#freight recession

[artisticdivasworld]

Navigating Q4 in Trucking: What to Expect and How to Stay Ahead

As we move into October, there are some key updates in the trucking world that will likely affect your business. Things have been up and down this year, but there are a few silver linings if you stay on top of the trends and plan accordingly. Let’s start with rates. Spot rates have been dropping most of the year, with dry van rates down by about $0.02 to $0.05 per mile compared to earlier…

[orcasoul]

Joel Miller Head-cannons

Joel's Reaction When You Tell Him You're Pregnant.

Warnings: Angst, grieving, fluff.

Word Count: 565

As soon as those words leave your lips, the world halts on it's axis. A rush of emotions overwhelm Joel: fear, anger, guilt, worry, disbelief. His knees buckle under his own weight and he lands on the dining room chair with a thump. Clasping his hands together, and leaning his forehead onto his thumb knuckles, a string of "No, no, no," leaves his lips in barely there mumbles.

This can't be happening. He can't be a dad again. So many thoughts race through his mind, all worse case scenarios. Would he be able to protect you both? Would the baby be taken from him, like Sarah was? Would you die in childbirth? His temples begin to throb in time with his thundering heartbeat.

Your hand on his shoulder and nervous whisper of his name results in Joel recoiling from your touch as if you had burned him. The look of complete devastation on your face causes Joel's heart to plummet and his stomach to twist up in knots. He know's he's hurt you but he can't focus on that right now. Not when all he can see in his minds' eye is the image of his bloodied daughter, lifeless in his arms.

Before he even realises it, his feet are leading him out the front door and straight to the Tipsy Bison to numb the pain. However, a few drinks in, realisation hits Joel like a freight train; He'd left you. He abandoned you in your hour of need. He races home to find you crying silent tears on the settee. You won't even look at him!

He drops to his knees in front of you, clasping your hands, tenderly. After a lengthy and very emotional discussion - where he apologises, profusely and exposes his deepest fears to you - you both fall into each other's arms, crying and promising each other that everything will be okay.

The months go by and Joel's already protective nature hit's new heights. He always has a hand at the small of your back when outside, he even holds your arm in a death grip while walking over snow and ice. He keeps a close watch over you at social events, knowing how alcohol can lead to carelessness and is ready to spring at the first sign of trouble.

He told Maria and the council that under no circumstances are you to be rostered for patrol, he won't even let you carry anything - even if it's light - insisting that he and Ellie can do it. When the birth is imminent, Joel is a bag of nerves! He watches the medical team like a hawk, refusing to be more than an arm's length away from you. He may be overbearing but he doesn't care. He'll do all he can to ensure both you and the baby get through this, safe and sound.

Hours later, Joel cradles his tiny newborn son in one arm and has you tucked under his other, his heart bursting with emotions he can hardly contain. You're both here with him, safe and healthy. His anxieties about the unknown still linger, and always will reside in the recesses of his brain. But now, with you, his son, Ellie and Tommy all safe in the fortress of Jackson, Joel begins to believe that maybe, if you want it bad enough, happiness can still be found, even in a damn apocalypse.

[vivalas-vega]

new perspectives / jake ‘hangman’ seresin x reader / prologue

new series alert !!!! I’m really excited about this one :) I’m still brainstorming a cute nickname for our reader here so if anyone has any ideas lmk and as always lmk what you think and if you want to be added to the taglist for this!

new perspectives / jake ‘hangman’ seresin x reader / prologue

to be tagged in future works, please turn on post notifications for @vegaslibrary 

part one

word count: 1.7k

warnings: none :) series will include language, drinking, smut, the whole nine lol

You knew thoroughly and completely that this was supposed to be the most exciting time of your life… It was the time for new beginnings, to embark on new journeys and gain new perspectives but it didn’t feel that way at all. It felt like the sky was falling and your life was ending though it was truly just getting started and Jake was feeling the same way. Of course he did, you shouldn’t have been surprised, your families had joked you shared one brain since you’d first met at ten years old. A screaming match at recess landed the two of you in the principal's office with your parents and while you’d walked in as mortal enemies, you teamed up in your disdain for your parents and teachers assessment of the situation and left as friends, never to be seen far from the other for the following eight years. 

“We knew this was coming, sweetheart…” he said, planting a kiss on your forehead as you nestled into his side. It was rather dramatic and you knew it, because he was right but that didn’t make this any easier. You weren’t leaving yet and neither was he, it was a simple question he’d asked… wanting to know if you’d made any college decisions yet and halfway through your answer you’d broken down. The weight of that decision had hit you like a freight train and left you wracked with emotion as you cried into his chest.

