this great war, I wish to cover its military details, unlike what Hugo did with Waterloo. Today, I shall be focusing of the Coalition’s ground offensive and the Iraqis’ doomed attempt at resistance. So let’s set the scene.

Bombs over Baghdad and Gorbachev’s Deal

A month has passed since the Coalition started its massive air campaign over the skies of Iraq. A vast armada of close to 2.800 jets and hundreds of cruise missiles hit Iraq’s industrial centers, civilian infrastructure, energy production facilities, even research reactors, with the goal of quite simply returning Iraq, until then the Middle East’s sole modern economy, back into the stone age. More bombs were dropped on Iraq in a month than were dropped on Berlin, Germany’s capital, throughout all of WW2. The Coalition had more or less proven its point, and Iraq wanted out.

An agreement was reached with the Soviet Union, with the hopes that this would present a fait accompli to the Coalition and have them cease the bombings (and hopefully even end the sanctions). According to this agreement, Iraqi ground forces would immediately begin pulling out their units from the “Kuwaiti Theatre of Operations”, with the last units leaving in around a few weeks. In fact, a shadow retreat was already being allowed to happen, with individual divisions ‘melting away’ and reconstituting themselves back in Baghdad. With Tariq Aziz (Iraq’s Deputy PM & Foreign Minister) announcing Gorbachev’s deal and the pullout of all Iraqi forces from the KTO on the radio on the 22nd of February, this shadow retreat suddenly turned into a large and chaotic movement of units still under air attacks, with large traffic queues and more-or-less total abandonment of all Iraqi defensive works which had been prepared in the south of Iraq as well as inside Kuwait (like the well-known “Saddam line”).

As Iraqi troops were hastily withdrawing from their prepared defensive positions and clogging up the vast road networks of Iraq and Kuwait with huge lines of trucks, heavy vehicle transporters, tanks and other military equipment, the Coalition knew it had to act fast. The conclusion of the Gulf Crisis through Soviet mediation and without a crushing defeat of the mass of the Iraqi military was considered an unacceptable result, and thus plans were quickly drawn up to lunge forward at the retreating enemy columns and shatter the mass of the Iraqi military as it was attempting a cumbersome and chaotic march back towards Baghdad, Karbala, Najaf and Basra.

The first Coalition attacks struck (and quickly scattered) vastly outnumbered and confused stragglers from infantry divisions which had been attempting to withdraw from their prepared defensive fortifications. After quickly dealing with these minor centers of resistance, the Coalition units started a large-scale ground offensive relying on shock and speed to either cut off the retreat of Iraqi units on the road or to hit them from the behind and shatter them. Iraq’s military leadership, after shaking off the violent shock of the ground attack (and in their eyes, from the shock of Gorbachev’s betrayal), made the hard and rational, yet arguably callous, choice of ordering their armored-mechanized Republican Guard formations to immediately turn 180 degrees and lunge forward towards the Coalition offensive to either meet them in hastily and rather shoddily improvised defensive positions or to counter attack them with the purpose of delaying their general advance, so the rest of the 50 division strong Iraqi military could withdraw back to Iraq relatively unscathed. With great difficulty, these ‘elite’ formations were able to extract themselves from the large traffic jam which had almost entirely paralyzed the movement of panic-stricken Iraqi units and prepare themselves for the coming battle. This would be their last stand, for they were the modern iteration of Napoleon’s Old Guard, who had been cut down by British musket fire yet fought until destruction, to the bitter end.

Although the Republican Guard had been the preferred target of continuous Coalition air attacks from the outbreak of the war, they had not suffered serious losses due to their safety precautions and effective camouflage procedures. In an interview, a Republican Guard commander claimed that despite attacks from the most advanced planes at the Coalition’s disposal, his forces had suffered relatively few losses. In fact, attacks by A-10 aircraft would have to be called off for the rest of the campaign after suffering significant losses due to RG operated Strela-10 SAM systems.

