#daniel my abhorrent you get a pass for this

[melonmortis]

He ate, I’m afraid

[mrowsters]

Alright: the brain worms have given me a snippet. Also I'm on my phone so im sorry about any spelling errors i miss. And i dont know how to add a read more??? On mobile??? Im sorry in advance if my attempt doesn't work.

Also, I made this scene as a callback to the Incredibles, with slight tweaking, because I couldn't get it out of my head.

__________

The cubicle was cramped. Beige walls made of cheap metal trapped Daniel "Danny" James Nightingale with his latest victim.

Sarah Gretchen Smith sat opposite of him, eyes full of barely restrained tears. She refused to look at him as he explained how her work insurance wouldn't cover her for the medical bills the hospital gave her when her son was caught in the latest Scarecrow Fear Toxin event. Her husband had used the insurance early in the year when he got caught up in Joker's new "prank" on the Bat.

"Your insurance is tapped out Mrs. Smith. Unfortunately, InsuraBat cannot extend you funds at this time as it goes against your policy." He made sure to say it loudly and clearly so that Peter, his nosy neighbor and abhorrent tattletale, wouldn't rat him out for his next statement. He subtly passed a notepad and pen to Mrs. Smith, who sniffled in confusion.

"However, if you were to go to the Gotham Hospitals website under legal documents," he gestured for Mrs. Smith to start writing. She finally caught on, hastily grabbing the pen and notepad, "and find a form labelled "Wage Determinant Form, with one "t," and fill it out you may or may not have your bill reduced or forgiven based on your wages. However at this time, there is nothing I can do for you and your son. I hope his recovery is swift. I'm terribly sorry Ma'am."

Mrs. Smith desperately write down all the information he had given her. Hope glittered in her eyes as she opened her mouth, no doubt to thank him, but Danny interrupted, "I know this is terrible news, Ma'am."

Leaning forward he whispered, "Act upset."

Mrs. Smith, the wonderful, dramatic Gothamite that she was, covertly ripped the page off his notepad, pocketing the information as she wailed, tears and all, in Danny's five-by-five foot cubicle. She stood shakily as Danny bid her adieu professionally from his desk until she was out of sight.

Danny slumped into his creaky office chair. Eyes closed, he didn't realize someone was approaching until it was too late.

"That was quite the scene, huh?"

Danny flailed, his chair squealing in protest. His eyes landed on his other neighbor, Naomi, who was looking far too smug as she leaned in the entrance of his office.

Danny's eyes narrowed, "Whaddya want, Naomi?"

She gave him a cheshire grin, "Oh, nothing. Just appreciating a coworker with a heart is all. One of us was bound to have one sooner or later."

"I don't know what you're talking about, Naomi." He schooled his expression to cheap indifference. She had nothing on him. She couldn't prove anything. He'd made sure of it.

"Keep living in denial, but we all know you're the nicest guy here. You can't fool us Nightingale." Naomi turned back and walked across the aisle to her equally beige desk with a smirk.

"Screw you Naomi, you can't prove anything," he griped at his desk, causing Naomi to laugh into her computer, which Danny chose to ignore.

Honestly, when he moved to Gotham to get away from certain unmentionable parties insurance claims was not what he pictured himself doing. But, InsuraBat had recently lost some employees due to a "work accident" that may or may not have involved a trigger happy Riddler and needed new associates to fill the sudden gaps in thier office and well, it paid better than BatBurger. So, Danny had applied. After a shockingly vague training, Danny was given his own space to deny a myriad of claims in efforts to help the company make back what it lost in its last "layoff period."

Of course, Danny was Not doing that. As a matter of fact, he had made it his purpose to do the opposite. Gothamites already handled enough shit with the Heroes and Rogues wrecking thier shit every two months. The least thing an incredibly wealthy insurance company, who had the ability to pay off claims, could do was actually help their clients save some pennies in this hellhole of a city.

And that was exactly what Danny was helping InsuraBat accomplish. He may have retired as a hero after certain traumatic events but that wasn't going to stop him from helping these people stick it to the corporation like they rightfully deserved.

What can he say? Danny had always been one for being petty.

Short DPXDC Prompts #552

Danny works as a Gotham Hero & Villain Damage Insurance call operator. 

[moonflowerlesbians]