“I don’t want to leave,” you blubbered and he rubbed soothingly along your back.

“Yes, you do. I do, too. Trust me, if there was a Navy flight school in California I’d be there in a heartbeat.”

“If there was a good biology program in Florida, I’d be there in a heartbeat,” you replied and he just chuckled.

“Wouldn’t do much good anyways, I’d be off to Rhode Island before you graduated anyways.”

“Why would you say that right now?” you asked, another wave of tears cascading down your face. Theoretically you knew Jake’s dream career would leave him bouncing around not only the country but the world for seemingly the rest of his life and it was a disgustingly bitter pill to swallow. 

“Hey, you’re going to be all over the place, too… after Stanford who knows where you’ll go for residency… then you’ll have your pick of fellowships because why wouldn’t you?”

“I’m offended you didn’t say Massachusetts for residency, you have to speak it into existence, Jake.” you mumbled.

“Your plans could change… it’s okay for plans to change,” he pointed out and you looked up at him deadpan. “Right, forgot who I was talking to,” he laughed. “We’re going to be okay.”

You shook your head, “no… we’re not.” This was where you and Jake differed. He had an unwavering optimism for your relationship's survival after graduation but you didn’t share that same hope. You knew what was coming, you knew how few relationships actually survived the first year of college. By some miracle if it did, it would only grow more strained once medical school started, and residency was a completely different beast… not to mention the fact that he would be frequently deployed only god knows where with no ability to call or check in. 

“Honey…” he started, but you just cut him off.

“We have to be realistic,” you muttered. “I think we should…” you trailed off, feeling your throat grow thick, almost as if your body was forcing you not to say it because once you did everything would change. You felt him stiffen beneath you and your body’s attempt at self-preservation was in vain anyways, he knew where you were going.

“We should what? Break up?” he asked, hurt lacing his voice and you sat up to face him as you wiped your tears.

“No, I… I don’t want to break up, Jake, you know that… I just-”

“Think it would be easier?” he asked and you shook your head, taking his hands in yours as you tried to keep him from spiraling.

“I’m not saying this because it’s what I want, Jake. It’s the furthest thing from what I want, if I could make myself have the same dream as you and go to flight school with you so we could keep doing everything together like we always have I would. God, I’ve even tried to want that but we’re just… we’re on different paths. We both dream too big and eventually it was going to catch up to us.” 

“So is this… are you ending this right now? Are we over?” Tears were forming in his eyes and you reached up to swipe them away as they fell.

“No. I’m saying that… I’m saying that we should soak up the time we have together, make the most of it before we both leave and when we do…” you trailed off again, and he cradled your head in his hands.

“When we do, we’re over.” You nodded, your face curling with pain and he couldn’t bear the sight. He pulled you in close, hugging you tight as if he loosened his grip you’d vanish into thin air. “I love you,” he mumbled into your hair and you nodded as you wrapped yourself around him.

“I love you too, so much…” 

And you did just what you said you would. You made the most of the few weeks you had left. Your parents knew what was coming and loosened the reins, sleepovers that had stopped the moment you got together were no longer forbidden and despite their own grief at their babies moving out and moving on they allowed you to spend all of your time together because secretly your impending doom was just as hard on them as it was on you. The four of them had all known your relationship was an inevitability, even had wagers on when it would happen… your mom had won, something she boasted about frequently, she’d even gotten it right down to the day, your junior prom. They also knew what you did, that it would never survive the rigors of college, the unpredictability of the Navy, or the grueling schedule of residency. They’d raised two kids that were larger than life, two kids destined to become the greatest at what they did and you just weren’t old enough or mature enough to figure out how to make each other fit. 

You helped each other pack, studied for finals, danced the night away at prom and walked with each other onto the field for graduation and when the time came to load you onto a plane to San Jose he was right by your side until he couldn’t be.

“This isn’t goodbye,” he said, sensing your body language as you turned to face him before entering the security line. 

You nodded, “I know… I’ll see you at Thanksgiving,” you said softly and his hands rested on your hips. You had said your goodbyes to your parents this morning, they suggested Jake drop you at the airport to let you have your final moments in privacy… as much privacy as the airport would allow. 

“We’re making the right decision,” you weren’t really sure who he was trying to convince but in the end it didn’t really matter. Neither one of you were sure this was true, but it seemed to be the only way to handle things right now.