When the ground offensive got underway on the 24th of February, the Coalition forces stepped up their bombing campaign on the Republican Guard, using large numbers of aircraft and combat helicopters that attacked them constantly. To make sure his units could set up mutually supporting defensive lines in the chaos of the 180 degrees turn and expected attacks by the Coalition’s tank forces, the commander of the Republican Guard decided to transfer the ‘Tawakalna’ RG Division to rear positions in order to close the gap between the ‘Adnan’ and ‘Al-Medina’ RG Divisions.

‘Mother of All Battles’

On the division’s way to its new position, they suffered an air attack followed immediately by an extensive armored assault in which 3 divisions from the American 7th Corps took part, with massive air support. The battle - known as ‘Battle of 73 Easting - was fought mainly between elements of the ‘Tawakalna’ Division and forces from the US 1st and 3rd Armored Divisions, the 1st Infantry Division and 2nd Armored Cavalry Regiment. American artillery and MLRS batteries played an important role in the battle.

The ‘Tawakalna’ Division fought an incredibly hard battle in difficult visibility conditions due to heavy dust that was stirred on the sandy terrain. Some of its formations were badly damaged but the division succeeded in reaching its rear positions, ending its participation in the war. Parallel to this, the Americans also attacked the lines of the ‘Nebuchadnezzar’ and ‘Adnan’ RG Divisions, even succeeding penetrating the Iraqi defensive lines on the morning of 27 February. As a result of the withdrawal and partial destruction of the ‘Tawakalna’ Division, Republican Guard Commander Gen. Iyad al-Rawi ordered the ‘Hammurabi’ RG Division to advance its 17th Armored Brigade to occupy new positions on the border between the sectors of the ‘Adnan’ and ‘Al-Medina’ Divisions.

The brigade moved to its new positions followed by 2 additional mechanized brigades and prepared for a counter attack. According to their version, the Iraqis sought a confrontation with the Americans advancing towards them from the West, and all of the Republican Guard’s artillery units bombarded American positions for over 3 hours. Next, the 17th Armored Brigade along with 21st Commando Brigade attacked in the sector of the ‘Adnan’ Division in Rumelia and managed to push back the forces that had occupied the defensive positions of one of its battalions. The ‘Adnan’ Division was later instructed to move in the direction of al-Qurna.

Another clash occurred between forces of the ‘Al-Medina’ Division and the American 7th Corps on the night of 26-27 February, after the latter attacked the Iraqi 14th Mechanized Brigade. The division mounted a counter attack with its 2nd Armored Brigade, reinforced by additional battalions, forcing the enemy to withdraw its forces to the rear. As a result, the American forces in the area increased their artillery fire in order to block the Republican Guard forces, who were attacking relentlessly and even making minor advances in some sectors.

The American 1st Infantry Division, which tried to advance across the sand dunes to flank the Iraqi line from behind, got stuck in this area, becoming a target for Iraqi artilllery and retreating helter-skelter from the area. At that point, forces from the ‘Hammurabi’ Division arrived in force in the sector between the ‘Adnan’ and ‘Al-Medina’ Divisions, deploying to mount a counter attack along with the ‘Al-Medina’ Division— a move that had the potential to threaten and encircle forces from the American 7th Corps in the Iraqi view.

While all this was taking place, forces of the US 18th Corps attacked the Special Forces Division of the Republican Guard in the Nasiriyah sector. An American force the size of a brigade (from the 101st) was also operating inside Iraqi territory in the Basra-Nasiriyah axis. The corps’ forces (82nd and 24th Divisions) mounted a frontal assault on the Iraqi positions from the south and west, attempting to gain control over them. Brutal fighting developed and continued throughout the day and into the night of 26-27 February, with the Iraqis, supported by heavy artillery fire, demonstrating very stubborn fighting spirit. In the end, the attack was stopped by the resistance of the Special Forces Division and by the heavy fog which covered the entire area.

Post-Battle Assessment

The Iraqis viewed these two battles - of the ‘Hammurabi’ and ‘Al-Medina’ Divisions and of the special forces in the Nasiriyah area - as a great victory for the Republican Guard, which had warded off a combined attack of two American corps on Basra and Southern Iraq. In their eyes, these developments, along with the 7th Corps’ failure to slice through the lines of the Republican Guard’s armored forces, had prevented the Coalition forces from taking control of Southern Iraq, destroying the mass of the retreating Iraqi military and/or disrupting their withdrawal back to Iraq. They portrayed the battles conducted by the Republican Guard as being among the greatest armored battles fought in modern history since WW2 in terms of the size of the formations and the number of armored vehicles taking part.