"I thought I had the worst luck, until I met you." go be creative, bestie 😘

🥺 thank you bestie I have not written in months so bear with me as I relearn these skills

~~~

Dani sits on a barstool, one heel perched on the footrest, the other dangling limply to alleviate the sting of a developing blister. She can hear her mother’s sigh from two thousand miles away, feel the phantom press of a finger at her back to force her spine ramrod straight.

Dani sits on a barstool, one heel perched on the footrest, the other dangling limply to alleviate the sting of a developing blister. She can hear her mother’s sigh from two thousand miles away, feel the phantom press of a finger at her back to force her spine ramrod straight.

Come on, Danielle. Appearance over comfort, always.

Social gatherings filled with pinched heels and itchy lacy dresses carve harsh grooves in the memories of her childhood. The Easter mass endured wearing an abhorrent pink skirt. Junior high Honor Roll presented with aching feet. Senior prom marred by a too-tight beaded monstrosity that matched Eddie’s tux. Looking back on it, Dani hardly recognizes herself.

She can’t quite believe how long she kept her mouth shut. How long she took a backseat on the course of her own life. How close she’d gotten to marrying her agency away out of misguided love.

As she sips her drink in the casino bar on what was supposed to be her honeymoon, the unexpected expanse of a life without Eddie yawns wide before her, rife with possibilities she hadn’t even thought to consider.

A slot machine erupts somewhere behind her, sending a wash of flickering lights over the bar and a cacophony of chimes and bells as someone shrieks in evident delight. Dani sighs.

“This seat taken?”

Dani closes her eyes, Midwestern upbringing kicking in. “No, go for it.”

Someone slides onto the stool next to her in a gust of cool air. Dani stirs her second drink, aimlessly twisting the little black straw between her fingers.

“Y’know, can’t help noticin’ you don’t exactly seem enthused to be here,” the person observes wryly, flagging down the bartender.

Dani exhales, fully intending to tell the stranger to shove off. Instead, “This was supposed to be my honeymoon” slips past liquor-loose lips. She blinks. That wasn’t supposed to happen.

“Supposed to be?” The stranger, a woman, judging by the voice, asks.

“I was supposed to get married two days ago.”

“Whiskey neat. Thanks. ‘M sorry to hear.”

Dani shakes her head with a shrug. “Don’t be. I called it off.” She can’t tell where the words are coming from. She supposes there’s something freeing about talking to someone who knows nothing of Eddie. Someone impossible to come by in their small hometown.

“Still,” the woman continues, then drops her voice. “If he was takin’ you to Vegas for your honeymoon, though, seems like you dodged a bullet.”

Dani looks up to meet the woman’s eyes for the first time, and she nearly chokes. “Actually, it was my choice,” she deadpans, raising an eyebrow.

She watches as the woman’s eyes widen, mouth opening slightly as she processes. A flash of panic passes across her face, a flash Dani recognizes oh-so-well.

“I’m kidding,” Dani says, “I don’t fit in with all… this.” She gestures broadly at their surroundings. Neon light catches the hollow of the woman’s cheekbones.

“Christ,” the woman says, tension releasing from her shoulders, “really had me for a second, there. Thought, ‘Ah, fuck me. Come over lookin’ for a conversation with a beautiful woman just to insult her taste in the first thirty seconds.’” She shakes her head. “Game’s usually better than this, honest.”

Beautiful?

“I don’t blame you. I mean, look at me.” She glances down at her modest skirt, dark and ankle-length, and her white blouse, some of the only things she could gather as she stuffed her belongings into a suitcase after telling Eddie she couldn’t go through with the wedding. “I’m hardly blending in. I look like I could be living on an Amish farm.”

The woman snorts. “Look a bit like Mary Poppins if I’m honest. Got the umbrella, even got the bag and everything.” She nods at the workbag resting at Dani’s feet.

“Okay,” Dani objects, holding up a hand, “it’s not my fault it’s raining—”

“Never said it was a bad thing—”

“—and I brought my work bag down to grade my students’ papers.”

“You work with kids, too? Really, not helping your case, Poppins.” Her tone is light and teasing, a levity Dani sorely missed.

“I’m a teacher, not a nanny.”

“Regardless,” the woman waves a hand, tilting her head skeptically, “you really thought you’d be able to get work done in a casino bar?”

Dani smiles guiltily. “Not really.”

“Ah,” the woman grins, “just looking for an excuse, then.”

“I thought it would be sad to drink alone in my room.”

The woman wrinkles her nose. “It’s a little sad.”

“Well, alright, let’s hear what brought you here, then.”

“Hiding from my mates. Watching them lose every round of blackjack was getting a bit sad, really.”

“Not a big gambler?”

“Ah, not really. ‘Sides, I thought I had the worst luck,” she glances at Dani, the corner of her mouth quirking up, “‘till I met you, that is.”

Dani’s eyebrows shoot to her hairline. “I… um…”

“Shit. Sorry. That was too much, wasn’t it?”

“No, no, I, um,” Dani stammers, her brain working overtime to keep up, “I just didn’t expect that? It’s not like I, um, get hit on all that often.”

“Who says I was trying to hit on you?” The woman wears a blank expression.

“Oh. Oh my god. I’m so sorry—”

“Kidding, love.” Dani shoots her a glare even as the gentle ribbing settles warmly in her chest. “I deserved that. Damn shame, though. I’d have thought you’d be swatting suitors away left ‘n’ right.”

“‘Suitors?’”

“Didn’t want to say ‘men’ and lose my shot under a wave of testosterone.”

“Suitors,” Dani repeats, heart racing. “Is that what you are?”

“S’pose you could call me that. If you wanted.”

Dani can feel the redness rising to her face. “Um,” she breathes, “yeah. Yeah, that’s… that’s fine.”

“Glad to hear it,” the woman laughs lightly. “Well, Poppins, what d’you say I buy you a drink, and we go from there, hm?”

“I’d like that,” Dani says, recovering at last. “I’m Dani.”

“Jamie.” She offers her hand for a shake. Her palms are work-hardened, but her grip is soft. “Pleasure to meet you, Dani.”

[drawingconclusions]

THE 2020 ELECTION

Again, everyone and their gerbil is chiming in about the upcoming election, so I figure I should join in, too. Before continuing, you should know I haven't been studying anyone else's reasoning for which candidate they'll support. What I'm writing now is something I've been planning on doing for several weeks. So enough with the preliminaries, let me come right out with it.

I'll be voting for Trump and Pence this election. As I've said before, there are some of Trump's tweets that makes me wince, and certain public spats he gets involved in which I sometimes find completely unnecessary. But it's my opinion that the Trump/Pence ticket is the best choice for America at this point in time.

I suppose I could focus on the positive things Trump has done and act as a cheerleader for his campaign. But there are people who get paid to do that. And besides, you can look all that up for yourself (although you may have to do some digging, considering how the mainstream media hardly talk about it). But right now I'm going to mostly focus on something else, on why I can't vote for the Democrats.

First of all, it took far too long for the Biden campaign to denounce the violent protests that occurred throughout America over the past summer. In fact, some of Biden's staffers even chipped in to provide bail for the destructive anarchists who were causing the damage. So that makes me seriously wonder about their commitment to peace and whether their campaign will engage in machiavellian tendencies to anarchy, which you know I can't support.

If you're concerned about censorship in social media or in other aspects of life, then you may want to reconsider supporting a Democrat in the 2020 election. If you recall, the tech companies who have been engaging in censorship of conservative content or content that could potentially harm Democrat candidates are the same ones who were nearly brought to tears when Hillary Clinton lost the election in 2016. They've made no secret of their support for left-leaning causes and candidates, and if Biden & Harris are elected, I suspect dissidents and people with what they consider the "wrong ideas" will likely experience censorship on a more widespread level. I heard a report that the Biden campaign actually requested that Facebook begin to censor the Trump campaign. And remember, the left is the party that in some quarters declared that "speech is violence" and actively engaged in silencing speakers (sometimes violently) on American campuses. Freedom of speech is a bedrock of America. If you value it, then you should really stop and consider which candidates will fight for it and which ones will casually erode our treasured freedoms without even batting an eye.

I cannot support the left's abhorrent disregard for human life and I can never forget Governor Northam's talk about keeping a newborn baby "comfortable" while the parents gibly decide whether to keep it alive or not. Infanticide is still infanticide no matter how you may describe it. Many Democrats support unlimited abortion (or infanticide) for any reason, and I can't embrace that. And as for the thousands of elderly coronavirus deaths from nursing homes in Democrat-run states, that's an issue for another day that deserves its very own post.

The left has repeatedly made clear their disdain for people of faith. Just look at how Democrats treated Kavanaugh during his confirmation hearing in 2019 and how they treated Amy Coney Barrett during her previous confirmation. Take some time and do research on how many companies & organizations besides Amazon follow the Southern Poverty Law Center's guidelines for charity giving, etc. According to them and others, many faith-based organizations are considered some kind of threat to society for simply believing (as I do) that marriage is defined as a relationship between a man and a woman. And does anyone remember how some Democrat localities and states treated churches & people who tried to attend services during the pandemic? It's just a hunch, but I have a feeling that would likely continue and possibly increase under a potential Democrat administration.

I know there are some Republicans who pay lip service to faith, if only just to gain votes. And I'm not terribly concerned about either the right or the left trying to stamp out people of faith. God is sovereign and He's in control of it all, not them. Christianity & Judaism have persevered for centuries despite severe persecution at times. God's kingdom is the rock from the vision of the book of Daniel, the heavenly kingdom that will supersede and outlast all earthly kingdoms. I speak out for freedom of religion because I don't want to see America become another communist China or socialist Venezuela where both Muslims & Christians alike are targeted for what they believe.

This not-so-recent behavior of the left to attempt to change the rules if you don't like how something turns out is another reason why I can't vote Democrat this election. Look, I'm not naïve enough to believe that Democrats are the only ones who are willing to do this. Republicans have likely also been guilty of this in terms of redistricting of voter precincts, etc. But I'm just a bit astounded (and not astounded) by the fact that Nancy Pelosi & others have proposed creating an oversight committee to decide any President's fitness for leadership, and by the various calls from the left to literally pack the Supreme Court by adding more than nine judges (and likely potentially left-leaning judges). Presidents are decided by the public & the electoral college, not by a Congressional committee & unelected board members, and the Supreme Court isn't meant to be some kind of factory for churning out legislation. They're there to evaluate laws, not make them.

And I know I'm being long-winded here, but if you would just bear with me for just a little more. The progressive left have made it public that electing Joe Biden is "a doorway to a destination". In other words, Biden isn't liberal enough for them, and if he is elected, they'll push to enact their own aggresively liberal agenda in all of its toxic forms. In my opinion, there are too many far-left liberals in all aspects of government already who have done lasting damage to America. Do you really think Lt. Col. Vindman is the only liberal in the military who strives to advance their own agenda at the expense of the country? What could have been if Lt. Col. Vindman & the Democrats in Congress had chosen to focus on preparing for this pandemic instead of spending time on an unnecessary impeachment in November & December of 2019? And do you really think Sheriff Scott Israel is the only liberal in law enforcement who would rather talk about gun control instead of focusing on the real causes & other potential solutions to society's problems? I know there are good people who work in government, but I've seen others who have become nearly psychotic in their pursuit of baseless investigations and mindless causes, so much so that I'm truly concerned about our national & local security with some of these types of people in charge. And heaven help us if green new deal subjects like cow flatulence become a top priority for America in 2021 and beyond.

Unfortunately, many of these people, or liberal activists to be more accurate, can't be voted out. But that's why I'm voting for Trump & Pence this election. I believe they're the best chance we have for addressing the problems & excesses of unelected bureacrats in government. I know that Republicans sometimes give a free-pass to certain organizations. And I realize that conservatism doesn't always equal Christianity. Sometimes they do a disservice to America's other immigrants by lumping the bad ones with the good ones. The Bible says to lookout for the alien or immigrant (...but I agree with Republicans that doesn't mean open borders or being lax on immigrants who have committed heinous crimes.) And sometimes conservatives become far too chummy with corporations at the expense of the common people, when they should be fighting injustice wherever it's found. But this is how I'll be voting in this election. Of course there are some local Republicans I still can't support, and if the Republican party ever veers off into a completely crazy zone, I'll drop my support. I'm not bound to one party or the other.

And I hope you'll take what I've written today and evaluate it for yourself. Don't let me or anyone else do your thinking for you. Do your own homework, look at the issues, and cast your vote. Future generations will thank you for it.

[dvp95]

can’t breathe when you touch my sleeve - chapter 3

pairing: dan howell/phil lester

rating: e (eventually)

warnings: none

tags: alternate universe, slow burn, fluff & humour, tiny bit of inner turmoil wrt sexuality but trust me it’s not that deep, eventual smut, idiots in love

word count: 3,385 for this chapter (12,653 total)

summary: Dan keeps making a fool of himself in interviews, to the point where it’s basically a meme. Now he’s got to sit down for the better part of an hour and sell his show to the YouTuber he’d had a massive crush on when he was a teenager.

read from the beginning on ao3 or on tumblr!

read this chapter on ao3 or here!

Dan has been dreading the seemingly-inevitable call from his family, now that filmed interviews are being uploaded and live interviews are starting in the next few days, so he’s almost disappointed when it never comes.

Surely his parents know he’s in London. There’s promotion for his show on a couple different channels they watch, and his dad has always been fairly good at keeping up with entertainment news. Adrian follows him on Instagram, but - and Dan isn’t proud of this - he can’t remember if Adrian still lives in Wokingham or not. He can’t even remember how old Adrian is without doing the math.

So maybe they haven’t been keeping up with Netflix shit, maybe Adrian isn’t home to tell their parents that he’s in town, but surely, surely some well-meaning friend of the family will say something? That’s always been the case when he comes to town.

After almost a whole week, though, Dan cracks. He calls his mum. It goes to voicemail.

That makes him panic a little, but she texts him an, at work … call you when I’m home x. So, questionable ellipses usage aside, Dan is comfortably reassured that his entire family isn’t dead.

Dan busies himself with catching up on the Heatwave cast interviews he hasn’t watched yet. Patrick doesn’t like to watch them and Jaime couldn’t give a shit one way or the other, but Dan is unable to allow a video of him to exist without knowing exactly what it contains. That’s a control thing, mostly, but he also doesn’t want to be blindsided by a new Daniel Interview Meme that he doesn’t understand.

He types his own name into the YouTube search bar and feels his heartrate pick up when he sees a thumbnail from BBC Radio One.

Thinking about Phil makes his heart race like he’s a teenager with a crush, and he presses play just so he can listen to Phil talk. He can barely remember what he said in the interview, so completely caught up in Phil’s eyes and grin as he’d been.

The interview itself is good. Nothing special, in terms of the actual things they talk about, but Dan can feel the difference in the way he speaks to Phil versus the way he’s spoken to anyone else - comfort. He had been so immediately comfortable with their back-and-forth, only awkward because he’d been trying so hard not to think about what Phil looked like under his nice clothes.

Dan wonders if anyone else can see the difference or if he only notices because he’s so attuned to his own body language, has the advantage of knowing the whole context.

He scrolls idly through the comments and feels heat rise to his face.

Yeah. People noticed.

Lots of comments are just about Dan or the show or the lack of Patrick or Jaime, but there’s more than a few that are about Dan and Phil’s apparent chemistry. Phil, being an out gay man with no partner and a fanbase, probably has to deal with these types of comments all the time, but it’s new for Dan.

Dan shakes his head to try and clear it. He doesn’t want to get stuck in YouTube comments and feel impotent irritation every time someone replies, ‘uh, Daniel Howell is straight’, like they know him. Like he’s ever said that.

He’s been photographed with women, because he’s casually dated them over the past decade, but he’s never said he’s straight. And it never works out with them anyway.

Dating girls is fine - they’re all softness and little sighs and hands that look so extremely small wrapped in his own - but he doesn’t think he can ever be with one for a significant amount of time. That thought is one he usually keeps locked in his mental box, but. He doesn’t shy away from it this time.

Even if he could admit it to himself proper, it’s easier for Dan to just not talk about it publicly. He hasn’t dated anyone seriously enough for it to be an issue in ten years. Nobody needs to know that every time he’s inside a woman he remembers why it never progresses past that.

It’s fine. It’s always fine. It’s just, if he’s completely honest with himself, 'fine’ isn’t what he wants to settle for.

“Moot point anyway,” Dan mumbles to himself, clicking over to Phil’s channel for a distraction. “Not like you’re gonna do anything about it, you big fucking coward.”

Phil has uploaded the video he told Dan about when Dan was busy trying not to stare at his mouth. It’s such a welcome distraction that Dan almost doesn’t clock the title and thumbnail for the buffoonery they are.

IS MY DOG PSYCHIC?

The title doesn’t change when Dan blinks. Neither does the image of Thor, edited to be wearing round glasses in front of a crystal ball.

“What,” Dan says, clicking on the video before any of it really sinks in.

“Hi guys,” says Phil. He already looks like he’s trying not to laugh. “I know you read the title and you’re like, what, but I promise it is not clickbait! As I’m sure many of you know, my grandma had 'the gift’, and sometimes I think she passed it on to me. The question is, did I pass it on to my son?”

Phil pulls an over-exaggerated thoughtful expression and then breaks, giggling and shaking his head at himself.

“I know it’s stupid, but, I also figured it might be funny? I dunno, you tell me.”

It’s exactly as silly as Dan expects it to be. Phil sits on his floor with Thor while the dog 'reads’ his tarot cards. Dan can see why this video gave Phil a hard time in editing. There are a lot of close ups of Thor and the cards, filmed more like a comedy skit than a vlog.

He finds himself laughing along and getting way too invested in what the tarot cards mean, and he knows first hand how much work Phil put into this, so Dan clicks the share button before he can overthink it.

tbh watching amazingthorgi do anything could make a believer out of me, he tweets alongside the link.

Most of America is asleep still, but that doesn’t stop hundreds of people replying. Dan’s really got nothing better to do while he waits for his mum to call, so he settles in to respond to some of them. He makes a couple bad jokes, commiserates with some of them over not being able to have a dog yet, and ignores any mention of Phil.

Maybe that’s childish of him. He is sharing Phil’s work, after all. He sighs and replies to an innocuous question about how he knows Phil. met during this and then he let me meet his dog so now he’s not getting rid of me, Dan says with a link to the BBC Radio One interview.

His phone chirps with a Twitter notification and he taps it warily, still scrolling through replies on his laptop.

@AmazingPhil @danielhowell You saw his face now you’re a believer? He’ll tell your fortune anytime! It’s accompanied with dog and sparkle and crystal ball and, inexplicably, sock emojis.

Dan laughs, the sound of it almost surprising him. It’s impossible not to feel some kind of way when Phil is the way he is, so cheerful and dorky and fun.

He likes the tweet, but responds by messaging Phil - do you have me on notif or are you just always online - because he doesn’t want to add any more fuel to the fire that is Twitter stans. He can already imagine the argument threads about his sexuality that he usually tries so hard to avoid.

The thought of strangers picking apart something he’s not even comfortable with himself is abhorrent, makes him itch, and he puts on some older AmazingPhil videos to calm himself back down.

That depends

on?

Which one is lamer lmao

Phil’s voice filling the lonely hotel room and his words taking up space on Dan’s screen where something anxiety-inducing might have otherwise been is almost enough to make Dan as comfortable as Phil’s physical presence does.

Almost. It’s unreal how much Dan wants to reach through both of his screens to pull Phil closer.

Dan hides his smile in his hand, even though nobody is around to see it, and replies, tbh those are equally lame so you might as well go with the truth

I was on Twitter anyway. I really shouldn’t be, I’m supposed to be responding to emails. Phil keeps typing, then stops, then repeats that process a few times before he finally adds, I should go do that, but you can call or facetime me if you want to keep talking or whatever? It’s easier not to type/text while I’m doing emails lol

And, in a third message, a string of numbers. Phil’s phone number.

Well, that sounds better than using Phil’s videos as background noise. Dan shuts his laptop and gets out of bed to fuss with his hair.

“You’re such an idiot,” he tells his judgemental reflection. It, thankfully, does not respond.

Once he’s gotten his hair into some semblance of order - it’s mostly still straight from yesterday, but it got all sleep-mussed and a bit wavy in the front overnight - Dan tosses on a shirt and video calls the number Phil gave him.

Phil picks up with a big grin and sleepy eyes, and Dan almost hangs up on him to stop the heart palpitations in their tracks. “Hi!”

“Hey, you just wake up?” Dan asks, getting comfortable in the hotel room armchair. It feels weird to lie back down in bed while they’re chatting. Phil is at his desk, phone propped up so he can use both hands to type. His glasses are a little crooked and his shirt is too big on him, exposing his collarbones whenever he leans forward. Unfortunately, he looks like serious wank material right now.

“Yeah, had my first coffee already, though,” says Phil. “You would not like me before my coffee.”