You nodded again, “it’s not an ending it’s just… all we’re saying is not right now.” He leaned his forehead against yours, eyes fluttering shut as he pulled you as close as he possibly could and you felt tears spill out and onto your cheeks. “I’m going to go learn how to become a doctor, you’re going to go learn how to be the best damn pilot the Navy has ever seen and we’re going to be good.” Again, who you were trying to convince was up for debate. You pulled your head back to instead bury it in his neck as you threw your arms around his shoulders and breathed in as much of him as you could. 

“We’ll be good,” he mumbled and you knew you had to pull away… you knew you had to turn around and walk away from him but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it just yet. You wanted to stay here, right here in this airport wrapped up in his arms for the rest of your life, but you couldn’t… you had a plane to catch and dreams to follow and he did too. You pulled away suddenly, keeping your arms around him as you looked at him seriously.

“Promise me something,” you said as you fought another wave of tears.

“Anything.”

“You’re not going to wait for me, we’re not going to hold back and miss out on life waiting on a maybe.”

“Honey-” he started to protest but you shook your head.

“Promise me, Jake, otherwise I can’t get on that plane. Promise me you’re not going to wait.”

He cursed under his breath, “okay, honey. I promise.”

“And promise me you’re still my best friend,” you said, letting the tears fall now.

“Oh sweetheart, not being your best friend was never an option,” he replied and you nodded, letting your hands rest on his cheeks as you looked him over. This was the last time you would hold his head in your hands and this was the last time you would look at him as your boyfriend, because the second you boarded your plane you would be single and embarking on a whole new journey. He placed a hand on the back of your head and pulled you in, pressing his lips to yours so gently, as if he applied any pressure you’d crumble beneath him. You had other ideas, kissing him back in almost a frenzy as he matched your pace and allowed his tongue to slip past your lips, tasting you for the last time and savoring the moment as he knew it was the last. You pulled away slightly, giving him a few more gentler kisses as you swiped away the tears wetting your hands, 

“I love you,” you whispered and he kissed you again.

“I love you too, honey.”

next part

[crying-wolves]

hi!! why stress when you can be in a fictional world??

so i kept seeing my ex this week 🫣 after not seeing them for a year 🥴 and im over her but it’s like first gay love you know? that shit fucks you up!!!

i kept thinking about abby and how i wish i could text her 😭😭 like babe come pick me up PLEASE

so yeah maybe something around that?? i think we all need some abby comfort

You usually weren’t known for making mistakes.

Seriously, as overconfident and precise as it sounds, you were always the smart one. Level-headed in a way that pissed your friends off when all they wanted to do was go a little feral. Experiment. Let whatever happens, happen.

Yeah, you didn’t buy into that whole “let the universe make your choices for you” moonshine. Didn’t appeal to you in the slightest.

So why, oh, why are you spending your Friday night standing outside of a crumbling sports bar, rubbing at those tears that threaten to fall from your eyes onto the ground below you?

You guess the universe pushes and pushes until it finally has its way with you in the end.

Your fingers had dialed practically everyone of your four roommates in the past 10 minutes that you’ve been standing out in the balmy summer air, but, of fucking course, each call went straight to voice mail every single time.

Figures! The one time you decide to do something out of your comfort zone and everything starts spinning off its axis immediately.

The idea of calling an Uber flits across the back of your mind, but you really don’t want to spend anymore money tonight, having already handed your card over to the bartender enough times that you were thoroughly buzzed and feeling that if you checked your bank account right now, all of those vodka sodas would come racing back up your throat. Hard pass.

It isn’t until you scroll through your contacts for the fifth consecutive time and land right back at the top, however, that you stop to consider what may be the most obvious answer of the night: Abby Anderson. Fuckin’ duh.

Abby “Permanent Designated Driver” Anderson. The girl who has decidedly quit drinking altogether after deciding that she really wants to take her whole softball career seriously. Abby Anderson who is always, always wide awake into the deep recesses of the night, cramming for her 8am or putting in a few last minute hours at the gym.

Abby Anderson, sweet, sweet, Abby, somehow bestowed with the patience of a saint and the subtlety of a freight train, who will definitely pick you up, but won’t hesitate to ask what you’re doing at this ratty old place at 2:30 in the morning.

It’s probably a lot better than practically dragging your way home, so, why not?

You dial the number and she picks up within 3 rings, a little out of breath. You guess she took on the weight room, tonight.