In their eyes, they had at least temporarily succeeded in effectively defending against and pushing back various American assaults, and even partially enveloping the American 1st Infantry Division, albeit very briefly. They concluded that the American High Command’s concerns about the 7th Corps taking further casualties and even being pushed back by the ‘Hammurabi’ and ‘Al-Medina’ Divisions caused them to agree to a ceasefire on the 28th of February and to put an end to the fighting. However, the Gulf War as a whole caused horrendous losses to Iraqi ground forces, who according to statistics from the USAF lost 2.500 tanks, 1.500 APCs, and 2.200 artillery pieces to enemy ground and air fire. However, later studies of Iraqi casualties during the war have shown them to have taken around 15.000 to 25.000 casualties, indicating that the RG had, in the end, succeeded in its task of sacrificing its own armored-mechanized brigades and divisions to allow the mass of the Iraqi army in the KTO (around 900.000 men) to retreat relatively unscathed back into Iraq. These forces, as well as the remnants of the RG, would prove pivotal in the Iraqi government’s response to the uprisings and mass-infiltration attempts of 1991.

Thanks for your attention! For further reading I would recommend Majid Khadduri’s “War in the Gulf”, the “Iraqi Perspectives Project” article covering the Gulf War, Pesach Malovany’s “Wars of Modern Babylon” and lastly the article “Correcting Myths about the Persian Gulf War: Last Stand of the Tawakalna Division”.

[doamarierose-honoka]

Boruto has gained significant attention in recent months, especially after the Blue Vortex time skip, and a character who has become one of the most prominent in the story is Eida. From her character design to her nature as a cyborg, Eida is someone the fandom has appreciated quite a lot, and one of the reasons was her most powerful ability, Omnipotence.The Omnipotence ability can lead most characters in Boruto, bar the ones who have blood connections to her or are part of the Otsutsuki race, to be charmed by her. However, the ability can also switch a person's place and role, as happened with the title character and Kawaki. Now, there is information that the inspiration behind the ability can explain much of it.

Disclaimer: This article contains spoilers for the Boruto series. Any opinion expressed here belongs to the author and not Sportskeeda.

The inspiration behind Eida's Omnipotence ability in Boruto

There is a fan theory that Eida's Omnipotence could be inspired by Ryōsuke Takeuchi and Takeshi Obata's 2014 manga known as All You Need is Kill, which was adapted in the West as a film titled Edge of Tomorrow, starring Tom Cruise and Emily Blunt. The main character of that manga has to live the same day over and over again, which is something that connects with Eida's ability.This is further emphasized in recent chapters of the manga when Boruto is talking with Shikamaru Nara, stating that they have had this conversation in the past and that the new Hokage will forget it soon. That theory could explain why it feels like Sarada Uchiha has been saying the same thing for the last three years: the events are repeating themselves, and the protagonist is, on paper, doomed to relive these moments.Of course, much like in the movie, Boruto could potentially fix this situation since there is a chance of him changing things. The solution, as a theory, could be him making some changes to the events and different situations in the hopes that it could affect the flow of things, which is something that author Masashi Kishimoto could aim for with the recent plots in the manga.

The current state of the series

The cover of the first volume of Blue Vortex (Image via Shueisha)

Boruto is a series that has had a lot of ups and downs since it started, although there is general consensus that the Blue Vortex time skip has been one of the best decisions for this manga in the long run. Compared to many other moments in the series, there is a common conception that this is the best period of the story thus far.This is because of several reasons, such as the protagonist's current state as an outlaw, Eida's manipulations through her Omnipotence, the whereabouts of key characters such as Naruto and Sasuke, and the impending threat of the clones at the moment. There is a lot to unpack in the series at the moment, which is why there is so much interest in the fandom now.Perhaps the biggest challenge at the moment for author Masashi Kishimoto is giving these plot points the conclusion they deserve. Kishimoto has been criticized for not sticking the landing on many of his biggest plots in both Naruto and Boruto, so it is going to be interesting to see what happens in the coming months.