“Barely like you now, mate,” Dan says to try and hide his blush at the idea of seeing Phil first thing in the morning. Phil just laughs. It’s tinny through Dan’s phone speaker, but it still makes Dan feel warm.

“You’re awfully chatty for someone who doesn’t like me,” says Phil.

“I’m only bored, don’t flatter yourself,” says Dan. “My mum’s supposed to call me in a few hours, so I’m just kind of waiting around til then.”

“Oh, yeah, you haven’t had the chance to go home yet, have you?” Phil’s tongue pokes out between his teeth as he concentrates on whatever he’s reading. “My mum would be going out of her gourd. When was the last time you went home?”

Dan doesn’t really like the way that Phil keeps calling it 'home.’ Wokingham hasn’t been home in a very long time.

He doesn’t want to get into that, though, so he just shrugs. “Uh, Christmas?”

“Dan,” Phil says, looking appalled. “It’s August.”

“I don’t live here,” says Dan. “And I’m busy. My family gets it.”

Phil hums, a little disapproving still. Dan has to bite his tongue so he doesn’t say anything scathing, reminding himself that some people actually like their parents.

It’s not that Dan doesn’t love them, because he does, it’s just. Complicated.

“Do you get to see your family often?” Dan asks, desperate to get the attention off of how shit a son he is.

“Not as often as I’d like,” says Phil. He sounds so genuinely sad about it, like he really would like nothing more than to go visit his parents every weekend. “My brother lives in town, so I see him a lot.”

“I didn’t know you had a brother.”

“Yeah, he’s -” Phil cuts himself off, then, and gives Dan an apologetic sort of look through his screen. “You don’t want to hear about my family.”

“I do,” Dan says, and he’s surprised by how much he means it. He shifts in the armchair. It isn’t that comfortable. “Dude, I already know every song on your iTunes, what’s so weird about telling me stuff about your family? They clearly mean a lot to you.”

He has no idea how to interpret the expression on Phil’s face, but whatever it is shifts into a smile as he turns back to his computer. “Okay, his name’s Martyn, he’s older than me, we work together -”

This time, Dan cuts him off. “You do? I haven’t seen him on your channel.”

“He’s not really interested in being on camera. We actually run IRL Merch together, although honestly it’s mostly Martyn.”

Phil explains the business to Dan, who feels himself getting more and more awed by the amount of stuff Phil does on any given day. It isn’t just sitting in front of his camera and then in front of his computer for a handful of hours.

Granted, Dan never thought that being a YouTuber was easy, or everyone would do it, but Phil seems to add things onto his plate that he doesn’t really need to do.

Dan listens for a little while, changing positions in the armchair a few times before he gives up and flops back onto the bed.

“Phil,” he says, holding his phone high above his head and making a face at the angle. It’s fine, really, Phil has barely been glancing at him this whole time. Now that Dan has some kind of idea about the number of people Phil works with, he gets the hours of emails thing. “Do you ever take a break? Hang out with your friends?”

“What friends?” Phil jokes, but Dan senses there’s some truth behind it.

“Okay, first of all,” says Dan, “big mood.”

Phil’s laugh seems like it’s surprised out of him, and his eyes flick to his phone again. They linger on Dan for a long moment before turning away again. Although, to be fair, that may be lag from shitty hotel wifi. “Is it?”

“Yeah, man, like I’ve got any fucking friends. Second of all, you need to take some breaks or you’re going to burn the fuck out.”

“Trust me, I know,” says Phil.

“I know Thor already reminds you to take breaks,” says Dan. “But he can’t force you to. I can.”

“You’re gonna force me to take breaks?” Phil hums, his eyebrows raising. “How exactly are you going to manage that when you’re back in Atlanta?”

“I can be very annoying with nothing but an internet connection,” Dan promises. “You wanna see?”

“No, no, I believe you, and I need to get this done, please don’t.”

They both laugh, quiet, and Dan curls up on his side to just watch Phil work for a little while. Phil runs his fingers through his hair every so often and mouths along to whatever he types. Dan has no idea how one person can simultaneously be the hottest and the most adorable thing ever.

“I have a brother too,” Dan offers.

“Do you?” Phil asks, more surprised than Dan expects him to be. “That’s not on your Wikipedia.”

“He doesn’t like the attention,” says Dan. It’s a half-truth. Most of what he says about his family are half-truths. “But you’re not, like, a stan account or the media or whatever.”

“Technically, I am both,” Phil jokes. “I’ll keep it to myself, though, don’t worry.”

Dan isn’t worried. He trusts Phil not to go blabbing about him on the radio, even with something as small as Adrian’s existence.

It feels a little strange to trust someone so immediately, and part of Dan wants to pull back, put some distance between them, because the combination of trust and a deepening crush can only spell disaster. He’s not going to do that. He’s only got Phil nearby for another two weeks.

After they’ve finished their media circus in London, then Edinburgh, then Dublin, Dan is off to France with Patrick and Jaime. They’re only hitting a handful of international media press, but that’s more than they were asked to do last year. It’s exciting to be expanding this way, to have something to point to and say, 'I did that before I was 30’.

And when they’re done with the press tour, Dan… goes home. Back to Atlanta, where his apartment is being sublet during his summer travelling.

They don’t even know yet if Heatwave will get a fourth season. It’s a bit of an industry joke that Netflix shows rarely make it past the third. Dan doesn’t even want to consider how Atlanta will feel without a steady filming job down the street.

Probably not much like home. Nowhere feels all that much like home, if Dan’s honest.

“Hey, you still with me?”

Dan blinks away the doom and gloom of his uncertain future and refocuses on the conversation he’s supposed to be a part of. Phil is looking at him now, the sort of undivided attention that makes Dan’s cheeks burn.

“Yeah, sorry,” says Dan. “I’m still here. Have you made a dent in those emails?”

Not the most graceful change of subject, but Phil allows it with a small snort. “No, for I am Sisyphus, doomed to answer a dozen emails only for another dozen to arrive.”

“Maybe if you didn’t have, like, three jobs, this wouldn’t be a problem,” Dan points out. “I get maybe two important emails a day. It’s great.”

“Maybe,” says Phil. He’s still just looking at Dan, his chin resting on an open palm.

“What?” Dan asks, feeling a smile tug at his lips.

Phil smiles back, brighter. “Nothing.”

There’s a warmth in his face, visible even through the mediocre FaceTime quality, that makes Dan’s stomach twist all up in knots. He doesn’t know how to handle that at all. “My mum’s calling I gotta go bye,” he says in one breath, hanging up before Phil can even react.

While he waits for his heart to stop pounding, Dan stares at the hotel ceiling and wonders what the fuck is wrong with him.

–

Dan’s mum does call, eventually. He’s been fucking around on Guild Wars and cursing the wifi for god only knows how long, refusing to check his phone so he doesn’t have to be faced with another message - or the lack of one - from Phil. Dan finishes the raid and then calls his mum back.

“Daniel, hi,” she says, sounding frazzled in the way she always seems to.

“Hey, mum.” It feels weird, now that he’s got her on the phone, but he pushes past that discomfort. “I was just calling to let you know that I’m in London.”

The sound of a door slamming comes through before his mum says, “Well, yes, dear. I know that.”

She doesn’t sound upset with him. More than anything, she sounds confused. Like she doesn’t know why he’s even telling her this. Like it hasn’t even occurred to her to nag her son for a visit. Dan has to swallow past a lump in his throat, not sure why he wishes she was angry.

“Oh,” he says. Allows a long moment of quiet to pass, just in case she wants to explain herself. She doesn’t. “Well. Okay. Do you - are you busy weekend after next? I could come see you before we leave for the continent.”

“That’s quite short notice, dear,” his mum says, and Dan experiences a dizzying rush of relief and distress before she continues. “But I’m sure I can make some time for dinner.”

Dan exhales. Dinner. He can do dinner.

“That sounds good,” he says. Another half-truth. “I’ll text you?”

“Yes, yes,” his mum says, already sounding distracted. “Text me and we’ll make a proper plan. Work hard til then, okay? I love you.”

“I love you too. Bye.”

The call ends almost as abruptly as his call with Phil, but Dan is okay with that.

im going to see my fam before i leave england jsyk, Dan texts to Phil. Phil sends him celebratory emojis in response. And maybe dinner with his family will be horrible, maybe it will be great, most likely it will be slightly uncomfortable, but at least he isn’t disappointing Phil on top of everyone else he’s let down.

[papipopsicle]

NOT WARRIORS PART TWO

Pairing: Billy Hargrove X Reader

Genre: fluff

Summary: In which the reader's parents are going through a rough patch, it takes it's toll on her, and they decide it's best for her to stay with family friends on the other side of America. Y/N and Billy aren't the same since they last saw each other, but somehow they are.

Song: Sunnyland by Mayday Parade

Warnings: swearing

Words: 2K

PART ONE

feedback is always appreciated

Three days.

That's how long it took for the plain walls of Billy's bedroom to drive Y/N positively insane. The garden was an overgrown jungle she didn't dare venture into, and being anywhere else in the house meant seeing and then speaking to Neil. For as long as her memories stretched, her best friend's father played the facade of a perfect gentleman in front of neighbours and friends, but she only saw the reptile that lay so close to the surface. The mere thought of him made her skin crawl like a thousand swarming fire ants.

Billy was either at school causing trouble, or out with his new friends causing trouble, only a few minutes each day spare for his best girl. It wasn't intentional, but the fact that Max even played Monopoly with her out of pity was making Y/N's eyes itch to see further than the boundaries of the small property.

"Y/N?" A gravelly voice sounded from the doorway questioningly. It was early and her clothes covered every single surface of the tiny bedroom. She sat on the edge of the bed with a vanity mirror facing the window, a light blue fluffy towel hugged to her body while her damp y/h/c hair fell in ringlets down her covered back. She put down whatever makeup utensil her hand held and turned to see Billy with a look of horror etched into his features.

A small scoff exited her lips and Y/N went back to applying various products to her face, "This house is beginning to give me the skeevies, -"

"Try living here for six months." The boy joked, his expression softening as he closes the door and lay back on the bed, the sudden dip forcing Y/N to correct her lipstick moments later.

"I'm coming to school with you today." She finished adamantly and turns to grin at Billy with wild eyes.

He shakes his head immediately and groans into the grey pillow, "That's a terrible idea."

"A brilliant idea, I'm glad you agree." Y/N's hands clasp together and her grin only widened at his now pouting mouth, "You can properly introduce me to your new friends, plus I want to see how jealous your fan base get when they see how much you love me." She teases and leaves the bed to search through the outfits strategically laid out around the room.

Y/N hears a chuckle from behind her and she knows she's won, her lips settling into a smirk, "How do you expect to be let into the school, Bambi?"

The girl pauses her search to smile at the nickname Billy had chosen for her years ago. Her stomach does a little somersault as she attempts to cool the blush creeping up on her cheeks. It was easy to sweep aside the boy's classic handsomeness after knowing him since birth and always thinking of him as the kid that ate a mud-pie thinking it was an actual pie. But after being apart, after he learnt to channel his constant anger into working out instead of breaking walls, he wasn't that little kid anymore.

Like the flick of a switch Y/N comes back to reality, shaking those thoughts from her head to muster the most innocent smile possible, "I may or may not have phoned up yesterday, possibly explaining my current situation and I might've asked for a visitors pass. Maybe." Before he can let out one syllable though, she silences him with a dainty finger over his lips and her own melodic voice, "Don't try to change my mind, do you know how difficult it is to avoid Susan? I don't think she's believing that the only two things I do are either sleep or shower and nothing else. Please? I know you have appearances to keep up and people here are more misogynistic than in California, but I'm genuinely dying from boredom. A few strange looks and comments are better than sitting here waiting for you to come back only to watch you leave again."

"Fine." A smile pulled at the boy's lips, his annoyed tone dissipating as Y/N let out a gleeful squeal. Billy finally sat up and watched with curious eyes while his best friend attempted to create the perfect outfit, "You want to make an impression?" She perked up and hummed in response at his question, "Wear the green dress and Daniel's jacket."

“Thanks,” The girl grinned up at him, feeling his arms snake around her waist and tug her close. Her back fell into his chest, warm and inviting but nothing like the quick hug goodbye from him she’d become so accustomed to over the years. His grip was tighter, scared that Y/N would fly back to California and never be seen again if he let go too soon. She closed her eyes in content and began running her smooth hands up and down the exposed skin on his wrist. Billy found that moment too perfect though, this wasn’t how they behaved around each other, they never did this.

He quickly moved his hands to jab her sides and his best friend squeaked in surprise, giggling and trying to catch her breath before retaliating by squeezing his knee, “You fucker, you know I hate being tickled.”

He shrugged, not so subtly eyeing her down from her smoothed tanned legs up to her beautifully made up face, “Get dressed and I’ll stop then.”

She gathered the clothes he had chosen and locked the bathroom door behind her, not before flipping him off.

Y/N changed into the outfit the boy had chosen, confused by what impression she was trying to make. Although the dress was tight and rather short and made her show a heck of a lot more skin than all the jean clad girls of Hawkins, it was one of the most conservative dresses in her ownership. The emerald colour complemented her tanned skin, and the ribbed material hugged her torso elegantly, flaring out at the waist to create a whirlwind of swishes whenever she turned.

Her older brother's jacket hugged Y/N's shoulders tightly while she waited for Billy to fix himself up enough to be presentable for his royal subjects. The girl didn't have any textbooks or stationary with her, planning to be the devil in Billy's ear and simply watch chaos ensue for the day.

He appeared after a few minutes of waiting-forced to be quiet as Susan wanted to sleep in- with a tentative dimpled smile on his peachy lips and car keys in hand.

The four kids from three days ago appeared early this morning calling for Max, her rushed 'goodbye' filling the house with excitement before the door slammed shut behind her.

"So," Billy drummed his fingers against the steering wheel while some sort of rock roared in the background, "How's home been without me around?"

The scene felt so familiar, riding shotgun in the blue Camaro, music pounding into her skull while her best friend drove around aimlessly for hours on end. She knew exactly where her answer was headed, and Y/N's stomach dropped thinking back to the months without Billy around. The girl found a dependability within him, he protected her and this car became her safe haven late into the night when she couldn't sleep or think straight because her parents were too busy tearing each other's heads off.

She hoped and prayed that the muscly boy beside her still shared that security.

Y/N began clicking her knuckles and scoffed, realising he couldn't hear the abhorrence radiating from her sharply raised eyebrow, "Shit."

She didn't have a poetic way to explain why life with Billy was better, it just was. He kissed her cuts and bruises better even after falling off her motorbike at sixteen when it was stationary. She could play pranks on him and know he'd forgive her in an hour or so, even when they went too far. He gave her the space she asked for when life got tough and she wanted to get through it alone, and then held her when she broke down realising she couldn't. Life without him wasn't unliveable, but it wasn't right either.

"Kelly and Cameron have broken up and got back together so many times I've lost count, the people that brought your house are absolute arseholes, but they have a cute dog called Obi so I can't complain. Jessie cheated on Steve with Jack, because you know, it's Jessie, Steve punched Jack and now they're together and Steve's pining over Amy. Dean broke his leg trying to jump from the roof of Rosie's pool-house onto the trampoline then into the pool, but he landed really badly. And I just watched from the sidelines pretending to care about their drama." Y/N chuckled to herself at the amount of times Kelly had come crying to her wanting relationship advice.

"Delilah?" Billy assumed by his best friend turning up in Indiana, something must have happened between the two. He didn't want to pry, he teased Y/N endlessly about how happy she seemed with her short, gorgeously tanned girlfriend, but that all switched if she wasn't truly happy.

The air tasted bitter on her tongue at his words, "She didn't want me to leave, said long distance doesn't work when you're already hiding your relationship from nearly the entire world. She dumped me, and I nearly stayed for her. But at my going away surprise party, I walked in on her and Jessie making out in my brother's room. I mean, she didn't cheat as far as I know, but it made it a whole lot easier for me to leave."

"Guess everyone wants a bit of Jessie... slut deserves chlamydia." Billy hummed and the two chuckled at his latter statement. He managed to brighten the sour mood right in time for the camaro to pull into the small high school car park.

The sky had lightened ever so slightly, a break in the endless clouds allowing the smallest rays of sunlight to shine down on the teens from the heavens. Y/N could practically feel the stares of Billy's classmates boring through her skull and smashing her brains with a metaphorical hammer as she stepped out of the car. To them, she was the Californian dream girl. Pretty curly hair that never seemed to frizz and skin so soft once someone touched it, they craved the inexplicable sensation.

Y/N walked on without the boy, feeling his heavy arm drape over her smaller shoulders in a matter of moments. It was a warning to the lingering gazes, she was off limits. Any conversations were soon extinguished in the halls as the two entered, eyes carefully inspecting and scrutinising the stranger on their King's arm.

"I bet she's pregnant and he's the father." One girl whispered to her group of friends.

Then from another group of girls down the hallway, "I wonder if she knows Billy's fucked half of the girls in his year-"

One of the friends snorted, "Whore's probably screwed anyone who offered back home, don't feel sorry for her."

Billy must have heard all the snide comments being thrown about because Y/N felt his grip tighten around her. She paused her steps to the guidance office and the boy mirrored, searching her face in worry to find the same look as the time that she kicked Owen Howarth right where it hurt in the middle of the cafeteria, and called him out for saying she blew him in the locker room when in reality she caught him perving on the girls showers. He couldn't walk properly for two weeks.

The girl, only a couple inches off Billy's own height, took a small step to close the distance between them and whispered, "Follow my lead."

Y/N stepped back quickly but was soon pulled back into his arms, and she felt his breath hot on her ear, "They aren't worth it, Bambi, trust me?"

Billy saw her look around at the stunned students with a wicked gaze, and just when he thought he knew every last detail about her, she shocked him. Y/N's eyes found their way back to his, thoughts stilling as the effervescent kindness behind his touch lingered on her waist. They flickered down to his lips before quickly shutting, and her hands reached up on their own accord to the back of his neck pulling him down to meet her.

She kissed him and the whole world fell away. It was slow and soft, his hand rest below her ear, thumb caressing her cheek as their breath mingled. In an instant they both pulled away, eyes blown wide with invisible smiles grinning from their hearts.

"I'll come find you after class." She hummed blissfully, turning on her heel leaving Billy alone to try and find the guidance office. Y/N kept her head high and hands in the safety of Daniel's jacket pockets, not daring to look at the faces of the boy's classmates or back at him.

Her mind screamed to turn back around, drag Billy out of the school and apologise. That's not how she pictured their first kiss, up until moving to this god forsaken town the thought hadn't even crossed her mind.

What the hell did I just do?

part three?

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[sunflowerseedsandscience]

By the Dim and Flaring Lamps: Part Four, Chapter Two

Part One: One | Two | Three | Four Part Two: One | Two | Three | Four | Five Part Three: One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six Part Four: One

NOVEMBER 1863 CULPEPER, VIRGINIA

Dana Scully has never been good at staying still.

Her parents have always told stories- her father fondly, and her mother with an air of patient exasperation- of how, even as a baby, little Dana had always been into everything, crawling early, walking early, and climbing early, leaving her parents and her older siblings to chase her all over the house. To hear Maggie Scully tell it, Dana had been very lucky to live long enough to see her first birthday.

As a child, she had had no patience whatsoever for her mother's endless embroidery lessons, preferring instead to sneak off to ride her father's horses, to trail through the alleyways of the town after her brothers, and later, once her father had finally broken down and agreed to teach her to shoot, to go hunting in the woods. Her mother had never approved of these expeditions, at least not explicitly, but since Dana had been a far better shot than either of her brothers (and even her father), Maggie had never minded the extra meat her daughter had brought to the dinner table. Feeding six people could be an expensive endeavor.

As she had gotten older, the only thing that seemed to be able to keep Dana Scully seated in one place for any length of time had been her studies. A devoted and conscientious student, she had far outpaced the lessons set for her by the local school, and her father, concerned that his youngest would not be challenged enough, had engaged a private tutor to take over her education. Her mother had balked at the idea, worried that the expense would be an extravagance (and quite possibly wasted on a girl), but William Scully had insisted. He had, himself, had great scholastic aptitude in his youth, and while his own parents had not had the means to help him reach his full potential, he had been determined that his daughter would be allowed to reach hers.

But still, in between her lessons, teenaged Scully had had very little patience for the quiet and ladylike endeavors her mother had tried to plan for her. And now, with only a year left in her teens, her abhorrence for inactivity persists. The army, with its daily drilling and frequent long-distance marches, had been ideal for her... but now, stuck lying in bed day after day, she's in a pitiable state.