“Yeah?”

Your body stiffens. Fuck! How well do you actually know Abby? You’ve barhopped with her and some other friends in the past, but most of those nights were spent casually sipping at a bottle of soda while you listen to everyone else converse and socialize. When was the last time you actually spoke to her?

“Is this one of those county cop calls that keeps going around campus, cause I’m not signing your fuckin’ petition—“

“No, no!” You blurt out, a little surprised at yourself. “It’s just— I mean, it’s just…me?”

Abby says your name inquisitively through the phone, sounding as startled as you are. “Hey…is everything alright?”

You scan your surroundings as if they’ll give you the answer that you’re looking for, and shrug like she can see you. Could be worse, you guess?

“Are you busyyy tonight?” You slur a little, and she seems concerned at the sound.

“No, I’m, uh, free? Are you in—“

“Could you, maybeee, give me a ride home?”

You think you can hear a ‘pause sound’ moving through her head, or maybe you’re just a bit more drunk than you thought.

“Yeah! Yeah, totally, just…are you off-campus, or—?”

“Mmhmm! I’llsendyouthelocation, byeee!”

You click the end call button and stare st the black screen. Since when did you get so frazzled over talking to her? She sounds the same as she usually does, right? Choosing not to think about it too much, the location is sent her way and, judging by the distance, she should be there in 20 minutes.

She’s there in 15. You hear her before you can actually make out the vehicle in the distance. It’s late. The roads are empty. You didn’t give her much context, so, you don’t exactly blame her for hurrying.

But her car pulls up in front of you like a heavy metal chariot, and you get a little anxious about stepping into the passenger’s seat in your sheer black dress and platform heels.

Neither of you say anything for the first minute and you’re rather grateful. Your insides feel like poorly melted snow, and you’re not sure if it’s the way that Abby’s gripping the steering wheel or the fact that she keeps glancing over at you through the side window. You see your legs shift against the leather seats, but your mind is elsewhere.

“Did you, uh, get to the bar alone?” She begins, tapping her thick fingers against the wheel, sounding like she’s trying to broach something, but you don’t know what it is yet.

You squint down at your phone screen to check the time again. Right. The evening started way earlier than you remembered.

“Nope. Came here on a blind date.”

Abby tries not to react like that shocks her, but she doesn’t quite make the mark.

“You went—! Oh! Right! ‘course! Makes sense…”

Silence, again. The kind that’s unbearable in situations like these. You roll down the window for some fresh air, but it makes the both of you sweat even more.

“Did it…go well?”

You purse your lips together and shake your head. “Nope. She was kind of a dick.”

Abby lets out a breathy chuckle at your answer and you decide to keep going.

“She wasn’t really that into me. Kept chatting up the waitress and interrupting me whenever I spoke. Said she had to leave early to pick up her little brother from his friend’s house, but she said she was an only child when I asked earlier, so…”

“Damn…that’s—that’s rough…”

“Yeah…”

What is with the both of you and pained silences? Seems to be something in the air tonight.

Abby clears her throat while you’re silently moping at the memories, and when you get to a red light, she turns to take you in.

“If it makes you feel any better, the last date I went on snuck out of the back door before dessert.”

You gasp, dramatically, and she rolls her eyes in the same manner.

“No fuckin’ way! You’re tellin’ meee that someone would actually pass up a chance to go on a date with you?” The utter disbelief that you stare up at her with makes her cheeks go pink, and she can’t help but feel a little satisfied with herself. She smiles, a little bitterly.

“Not as much of a catch as you think I am, babe.”

You can’t help but giggle. “Oh, I hardly believe that, Ms. Anderson.”

If there’s one thing you can thank the alcohol for, besides getting you in Abby’s car in the first place, it’s the extra push it gives you to go for the things you actually want.

“You know, Abigail, if you’re into it, we could, maybe, do a repeat performance of our shitty dates with each other, and make them…not shitty? How’s that sound?”

You feel the smile before you see it on her face. It’s like she can bring the warmth of the sun into any space she occupies.

“Well…” she starts “As long as you promise to at least tell me before you sneak out the back, then, we got ourselves a deal.”

You’re giddy with all that light she brings. And, you think, briefly, that sure, maybe you don’t usually make these kinds of mistakes, but at least this one scored you a date with THE Abby Anderson.

So, maybe, possibly, the universe could very well be onto something.