Final thoughts

Eida's Omnipotence ability in Boruto could be inspired by the All You Need is Kill manga, also known as Edge of Tomorrow, because of the Western film adaptation by Tom Cruise. This is because both situations have led to the main character having to deal with an endless cycle of the same day constantly repeating itself.

[idoun]

[ interview ]

A leaf, carried by the wind, found itself trapped between lilac strands. A hand, delicate despite sharp fingernails, slowly rises to run through the silky strands and remove the green. Yet rather than allow it to fall to the ground, she holds it, stares at it. Similar, but very different. Just freshly fallen from a tree, its green still healthy but doomed to dry out and join the earth- and most likely to be reborn as part of another plant’s organism.

It was shaped similarly to one of Fae’s feathers.

It matches her left eye, and so she prefers to hold on to the little leaf. Its days are counted, but hers…no, not yet.

This is no longer Elibe, this ground under her bare feet. The fort approaching in the distance isn’t the Sanctuary, where she once waited for eternity. Those traveling with her, they don’t know her. No one does, and she wonders if it is better off this way.

Arcadia was her nest- her new one. A paradise-like place where her kind and humans seemed to live alongside each other at peace, the place she has begun to call home, even though to Idunn such a concept was still difficult to grasp. This life- all of it, was difficult to grasp. She was thankful however, that Fae was rather quick in creating a bond with her.

She thinks about Fae sometimes. Perhaps this is what others call the feeling of missing someone. She misses Fae.

Maybe her decision had been too sudden, but the only thing she could trust on was her will, or at least what’s left of it. Masterless, the world now awaits for her with no orders to follow. Vast and wide, she felt lost even at ‘home’- a feeling she decided she wished to never experience again. Lost in the vast white or the deep black in her slumber, lost under the shackles of a dead man, blind to her own will to take the lead and change this world for the better by wiping it clean of its plague- humans. She had been lost for too long, and in a brisk move she decided to leave her nest, but now on her own accord.

She traveled to where the wind would take her, in search of wisdom and ways to just…learn. Learn how to be herself again, learn how to understand her surroundings, learn how to leave a cage she has been in for centuries upon centuries. The door was open but she didn’t dare to leave, not without someone telling her to.

Fódlan- or so one of the travelers around her replied. Sometimes she traveled alone, other times people would join, she couldn’t understand why. But one day she finally dared to ask what this land’s name was, and where they were headed to.

Garreg Mach Monastery, an Academy atop a mountain where elite students would train to become the very best- be it lords, magicians, knights and so on. She had heard about places like this before, schools or so they called it, where people would attend in order to learn skills.

And that’s how she found herself there, standing before the monastery’s gates with nothing but a freshly fallen leaf in her hands and a hood hiding her face. She wanted to know, she wanted to understand- she wished to learn, but something held her back from taking her first step. Orders that still echoed deep in her mind, but with each day lost their effect and coherence.

She gulped down, and holding on to the little leaf she allowed herself to step in.

Bare feet cruise from dirt to stone, from stone to wood, from wood to carpet, until she looks up to face an older human clad much similar to a druid or cleric, papers balanced in wrinkled hands alongside a pen whose tip was dipped in ink. She was inside a wide room, lined with bookcases and banners hanging from the ceiling, all depicting the emblem of this supposed academy. A white dragon coiled around a flag bearing an odd glyph.

“It is only three questions I ask of you, it will not take long.” Idunn blinks, mismatched eyes locked on the older man’s form as she tries to recall what had happened until now. She was supposed to answer some questions in order to become a student in this Academy, some clerics had approached her as she wandered and claimed to be worried about her as she seemed confused and lost. She didn’t understand, but followed them regardless. Moments followed where she was unsure what exactly was happening, and she finally found herself in this room, with this man.

“Let us begin.” She mindlessly ran a thumb over the leaf in her hand, waiting.

What has led you to where you are today?