During the first two weeks, Melissa brings her nearly every book in the house that she can find. Scully is dismayed to find that she has already read nearly every volume housed in Samantha Mulder's shelves, and has read at least half of her brother's. Bill Mulder's library is mostly comprised of ponderous religious tomes of dubious modern relevancy, and technical books on farming methods. Even less helpful is Teena Mulder's tiny collection of etiquette and outdated child-rearing manuals (though Teena has, to Scully's surprise, fairly recent editions of Charles Knowlton's Fruits of Philosophy and Robert Dale Owen's Moral Physiology, both of which she reads cover-to-cover with decidedly more than a theoretical interest). By the beginning of November, Scully has read everything on offer and is driving Melissa up the wall with her continuous requests for her sister to please let her out of bed before she expires from boredom.

"The more you rest now, the sooner you'll be able to go back to your regiment," Missy tells her, repeatedly, but as much as Scully knows her sister is right, it doesn't make her forced inactivity any easier to bear. She writes letter after letter to Mulder, often so many that the postman takes multiple letters from her on the same day. He writes back as often as he can, but as the regiment continues to move from place to place in Virginia, his responses are less frequent than she would like.

His letters are, however, overflowing with affection for her in ways that leave little doubt in her mind about where they stand with one another. She might have been hesitant when she had told her sister that she thought they'd agreed to become engaged, but Mulder has put her questions to rest once and for all.

"When this war is over," he writes, "I want to ride to Harrisburg with you, to meet your parents. Not just to tell them about your bravery, about how indispensable you have been to me as a lieutenant, but to make sure that they- and any other potential suitors- know that our future together has been decided. Whatever your mother and father might think of the manner in which we met and fell in love, I want to be sure that they know how proud I am to have a woman like you by my side."

Scully, for her part, is less concerned with her own parents' responses than with Mulder's.

"You need not worry about how my parents will react, Mulder," she writes him in response. "You're the oldest son of a wealthy landowner. Regardless of how we might have met, you are still a far more advantageous match than they could ever have hoped to make for either of their daughters. I'm certain they'll be too much in awe of you to turn you away. Your parents, on the other hand, are unlikely to be much impressed with a poor sailor's daughter who met you while playing dress-up in the enemy's army- especially given that they already have a far more suitable match picked out." Mulder is, predictable, dismissive.

"It doesn't matter whether or not my parents approve," he writes her. "This is my decision to make, and I choose you. There is nothing that anyone- not my parents, not your parents, not Diana- can say to me that will change my mind."

Much of this correspondence is, despite Scully's best efforts, read over her shoulder by her sister, who finds the entire thing deliriously romantic and does not hesitate to tell her so.

"It's just not fair, Dana," she complains, lying on her back on the corner of the bed, her arm thrown dramatically up over her forehead. "I left home and ran away to New York City in search of romance and adventure, and all I've gotten for my troubles is an overcrowded apartment that I'm forced to share with three girls who are all prettier than I am. You, on the other hand, run off and join the army and end up engaged to a rich, handsome landowner's heir."

"Let's not forget the part where I ended up with a musket ball in my belly," grumbles Scully. She's not feeling particularly well today, having slept poorly and woken with a stubborn cough, and she's less patient with Melissa than she might normally be.

"Still, I think even with that, you come out ahead of me," says Melissa. "And you're the youngest, for goodness sake. It was hard enough that you already had an offer of marriage long before me, with father's doctor friend- what was his name?"

"Daniel," sighs Scully.

"Yes, him. It was bad enough that he approached Father for your hand when you were practically still a child, but now you're going to actually be married before I've even had a man show the slightest bit of interest."

"Not necessarily," Scully points out. "Nothing is going to happen until the war is over. For all we know, it could drag on another ten years." She bites her lip. "Or one of us might not even survive. This was already a close call, and-" But she's cut short as she's shaken by a bout of coughing so long and deep that it pulls at her still-healing injury. Melissa sits up and watches her worriedly as she clasps her side in pain, struggling to get her breath back.

"That's the third time this has happened in an hour, Dana," says Missy, every last hint of whimsy gone from her voice. "And your face is getting whiter by the minute." She reaches out and feels Scully's forehead. "You're warmer, too."

"I may have a fever," Scully admits. She's been feeling increasingly lethargic all day, but until now she's been putting it down to the fact that she hasn't felt like eating much for the past few days, and Missy, anxious to avoid conflict, hasn't been pressing the issue. But now, as she works to master her breathing, she can't avoid facing up to the realization that something is wrong.

"What do I do, Dana?" Melissa asks. "Mother used to put cold compresses on our foreheads when we were sick. Should I do that?"

"It's probably a good place to start," Scully agrees.

"Maybe I should ask James," says Melissa. "If he doesn't know what to do, maybe one of the other servants here does." Scully shakes her head.

"None of the others will come in the house, even with Mulder's father gone," she reminds her sister. The few servants that have been left to take care of the plantation in its owners' absence are field hands, forbidden from entering the house, with the exception of James, who, Mulder had explained, had figured out Scully's secret the moment he had laid eyes on her. "I don't want-" But she's interrupted by yet another bout of coughing, this one worse, and by the time it finally subsides, Scully is completely winded.

"Close your eyes and rest, Dana," says Melissa, standing and removing some of the pillows that are propping Scully up, forcing her to lie back down flat. "I'm going to make a cold compress and... and...." She wrings her hands, clearly at a loss. "I'll have someone make you some broth. That will help, right?" Scully closes her eyes, too weary to argue.

"Sounds good," she says weakly, even though the idea of trying to eat something just now seems horrifically exhausting. Missy says something in response, but Scully is already drifting off to sleep.

She's not sure how much time has passed, or if she's even truly awake, when she next hears her sister speaking, having a hushed discussion with someone whose voice Scully doesn't recognize.

"You don't understand, I've never taken care of someone who's ill before," Missy is saying. "I've no idea what could be wrong with her, no idea what I'm supposed to do."

"Miss, there's no one nearby that we can send for," a male voice responds. "The doctor in Culpeper is with Lee's army. The only other people 'round here are the men who work the fields and tend the animals, and none of them are gonna set foot in this house, not even if Master Fox himself shows up and asks them. They're too afraid of his father." This, Scully thinks through her feverish haze, must be James, the house's caretaker.

"What about someone else from the village?" Missy asks. "Isn't there anyone you could ask?"

"And how do we explain what she's doing here?" counters James. "Everyone in Culpeper knows the Mulders, and everyone in Culpeper knows they're in Fredericksburg. If someone from the village sees the two of you, they're likely to write Master William and ask him about the two strange women staying in his house."

Don't send for anyone, Scully tries to say, but she can't quite make her lips obey. I'm fine, I'll be fine, don't let anyone find me here....

The voices fade, and Scully dreams... or, at least, she thinks she does. It's difficult to tell. She thinks she hears her mother talking, telling her to get out of bed and help her prepare the evening meal before her father and her brothers come home. Missy is off somewhere, her mother complains, and she'll never have everything ready in time without at least one of her daughters to help her out.

Scully tries to tell her that she can't, she's sick, she's too weak to get out of bed, but her mother takes no notice, bustling around Samantha Mulder's bedroom as though she knows exactly where everything goes, as though it were a room in her own house. Watching Maggie is making Scully dizzy, so she closes her eyes.

When she opens them again, her mother is gone, and there's only Samantha's room, the night sky visible through the windows, the room itself dimly lit by a fire burning low in the grate. She turns her head to look the other way, and her father is there, sitting in the armchair that Melissa had occupied some time before.

"Hey there, Sprout," he says, smiling warmly at her. "Looks like you've gotten yourself in a spot of trouble." Scully tries to answer him and finds that she can't, but her father seems to understand her all the same. "It'll all be all right soon," he promises. "You just hold on and stay strong now, you hear me? Won't be long now. Help is on the way. But I'm warning you, Sprout, it's going to get a whole lot worse before it starts to get any better." He smiles again, sadly this time, and Scully realizes that she can see right through him to the back of the armchair.

There's a cough, the smell of cigar smoke, and then Charles Spender is leaning over her, regarding her with an air of detached curiosity. She shies away from him, and he laughs... and as she watches, his face shifts, changing to the face of the surgeon who had treated her at Bristoe Station. His mouth moves, but Scully can't make out what he's saying. Melissa stands behind him, her face pale and anxious. The light from the fire seems too bright, and Scully closes her eyes against it... and when she opens them again, Spender has returned, and it's Diana Fowley who stands at his shoulder, smiling maliciously down at her. Sean Pendrell waits by the foot of the bed, watching her worriedly, and Scully wonders if he's come to escort her to the other side, to wherever souls go when their time on Earth has ended. She tries to tell Pendrell that she's not ready, that she can't go with him, that Mulder still needs her here, that she's sorry, so sorry that he had to die, but doesn't he understand that it will all be in vain if she agrees to go with him now? She has to stay.

Spender reaches out suddenly and yanks at the bandages covering Scully's wound, pulling them off and exposing the flesh of her midsection. As Scully watches, he rips at the injury and seems to shove his entire hand inside of it. The pain is immediate and all-consuming, and Scully writhes and screams, trying desperately to escape. Diana takes her left shoulder and holds her down, and someone else takes her right side. Scully looks up to see who it is, and Daniel Waterston sneers down at her, glorying in her pain, in her inability to get away.

The faces around her continue to blur and shift, until Scully doesn't know who is holding her down, Diana Fowley and Daniel Waterston or Melissa and Mulder. She doesn't know who is causing this terrible pain, the army surgeon or Charles Spender, or why they're doing this to her. All that she knows is that it goes on and on, and when at last it seems to be over, Scully can do nothing but lapse into a sleep that is blessedly and profoundly dark and dreamless.

When she next opens her eyes, Fox Mulder is gazing down at her.

"Mulder?" She can speak again, finally, though her voice is frighteningly frail, and her throat hurts terribly. She reaches towards him, trying to touch him and see whether he's real or just another vision, but she's so weak that her hand can't close the distance. He seems to understand, and takes her hand in his own, pressing it gently to his face.

"I'm here," he says. "I'm right here, Scully. And this time, I'm not leaving until you're completely well."

"What happened?" she asks, but this time, it's not Mulder who answers.

"You developed an infection," says a voice from the foot of the bed, and Scully looks over to see the surgeon from Bristoe Station. She hadn't been hallucinating him, then; he had really been here. Melissa stands just behind him. "I had to cut away the inflamed tissue and treat the wound with bromide. I'm sorry for the pain; I know it had to have been difficult to bear."

"This is Corporal Zuckerman," Mulder explains. "The same surgeon who treated you after you were shot." Scully nods.

"I remember," she says.

"Your sister sent for me when she couldn't bring your fever down," Mulder tells her.

"I didn't know what else to do," says Missy apologetically. "I could see that the wound was infected, but I didn't know how to treat it."

"I found Corporal Zuckerman and brought him with me," continues Mulder. "I had a feeling you would prefer a surgeon who already knew what he'd find under your wrappings." He grins teasingly at her, and she manages a weak smile in return.

"But won't you be missed?" Scully asks. "Both of you?" Mulder shakes his head.

"The army's gone into winter quarters," he explains. "I told Colonel Skinner what happened, and he gave both of us leave to go. Corporal Zuckerman needs to return soon, but I've been permitted to stay with you until you're well enough to come back to the regiment." Scully looks back and forth between Mulder and Melissa.

"It was you, holding me down?" she asks.

"You put up one hell of a fight," says Mulder, a trace of pride unmistakeable in his voice. "It took everything we had to keep you in one place long enough for Zuckerman to finish with you, even as sick as you were."

"You looked at us like you might kill us if you got loose," puts in Melissa. "Your face was as terrifying as I've ever seen it."

"I thought you were...." Her voice trails off. She's embarrassed, now, that her fever dreams had featured Diana. "Never mind," she says. "I must have been out of my mind with fever."

"I'd have to agree with that assessment," says Zuckerman. "And you're not out of the woods yet, by any means. I'm going to stay for a few more days, to make sure we've gotten a handle on the infection, and I'll leave medicines behind when I go in case the fever returns."

"Thank you, Corporal Zuckerman," says Mulder. "I don't want to even think about what would have happened without your help."

"Yes, thank you," chimes in Melissa. "From us, and from our family. It would have been awful for all of us if you hadn't been here." Scully, already exhausted from this brief conversation, smiles her gratitude at Zuckerman even as her vision begins to go fuzzy at the edges.

"We should let you rest now," says Zuckerman. He and Melissa begin to leave, but Mulder remains in place by Scully's side.

"I'll stay," he tells the other two. "In case she needs anything."

"Mulder," Scully protests, her voice muddled and sleepy, "I'll be fine. I'm not even going to be awake."

"I'll watch you sleep, then," he whispers, low enough so that the others, standing across the room by the door, can't hear him. "It's something I've missed doing since you've been gone." Scully relents, nodding her permission, and Zuckerman and Melissa leave, shutting the door softly behind them.

The last thing that Scully is aware of, as she drifts off to sleep again, is Mulder lying down beside her, tenderly stroking her face.

[soccerdrawings]

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A Creekside inferior contest to No. 1 in the nation, Fletcher allotment to the soccer acreage with clash success, Paxon and Bishop Kenny accomplish hoops highlights and a Sandalwood brilliant array on a civic stage. Read about those highlights and added in the latest Aboriginal Coast Varsity Weekly.

Football pitch - Wikipedia - area of a soccer field in meters | area of a soccer field in meters RELATED | See added Aboriginal Coast Varsity coverageThe agenda says Florida Aeriform Academy Athletic Association clue antagonism doesn't alpha until Feb. 10.But that didn't stop Creekside inferior sprinter Makhaila Mills from rocketing to a new success on the calm course.Mills set a accommodated almanac at the Hoover Alumni Invitational in Birmingham, Ala., active 7.39 in the girls 60-meter dash. She blew abroad the antagonism from all over the Southeast, acceptable by added than a division of a second, and set a new U.S. No. 1 aeriform academy time for the 2019-20 season.Mills wasn't finished. She additionally won the calm 200 in 24.43, which ranks fourth civic and additional in Florida abaft alone Tamari Davis of Clermont East Ridge.She's the aboriginal Jacksonville clue amateur to rank as a girls civic No. 1 in any accident back Caitlin Collier of Bolles topped the U.S. account in the 800 in 2018.Saints’ Sims performs at Under ArmourJeff Sims capped his aeriform academy career with a few added highlights.The Sandalwood chief quarterback denticulate a touchdown for Aggregation Pressure in his aftermost activity afore branch to Georgia Tech at the Under Armour All-American Bold in Orlando.Sims' accurateness was up and bottomward in the aeriform bold — he completed 5 of 11 passes for 27 yards — but, as in the Saints' aeriform academy season, he excelled on the ground. He rushed for 59 yards adjoin a defense abounding with aristocratic civic prospects, including a 10-yard touchdown that staked Aggregation Pressure to a 10-0 first-quarter advantage.Oakleaf abhorrent lineman Jalen Rivers, who active aftermost ages with Miami, additionally becoming favorable reviews for his assignment at accouterment for Aggregation Savage.Senators soccer absolute at Southern Oak

Association football (soccer) field dimensions | Vertical .. | area of a soccer field in meters The goals were good, but the acreage ability accept meant alike more.Fletcher boys soccer swept through the acreage for three victories to acquire the appellation Saturday at the aboriginal Jacksonville University Aeriform Academy Soccer Showcase.For Senators drillmaster Rob Holstein, whose eyes are on the February postseason, the adventitious to comedy on a affection apparent at Southern Oak Stadium meant added than the result."Hopefully this gets us accessible for the Gateway Conference advancing up in a anniversary and afresh ultimately the accompaniment playoffs," Holstein said. "We've run into some problems in the final four arena on big, nice fields."Fletcher was alone in aftermost year’s accompaniment semifinal at Auburndale.The Senators, who exhausted Merritt Island and Ridgeview in their aboriginal games, won the final 3-1 adjoin a St. Thomas Catholic (Houston) aggregation ranked aboriginal amid Texas clandestine schools. After St. Thomas Catholic took a first-half advance on a Nico Piroli goal, the Senators angry the bold about with a appropriate tweak, alive chief accompaniment Van Slabicki to the appropriate wing.Slabicki accomplished off a breach through the middle, Deon McPhee denticulate in a clutter in the box and Reid Cory captivated up the win off Slabicki's assist.Slabicki was called the tournament's best admired player, while Connor Moore, Brian Schaefer and Jack Swantek additionally fabricated the all-tournament squad. Additionally called were Ridgeview's Juan Jaramillo and Bryan Ortiz.The plan, in the connected run, is to body the advertise into a above antagonism involving both boys and girls teams.Gateway soccer, hoops set to beginAfter demography a ages off, Gateway Conference clash division gets activity afresh — fast.Gateway boys and girls soccer tournaments bang off on Thursday above the Aboriginal Coast with early-round contests. Stanton is the five-time arresting best in the girls tournament, while nationally-ranked Mandarin won the 2018-19 boys championship.

Soccer Field Pitch Dimensions and Size - Coaches Training .. | area of a soccer field in meters Then, on Monday, the Gateway Conference girls basketball clash tips off.Sandalwood is the arresting champion, while both Raines and Ribault access with months of drive in their bid to acknowledgment the championship to Northwest Jacksonville.Crusaders, Bulldogs in Atlanta actionIf there's one assignment Bishop Kenny and Bolles girls basketball will booty from the She Got Bold Classic in Atlanta, it ability be this: Finish strong.Bolles went 2-1 and Bishop Kenny was 1-2 at the tournament, which drew aristocratic teams from above the Southeast. With bluff comedy bottomward the stretch, both could accept accomplished unbeaten.Bolles couldn't authority an 18-6 first-quarter advance Friday adjoin Hillgrove, accident 57-52, and Bishop Kenny saw an aboriginal 24-12 bend clear in Friday's 64-55 accident to McEachern. The Crusaders additionally alone a abutting 39-36 bold to Legacy Aboriginal College (S.C.).Still, the clash brought successes for both. Bolles bouncer Taliah Scott connected her accomplished alpha to her apprentice campaign, scoring 26 credibility adjoin Hillgrove and afresh hitting 30 credibility adjoin Christ Church Episcopal (S.C.).Bishop Kenny, meanwhile, accustomed a above addition in Saturday's 55-51 win adjoin Southwest DeKalb. Chief bouncer Rose Dolmovich, who had suffered a broken ACL over the summer, denticulate her aboriginal credibility back her return.A 37% ballista from above the arc aftermost year, she brings acquaintance and an added weapon to a Crusaders aggregation already able in the frontcourt with top scorer Jasmyne Roberts, Jamia Nesmith and Amuk Tong.Highlight of the week, allotment 1In a ablaze anniversary of action, few moments brought added ball than the aftermost abnormal of Bishop Kenny's boys basketball bold adjoin Lake Nona on Saturday night.The Crusaders were apoplectic at 57-57 back point bouncer Daniel Buckley bargain through a brace of defenders and anesthetized to Seve Roche at the wing. The alarm ticked adjoin zero. Roche launched a 3-pointer.

Five Ways On How To Prepare For Area Of A Soccer Field In .. | area of a soccer field in meters Swish — and a 60-57 Kenny win.Seve Roche knocks bottomward a three at the buzzer to defeat Lake Nona 50-47. Great weekend for the Crusaders!@CFreemanJAX @JustinBarneyTV pic.twitter.com/q6vf4Cs1jRHighlight of the week, allotment 2Beating the state's top-ranked aggregation is impressive. Downing that aggregation by 25 credibility is alike better.That's the adventure this anniversary for Paxon, which catholic to the Sun Bash Invitational and emerged with a blast achievement — 83-58 — adjoin Sanford Seminole.The achievement showcased the complication of scoring options for the 13-2 Golden Eagles boys, who got 28 credibility from UCF signee Isaiah Adams with three added players — Micheal Caswell, Quinnton Jackson and Derrick Johnson — in bifold figures.Caswell in accurate lit up the clash with a clap douse in the final, an 58-57 accident to Tarpon Springs East Lake, a bassinet that anon went viral in the aeriform academy hoops world.“Oh my goodness” - @AllDayNJ No bigger way to advertise this ballsy douse from 2020 Paxon bouncer Michael Caswell in the SUN championship at the 3rd anniversary Sun Bash tournament. @cas1_mike @PaxonBasketball @prephoopsfl pic.twitter.com/q4Ws3PgZJMNo baby feat, abnormally back Caswell stands a bashful 6-1 in height.Caswell's accomplishment fabricated it to No. 1 on Hudl's Ballsy Dunks of the Anniversary video.Around the area

Soccer Field Dimensions In Feet – Go Sports - area of a soccer field in meters | area of a soccer field in meters Mandarin abhorrent lineman Kale Peacock appear his charge to Monmouth football. ... Mandarin assassin adept clue and acreage drillmaster Steven Gonzalez in time for the bounce season. Gonzalez accomplished Palatka for several years in the average of the 2010s and had additionally served as the appropriate teams coordinator for the North Marion football aggregation that accomplished the Class 5A FHSAA final in 2018.. ... St. Joseph alum Bella Garofalo won titles in the women's 100 free, 200 assortment broadcast and 400 chargeless broadcast for Florida pond in Friday's cloister accommodated adjoin North Florida, Liberty and Vanderbilt. ... Middleburg chief Britany Range denticulate 38 credibility to advance Broncos girls basketball accomplished Sandalwood on Monday. ... Westside's Donovan Morgan denticulate a season-high 37 points, including nine 3-pointers, in Friday's 85-75 boys basketball win adjoin Seacoast Christian. ... Former Bartram Trail amateur Zack Nelson is appointment to the Indian Hills Community College clue program. ... Bolles football appear Tuesday a Sept. 4 bold adjoin Trinity Christian, animating the alternation amid the clandestine academy rivals. ... Columbia girls basketball took third abode at the B-Town Classic in South Carolina, their third clash in as abounding weekends. Columbia exhausted Ridgeland/Hardeeville (S.C.) 36-26, absent to Carver (Ala.) 47-41 and defeated New Port Richey River Ridge 39-33 in the third-place bold and Na'Haviya Paxton becoming a atom on the all-tournament squad. ... Jacksonville Orthopaedic Institute is captivation a chargeless dispensary for baseball players from ages 6-14 from 7:30-10 a.m. Jan. 18 at Bishop Kenny, absorption on arm affliction and abrasion prevention. 10 Things You Won't Miss Out If You Attend Area Of A Soccer Field In Meters | Area Of A Soccer Field In Meters - area of a soccer field in meters | Allowed in order to my own website, in this particular moment We'll show you concerning keyword. And now, this is actually the 1st graphic:

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[andrewuttaro]

New Look Sabres: GM 31 - EDM - Dumb and Dumber

3-2 OT Win

Dumb and Dumber is an iconic movie. It was one of three enormously popular movies the great Jim Carrey made in 1994. There is this one scene where Lloyd (Carrey) and Harry (Jeff Daniels) are at luck’s end, on the run from the law and literally hundreds of miles off course. They had even lost their ride, the 1984 Ford Econoline van dressed up as a dog. The two titular heroes are split up and Harry is walking down a desolate prairie road when Lloyd rides up behind him on the smallest of motorized scooters. Harry utters the legendary memeable line: “Just when I think you couldn’t possibly get any dumber… you do something like this… AND TOTALLY REDEEM YOURSELF!” Okay, so I don’t recommend that movie if your faint of heart or squeamish but it’s a classic my dad beat every line of into me. I could recite that film to you. The Buffalo Sabres found themselves in exactly the position to make me utter such a line for such a situation. After outright losing to the Calgary Flames on Thursday, the easiest win out of the NHL Clubs in Alberta and British Columbia simply by virtue of the standings, they put up an entertaining but frustrating show in Vancouver that saw Tyler Myers remind us of old days before an OT loss that was ultimately just not good enough. Like Dumb and Dumber stupid crap like Tyler Myers’s two points, or a Milan Lucic goal or an Eichel OT winner essentially getting iced by a separate penalty comes up to make your jaw drop. All the while the lack of a desperately needed roster move is forcing the coach to rotate in and out players and tank the value of Colin Miller who now is apparently on the trade block (WE WANT YOU TO TRADE A D-MAN, BUT NOT THAT ONE)! This game came with the dumb plot element of Casey Mittelstadt getting healthy scratched for Evan Rodrigues. In the Dumb and Dumber analogy I’m trying to figure out who the headless parrot is. Either way the little scooter comes humming down the highway late on a Sunday night when you think the road trip has tanked all hopes for the resurrection of this Sabres Season. Then it happens: “…you do something like this… AND TOTALLY REDEEM YOURSELF!”

The Dumb and Dumber analogy felt so right. The trials of this insane road trip and the team they fully beat is the best of them: the Edmonton Oilers! This Eichel v. McDavid thing has gotten old hasn’t it? Nobody really cares for that narrative in a league bursting at the seems with hot young talent. Nonetheless I’m bringing it up. McDavid was kept quiet on the scoresheet, you know who wasn’t? CAPTAIN JAMES JACK EICHEL OF NORTH CHELMSFORD, MASSACHUSETTS! Ok, so it was a secondary assist on the OT game winner BUT BY GOLLY THE STREAK CONTINUES! WATCH OUT NASHVILLE, WATCH OUT ST.LOUIS, YOUR BANNERS AND TROPHIES WON’T HELP YOU NOW! Yeah, so this game was 90% confused Santas wailing on each other at Santa Con. There was not a notable name on the scoresheet but there was four goals in regulation. The first was Kyle Okposo, somehow on a real roll now, tipping in a shot originating with Marco Scandella four minutes in. With that the GLO line, somehow the most consistent line on this team in this version of Dumb and Dumber, drew first blood. This game was excellently matched as all of the top lines seemed to cancel each other out. That’s shocking for me to see written on this page because I woke up this morning not worried about the Baltimore Ravens or the challenges of my Master’s Project; no I woke up fearing Connor McDavid. The guy is an animal and four years in Edmonton has turned him into a Liam Neeson movie villain all grizzled and hairy with nothing to lose.

Well the dumb part of this game was nothing went the way you expected it… well except the powerplay: that’s dumb, it still sucks ass. Did the Sabres give up juicy chances for the Oilers when they were in fact on the powerplay? Dumb gets dumber and Jimmy Vesey and Rasmus Asplund come flying into the Oilers zone shortly after the home team got a great chance in the other end. Asplund’s shot didn’t go and who finds the rebound? Johan Larsson. How about that? He tucks it in five hole on Mike Smith with a just abhorrent level of disrespect. So as fun as that weird dumb shit was it is followed by just enough expected malaise this team has gotten us used to. They don’t score again in regulation. The Edmonton Oilers come back and dominate the shots battle in the second period. They climb all the way back; they don’t call 2-0 the most dangerous lead in hockey for nothing. The Sabres sure as hell aren’t bucking that trend against a team not from New Jersey. Like we’ve been seeing so much since the end of October really, the Sabres completely devalue possession. They dump the puck in. They slow down the passes because they like to pretend scoring effects don’t come for everyone. They drop the puck in dangerous places and so many offensive zone turnovers turn into scoring opportunities for the other team. That’s exactly what happened when Riley Sheahan got the puck in the neutral zone and took it all the way in past Linus Ullmark to cut the lead in half. What a pretty first goal as an Oiler, eh? Want to get mad? It seems to be all the rage on Sabres twitter right now. Here it is: Zach Bogosian single handedly gave Edmonton all their powerplay chances in the second period. Oh you bet! On the second installment of that shit saga Joakim Nygard tips in a Darnell Nurse shot to even it up. Goodbye lead! Hardly knew you. I should’ve warned you the Sabres aren’t a safe place for leads.

By dumb luck that score line remained through the third period. No goals for the rest of regulation and I had a feeling we’d see poor possession come into play in 3-on-3 OT play. It just felt like we were due for one of the three headed monster on the Oilers to eat us alive. Here comes the redemption: the Sabres possessed the puck for the 1:13 of OT we did get. Bucked trend. Jack Eichel paraded the puck all the way around the offensive zone not taking a shot before laying it off to Marcus Johansson on one side of the Edmonton net who pitched it to Colin Miller on the other side. In the press box no more, out for Jake McCabe’s sake no more, trade asset for a not sexy Alex Galchenyuk no more please! Colin Miller slams it into Mike Smith’s pads, and it trickles in for the Game-Winning Overtime Goal! You lose two games you should have won and then you go AND TOTALLY REDEEM YOURSELVES! SABRES WIN 3-2 IN OVERTIME! And you bet that secondary assist was Jack mother fucking Eichel! You bet! You thought the Bills would be your source of joy today and… well that was a good guess, but No, it was the Sabres who won their game! Surprise assholes!

Okay so the problems are still there. We’re still going to need y’all to win more than about three games a month. We’re going to need you to make a trade, a smart one preferably, involving a defenseman of salary. We’re going to need more than 50% of the points out of a soft(er) road trip. But funny thing: right after Miller scored the OT winner Dan Dunleavy said something curious: “The Sabres get the much needed two points here out of Edmonton!” All points in the standings matter in the unfun language of the hockey world but the Sabres were in a playoff spot before this game. Say what you will about the last three games, what was so especially needed about these two points? Dunleavy will never admit it, but these two points were for us angry, cynical fans. We needed some holiday cheer in all this dumbness. Two points out of Western Canada is ugh. Three out of six? It’s only half but its enough to get us down off the ledge a little. We’re going to need some patience this win saved against St. Louis and Nashville. It will be an interesting week, especially if Jason Botterill makes yet another trade with his hockey daddy Jim Rutherford in Pittsburgh. Like, comment and share this blog because you bet I’ll be writing that up when it happens. Get those sleigh bells ring ging gingalin’ because December has some more surprises, painful and fun, in store for us! I can just feel it after how this road trip went! Let’s Go Buffalo!

Thanks for Reading.

P.S. But yes, I didn’t forget. I said I’d look like a clown if I predicted four points out of this trip, impossible after the Vancouver loss, and then see the Sabres get two points out of Connor McDavid and the Oilers. I am in fact the clown here. What balloon animal do you want?

[ecotone99]

[HR] A Wholly Superior Creature - Part IV: The God

Part IV: The God

We rolled out of Roger's neck of the woods and I set the wheels back toward the center of the city. My heart was in my throat and I wasn't sure why. I needed to get my mind off Roger and what he'd done.

"So what got you kicked out of the fold, Padre?"

I didn't actually expect him to answer, but he opened right up.

"The Church made the same damn mistake they've been making since the Christianity first got started," he said.

"What's that?"

"They forced a priest to decide between doing right, or being orthodox.."

"Didn't go over well, I take it."

"It's my happiest sin, the one that got me excommunicated."

I had to know. "You officiate a gay wedding or something?"

"I performed an unsanctioned exorcism on an unbaptized child despite receiving direct orders from the Vatican not to do so."

"Shit," I said.

He nodded. "Indeed."

"So you pulled a demon out of a little kid," the words sounded just as stupid coming out of my mouth.

"I did."

"So that's what you do. That's what you're in a rush to get to Chicago over, right? Some true believer has problems with the supernatural and you take a flight, smash the problem like King Kong, then head back to the city for a fresh cup of Joe and some esoteric reading."

I could see out of my peripheral vision that he was just staring ahead, his bone pale skin flashing like a ghost haunting the passing street lamps on Ellison Street.

"If I owned my own life," he said grimly. "I'd probably choose another line of work--but I don't, so here I am." He turned his head to look at me, I was pretty sure that he was done with my flippant probing. "It has to be hard hearing what Roger had to say about what he did with the Mueller case."

"If you're trying to turn this car into a confessional, Father, I can go ahead and pump those brakes for you." He had opened up about his professional tragedies, that didn't mean I had to do the same. "I can't blame Roger for what he did. I won't. Can't say I'd have made the same decision, hell, I'd like to think that I would have stuck it out."

"Isn't that what we're about to do, Detective?"

I gave my eyebrows an elevator ride. "Maybe we hear something, maybe we don't. Maybe we find these Faceless Children or maybe we come out of the sewer in a few hours smelling like shit, holding nothing but our dicks in our hand. Either way, I intend to find some answers."

"If you're so matter of fact about all this, Sam, if you're so calm about it, do you want to tell me why your knuckles are white around the wheel?"

He was right, I was on edge. I had a hold on the wheel like it had taken my lunch money in the fifth grade. I eased up. "My dad wasn't a religious man, but there was a kind of genuineness to him that I never really appreciated until after he was gone. He used to say, 'Son, the only thing that matters in this life are the promises we keep to the people we love.' That stuck with me and hearing Roger tonight reminded me of it."

Father Daniel nodded. "You think he was keeping a promise to Carol."

"I do," I said, as I wheeled the car to the curb of the intersection of Bass and Ellison. "I also think he broke a promise to the people he swore to protect."

"That's a tall ladder of piety to climb for any person, Sam."

I shifted the car into park and looked at him. "Well, Dan, it's hard to deal with the fact that my mentor, the man who helped shape everything about who I am as a police officer, allowed a couple of spooky echoes to convince him to destroy evidence and give up on a case that, if he'd solved it, might mean that Courtney Davidson would be at home tonight with her family instead of being prepared for a closed casket funeral."

His hands were folded in his lap as he regarded me. "You're angry with him."

"Goddamn right I am."

"OK. Are you going to forgive him for loving his wife more than he loved his oath?"

I don't think I've ever rolled my eyes so hard as I did then. "You're so full of it."

"You love Roger. If you didn't you wouldn't be this mad. Forgiveness is love in action. Roger rightly deserves your forgiveness, just like you have every right to be angry with his failure."

I'm not much for yelling, but this Sunday school bullshit was getting on my nerves. "I didn't ask for your counsel, Dan. I'm not a Christian and you sure as hell aren't my priest."

The way his mouth turned to a frown showed me that I'd found one of the ways to wound him. He said. "Of course I am."

I shook my head in frustration. "Jesus Christ," I said on purpose. "Can we please just go into the sewer and look for these Molech-worshiping dickheads?"

I got out, popped my trunk and grabbed two flashlights and my shotgun. I handed the priest a flashlight and nodded my head to the open trunk. "There's a crowbar in there for the manhole. Seeing as I'm sure you've taken a vow of not shooting people I figure you can use it in case the Faceless Children don't respond to a sermon."

Father Daniel proved stronger than he looked by the way he popped the top on the manhole with no more effort than cracking open a beer bottle. The damp, earthy smell hit me like a kick in the balls. I swallowed the lump in my throat and descended the iron rungs and splashed down into the ankle deep water. The priest followed suit and we both clicked on our flashlights, the beams punched shafts into the voided depths as the sound of rolling traffic bustled overhead.

I attached my flashlight to the barrel of my shotgun and pointed the killing end toward the darkness. My nose adjusted better than my eyes could as both the priest and I kept quiet, listening for the whispers that Roger was so sure we'd hear.

Roger was right. They found us.

They were more than a sound though, the noise of voices weren't so much audible in my ears as they were bouncing around in my skull. The words made no sense, a rolling jumble of noises that wore the trappings of language. Harsh consonants, like the snapping furious jaws, pounded into long vowel sounds. Before I felt my hands begin to shake, I noticed that my light was trembling in the open chasm.

Father Daniel put a hand on my shoulder, his offset eyes looking huge and owlish in the glow bleeding off his flashlight. The look of fear on his face set new wrinkles on his skin I hadn't seen before. This was not a man to be put off by such things, but he was.

It did not inspire me with confidence.

"I have no knowledge of what I'm hearing, Sam."

I grit my teeth, thinking that this grating noise was likely the last thing that Courtney Davidson ever heard. My mind's eye took me back to her crime scene and the violation made so clear in the afternoon sun.

"Let's go," I said, as we sloshed through the tepid waters in that maze of sewage and concrete. We carefully navigated to places where the voices grew in intensity and turned back from where their potency began to dwindle. Harsher and louder the voices rolled from chants into dissonant choruses that drowned out our ingress through the black water.

Our flashlights bloomed wide against something that didn't match the concave grayness of the concrete tunnel.

We stopped dead in our tracks.

My mouth fell open.

Where once had been a dead-end was a flat, rusted door that had been set in the wall like the face of a furnace. Etched in thick, crude lines was the outline of some kind of creature I'd never seen before.

I looked at Father Daniel.

He looked at me and nodded his head in confirmation of what I thought we were looking at.

I found myself so overwhelmed by the chorus burning against my brain that I found I couldn't speak for fear that I might join in the dark hymn. I turned to the priest and flicked my chin at the lever handle jutting from the door.

The door gave way with surprising ease, swinging open on heavy hinges bolted into the wall. With the doorway open, the chorus became more noise than voices, like a rolling blast of thunderclaps hammering away at my conscious mind.

Courtney Davidson's corpse flashed in my vision. The ruined flesh, the desolation of her humanity, gave me rage that pushed me through the doorway.

It was a small room and a brief inspection revealed a latched door cut into the floor. The priest reached down and pulled, the door came up a few inches, but proved too heavy for one man.

I set my shotgun aside and when he lifted again, I set my fingers underneath the cool metal as we wrenched the door open wide.

I picked up my shotgun. The flashlight lanced over Father Daniel's face to reveal a crimson pair of lines dripping from his nose. I gestured my hand across my nose to reveal the nosebleed to him, only to find that my own fingers smeared blood across my lips.

The malicious chants, oppressive now, chewed into my thoughts. I was struggling to concentrate, my heart was pounding like I was sprinting in a race I couldn't see or understand.

I shook my head, trying to throw the voices from my mind as blood from my nose slashed against my cheek. I blew out of my nostrils hard, and aimed my flashlight down into the open throat of the aperture. Where I expected to see another ladder I found a set of old stone steps that curled out of sight. A dusky, yellow light flickered in stark contrast of my own against a dark, brick wall glistening with condensation.

We made our way slowly down the steps, following the bend for several impossibly long minutes. The raging blast of abhorrent voices were so loud now that the edge of my vision began to blur. I turned back to look at Father Daniel. His face was ashen with fear. He slid the crowbar into the handles of his medical bag, and the glow of his flashlight showed a trickle of blood flowing from his ear running down his neck, staining the white collar scarlet.

The end of the steps opened like a mouth, a huge archway that gaped impossibly wide at us.

I didn't need my flashlight to see the darkly stained altar or the robed figures surrounding it—the ensconced torches gave me more light than I wanted. There were four of them standing there. Just behind them I could see two pale legs hanging over the edge of the stone lip. Set behind the altar was a huge, glowering statue; a massive bull with a giant ring of yellow metal looped among the hollows of a great iron nose. Its hands were upraised, palms facing us like the countless criminals I'd frozen in command as a beat cop. The stony skin was slathered in a crimson wash. Dozens of hollow mouths and eyes hung open, pinned to the statue's bulk in silent screams. This was a place of horror, a temple of constant slaughter where the titan god of insane men wore the skinned faces of the innocent.

I opened my mouth to let the butchers in this hellish tabernacle know what time it was. I barked an order I'd given a hundred times before, but the only thing that came out of my mouth was a hacking splatter.

I must have made some kind of noise, because one of the robed figures turned around to show us the featureless mask he wore and the crude knife he clutched in a bloody glove. He pointed at me.

The shotgun bucked in my hands.

The slug took the surprised cultist in the stomach, punching a hole in him the size of a baseball. Blood splashed against the stone altar behind him.

I went to rack another shell but the pump stalled on me, jamming the cartridge in the ejector like an old man chewing a cigar. I looked up only to find one of the cultists coming at me with murder in his eyes and a curved knife in his hands. I grabbed my shotgun by the warm barrel and swung the stock in a hard, flat arc that caught the cultist in the face. The mask he wore shattered like a fumbled dinner plate. I looked up thinking I'd see the last two cultist rushing me and the priest to finish our little reenactment of Bunker Hill.

The last two figures were still at the altar.

They were still carving into the body.

I pulled my revolver from inside my coat and fired the only warning shot I was willing to give that day, and they were lucky to get that. "Freeze, motherfuckers. Put your hands in the air, then, slowly, get those dicks in the dirt!"

"That is impossible." A woman's voice came from the taller of the two remaining cultists. She turned and slipped the featureless mask from her face. The hood of the robe fell back, her auburn hair shimmered in the torchlight. Whatever might have been her face was now a ruin of dark scars and pale flesh.

"Get on the ground. Now!" I could hear my voice again, the whispers were gone.

"We are subjects of the horned one, Police Man," she said, somehow making the title feel like the most insignificant position in the world. "Now is the moment of waking," she said, turning back to the limp form prostrated on the table. "With this," A quiet slurping sound whispered through the room. "We conjure." She pointed the skinned face at me, the flesh dangling in the open air like stretched out baking dough.

My guts rolled over and I swallowed what flowed up into my throat. "Goddamnit! Don't make me shoot you, lady. Now step away-"

She turned away from me as if I were a child throwing a sulking fit, the complete disregard for the gun I pointed at her sent a chill down my spine. I commanded her again, but she only kept walking toward the titan bull. The other cultist followed her, a crude stone hammer and long iron nail in their hand.

The cultist I smashed with the shotgun started to moan and open his eyes. I kicked him in the head and sent him back to La-La Land.

I looked over at Father Daniel, who up to this point had been absolutely shit at helping get control of the situation. He was kneeling on the ground, his hands buried deep in the medicine bag.

"The fuck are you doing in that bag? Help me out here." I said.

"Are you going to shoot that woman before she finishes the ritual?" His words came fast, his hands worked faster.

"No," I said.

"Then I need what's in the bag."

He pulled a purple stole, each end marked with a golden cross, wrapped it around his neck and reached back in the bag only to produce a large coffee canister in one hand and a crucifix in the other.

"You've got to be fucking shitting me, Dan. What the—"

The unmasked woman had turned and given a harrowing shriek. She was staring at Father Daniel.

"Curse you, Haruspex," she screamed. "Your god has no claim down here among the blood and suffering of the horned one! Moloch does not bow before lesser creatures!"

An unnatural wind, hot and fetid, sprayed out like two smoking jets from the statue. The steamy fog billowed through the room, snuffing out the torchlight faster than clicking off a light. Blackness dark as tar cloaked everything. I spun, looking all around for my flashlight.

It was next to the shotgun on the ground. Before I could reach for it I heard a peal of a bell, a great ringing. It was a strange sound, an old sound, and it threatened to cut the courage out of me forever. Following the hollow boom of what I assumed was the hammer strike, I heard the sound of a great animal breathing. A low rumbling noise that echoed from the depth of that dark temple all the way to the sewer above us. I do not know why, but such a terror came over me that I fell to my knees and pressed the flat of my palms into my ears. My gun flew from my hands in the effort, the darkness swallowing it whole.