[dewedup]

27 with MountainDew

Make me cry, Gloomy

💙

thank you mac this idea hit me like a freight train, enjoy some MountainDew for the feels 🖤🖤🖤

words: 907

Mountain’s arms encase the small, shaking ghoul. Dew’s shoulders tremble with every sob that leaves his mouth, burrowing deeper into Mountain’s chest. If it was physically possible, he would crack his ribs and climb inside the earth ghoul. Mountain shushes him, softly petting his hair as he tries to bite back his own tears. 

He needs to be strong for Dew.

There wasn’t anything to be done. The moment the clergy summoned another water ghoul instead of the fire needed to replace Ifrit, his fate was sealed. 

It wasn’t confirmed until a sibling of sin had come by Dew’s room, dropping off a set of ceremonial robes and telling him to be prepared and in the courtyard at midnight. He’s surprised Dew kept it together long enough to accept the offering and make it to Mountain’s room before breaking down. 

No one has heard of this. An elemental change is the thing of nightmares, threatening unruly young ghouls so that they will behave. 

Being a water ghoul is ingrained in Dew’s whole being, woven into the molecules that make him who he is. In theory, they want to strip that and replace it with that of a fire ghoul. Mountain can’t picture a scenario in which this won’t be the most painful thing any of them have been put through, and they’ve been summoned from literal hell, which is no walk in the park. 

“Mount, please,” Dew cries into his shirt, the fabric damp from the tears he shed. Mountain sucks in a sharp breath, tightening his hold on Dew to make up for the fact that he can’t find any words that could make this better. 

Dew swallows audibly, pulling back to look at Mountain with his tear-stricken face. His hands grip Mountain’s shirt, never looking smaller than he does right now. Dew’s lips tremble as he admits the one thing he’s refrained from saying out loud. 

“I’m so scared.”

Mountain can physically feel his heart breaking as Dew stares at him pleadingly, looking for something that he’s unable to give him. 

“I’m so fucking sorry Droplet,” Mountain’s voice breaks as he pulls Dew back into his chest, holding him tightly to shield him from the tear that finally breaks free and trails down his cheek. The room smells of uncertainty, sadness, and fear. Like stagnant pondwater, with hints of mildew and fungus. It suffocates them, fills their lungs, and makes it harder to breathe in any relief.

Mountain’s gaze flicks to the alarm clock on his bedside table, 11:49 glaring back at him. 

His feet drag as though they’ve turned into cement blocks as he rises from the bed, Dew cradled in his arms as he lumbers out the door and across the hall to Dew’s room. He holds Dew’s upper arms steady, placing the shaking ghoul in the middle of the room, giving him a moment to bear the weight of his own body. Once Dew’s on his own two feet, he carefully peels off his shirt, removing his pants in the same manner until Dew is naked before him, shivering in the chill of the room. 

Mountain hopes that this works, hopes he gets to see his beautiful waterlily again. He knows this might be the last time he watches Dew shiver and it’s bittersweet, as he catalogs the chattering of his teeth into the recesses of his mind. If Dew survives this, the fire of Aamon will course through his being, never to be physically cold again. 

Mountain grabs the velvety soft ceremonial robes from their hanger, draping them over Dew with a few extra touches to remind the water ghoul that he’s here. He takes a half step back, eyes roaming over his work and nods in satisfaction. He bites his lip to refrain from saying anything. Dew already looks like he’s ready to turn tail and flee to the pit.

“It’s time, Dewdrop.” 

“I don’t want this Mount,” Dew whimpers, wrapping his arms tightly around his midsection and looking like a soft breeze could knock him over. Mountain grasps him once again, trying to push him as deep into his chest as possible, to hide him from the inevitable. A million thoughts run through his head, but Mountain can’t act on any of them. Instead, he whispers the only thing that’s plagued his mind since Rain was summoned. 

“I'm so sorry, I can’t protect you, Droplet.”

Mountain’s words seem to break something within Dew. He crumbles to the floor like a leaf falling at the end of summer. Mountain follows him down, dropping to his knees so quickly a jolt of pain surges up his thighs. Mountain goes to grab Dew’s face, desperately wanting to comfort him in any way possible, but Dew flinches away from his fingers. 

He watches as Dew squares his shoulders, reaching an arm up to wipe away the remaining tears from his face and rises back up to his feet. He looks strong, stronger than Mountain ever has. The way he holds his body is a complete contrast from the scared, shaking being that Mountain has been holding for the last few hours. Dew’s face looks carved from granite, all hard lines, and emotionless eyes. He breathes in through his nose, before stepping around the earth ghoul and making his way to the door. 