She let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding until now. Her memories were fuzzy, her life having been spent either locked away in deep slumber or being ordered around by His Highness creating War Dragons to no end. She remembers the far past, having refused to flee with her clan, but the rest is blank. All was blank for a very, very long time.

“...I want to learn.” Her voice is slightly hoarse from lack of use, quiet and monotone. “I want to understand.” She didn’t know what, exactly. Understand, learn- vague claims she didn’t dare to expand on because she didn’t know how to. She knew Fae. She knew some of the inhabitants of Arcadia. She knew His Highness. She knew Roy.

Her eyes met the carpet below. “I was alone in darkness…for a long time. When I awoke, I followed His Highness' orders.” And yet she still felt alone then. “His Highness was gone, but I still followed…I wanted to lead a peaceful world for him.”

Or at least what he claimed to be a peaceful world. “Then I was alone again.” Roy faced her in the Sanctuary, a blazing slash made her vision go white as the place crumbled, and next thing she remembers is being in Arcadia, her soul having been returned to her- or so she was told, but the world still felt odd and distant. “Hartm-…Roy, he spared me.”

She wasn’t sure if her words made any sense. “I want to learn. So I traveled here.” I want to see the world, I want to understand it and its people.

What do you believe are your greatest strengths? Your greatest weaknesses?

Another dry swallow as her eyes focused on her own feet sticking out from her cloak. Strengths and weaknesses. She remembers thousands fearing her for her strength, yet that one single man saw her with pity in his eyes. “I know powerful magic.” Her dragonstone hung from her neck like a pendant. She was powerful, but never wished to fight- not in her own accord, but if His Highness asked for her to then she would. “I…can generate endless war dragons.”

And that was it, all she knew as strengths of her own. It didn’t feel very good. If there were others, she had yet to uncover them. She wished to discover the world- but also to discover…herself. Or what was left of it.

“I obey His Highness-...I…used to.” But continued to do so even after he was gone. “Without his orders, I am not sure…how to proceed.” Many spoke of freedom around her, of free will. To her, it meant feeling lost. “I know nothing.” I can’t do anything.

If a story were to be written about your life, what role would you play?

An empty blink as she returned to staring at the older man. A story about her life…its pages would be mostly empty. What is she? She was no protagonist, nothing. Her life was spent outside of her own grasp, passive and waiting for what orders to follow next. There was no journey to be led, her journey was...the one she had just started.

“A mirage.” She decided. There but not quite, present but invisible all the same. She considered many roles- leader, but in the end she led nothing. Antagonist, but her view was for the best of the world. Side character, but she was barely present in her own path of life. Idunn was all and nothing at the same time, still alive but figuring out how to live. “A mirage…in the dark.”

The older man stared at her for a minute, before writing down her answer and placing the papers inside a leather folder. “I see, very well. It is done. I thank you for your time, young lady.” He nodded, opening the door for her. Idunn stood still for a moment before willing her feet to move, glancing at the older man one last time and she found herself in a wide hall.

In her hand, the little leaf was still there. A little wrinkly from being held and squeezed, but still green, still there.

A warm breeze led her to a nearby window, a tree’s branches just within grasp. Her eyes finally met the sky of this wide world.

She wanted to stay there for…just a little longer.

[gabratt]

There must be something in the Kool-Aid

Cruising through the doom days

God knows what is real and what is fake

Last couple years have been a mad trip

But how'd y'all look so perfect?

You must have some portraits in the attic

We'll stay offline so no one gets hurt

Hiding from the real world

Just don't read the comments ever, ever

We fucked this house up like the planet

We were running riot

Crazy that some people still deny it

Think I'm addicted to my phone

My scrolling horror show

I'm live streaming the final days of Rome

One tab along, it's pornographic

Everybody's at it

No surprise we're so easily bored

Let's pick the truth that we believe in

Like a bad religion

Tell me all your original sins

So many questionable choices

We love the sound that our voice makes

Man, this echo chamber's getting loud

[sanasmut]

Camping with Daddy

It had been a day you and Daddy had been looking forward to. Waiting all day to set out because Daddy had to run some errands before coming over to pick you up. So you had gotten everything ready, from comfy clothes to keep the cold night from freezing your soft body to the singular sleeping bag that you and Daddy would share, you've shared that sleeping bag before and can't help but grin at the memories of how Daddy was touching you one night on it and it was the first time you fell asleep as Daddy touched you, aside from the movie theater of course but that's a whole 'nother story. Then you hear it, a knock on your door, your eyes dart around to make a quick check of everything before skipping slightly, knowing exactly who it was that knocked, the same person who makes your heart race a little and the very same person who rode this very morning before she left to do some errands. Daddy. You're in front of the door and peep through the hole and no one's there. Curious, you open the door and a hand wraps around your mouth and nose, you see a masked person and the next thing you know, everything goes black.