There came a horrible grunt, a rush of wind, a woman's scream. Then I heard what sounded like a great sheet tearing and a rush of liquid splattering on the stony floor. Unnaturally loud crunches were followed by what sounded like the grinding of stones.

My flashlight illuminated the shattered face of the man at my knees, and as all went eerily quiet save for the angry, mammoth breathing.

I reached down and gripped my flashlight. I was shaking with such ferocity that my teeth chattered in my head. The beam jerked in my hands, cresting over the bloody altar and the slender arm hanging over the edge. When the light reached the top of the altar I saw a cloven hand, the two dark nails sparkling like obsidian. Unable to stop my primate brain from the rest of the discovery, the beam of my light flashed across an inhuman face. The huge iris of the menacing bull contracted.

From somewhere in the dark came the voice of the Priest. I turned to see his own flashlight burst into the void where what I once thought was a statue had now become a living, breathing entity of unbelievable oppression. The sheer weight of its presence invaded my faculties and cracked the foundation of all bravery I'd ever learned from being on the force.

I was helpless.

I wanted to scream.

But instead I listened to the voice of Father Daniel who spoke in a harsh, racking chant that created a kind of dark light around him. The canister was clutched in his hands and he held the crucifix high above his head. Wherever the dark light of the priest touched it pushed back against the cloak of shadow that radiated from the bull.

Louder and louder Father Daniel cried. With manic eyes of blue and green he pounded the deity with commands I somehow knew were never meant to be uttered by human lips.

Suddenly he spoke in English. "Sam! You must approach and remove the flesh nailed to him! It allows him to connect to the mortal plane!"

Insanity flooded over my mind, and before I could tell my muscles to move I had taken three massive lungfuls of air and was running into the darkness armed with only a flashlight and a priestly command. The bouncing beam of the flashlight showed my advance on the massive bull, and when I reached him, I grabbed one of the long-dead faces. The flesh squished between my fingers and I yanked hard.

Over the cacophony of Father Daniel's incantation I groped and pulled and jerked nail and flesh, Moloch's bellows threatened to shatter the walls that had stood in this dark place for a hundred years or more. I took hold of the last face I could see, and I went to rip it free and save us from this living nightmare.

Suddenly, a devastating sense of pressure bent me at the waist. A flash of pain lanced through my back and I was lifted high into the air. Hooting cries of abysmal pain followed me as I felt myself floating above the darkness, the innocent body atop the stone altar, and then down into the stone floor below.

Laying there, I touched my stomach. Though I could not see anything, I felt the gaping hole that I guessed had come from a swipe of the Babylonian god's horns. The cold from the ground seemed to seep into my feet, my legs, my bones. Breathing was soon a chore as well.

Blinking and blinking, awaiting the final closing of my eyes, I was startled by an explosion of light.

"Sam, oh Christ, Sam."

"Is it--"

"Without you, it would have been impossible, Sam. You did it," he said, a lips began to tremble. "You did it."

"It's so dark down here," I said. The heat was pouring out of me now, like a busted drainpipe. "so cold. Father," I spit the words. "Father, listen to me, would you?"

"Would you like to make your confession to holy God, Sam?"

I shook my head lazily. "No, Father. I want you reach into my jacket pocket."

He did, and he found what was there.

"Open it and read the inside," a deeper darkness than I have ever known began to edge in on my vision, something more palpable than mere absence of light.

"A man delights when he does what he was built to do," Father Daniel said, his voice quavering.

"Take it with you to Chicago," I said. The priest said something and kissed my brow.

I smiled. "Take it with you everywhere."

The End

submitted by /u/csauthor [link] [comments] via Blogger https://ift.tt/2sTLTES

[the-deadly-sins-rp]

It’s so wrong, but you’ll see. Never gonna let you take my world from me.  - Daughtry

Availability: OPEN

Name: Artemis Avaritia Alias(es): Art Species: Dokkalfar (Immune) Loyalty: Greed Mafia Special Skill: [Player’s Choice] Title/job: Guardian Trainer Age: 21 Birthday: [Player’s Choice] Suggested FC: Alexz Johnson Alternative FC’s: Marie Avgeropoulos, Shailene Woodley Gender: Cis female Pronouns: she/her Sexuality: [Player’s Choice]

Biography:

TW: Violence, mentions of familial murder

Artemis Avaritia was one of only two girls out of the eight Avaritia children. She was also the only immune dokkalfar in the family, though three of her siblings were immune selkies, including the eldest brother, her only sister, and her youngest brother. Even though Artemis had another sister, she was considerably older, and already a well-respected and skilled Guardian Trainer when Artemis began training under her at a young age to take over the title. So the two never really got along well, though Artemis didn’t get along much better with the rest of her siblings. She was essentially raised by a clan of older brothers, and as such learned to fight with the best of them. It was good practice for her at least, and the immunity of her bloodline gave her a strength that her nonimmune brothers lacked. While in any other mafia family, being immune would’ve been enough to put her in line for the headship of the family, the Avaritia family played by old traditions. The headship could only be passed down to immune men of the bloodline, so Artemis’s fate was to fall in line behind her sister, and become a Guardian Trainer.

She’s never been one to back down from a fight, and is more than capable of holding her own against her big brothers. She only had one brother younger than her, and he wasn’t much of a fighter. For that reason, Artemis always saw it as her duty to shield him from the messier fights of their elder siblings. This became particularly important a few years after Artemis began her training, when Jonathan’s anxiety and panic attacks, always present since a young age, got considerably worse. If she heard him cry out in his sleep or upon waking in the middle of the night from a particularly bad night terror, she would go to his room, just to make sure he was alright, never saying anything as she laid down beside him and stayed there until he fell asleep again. Other times, Jonathan would crawl into her bed in the middle of the night, and she never said anything, just let him fall asleep there. It was rare that he did sleep, though she didn’t say anything about his insomnia other than to gently encourage him to sleep when he was in her room. He never had night terrors when she was beside him, and it made her always feel worse when she spent a night or longer away from the Manor.

For the children of mafia families, the holiday events thrown by each family, claimed as a show of unity though really it was a show of every family trying to one-up each other, were little more than times of forced smiles and even more forced friendships. Artemis considered herself lucky that the two people near her age that she got thrown together with, Lex and Seth, were people that she actually rather liked. In actuality, Lex was several years older than both Artemis and Seth, and should’ve been included in the discussion of family matters among the adults, though Lex simply outright refused to participate. Artemis sometimes wondered which annoyed Lex’s father more: her refusal to care about family politics, or the fact that she wore a tux instead of a cocktail dress more often than not. Artemis learned early on that Lex could never be bothered by trivial or stupid matters, but would be all-in for anything she considered worthwhile, and she had no problem starting and finishing a fight when she found a physical brawl to be worth her time. Though she knows that Lex doesn’t care much for what pronouns people use, Artemis tends to regulate her language, and pronouns used to refer to Lex, based on the clothing her friend wears. She’s always glad to see the amused, pleased smirk on Lex’s face when Artemis uses masculine pronouns when he’s wearing a tie.

Seth was quieter, shy and a bit odd. Something about him was interesting though, which led to Artemis and Lex taking the boy under their collective wings at the mafia family events. While Artemis and Lex would often find themselves getting into trouble, Seth got dragged along and tied up in it with them more often than not. Ever protective over him though, Artemis was always careful to shield him, and would take the blame for any trouble they got him into. At least, for about two years until Seth stopped showing up to the events. Rumors were that he ran away, though he’d never said anything about the possibility to Artemis. She was hurt by his leaving without telling her or Lex, but later she would just hope that he was safe, and that Nero hadn’t pulled some murderous trick to take the headship of the family.

It was only a couple of years after Seth’s disappearance that the thought even occurred to Artemis as a possibility, and it only did because Samael pulled that kind of murderous, abhorrent play for power in her own family. Daniel seemed to catch onto what was happening before Artemis did. She had been his Guardian Trainer for about three years, having taken over his training while her sister still trainer Samael and their two eldest brothers, and she knew for a fact that at least half the bruises Daniel had weren’t from their training sessions. Artemis had been giving him trouble about it for at least two years, but he wouldn’t be talked out of his extracurricular training activities, wherever those were taking place. He had asked her since she started his training to work with him longer, push him harder, but she knew that nonimmune dokkalfars didn’t have the same stamina as those that were immune, and she refused to push him to his breaking point. He’d be useless to everyone by then. So she continued to push him as much as she knew he could handle, and he continued to push himself harder in his extra training elsewhere. Something would break soon, she knew it.

Daniel had continued to tell her her they needed to be careful, to protect Jonathan, and that’s why he was pushing himself more. Artemis just didn’t know it would be from Samael. Not until bodies began piling up, including their oldest four siblings and their parents, and Samael declared himself to be head of the family when the place should have gone to Jonathan, as the only immune, male sibling left.

Because that was what the old traditions of the Avaritia family required: a male heir to take the headship. Otherwise Artemis would’ve been in line ahead of Jonathan. Where others may have resented Jonathan for that, she loved and supported him. Her fury over Samael illegitimately claiming the headship that shouldn’t have belonged to either of them, though? That was another matter. She understood and was even grateful for Daniel’s extra training, and knew that she had to be a strong force to stand alongside Daniel in their efforts to protect Jonathan and ensure he took his rightful place.

It’s been six months since she, Daniel and Jonathan were imprisoned to the east wing of the Manor, and the only two hopes they have outside of their walls are their grandmother, affectionately called Gamma Glen, and a single guard that has convinced Samael of his loyalty, though Artemis knows he is loyal to Jonathan, the rightful head of the family.

Personality:

Artemis is impatient and fiesty. She’s just as likely to get into a brawl with her siblings as she is to get into a brawl with anyone that says a negative word about them. She’s loyal to a fault, though has no problem making jokes at the expense of people she cares about or getting into fights with them; the difference simply being that she will attempt to murder anyone else that does the same. She has a high pain tolerance, her belief being that pain is weakness leaving the body in the form of blood, sweat and tears. She’s also been known to take her anger out on the nearest wall, or by breaking anything glass or ceramic within easy reach when she’s frustrated. She is impulsive and often acts without thinking, which has gotten into trouble more than once. The greed that her bloodline is famously known for shows itself in Artemis by way of her need for strength. Not power, she wants nothing of the responsibility that comes with it, but the strength to protect herself, Daniel and Jonathan? She’ll do anything for that.

Appearance:

Though she can fight as well as any of the guys, she doesn’t find that as an excuse to look or act like them. She tends towards more feminine clothing and colors, dresses and short skirts, usually in some pastel shade, and is rarely without at least eyeliner and lipstick, if not a full face of makeup. Her one exception for her more feminine appearance is that she dislikes fake nails or even having her nails painted, as she’s messed her nails up or broken them off multiple times during training or by punching walls. She carries herself with an easy confidence, and has no problem letting people know that she should not be treated like a child or incapable of keeping up with the guys. Many people underestimate her at first for her feminine appearance, but she’s happy to ensure they never make the mistake a second time. She can do anything any of her brothers can do, and she can do it in three inch heels.

Inciting Incident:

A package has arrived, delivered by the single loyal guard of the family. It’s addressed to Daniel, and Artemis knows why, once he opens it. It’s a Wallet of Greed, and he is the oldest, with only he and Artemis as the remaining Guardians in-training. But if Daniel isn’t ready, or even if he thinks he is, and he fails, then Artemis has to be the one to stand up in his place. A challenge she’s willing to take on, but not certain that she’ll survive.

Connections:

Sister of Samael Avaritia

Sister of Jonathan Avaritia

Sister and Guardian Trainer of Daniel Avaritia

Granddaughter of Gwendolyn Avaritia

Close friend of Alexandria “Lex” Invidia

Friend of Seth Gula (Aka, London Adams)

Three Headcanons:

[Player’s Choice]

Recommended Readings:

Samael Avaritia (bio)

Jonathan Avaritia (bio)

Daniel Avaritia (bio)

Gwendolyn Avaritia (bio)

Alexandria Invidia (bio)

Seth Gula/London Adams (bio)

Dokkalfar Lore

Mafia Families (Greed - Avaritia)

Jobs & Roles (Mafia: Guardian Trainer)

[thomaspredestined-blog]

End of the Age (Typed Sermon).

Here’s the transcript from the sermon I gave on December 3rd, 2017.

The audio version is here.

Mark 13:24-37

Good morning!

Just as a general disclaimer up front, I want to let you know that the views and opinions expressed in the next half an hour-ish don’t directly reflect that of Josh or the leadership team at The Bridge.  Likewise, if I say anything that you’d like to further discuss, you’re more than welcome to talk to me after the service or we can get coffee together sometime.

My name is Ryan.  I’ll be speaking this week and next.  

I’ve come to terms with the fact I might be so bad at this that y’all collectively decide not to show up next week.  If that happens, Shad is gonna play me some songs on his guitar, I’m gonna say some words to him, and then we’re gonna get margaritas.  However, if it’s good, or you want to hear some more about why Josh decided to have the tattooed, angry chubster speak, I invite you to come back next week for a more in-depth look at me and how I got to this place.

Right up top, I wanna let y’all in on something I believe to be true.  There are ONLY two dumb things in this world.  Of course, there are evil, grotesque, abhorrent, and violent things in this world that are awful.  But, only two TRULY dumb things.  The first of those dumb things is listening to Pearl Jam.  The second is trying to figure out the end times, the end of days, the end of the age, whatever you wanna call it. So, today, we’re gonna be talking about the end of the age.   We’re gonna be breaking the scripture reading for today down into two parts.  The first part dealing specifically with the Christ predicting his death, the fall of Rome, and what it meant to the world of his day.  The second part dealing with what happens next, after his death, after he’s left our plane of existence, and what that means for us.

And, for the record, there will be absolutely no talk of Eddie Vetter’s divinity.

If you would join me… Pull out your phone, open your Bible app to Mark 13:24-37, and remember what life was like when you had to thumb through a physical book to get to the scripture reading…

For the youth and kids in here, a book is an app that you can hold with your hands.  It has lots of smashed, dead trees glued together with full-sized words printed on each page.  And yes, a page is just like a website, but you know, if the website were made of dead trees…

Here we go!

24 “But in those days, following that distress, “‘the sun will be darkened, and the moon will not give its light; the stars will fall from the sky, and the heavenly bodies will be shaken.’[a] 26 “At that time people will see the Son of Man coming in clouds with great power and glory. 27 And he will send his angels and gather his elect from the four winds, from the ends of the earth to the ends of the heavens.

28 “Now learn this lesson from the fig tree: As soon as its twigs get tender and its leaves come out, you know that summer is near. 29 Even so, when you see these things happening, you know that it[b] is near, right at the door. 30 Truly I tell you, this generation will certainly not pass away until all these things have happened. 31 Heaven and earth will pass away, but my words will never pass away.

The Day and Hour Unknown 32 “But about that day or hour no one knows, not even the angels in heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father. 33 Be on guard! Be alert[c]! You do not know when that time will come. 34 It’s like a man going away: He leaves his house and puts his servants in charge, each with their assigned task, and tells the one at the door to keep watch. 35 “Therefore keep watch because you do not know when the owner of the house will come back—whether in the evening, or at midnight, or when the rooster crows, or at dawn. 36 If he comes suddenly, do not let him find you sleeping. 37 What I say to you, I say to everyone: ‘Watch!’”

It’s so Christmas-y! Like a peppermint mocha in word form, eh?!  Nothing says Christmas quite like an adult, full grown, not-baby Jesus talking about the end of the world!

Today, we’re gonna be focusing on verses 32 and on for the majority of this message, but we will briefly discuss what the first half of what the Christ was saying here means.  To put the last section of this into some sort of palatable, applicable context.  

Right before the reading for today, the disciples come to Jesus proclaiming how amazing the temple is and how beautiful the buildings in Jerusalem are.  Poor dudes never got to see midcentury modern architecture, am I right?!  Jesus tells the disciples about the destruction of the temple, how the stones for the buildings will no longer lay on each other, but will be scattered.  He tells them about the end of their current age.  The fall of Rome, the fall of Jerusalem, the end of the opulent, extravagant thing built by man.  

He goes on to tell his disciples to be alert, on the lookout, for false messiahs.  Today, we’ve taken that to mean people who suck at interpreting scripture, or the people who interpret it in ways that we don’t like.  But, at that time, when Christ was speaking this message to his followers, there were about 8-12 known, active “messiahs” in Judea.  These were violent men, leading violent mobs against the Roman rule.  They dealt strictly in the physical world, using physical violence in an attempt to establish a physical kingdom.  All things Christ had no interest in.

He follows that statement up by telling the disciples, “Look, I’ve already told you all of this about the demise of empire and my death.”  But, once more, he points to scripture to show them the prophecy he’s living.  

The opening quotation is echoed in Daniel, Isaiah, Ezekiel, and Joel.  This idea of the sun going black, the moon going black, the stars falling so the skies go black, and the heaven’s quaking.  Everything fades to black and then starts shaking violently.  Proving once and for all that God is a Metallica fan.  And the first three albums can be considered the blessed trinity of thrash…

Thank you, my work here is done…

Kidding, kidding.

Everything he’s saying here is an echo of great cities, empires falling.  He’s speaking directly to the fall of Rome, the current empire the Israelite people are languishing under.  The current empire that’s controlling the temple and all of Jewish life.  

Josh spoke a number of weeks ago about how the disciples were really, really bad at listening.  So, this is Jesus, once more, reiterating this idea that he will die and Jerusalem, Rome, etc. will fall.  He is trying to drive this point home using prophetic language that they all would have known and understood.  

In today’s parlance, it would be Jesus saying that the world is swirling the same drain as the DC movie universe.

He’s setting all this up, this prophetic speech, to let them know that something, something big is about to happen.  These words were spoken before.  When Babylon fell, when the Jews escaped Egypt, when Joel prophesied the gospel.  He wants them to know that a YUGE, THE BIGGEST, thing is about to happen.  As in, just around the corner.  As in, soon.  

He tells them they will all be alive when this thing happens.  When he dies.  They will see it all happen.  They will, most importantly, see heaven and earth pass away.  The destruction of the temple.  The place the Israelites saw as the meeting place of heaven and earth, the dwelling place of their god.  In Christ’s death, this would no longer be the dwelling place of God.  

Right after this, you have Jesus mentioning a fig tree.  Just a few chapters before this text, Jesus curses a fig tree and it withers and dies in front of the disciples.  The same disciples he’s speaking to now.  The fig tree was an incredibly significant symbol for Rome, at the time, that all of the Jewish people would have understood.  Rome was said to have been founded by a pair of twins, Romulus and Remus, who were found under a fig tree being nursed by a she-wolf.  Christ then goes on to say that despite the tree growing, the end is still near.  Rome will fall.  Roughly 30 years after this, a long bloody war began between the Jews and the Romans that lasted nearly 70 years.

Quickly, before we move on to the second half of the reading and the bulk of the message, I want to point out how fickle language can be and how one wrong translated word can change the entirety of the text.

Lots of people read these specific verses, 13:24-27, and see the phrase “Son of Man coming in the clouds” and immediately assume that it’s the return of the Christ.  However, the word “coming” is translated from the Greek work “erchomai,” and yes, I probably butchered the pronunciation of that.  Greek was a very figurative language.  In English, the word “coming” means…well…”coming.”  An arrival or an approach.  Something that is going to start.  But, “erchomai” means, “to arrive, to come into being, or to go or follow.”  That one word then changes the text to read a handful of ways…

“At that time people will see the Son of Man arriving in clouds with great power and glory.” “At that time people will see the Son of Man coming into being in clouds with great power and glory.” “At that time people will see the Son of Man leaving in clouds with great power and glory.” “At that time people will see the Son of Man following in clouds with great power and glory.”

All of the sudden we have one word’s full definition range that turns one section of one verse into four possible translations.  And, just a short time after Jesus is offering up this prophecy, he leaves this plane of existence in the clouds with great power and glory.  Now, I’m not telling you what to believe, but I have an idea of where he was headed with his train of thought…

In essence, verses 24-31 is Christ telling us that he’s gonna be killed.  In his death and resurrection, there will be a sort of completion that all will experience.  He’s also alerting the disciples to what will come after his death, the fall of Rome and the work they will be tasked with.