He spares Mountain a glance, looking over his shoulder at the ghoul still kneeling helplessly on the ground. 

“No one can.”

[casualsnickers]

Month of Emmet Quick Write #18

Prompt #18: Dance

Emmet has a tendency to lose himself in his work. Especially if that work involves not having to talk in the slightest. And it just so happens that it's maintenance day for a beaten-up train cab.

Read the whole thing below the cut.

Emmet wiped the sweat from his brow, slowly ensuring that the last bolt was firmly in its position before scooting back to admire his handiwork. The entire day had been spent meticulously pouring over a train cab that had been needing service for some time after suffering an onslaught of ice. And by using his work time to fix the cab, Emmet himself felt well-maintained and ship-shape as though having come fresh off the assembly line himself.

Emmet carefully took a step away from the unfinished cab, laying his tools on the detached cloth seat he’d been sitting on as he carefully stepped through the gutted cab and onto the rocky railyard where the sound of gravel and ballast shifting underfoot quickly lifted his mood. 

Steam and smoke rose in lazy circles from the Anville Railyard. Other locomotive engineers moved back-and-forth across the semi-noisy yard, hearty conversations filtering through the air as they each lugged their toolbags after them. Each worker would stop and raise a welcoming hand to Emmet as he passed them, tipping their hats but without words. After all, Emmet wasn’t a man for words or small talk; he just needed a break before he got back to work.

In the shade of the engine house, Emmet peeled off his backup cap, leaned against the tin wall, and took a deep drink of water, wiping the excess away with an oil-stained sleeve. Today has been a great day. I have been here for hours maintaining the same car. I am making progress! Emmet moved further back into the recess of the engine house, finding a spare chair to sit in as he took off his stained gloves and checked his Xtransceiver, crossing one leg over another.

A message or two from the group chat he shared with Elesa and Skyla. A note from Ingo about his brother potentially departing from his battling line early to buy some sandwiches from a popular deli spot not too far from Nimbasa City. Emails from his subordinates about new paperwork sent in from the mayor of Nimbasa City. Emmet only rolled his eyes and turned off his Xtransceiver, allowing his gaze to rest on the many disconnected freight cars that littered the rail yard.

Things are finally back in order. And. I am not so stressed anymore. Emmet smiled a bit wider when a familiar pokémon lumbered into the engine house, the amber gems studded along its body glowing as the rock-type pokémon clattered over to Emmet and easily lifted him onto its back.

“Boldore. You are not a chair!” Emmet scolded playfully.

Emmet’s Boldore often remained at the railyard and much like its trainer, would spend almost the entire day staring at the trains and studying them when idle. And Boldore, sensing that its trainer had been taking too long of a break, began stumbling out of the engine house with Emmet atop its back. Emmet only rolled his eyes and leaned back, allowing himself to be carried back to the cab he’d been working on without so much as a fuss.

Working with engines and cabs was mindless. Fun, even. Emmet saw the work not like he saw battling. Battling came down to strategy, luck, and power. But assembly and engineering? Those were based on skill. Intellect. Patterns. Emmet knew every tool that could be used to both deconstruct and reassemble the axle and undercarriage of a Knickerbocker. He knew the blueprints of the wirings of a Juniata like he knew the back of his hands. Emmet had memorized the unique coupling mechanisms of the Saluki and he knew exactly what kind of oil worked best for engines like the Shavano and the Steel King.

Emmet usually performed best without talking. And on his days spent at the railyard, he let his hands do all the talking, the way he could seamlessly work and twist and reach, performing intricate but mindless dances with his hands and fingers as Emmet never faltered or forgot the smallest of screws. Each silencing of a creaky joint through the application of oil was like music to his ears. He counted faraway train whistles and nearly skipped when he heard them, listening idly when new beaten up cabs were dragged in and the pistons of the dragging train surged against the metal of the train tracks, audible for miles around.

Metal clacked. Rocks shifted. Emmet turned, his smile widening as he sighted a familiar Klinklang float over to the door of the cab he was situated in. And then came a familiar man.

“Boss Emmet! It’s time to start wrapping things up!” Emmet paused as a familiar face pokéd into the cab he was working in, the depot agent tipping his oil-stained hat to Emmet as the man took a careful step inside. The man then whistled. “Nice job, boss! At this rate, you’ll have this old cab up and running by next week!”