You wake up and you can't see anything, a blindfold across your eyes. You hear the familiar noises of being in a car, feel the slight jostling of the seat you're on and how it feels to be cruising through a highway. You're laying strapped to the front passenger seat reclined, at least that's what you've gathered and you feel familiar ropes around your wrists and ankles and you smile, its Daddy, right? 

You twist a little to face the driver's seat, where Daddy should be, and then you feel it, a thick toy, thicker than you and Daddy usually use so it makes your stomach drop a little from how tight it makes you feel, just clamping down Daddy's new size.. Your smile falters a little from how you feel yourself get wetter and hornier with each passing moment. A pleasant surprise from Daddy, but you're confused, you thought you were going camping, are you not anymore?

So you call out 'Daddy? Where are we going?'

No answer.

You wait.

You call out again 'Daddy?'

Again you are met with silence.

You laugh a little thinking its a joke 'Daddy I know it's you'

But is it? Daddy has always texted you before arriving and has warned you about opening doors for strangers..

Your voice gets a little smaller in the deafening silence 'Daddy? Please talk to me..'

You're starting to get scared. A sense of doom starts to crawl up your spine, what happened to Daddy, where was she? What's happening? Who has taken you and where are they taking you? 

You strengthen your nerve and call out again 'Who the hell are you and where are you taking me?' with a firmer voice with just a little bit of a biting tone as your sentence ends.

You start to resist your restraints pulling at the tightened knots, you finally notice the way they are differently tied from the way Daddy would usually tie you up. Your panic rises a little, and you thrash a little harder trying to squeeze through the loops and pull something, anything loose.

And then you feel it, a slap across your face, a clear message for you to stop moving, you grimace before steeling yourself and using your mouth, lunge at the hand with your teeth and try to bite aggressively before you feel the hand pull away and come back to give you another slap. That slap reverberates pain through your cheek and you stop for a second. This isn't Daddy, not at all, Daddy hasn't slapped you like that ever.. 

And then you feel it start... The vibrating instantly hits you deep and the hidden shock of pleasure that was building in your lower stomach explodes and you let out a deep moan before whimpering.. you didn't notice how wet you were getting earlier and now there's an incessant vibrating against one of the spots that Daddy loves to touch inside you and you don't want to cum.. not for whoever this is.. Only for Daddy.. and so you try not to cum.. you hold on but it feels so good inside you and your hands grip at the seat behind your back and you're trying so hard not to cum but you need to

You strengthen your resolve, you're not going to cum and you bite your lip hard and try hard to fight against the pleasure of the low rumble against one of your most sensitive spots. 

You, again, steel yourself and shut off feeling anything, trying to think of anything else but your aching pussy and how the pleasure is building inside of you. It may have been 10 minutes or 20 minutes but to you it felt like forever and right as you were at the edge of cumming, crying out sorry and how you need to cum it stops. 

Everything stops. The vibrating and the car both silent and steady, before you hear the driver side door open and the panic rises inside you again. You need to get out. You wriggle and try to escape, your body feeling a little weaker due to your resistance earlier but you're going to get out and Daddy gonna come and find you, all you gotta do is get out.

You hear the back of the car open and things moving and you don't know what happening but you hear the metal clangs and the fear roars in your stomach. Who is this and why were they doing this to you..