Now, to the meat of the message.  

The end of days…

The end of time… The end of the age.

Jewish theologian Abraham Heschel once said that “Judaism is a religion of time aiming at the sanctification of time.”  Jesus, for those of you unaware, was not a Christian, but was Jewish.  He would have understood the Israelite tradition of living around the idea of time.  And he speaks to their need for knowing time in the following passage.

The Day and Hour Unknown 32 “But about that day or hour no one knows, not even the angels in heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father. 33 Be on guard! Be alert[c]! You do not know when that time will come.

Two thousand years later, we still wrestle with this idea.  We are a people caught in time.  We exist centered around the idea of time.  Church starts at 10:30am on the seventh day of the week, every day of the month, 12 months a year, and sometimes other days that we deem holy, based upon a calendar that we constructed around the moving of celestial bodies.  We created time, a way of knowing, based upon physical objects moving in a physical space.  Even Jesus, himself, in the flesh, is bound by time.  And right here, in this passage, Jesus is saying that the physical, the tangible, the touchable, can not predict the coming age because we all exist within time.  The Father, however, is not.  The Father, God, exists beyond this age.

And that’s what it is.  It’s not the end of the world.  It’s not an all-encompassing fire.  It’s not death and destruction for Muslims and Jews and Hindu’s.  It’s the next age.  That’s the way the Jewish tradition understood it, the early Christian church understood it.  It’s the time after this time.  It’s this, but the next this.  A better this.  A completed this.  The finished creation of a loving creator.  The completion of a masterwork.  Time restored.

And so, Jesus is saying that because the Father exists outside of the confines of time, we shouldn’t worry ourselves with when the next age will come.  Instead, we should prepare for it.  We should work towards it.  

My mother is a beautiful, saint of a woman.  But, you know, she’s crazy.  To quote Christopher Titus, "I don’t mean, ‘My mom’s crazy…’ I mean, 'We the people find the defendant…’”

Growing up, we would always have to clean the house when people were coming over.  It didn’t matter who it was.  The meter reader could be coming by the check the electric usage and we’d have to be on our hands and knees picking individual lint balls out of the carpet from where it had fallen off our socks.  

She also told me to always leave the house wearing clean underwear.  You didn’t wanna get into an accident and be wearing dirty underwear.

Again, a saint of a woman.

But, she was always preparing for something.  At the time, it was sheer lunacy.  It was busywork for a bored son and a special needs daughter.  It was a punishment.  Why make a bed if I’m gonna be sleeping in it that night?  That question was always answered with, “Who says I’m gonna let you live that long?”

That’s precisely what the Christ is saying in the latter half of the scripture here.  The only things he promises are that he will return, this age will end, and his words will endure.  He doesn’t promise that he’s gonna let us live long enough to make it to bed tonight.  He promises this age will come to an end.  And he follows that promise with a command for us to prepare for that end.  To work towards it. We work towards a promotion at our jobs.  We work towards a better relationship with spouses or kids or parents.  We work towards having a nicer lawn and bigger, shinier things.  We work towards certainty.  We work towards all of these things, wallowing in our salvation and pointing our certainty at the next thing.  Waiting for the end of days, where we’ll be vaporized into the heavens and dance around on streets of gold with a crown.  But, that’s not what we’re called to do here.  

Simply put, Jesus is calling us to prepare this incomplete place for the day of it’s completion.  Jesus is calling us to do the work.  Now.  Here.  Prepare.  Now.  Here.  It’s not about someplace after this one and it isn’t about sometime after this one.  It’s about beginning the completion, the rectification, the healing of the here and now.  Because we exist in this place and in this time.  We are to always be working toward the coming age where God will peel back the hurt and the suffering.  Where God will make ALL of the wrongs right.  Where God will pour out the love we are called to embody.  And, selfishly, where God will heal the brokenness in my wife, and in my friends, and in my family, and in me.  That’s what we’re to be working towards.

There’s a brewery across the street that does more outreach for this community than most churches.  They paint houses, feed the hungry, and make incredible beer.  They open their arms and love and look past gender, skin color, sex, orientation, and so on.  They brew and sell beer and give love.  Does that not make you feel the exact same shame I feel?  They talk to the homeless.  They love the outcast and marginalized.  I look the other way.  I pretend the music coming through my headphones is too loud to hear them asking for help.

We have messed everything up, guys.  We have twisted and misinterpreted a beautiful message.  We have been called to create community, but we do so only with those we deem worthy.  With those that have the physical and spiritual characteristics that we agree with. I have friends who are pastors, theologians, that aren’t welcome to discuss their hurt and brokenness with their congregations because it’s not what a leader is supposed to do.  They’re to be certain, strong, have all the answers.  Always.  Is that the next age kinda community we are supposed to be ushering in?  

We give money to organizations, but don’t look the people who benefit from that money in the eye when we pass them on the street.  We donate to charities and shelters and speak out against rape and abuse and a million other things, but we do not sit with the woman who was raped and let her cry.  

We do not sit with the black family who’s son was murdered for selling cigarettes on a street corner.  

We do not sit with the heroin addict who’s puking and shaking from detoxing.  

We complain about football players protesting Empire for destroying community.   We post on social media and talk with our friends about how horrible mass shootings are, but we’ll be damned if anyone takes our guns from us.

We give money through websites and text messages.  We give our thoughts and prayers through likes and hearts online.  And we go on with our day feeling a little bit better about ourselves.  We just put another jewel into a crown.

Jesus isn’t calling us to delegate the responsibility for the work we are to be doing.  He calls us each to do it.  To do the work.  He could have used any analogy that he wanted, but he uses the analogy of servants.  Those who are to do the master’s work.  Plain and simple.  The end of the line.  Where the bucks stops.  No one below us to delegate our task to.  He says we are to be the servants, doing the bidding of the one who exists outside of time, that will usher in an age of completion.  And you know what we do?  We shirk our responsibilities and pass off the dirty work to those “with a heart for it” or “the patience for it” or “the stomach for it.”  

We are each called to a task and we hope someone else will come along and do it for us.

I’m ashamed of myself.  I’m ashamed of the church as a whole.  I’m ashamed that we have taken everything in this book and twisted it into self-serving, political and social power and propaganda.  When we’re called to be the servants preparing the people for the age when they will be made whole.  We weren’t called to add to their pain, to scream “Whore!” at the woman getting an abortion for circumstances we don’t know, to legislate marriage so only the people we deem worthy can enjoy it.  We were called to be the community, the completion, the coming age to the hurting here and now and we have beyond missed the mark on that.  To you, to me, to the church, be better. Today.  Be better now.  Be better here.

This time of year always breaks my heart.  I was fortunate to never miss a meal or a holiday.  I got presents every year at the applicable time of year.  I grew up knowing we weren’t wealthy, but there were many, many people worse off than we were.  I didn’t ever give up anything of mine to them, though. My stuff? My parents’ worked hard for my stuff.  The kids who weren’t getting a ham, or weren’t getting a new toy, their parents didn’t work as hard as mine.  A truly disgusting mindset, I know.  

But, that’s what society told me.  They said that the mom on welfare shouldn’t have had another kid.  That extra kid cost the others a good Christmas.  They said that the kid who’s parents were junkies should have been born to parents without a drug addiction, or mental imbalance, so they could have had a good Christmas.  And I was spoon fed that mindset by the church, gobbling it up like my Christmas ham.

We are called to create the next age now.  We are called to make this time of year mean something more than toys and meals and “How much did so-and-so spend on the thing?”  We are called to prepare for the coming age.

This season, the advent season, is all about that preparation.  Preparing ourselves for the coming Christ, preparing our communities.  In our preparation, we are called to remember where we’ve come from.  Because we exist in time, we have a past to look back at and honor.  We have traditions to tie us to those who came before, to those who did the work to usher in the coming age before us.  

One of those traditions is the lighting of the advent candles.  Each Sunday, leading up to advent, another candle is lit, culminating with the fifth candle on Christmas Eve.   Each of the five candles represents something different.

The first candle, today’s candle, is the candle of the prophets.  Reminding us to look back at those who came before, prophesying the coming of the gospel of the Christ.  And it serves as a reminder that we are now the ones being sent with the good news of Christ’s coming to reach our communities.  Doing the work, bridging the gaps, and working towards the completion, the rectification, of creation through Christ. The second candle is the Bethlehem candle.  It serves as a reminder that God acted in a particular place at a particular time.  God, who exists outside of time as we know, operates within time in a very specific manner.  This candle serves to remind us that the Christ was born a human to a human in a real place during a real time.  It also serves to remind us that we exist within a particular place at a particular time and in both, we are to be working towards the coming age.

The third candle is the Shepherd’s candle.  The shepherd, the smelly, poor, outcast member of their society and culture.  This candle is a reminder to us that God chose the lowest member of society to reveal himself to and to reveal his nature to seek out and restore those who’ve been marginalized and pushed to the edges.  It’s this candle that reminds us that God sought these people out, and it is our work to continue seeking this people out, to reveal the restoration of creation to.  

The fourth Sunday ushers in the angels’ candle.  The candle of extravagance.  The extra candle, as my wife would say.  The candle that shows us God can, because God can.  One angel would have been more that sufficient as a messenger to the shepherd’s from week three, but God sent an entire choir of them.  Because he can.  Because he is God and God’s love is an extravagant, over the top, YUGE kinda love.  God truly has the best love.

And the final candle.  The one lit on Christmas Eve.  It’s the candle for the Christ.  The one sent to begin the work of restoration for all of creation.  The one sent to begin the completion of God’s creation and the one who will come again to finish that work.  This candle reminds us of what was done and what’s left to be done.  

As the prophets were called to foretell the coming of the restoration, so are we called to continue the work of restoration.

As the human birth of the divine happened at a particular time and place, so are we called to live in the present, our own particular times and places, to continue the work of restoration.

As the shepherds were called to prove God’s love extends beyond class and culture, so are we called to continue reaching out past physical and social borders and boundaries to continue to work of restoration.

Is anyone seeing a pattern emerging here?  

As the choir of angels was called to show us God’s extravagant love, so are we called to continue showing the extravagant love of the one who exists beyond time and comprehension in an effort to further his desire for restoration.

And the final candle, the Christ candle, calls us to continue the work he started some 2,000 years ago.  The work of reaching out, reaching down.  The living, physical, tangible figures of restoration, ushering in the age to come that he promised.

As we enter into this time of advent, I beg all of you to do your part in bringing about the next age, the age to come.  The age promised to us by the Christ.  I beg you to begin the work of restoration in your community, wherever that may be.  

I’m gonna close simply.  

I want to invite my wife on stage at this time to join me in reading the passage for the prophet’s candle.  The candle that reminds us we are to be telling our communities about the great restoration of the Christ.  After the reading and the candle lighting, I will pray for us, and then I’ll shut up and we can all go home.

[apsbicepstraining]

Why the Internet cannot represent the #AssaultAtSpringValleyHigh

Warning : Such articles contains video that are likely to potentially triggering .

He developed. He received. He brutalized.

In a shaking viral video, Columbia, South Carolina deputy Ben Fields( a grey male police officer the size of an offensive lineman, better known as Officer Slam to students) squints toward an gullible young Black female student at Spring Valley High School. Harmonizing to unconfirmed reports, as the Root notes, she refused to leave the classroom per her teachers requisition, for supposedly not following a few simple guilds: namely, to stop chewing gumor to put away her phone. But that’s irrelevant.

As the footage depicts, the unidentified student is apparently without a artillery. She constitutes no clear and present peril. Shes not even suspected of having committed a violent crimes. Yet Fields, acting as the schools safety officer, enters the classroom to occur on the teaches behalf. Hes barely tries to encourage her partnership, let alone ask for her back of the narration. Instead, Fields instantly picks her up from her table, slings her in the various regions of the chamber, and persists roughing her up after she thuds to the floor.

On face, that alone might be enough for most people on the Internet to respond in feeling, cruelty, or abhorrence with the undue oblige used by the officer against an unarmed high school student. But where theres a will to be ignorant, theres surely a direction. Cue the impulsive, allowed online spectators shaking in to defend law enforcement.

As the #AssaultAtSpringValleyHigh demonstrates, yet again, the Internet is filled to the brim with people who assert that Black people must have done something to deserve merciless medication from detectives. Since Monday, the hashtag associated with the violent incident has elicitedmore than 150,000 tweets, according to Topsy, but the online sentiment still exposes a broader indifference or unwillingness to condemn anti-Black police brutality.

Its time to stop represent the officers who behave with the immunity theyre rendered, both by the long arm of the law, and by usespecially as it were related to Black women and girls.

A video posted by @_the. kiddd on Oct 26, 2015 at 3:04 pm PDT

One prime enabler of Fields acts at Spring Valley High, and a villain du jour in the debates on anti-Black combating racism and violence, is none other than Don Lemon. In his initial on-air reaction, the CNN fixes row of questioning testified so contentious, his call( again) became a top-1 0 veering Twitter topic in the United States, sparking online dialogue about whether or not the young student shouldve been treated in such a manner.

This broadcasted exchange is about more than Don Lemons prolonged stupidity while enveloping racial questions on a major national pulpit .

Id like to know more before passing arbitration, Lemon articulated, a position echoed by many online onlookers in the hours immediately following the liberation of three different inclinations of footage from that Spring Valley classroom. But former federal prosecutor, CNN contributor Sunny Hostinwho happens to be a Black woman, and an expert much more qualified to address the nature of the situationimmediately defied his legal logic.

I dont need to know more, Hostin told, despite Lemons attempts to shush her. The constitution provides that the standard here is whether the policeman has to use this kind of patrol, whether its reasonable and necessary to somehow assure restraint in the school. The bottom line is, Don, this is a young girl in institution. “They dont have” justification for using this kind and it is assault.

The next day, Richmond County Sheriff Leon Lott had similar questions as Hostin, which induced the FBI to open an investigation into the matter on Tuesday.

To be clear, “its about” more than Don Lemonspersistent ignorance while covering racial issues on a major national scaffold. Its about the propensityfrom Black humen in situations of ability, racists with negligent abandon, and staunch polouse guards on the Internetto erase, ignore, or minimise the pain that many Black women and girls face at the mitts of police officers, many of whom are white.

The online defense of Fields too spotlights a pernicious doubled guideline .

Citing Lemons questioning, online users have concealed behind faux-journalistic ethics and a purported need for verification to enable the people who defend Disciplines the most. In a post for the unaffiliated CNN Commentary blog, which Lemon retweeted on Tuesday, the author lauds Lemon hesitantly, calling him for formerly the voice of reason before decrying the trolls( including Hostin) who blared him on Twitter. Lemons reactionone shared by several on social mediawas praised as reasonable and responsible.

But even further, the online defense of Fields likewise highlights a injurious double criterion.

@Nettaaaaaaaa Don Lemon was right for formerly. Chris Hayes is a moron.

Mama P. (@ anniebeans5 9) October 28, 2015

@Mediaite @SunnyHostin @donlemon Don you should not have to defend ur point of vue u were& 100% right to say if u were not in the room

sam (@ sammedisam) October 28, 2015

@Mediaite @normagenie Actually, @donlemon, you’ve done the right thing, even if it was only accidental. I honour you.

Marie von Astra (@ marievonastra) October 27, 2015

@donlemon delivering a almost perfect thinking just now on @CNN impartial ruling certainly best available CNN has to offer right now

Howard (@ hsmythwithaY) October 27, 2015

Anyone with a lash pulsing could bet their times income that the Internet reactionand maybe even Lemonswould be markedly different if a burly, bodybuilding, Black male police officer roughed up a lily-white, blonde, female student in a high school class. The Internet would be in even bigger uproar calling for the officers ouster, and he wouldve likely been fired without question, even before a formal investigation took shape, as Fields has been afforded.

Yet its officers like Fields who often get the benefit of the doubt from many observers, and even get away with slaughter in special courts. That includes Daniel Holtzclaw in Oklahoma, who are continuing faces indicts for supposedly abusing his supremacy to serially crimes multiple Black maidens. It also includes Eric Casebolt in McKinney, Texas, who resigned after slamming and pinning a teenage Black girl wearing a swimsuit, while utilizing his handgun to scare away concerned bystanders over an suspect consortium defendant quarrel. And lest we not forget Brian Encinia, in Waller County, Texas, who viciously took down an unarmed Sandra Bland over an alleged traffic misdemeanour, dragging her out of her gondola and resulting her to the holding station where molted soon, mysteriously die.

And with the ethnic capacity reversalhad the man been Black and the student been whiteat most any other high school in America, the classroom teacher may have even is seeking to deescalate developments in the situation. The young lady bystanding peers may have defied his authority even more than they did at Spring Valley, where a number of concerned students defiantly recorded the incident on their cell phone.

Officer who violently apprehended student known as “Officer Slam, ” speaks witness #AssaultAtSpringValleyHigh #inners https :// t.co /8 DqARYar9H

All In w/ Chris Hayes (@ allinwithchris) October 28, 2015

Ben Fields dating a Black woman has NOTHING to do with his actions. #AssaultAtSpringValleyHigh https :// t.co/ 2SqQz50ggM

rolandsmartin (@ rolandsmartin) October 27, 2015

Notably, one of those students1 8-year-old Niya Kenny, a young Black womanwas also arrested for intervene in defense of her classmate.

I was bellowing, What the f, what the f is really happening? I was praying out loud for the girl, she told South Carolinas WLTX, adding that she also preserved the traumatic happen on her cameraphone. I only couldnt believe this was happening, I was just exclaiming, and he articulated, Since “youve had” so much better to say, you are coming too. I simply applied my hands behind my back.

But as Kenny also spotlights, according to reports, Fields has a sick honour for administering female students. Ive listened in the past slammed pregnant women, teenage girlfriends, hes known for throwing, Kenny told MSNBCs Chris Hayes on Tuesday evening , noting that she told fellow classmates to strap in for the purposes of an unsettling occurrence. And granted his violent honour for undue army, Kenny said she also spurred her peers to take out their cell phone to movie an incident that she knew wouldnt dissolve well.

If a surrendering, white supremacist murder suspect can getcoddled into police custody, then young, unarmed Black students should expect more from police officer .

Kennys dreads arent unfounded, after all, contributed Fieldss history of misconduct and ethnic bias. In addition, as the Roots Kristen West-Savali highlights, Black girls in the United States are six times more likely to be suspended or expelled than their lily-white counterparts, per a 2015 reportfrom the African American Policy Forum. As AAPF co-founder and statute professor Kimberle Crenshaw memo in the report, Black Girls Matter: Pushed Out, Overpoliced and Underprotected, very concerned about the dangers that Black girls and other girls of hue encounter rarely receive the full courtesy of researchers, counselors, policy makers, and funders.

Indeed, the why does it have to be about hasten protection simply doesnt work in the cases in which ethnic and gender biases, combined, demonstrably play a role in how Black girls are treated in institution fixes. If the challenges of daughters of coloring are to be addressed, then research and policy frameworks must move beyond the notion that all of the young people of coloring who are in crisis are boys, the reports executive summary governments, and that the concerns of white girlfriends are indistinguishable from those of girls of dye.

Black girls accept hugely from overpolicing in schools. Via @aapf: #SpringValleyHigh pic.twitter.com/ aJP4 2m3Ht7

Brittany Packnett (@ MsPackyetti) October 26, 2015

“The narrative that pitch-black daughters are just fine is a dangerous myth.” https :// t.co/ P1LG0WzyEk #BlackGirlsMatter #AssaultAtSpringValleyHigh

Ash Consulting Group (@ AshConsultingGr) October 27, 2015

What will it take for the public to condemn police inhumanity outright, when its a clear and present danger to people of color in America, including and especially Black women and girls? If the Internet has long waited for a intellect, the #AssaultAtSpringValleyHigh is most certainly a prime one. But, even so, the reasons are irrelevant here, because no man in similar circumstances deserves being brutalized by the police officers who swore protecting children.