“Thank you verrry much, Josh!” Emmet grunted as he got to his feet, grimacing upon hearing something in his back give. “...Not a word.”

Depot Agent Josh laughed heartily at the notion, reaching down to grab Emmet by the backstrap of his suspenders. “Not to worry. Your secret’s safe with me, bossman. But really. We should get going.” Josh gestured at a clipboard he’d been carrying under his arm, tapping one chewed-up pen at the clipped paper. “It’s almost midday and we’re supposed to be on the car back to Central Unova no later than noon.”

Emmet nodded, setting one hand delicately upon his Klingklang’s sturdy frame. His pokémon shuddered and whirled, giving a hearty clack before retreating back to its pokéball. “I guess. It is time to report back to Gear Station.”

“Good. Nice to know you’re on board for once. Almost thought you had left already,” Josh commented, patting the excess dust from his stained uniform. “Kept calling and calling for you- no response.”

Emmet paused, cocking his head. “Really? I did not hear you.”

“I know.” Josh shrugged. “You tend to get lost in your work whenever you’re here, boss. It’s like you’re completely deaf to the world whenever you’re working with the cars.” Josh then nudged Emmet with his elbow, grinning mischievously. “I sometimes think you’d rather be here with the broken cars than back at the station.”

“That is… not true.” Emmet crossed his arms and turned up his nose, his eyes crinkling when he noticed Josh struggling to keep pace with him. “I simply enjoy the break.”

“Right, right. Says the man that hums and whistles when he’s elbow-deep in months-old oil.”

[tzigone]

Headcanon reboot - super tech for the masses

So one of the aspects of my headcanon reboot is that it kinds ends - people age and retire, we don't have to keep villains in play (the reformed ones stay reformed) and so on. And one thing I started playing with is that this world doesn't have to stay like our world. I completely understand why it does in the comics, and I do think it a good business decision, but this is just for fun, not money, so I can make characters do logical things.

So, when someone invents a potentially world-changing and fortune-making technology, it can actually be mass-produced, used by ordinary people, and change the world. Instead of being confined to heroes and villains with no proper reason given (because it would make the world our heroes operate in unrecognizable and be a barrier to entry for new readers).

Please do forgive me if I've misremembered the details on how these techs work. Or if they've been given multiple explanations, chime in with others.

Chronologically, the first one I have on my list is Ray Palmer/The Atom's tech (shrinking things or people and with the ability to alter mass while in shrunken state). This would be circa 2001. Originally he was thinking about how, with everything shrunk, farmers could grow more and freight trains transport more. But the tech only worked on him, so he wasn't ready to publish. But later, he did manage to get it work on others...and still never published or put it out in the world. At least, he unshrunk the Hawks. It's been a long time since I read it. Hope I'm not misremembering the details and that wasn't another "it only works this one time" sort of thing.

In this universe, he will. He's still a graduate student, so I guess we know what his thesis is. I'm undecided on whether to make the lens still made from white dwarf star (which makes no sense) or make it regular lens inspired by the idea of a white dwarf star (which also makes no sense, but lends itself to the mass use he was thinking about, since material for the lens would be available). A lens (that he crafted himself, so the precision shouldn't be an issue), a control panel, and an ultraviolet light - doesn't like it should be too expensive to manufacture (though end-user price may still be very high at first depending on supply and demand). I was modeling IP treatment after Yale's for compensation, but I don't really know how universities deal with tech patents like that - sell or license the patent and would licenses be exclusive? Anyway, he'll have a hell of thesis. But the rest of the comments on him are only relevant if the tech goes mainstream. Then he started traveling through phone lines. That has even more massive implications for goods transport (I haven't really put any thought into the agriculture, I admit - just transport). But it's not going to happen overnight. I would expect massive regulatory hurdles. Safety tests (both on goods shrunk and people). And if they use phone travel, there's other safety issues to be addressed. Do they use the same phone network? What about infrastructure improvement? Obviously some countries will move more quickly than others and some will be more likely to respect the patent than others. The mid and long-term effects as the tech actually goes mainstream - takes time for factories to be built or modified but it will happen. I could still see lots of loading and unloading jobs, of course. Eventually expect your Walmart's to have their own and get things shipped to them that way. Businesses like gas stations may still be getting last mile delivery of chips, but the number of truckers should go down a lot, so there's unemployment in that field. Not mention trains and shipping companies and ports. Recession time? Some countries even heavily hit. Job rearrangement from things it's more profitable to outsource now that shipping is so quick and cheap. This could really impact commuting. Many people love cities for the entertainment, etc. But then you have the folks with hour and half commutes from the suburbs. It may not be affordable to the average person to own their own for a long time (so they can dial a phone, shrink, then their desk phone auto-answers and they unshrink and thus have a 30-second commute), but bus-depot like places could allow someone in Lawrence, KS to park their car (pay a parking fee), shrink and transport the location a 5-minute walk from their work in Manhattan instead of having a more expensive home closer by. I find decoupling employment location from living location interesting (and often discussed in regards to remote work), but I'm not sure how much it'd happen. More useful for long trips than short ones, of course. We have to think about security implications (especially if used internationally). Gotta check passports, go through customs, etc. Could someone send a bomb via phone line? This is pretty fantastical tech to start with, but with the ability to not decrease mass, would it still have full explosive power - I really don't know how various bombs work.