After a while of struggling you take a moment to breathe and relax, that's when it starts again

The pulsing vibrations inside you are on what feels like the highest settings and you can't help but let out a groan followed by a cry of 'Get this thing out of me', it feels like way too much and your brain gets a little overloaded with the amount of stimulation that you hadn't noticed the door opening in your side. And you feel hands start to unstrap your hands and legs from the seat, and you start to try to fight the figure unstrapping you but each move that you make intensifies the vibrating inside you and when yanking your wrist hard, the toy inside pierced you in a certain angle that sent shockwaves of pleasure to your brain and you gasp, frozen in place for a few seconds. Seconds enough for your wrists to be bound together and your legs to shake a little, again on the verge of cumming and you whimper but you won't cum, not for anyone but Daddy.. but its getting harder and harder..

So you stay still and let your legs be bound, thighs together and ankle to ankle. The vibrations slow down again and you breath out a ragged breath.... In the midst of your perceived break, you're lifted and carried over this stranger's shoulder, your pussy exposed and you start to attack. Your elbows digging hard into this stranger's back 'LET GO OF ME' your yells echo wherever you are. You scream just to scream, before you feel the slap across your ass cheeks, and a hand coming up to the toy and start to fuck you with it slow and steady as the vibrations inside become start and your brain is overloaded again, helpless to the pleasure that's now irresistable and your body shakes uncontrollably, no longer able to resist, your tears fall from your eyes and you sob, unable to prevent it any longer, you cum.. you utter the words 'Sorry Daddy' again and again.. as your pussy can no longer hold out.

The stranger's hands starts to fuck the thick toy inside you faster and faster and all that could fall from your lips were tiny variations of 'No.. please no.. stop..', you finally are laid down on the hard ground, on a softer material but directly on the floor, you're outside, and there are no noises but the sounds of rustling leaves and birds.. you're scared.. where is Daddy.. Daddy please help.. help me. Those are the thoughts going through your mind as the toy is then pulled out of you and you are forced to lay on your stomach, you feel the stranger's fingers feel the wetness between your legs before they plunge inside you and you muffle your cry because you don't want to give them that satisfaction and they pump inside you, rough. Not a care of scratching inside you, unlike Daddy's gentle hard strokes, this stranger doesn't care if they hurt you.. and after a bit they pull their fingers out, drenched in your wetness and you hear them pop it out of their mouth, a taste that was only meant for Daddy.. you feel ashamed and yet the deep knot that was growing at the bottom of your stomach keeps tightening.. why were you feeling this way.. you're supposed to only feel this way with Daddy..

And while you're lost in your thoughts you feel it come inside you so fast and shut your brain off.. the stranger's dick.. inside you.. A place only Daddy's meant to be in.. No.. no.. No.. this can't.. they can't.. it's for Daddy.. and they begin to thrust inside you ruthlessly.. not caring about how sore your pussy is.. and the shivers of pleasuring riding up your back and making you have the need to cum rolls over you with no resistance anymore. And you cum, your eyes roll back and you can't form words anymore as their hand wraps to the front of your throat and grip hard, restricting your airways and making your pussy throb even harder..

And then you hear it.. 'My babygirl's been very bad.. not a very good girl at all.' Daddy's voice..

It brings tears to your eyes and you repeatedly apologize as best as you can while Daddy's hand is on your throat, barely getting a whole word out before Daddy says 'You came, without asking and begging, you came because you thought you were being raped by someone else.. oh babygirl.. only Daddy gets to touch you like that too.. and now Daddy's going to punish you properly because of all the wrong things you did today. I'm going to make you cum and you're going to apologize for every single mistake before you cum. Do I make myself clear?'

You nod your head, you deserve this. You deserve to be raped by Daddy like this. 

Daddy proceeds to pick you up and fuck right up against a tree and you feel the need to cum again and so you apologize. 'I'm sorry Daddy please let me cum for you. I'm sorry I let a stranger rape me, I'm sorry for not making syre I knew who it was before I opened the door, I'm sorry for coming on something that wasn't your dick, I'm sorry please Daddy, please let me cum for you' 

Daddy says nothing and fucks you harder

'PLEASE DADDY I'M SORRY, PLEASE LET ME CUM,PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE I'M SO SORRY I'M SORRY' and Daddy grunts in your ear 'You should be sorry, remember this and cum, you slutty whore' and all the pent up pleasure that was being shoved again and again inside of your pussy falls apart and you cum, harder than you've cum in a while and Daddy rapes you after you've cum, passing out after cumming a couple more times.