If a surrender, white supremacist carnage believe( speak: the Charleston crap-shooter) can getcoddled into police detention and furnished with a bulletproof vestafter murdering several Black church congregants exactly a two-hour drive away from Spring Valley High Schoolthen young, unarmed Black students should expect police officer and government agencies to fully involve their lives with respect and dignity.

Because their Black lives question, even when the Internet bickers otherwise.

Derrick Cliftonis the agent mind editor for the Daily Dot and a New York-based journalist and orator, principally clothing issues of identity, culture, and social right .

Photo via _the.kidd/ Instagram( CC by 2.0) | Remix by Max Fleishman

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You maniacs have wasted nearly 1,300 years watching Adele’s brand-new video in a single week

Here got a few interesting thing you could have done in the meantime .

By Rae Votta — October 28, 2015

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[apsbicepstraining]

Why the Internet cannot represent the #AssaultAtSpringValleyHigh

Warning : Such articles contains video that are likely to potentially triggering .

He developed. He received. He brutalized.

In a shaking viral video, Columbia, South Carolina deputy Ben Fields( a grey male police officer the size of an offensive lineman, better known as Officer Slam to students) squints toward an gullible young Black female student at Spring Valley High School. Harmonizing to unconfirmed reports, as the Root notes, she refused to leave the classroom per her teachers requisition, for supposedly not following a few simple guilds: namely, to stop chewing gumor to put away her phone. But that’s irrelevant.

As the footage depicts, the unidentified student is apparently without a artillery. She constitutes no clear and present peril. Shes not even suspected of having committed a violent crimes. Yet Fields, acting as the schools safety officer, enters the classroom to occur on the teaches behalf. Hes barely tries to encourage her partnership, let alone ask for her back of the narration. Instead, Fields instantly picks her up from her table, slings her in the various regions of the chamber, and persists roughing her up after she thuds to the floor.

On face, that alone might be enough for most people on the Internet to respond in feeling, cruelty, or abhorrence with the undue oblige used by the officer against an unarmed high school student. But where theres a will to be ignorant, theres surely a direction. Cue the impulsive, allowed online spectators shaking in to defend law enforcement.

As the #AssaultAtSpringValleyHigh demonstrates, yet again, the Internet is filled to the brim with people who assert that Black people must have done something to deserve merciless medication from detectives. Since Monday, the hashtag associated with the violent incident has elicitedmore than 150,000 tweets, according to Topsy, but the online sentiment still exposes a broader indifference or unwillingness to condemn anti-Black police brutality.

Its time to stop represent the officers who behave with the immunity theyre rendered, both by the long arm of the law, and by usespecially as it were related to Black women and girls.

A video posted by @_the. kiddd on Oct 26, 2015 at 3:04 pm PDT

One prime enabler of Fields acts at Spring Valley High, and a villain du jour in the debates on anti-Black combating racism and violence, is none other than Don Lemon. In his initial on-air reaction, the CNN fixes row of questioning testified so contentious, his call( again) became a top-1 0 veering Twitter topic in the United States, sparking online dialogue about whether or not the young student shouldve been treated in such a manner.

This broadcasted exchange is about more than Don Lemons prolonged stupidity while enveloping racial questions on a major national pulpit .

Id like to know more before passing arbitration, Lemon articulated, a position echoed by many online onlookers in the hours immediately following the liberation of three different inclinations of footage from that Spring Valley classroom. But former federal prosecutor, CNN contributor Sunny Hostinwho happens to be a Black woman, and an expert much more qualified to address the nature of the situationimmediately defied his legal logic.

I dont need to know more, Hostin told, despite Lemons attempts to shush her. The constitution provides that the standard here is whether the policeman has to use this kind of patrol, whether its reasonable and necessary to somehow assure restraint in the school. The bottom line is, Don, this is a young girl in institution. “They dont have” justification for using this kind and it is assault.

The next day, Richmond County Sheriff Leon Lott had similar questions as Hostin, which induced the FBI to open an investigation into the matter on Tuesday.

To be clear, “its about” more than Don Lemonspersistent ignorance while covering racial issues on a major national scaffold. Its about the propensityfrom Black humen in situations of ability, racists with negligent abandon, and staunch polouse guards on the Internetto erase, ignore, or minimise the pain that many Black women and girls face at the mitts of police officers, many of whom are white.

The online defense of Fields too spotlights a pernicious doubled guideline .

Citing Lemons questioning, online users have concealed behind faux-journalistic ethics and a purported need for verification to enable the people who defend Disciplines the most. In a post for the unaffiliated CNN Commentary blog, which Lemon retweeted on Tuesday, the author lauds Lemon hesitantly, calling him for formerly the voice of reason before decrying the trolls( including Hostin) who blared him on Twitter. Lemons reactionone shared by several on social mediawas praised as reasonable and responsible.

But even further, the online defense of Fields likewise highlights a injurious double criterion.

@Nettaaaaaaaa Don Lemon was right for formerly. Chris Hayes is a moron.

Mama P. (@ anniebeans5 9) October 28, 2015

@Mediaite @SunnyHostin @donlemon Don you should not have to defend ur point of vue u were& 100% right to say if u were not in the room

sam (@ sammedisam) October 28, 2015

@Mediaite @normagenie Actually, @donlemon, you’ve done the right thing, even if it was only accidental. I honour you.

Marie von Astra (@ marievonastra) October 27, 2015

@donlemon delivering a almost perfect thinking just now on @CNN impartial ruling certainly best available CNN has to offer right now

Howard (@ hsmythwithaY) October 27, 2015

Anyone with a lash pulsing could bet their times income that the Internet reactionand maybe even Lemonswould be markedly different if a burly, bodybuilding, Black male police officer roughed up a lily-white, blonde, female student in a high school class. The Internet would be in even bigger uproar calling for the officers ouster, and he wouldve likely been fired without question, even before a formal investigation took shape, as Fields has been afforded.

Yet its officers like Fields who often get the benefit of the doubt from many observers, and even get away with slaughter in special courts. That includes Daniel Holtzclaw in Oklahoma, who are continuing faces indicts for supposedly abusing his supremacy to serially crimes multiple Black maidens. It also includes Eric Casebolt in McKinney, Texas, who resigned after slamming and pinning a teenage Black girl wearing a swimsuit, while utilizing his handgun to scare away concerned bystanders over an suspect consortium defendant quarrel. And lest we not forget Brian Encinia, in Waller County, Texas, who viciously took down an unarmed Sandra Bland over an alleged traffic misdemeanour, dragging her out of her gondola and resulting her to the holding station where molted soon, mysteriously die.

And with the ethnic capacity reversalhad the man been Black and the student been whiteat most any other high school in America, the classroom teacher may have even is seeking to deescalate developments in the situation. The young lady bystanding peers may have defied his authority even more than they did at Spring Valley, where a number of concerned students defiantly recorded the incident on their cell phone.

Officer who violently apprehended student known as “Officer Slam, ” speaks witness #AssaultAtSpringValleyHigh #inners https :// t.co /8 DqARYar9H

All In w/ Chris Hayes (@ allinwithchris) October 28, 2015

Ben Fields dating a Black woman has NOTHING to do with his actions. #AssaultAtSpringValleyHigh https :// t.co/ 2SqQz50ggM

rolandsmartin (@ rolandsmartin) October 27, 2015

Notably, one of those students1 8-year-old Niya Kenny, a young Black womanwas also arrested for intervene in defense of her classmate.

I was bellowing, What the f, what the f is really happening? I was praying out loud for the girl, she told South Carolinas WLTX, adding that she also preserved the traumatic happen on her cameraphone. I only couldnt believe this was happening, I was just exclaiming, and he articulated, Since “youve had” so much better to say, you are coming too. I simply applied my hands behind my back.

But as Kenny also spotlights, according to reports, Fields has a sick honour for administering female students. Ive listened in the past slammed pregnant women, teenage girlfriends, hes known for throwing, Kenny told MSNBCs Chris Hayes on Tuesday evening , noting that she told fellow classmates to strap in for the purposes of an unsettling occurrence. And granted his violent honour for undue army, Kenny said she also spurred her peers to take out their cell phone to movie an incident that she knew wouldnt dissolve well.

If a surrendering, white supremacist murder suspect can getcoddled into police custody, then young, unarmed Black students should expect more from police officer .

Kennys dreads arent unfounded, after all, contributed Fieldss history of misconduct and ethnic bias. In addition, as the Roots Kristen West-Savali highlights, Black girls in the United States are six times more likely to be suspended or expelled than their lily-white counterparts, per a 2015 reportfrom the African American Policy Forum. As AAPF co-founder and statute professor Kimberle Crenshaw memo in the report, Black Girls Matter: Pushed Out, Overpoliced and Underprotected, very concerned about the dangers that Black girls and other girls of hue encounter rarely receive the full courtesy of researchers, counselors, policy makers, and funders.

Indeed, the why does it have to be about hasten protection simply doesnt work in the cases in which ethnic and gender biases, combined, demonstrably play a role in how Black girls are treated in institution fixes. If the challenges of daughters of coloring are to be addressed, then research and policy frameworks must move beyond the notion that all of the young people of coloring who are in crisis are boys, the reports executive summary governments, and that the concerns of white girlfriends are indistinguishable from those of girls of dye.

Black girls accept hugely from overpolicing in schools. Via @aapf: #SpringValleyHigh pic.twitter.com/ aJP4 2m3Ht7

Brittany Packnett (@ MsPackyetti) October 26, 2015

“The narrative that pitch-black daughters are just fine is a dangerous myth.” https :// t.co/ P1LG0WzyEk #BlackGirlsMatter #AssaultAtSpringValleyHigh

Ash Consulting Group (@ AshConsultingGr) October 27, 2015

What will it take for the public to condemn police inhumanity outright, when its a clear and present danger to people of color in America, including and especially Black women and girls? If the Internet has long waited for a intellect, the #AssaultAtSpringValleyHigh is most certainly a prime one. But, even so, the reasons are irrelevant here, because no man in similar circumstances deserves being brutalized by the police officers who swore protecting children.

If a surrender, white supremacist carnage believe( speak: the Charleston crap-shooter) can getcoddled into police detention and furnished with a bulletproof vestafter murdering several Black church congregants exactly a two-hour drive away from Spring Valley High Schoolthen young, unarmed Black students should expect police officer and government agencies to fully involve their lives with respect and dignity.

Because their Black lives question, even when the Internet bickers otherwise.

Derrick Cliftonis the agent mind editor for the Daily Dot and a New York-based journalist and orator, principally clothing issues of identity, culture, and social right .

Photo via _the.kidd/ Instagram( CC by 2.0) | Remix by Max Fleishman

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The post Why the Internet cannot represent the #AssaultAtSpringValleyHigh appeared first on apsbicepstraining.com.

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[apsbicepstraining]

Why the Internet cannot represent the #AssaultAtSpringValleyHigh

Warning : Such articles contains video that are likely to potentially triggering .

He developed. He received. He brutalized.

In a shaking viral video, Columbia, South Carolina deputy Ben Fields( a grey male police officer the size of an offensive lineman, better known as Officer Slam to students) squints toward an gullible young Black female student at Spring Valley High School. Harmonizing to unconfirmed reports, as the Root notes, she refused to leave the classroom per her teachers requisition, for supposedly not following a few simple guilds: namely, to stop chewing gumor to put away her phone. But that’s irrelevant.

As the footage depicts, the unidentified student is apparently without a artillery. She constitutes no clear and present peril. Shes not even suspected of having committed a violent crimes. Yet Fields, acting as the schools safety officer, enters the classroom to occur on the teaches behalf. Hes barely tries to encourage her partnership, let alone ask for her back of the narration. Instead, Fields instantly picks her up from her table, slings her in the various regions of the chamber, and persists roughing her up after she thuds to the floor.

On face, that alone might be enough for most people on the Internet to respond in feeling, cruelty, or abhorrence with the undue oblige used by the officer against an unarmed high school student. But where theres a will to be ignorant, theres surely a direction. Cue the impulsive, allowed online spectators shaking in to defend law enforcement.

As the #AssaultAtSpringValleyHigh demonstrates, yet again, the Internet is filled to the brim with people who assert that Black people must have done something to deserve merciless medication from detectives. Since Monday, the hashtag associated with the violent incident has elicitedmore than 150,000 tweets, according to Topsy, but the online sentiment still exposes a broader indifference or unwillingness to condemn anti-Black police brutality.

Its time to stop represent the officers who behave with the immunity theyre rendered, both by the long arm of the law, and by usespecially as it were related to Black women and girls.

A video posted by @_the. kiddd on Oct 26, 2015 at 3:04 pm PDT

One prime enabler of Fields acts at Spring Valley High, and a villain du jour in the debates on anti-Black combating racism and violence, is none other than Don Lemon. In his initial on-air reaction, the CNN fixes row of questioning testified so contentious, his call( again) became a top-1 0 veering Twitter topic in the United States, sparking online dialogue about whether or not the young student shouldve been treated in such a manner.

This broadcasted exchange is about more than Don Lemons prolonged stupidity while enveloping racial questions on a major national pulpit .

Id like to know more before passing arbitration, Lemon articulated, a position echoed by many online onlookers in the hours immediately following the liberation of three different inclinations of footage from that Spring Valley classroom. But former federal prosecutor, CNN contributor Sunny Hostinwho happens to be a Black woman, and an expert much more qualified to address the nature of the situationimmediately defied his legal logic.

I dont need to know more, Hostin told, despite Lemons attempts to shush her. The constitution provides that the standard here is whether the policeman has to use this kind of patrol, whether its reasonable and necessary to somehow assure restraint in the school. The bottom line is, Don, this is a young girl in institution. “They dont have” justification for using this kind and it is assault.

The next day, Richmond County Sheriff Leon Lott had similar questions as Hostin, which induced the FBI to open an investigation into the matter on Tuesday.

To be clear, “its about” more than Don Lemonspersistent ignorance while covering racial issues on a major national scaffold. Its about the propensityfrom Black humen in situations of ability, racists with negligent abandon, and staunch polouse guards on the Internetto erase, ignore, or minimise the pain that many Black women and girls face at the mitts of police officers, many of whom are white.

The online defense of Fields too spotlights a pernicious doubled guideline .

Citing Lemons questioning, online users have concealed behind faux-journalistic ethics and a purported need for verification to enable the people who defend Disciplines the most. In a post for the unaffiliated CNN Commentary blog, which Lemon retweeted on Tuesday, the author lauds Lemon hesitantly, calling him for formerly the voice of reason before decrying the trolls( including Hostin) who blared him on Twitter. Lemons reactionone shared by several on social mediawas praised as reasonable and responsible.

But even further, the online defense of Fields likewise highlights a injurious double criterion.

@Nettaaaaaaaa Don Lemon was right for formerly. Chris Hayes is a moron.

Mama P. (@ anniebeans5 9) October 28, 2015

@Mediaite @SunnyHostin @donlemon Don you should not have to defend ur point of vue u were& 100% right to say if u were not in the room

sam (@ sammedisam) October 28, 2015

@Mediaite @normagenie Actually, @donlemon, you’ve done the right thing, even if it was only accidental. I honour you.

Marie von Astra (@ marievonastra) October 27, 2015

@donlemon delivering a almost perfect thinking just now on @CNN impartial ruling certainly best available CNN has to offer right now

Howard (@ hsmythwithaY) October 27, 2015

Anyone with a lash pulsing could bet their times income that the Internet reactionand maybe even Lemonswould be markedly different if a burly, bodybuilding, Black male police officer roughed up a lily-white, blonde, female student in a high school class. The Internet would be in even bigger uproar calling for the officers ouster, and he wouldve likely been fired without question, even before a formal investigation took shape, as Fields has been afforded.

Yet its officers like Fields who often get the benefit of the doubt from many observers, and even get away with slaughter in special courts. That includes Daniel Holtzclaw in Oklahoma, who are continuing faces indicts for supposedly abusing his supremacy to serially crimes multiple Black maidens. It also includes Eric Casebolt in McKinney, Texas, who resigned after slamming and pinning a teenage Black girl wearing a swimsuit, while utilizing his handgun to scare away concerned bystanders over an suspect consortium defendant quarrel. And lest we not forget Brian Encinia, in Waller County, Texas, who viciously took down an unarmed Sandra Bland over an alleged traffic misdemeanour, dragging her out of her gondola and resulting her to the holding station where molted soon, mysteriously die.

And with the ethnic capacity reversalhad the man been Black and the student been whiteat most any other high school in America, the classroom teacher may have even is seeking to deescalate developments in the situation. The young lady bystanding peers may have defied his authority even more than they did at Spring Valley, where a number of concerned students defiantly recorded the incident on their cell phone.

Officer who violently apprehended student known as “Officer Slam, ” speaks witness #AssaultAtSpringValleyHigh #inners https :// t.co /8 DqARYar9H

All In w/ Chris Hayes (@ allinwithchris) October 28, 2015

Ben Fields dating a Black woman has NOTHING to do with his actions. #AssaultAtSpringValleyHigh https :// t.co/ 2SqQz50ggM

rolandsmartin (@ rolandsmartin) October 27, 2015

Notably, one of those students1 8-year-old Niya Kenny, a young Black womanwas also arrested for intervene in defense of her classmate.

I was bellowing, What the f, what the f is really happening? I was praying out loud for the girl, she told South Carolinas WLTX, adding that she also preserved the traumatic happen on her cameraphone. I only couldnt believe this was happening, I was just exclaiming, and he articulated, Since “youve had” so much better to say, you are coming too. I simply applied my hands behind my back.

But as Kenny also spotlights, according to reports, Fields has a sick honour for administering female students. Ive listened in the past slammed pregnant women, teenage girlfriends, hes known for throwing, Kenny told MSNBCs Chris Hayes on Tuesday evening , noting that she told fellow classmates to strap in for the purposes of an unsettling occurrence. And granted his violent honour for undue army, Kenny said she also spurred her peers to take out their cell phone to movie an incident that she knew wouldnt dissolve well.

If a surrendering, white supremacist murder suspect can getcoddled into police custody, then young, unarmed Black students should expect more from police officer .

Kennys dreads arent unfounded, after all, contributed Fieldss history of misconduct and ethnic bias. In addition, as the Roots Kristen West-Savali highlights, Black girls in the United States are six times more likely to be suspended or expelled than their lily-white counterparts, per a 2015 reportfrom the African American Policy Forum. As AAPF co-founder and statute professor Kimberle Crenshaw memo in the report, Black Girls Matter: Pushed Out, Overpoliced and Underprotected, very concerned about the dangers that Black girls and other girls of hue encounter rarely receive the full courtesy of researchers, counselors, policy makers, and funders.

Indeed, the why does it have to be about hasten protection simply doesnt work in the cases in which ethnic and gender biases, combined, demonstrably play a role in how Black girls are treated in institution fixes. If the challenges of daughters of coloring are to be addressed, then research and policy frameworks must move beyond the notion that all of the young people of coloring who are in crisis are boys, the reports executive summary governments, and that the concerns of white girlfriends are indistinguishable from those of girls of dye.

Black girls accept hugely from overpolicing in schools. Via @aapf: #SpringValleyHigh pic.twitter.com/ aJP4 2m3Ht7

Brittany Packnett (@ MsPackyetti) October 26, 2015

“The narrative that pitch-black daughters are just fine is a dangerous myth.” https :// t.co/ P1LG0WzyEk #BlackGirlsMatter #AssaultAtSpringValleyHigh

Ash Consulting Group (@ AshConsultingGr) October 27, 2015

What will it take for the public to condemn police inhumanity outright, when its a clear and present danger to people of color in America, including and especially Black women and girls? If the Internet has long waited for a intellect, the #AssaultAtSpringValleyHigh is most certainly a prime one. But, even so, the reasons are irrelevant here, because no man in similar circumstances deserves being brutalized by the police officers who swore protecting children.

If a surrender, white supremacist carnage believe( speak: the Charleston crap-shooter) can getcoddled into police detention and furnished with a bulletproof vestafter murdering several Black church congregants exactly a two-hour drive away from Spring Valley High Schoolthen young, unarmed Black students should expect police officer and government agencies to fully involve their lives with respect and dignity.

Because their Black lives question, even when the Internet bickers otherwise.

Derrick Cliftonis the agent mind editor for the Daily Dot and a New York-based journalist and orator, principally clothing issues of identity, culture, and social right .

Photo via _the.kidd/ Instagram( CC by 2.0) | Remix by Max Fleishman

Popular on The Daily Dot

You maniacs have wasted nearly 1,300 years watching Adele’s brand-new video in a single week

Here got a few interesting thing you could have done in the meantime .

By Rae Votta — October 28, 2015

The post Why the Internet cannot represent the #AssaultAtSpringValleyHigh appeared first on apsbicepstraining.com.

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