You wake up. You wiggle a little and your body feels sore, your eyes adjusting to the artificial lamp inside what looks to be a tent. Daddy's arms around you holding you tightly against her, in your sleeping bag.. What happened.. Was that real? You hear it, Daddy's lovely voice 'Hi babygirl, you okay? How do you feel?'

You respond 'I'm okay, a little sore' your voice hoarser than you thought it was. Still bewildered at what must have happened.. You guess that's what it means to camp with Daddy..

[connectparanormal]

The Flying Dutchman Ghost Story

The Flying Dutchman mythology, which tells the haunting story of a ghost ship destined to cruise the waters forever, has captivated the minds of seafarers for ages. The Flying Dutchman is said to be a ghostly ship doomed to cruise the seas for all eternity, unable to ever dock. Often depicted glistening with an unearthly light, the ship emerges from the midst of storms or turbulent waters, terrifying everyone it encounters. Although accounts of the Flying Dutchman legend's beginnings differ, most of them center on a Dutch captain by the name of Van der Decken. He encountered a strong storm during his 17th-century attempt to circumnavigate the dangerous Cape of Good Hope. According to some tellings of the story, he vowed in despair or hubris to carry on with his journey, even if it meant sailing until Judgment Day. As retribution for their blasphemy or rebellion, God cursed him and his ship to sail the waves for all eternity, never finding a safe harbor. Other interpretations of the tale suggest that Van der Decken made a deal with the devil, exchanging his soul for endless prosperity at sea, only to fall victim to an endless life of wandering.

Through the ages, sailors have reported seeing the ghostly ship; they have frequently described it as an ethereal craft with frayed sails and a ghostly crew. People usually interpret these experiences as portents of impending disasters or bad luck. People claim to see the Flying Dutchman in the distance, shimmering with an ethereal radiance and occasionally accompanied by weird noises or eerie lights. According to sailors' accounts, the ship emerges abruptly from a mist or storm, then disappears again in an instant, leaving a spooky silence behind it. The mythology of the Flying Dutchman, deeply embedded in popular culture, has influenced numerous pieces of music, film, and literature. One of the most well-known versions is the opera The Flying Dutchman by Richard Wagner, which transforms the tale into a dramatic tale of love and redemption. The opera portrays the Dutchman as a cursed captain, set free from his ghostly state only by the genuine love of a devoted woman. This romanticized retelling of the narrative highlights themes of sacrifice and unending love, giving the story a tragic poignancy. Famous writers, including Sir Walter Scott, Samuel Taylor Coleridge, and Washington Irving, have all written about the Flying Dutchman. Coleridge's epic poem The Rime of the Ancient Mariner doesn't explicitly mention the Flying Dutchman, but it echoes themes of supernatural punishment and marine terror. Numerous movies and TV series have also portrayed the ghost ship as an enigmatic and eerie presence on the high seas. The Pirates of the Caribbean film franchise further cements the Flying Dutchman's image in the public consciousness by depicting it as a cursed ship under Davy Jones' command.

The Flying Dutchman legend may be legendary, but it speaks to deeper themes of human ambition, nature's opposition, and the paranormal fallout from one's choices. It is a warning story that serves to remind both landlubbers and mariners of the dangers of arrogance and the enigmatic, sometimes violent, force of the ocean. The mythology alludes to the fear of the unknown and the uncontrollable natural elements that have long pervaded nautical life. The sea is a source of constant danger as well as a means of subsistence for sailors, and the Flying Dutchman personifies the worst kind of nautical nightmare: a continuous journey without any chance of rest. Many generations to come will tell and repeat The Flying Dutchman's story due to its enduring quality, which resonates with people's enduring curiosity about the paranormal and the unknown. It appeals to our shared concerns about being alone, suffering forever, and the repercussions of disobeying the laws of nature. The spectral image of the Flying Dutchman will continue to be a powerful representation of the secrets and perils that lurk under the seas for as long as people go out into the wide, unpredictable oceans.