Next up is Karen Beecher/Bumblebee in 2003. I am not using her shrinking, as I think it makes to much like Wasp. But from one of the guides, it was said the antennae of her costume were solar panels and that's what allowed her to user her mechanical wings and fly. That kind of solar panel and battery would make massive, massive impacts (I'm assuming it's easy to scale up/down). And quite likely move though regulation way more quickly than Ray's tech. Solar panels and batteries already exist. Now, like so many comic heroes (and villains), she's a genius, but she's still just a teenager (and not a wealthy one) when she builds it, so it should be very affordable to produce (possibly only a couple thousand dollars retail for car-size setup once competition is in place). She was on the Teen Titans with Roy, and Ollie is all for the environment, so Queen will be the first company introduced to her tech, and the first to license it. Non-exclusive licenses all the way (which Ollie is happy with and spreading the news himself, as it suits his personality). The solar panels are great for houses and cars and factories, but the batteries should end up all over the place - cell phones, children's toys, remote controls, etc. It'll take to time to get production chains in place, but she's going to be a billionaire very quickly. Geolpolitical consequnces are again rampant - based on who produces oil, who refines oil, who has the contracts for mining the material, where production factories are, etc.

Flash has some genuisy rogues who reformed (fora while) and they come later. As this universe doesn't have to keep them in play, I'm not flip-flopping them - if they reform, they reform. So I may have Captain Cold and The Trickster in play. The Trickster has anti-grav tech. I'm not sure how much planes are still in play, but it's a thought. Might be moving furniture around. Finally have flying cars (with regulations/mechanical restrictions that people will try to get around)? Now, Cold had freeze gun. A nice safe one that has no negative consequences. Good for home protection, since it doesn't really matter if you accidentally shoot your kid. And could you just have the ambulance arrive, freeze the patient and transport them to a hospital? That would effect EMT jobs. I'm not going to have the gun do some the wackier stuff (like de-aging someone - wow what a tech to to introduce).

[dee-writes-angst]

BURNING HOUSE

FEATURING Steve Harrington x fem!reader

CONTENT WARNING mentions of possible character death, actual shit writing (like its really bad), loads of angst, sadness

SUMMARY Even a burning house couldn't touch your love.

AUTHORS NOTE I hate this so much, like it is so bad, but I wanted to post something for you all because it has been WAY too long.

TAGLIST @livsters

You jolted awake, the acrid scent of smoke assaulting your senses. It wasn't the familiar aroma of your laid-back indulgence; no, it was the ominous scent of something much more sinister—a house engulfed in flames. Disbelief washed over you as you lay there, momentarily frozen in a haze of confusion and shock, unable to comprehend the gravity of the situation unfolding around you.

Steve was due to arrive in just an hour, an evening planned to be a pivotal moment when you finally confessed your feelings for him—those three words, so heavy yet so long overdue: "I love you." The anticipation had infused every action as you meticulously prepared a lavish dinner of two succulent steaks paired with creamy mashed potatoes and tender asparagus spears.

Yet, exhaustion from a day spent tirelessly working with the children had taken its toll. Unbeknownst to you, fatigue had lured you into an unintended slumber while the food simmered on the stove. Now, the reality of your situation hit you like a freight train as you sat perched on a barstool, head heavy against the countertop, witnessing the inferno that had consumed your kitchen. Flames danced greedily from the pan, hungrily devouring your countertops like a ravenous beast unleashed upon a feast.

The acrid smoke filled your lungs, searing with each breath, while the scorching heat of the flames licked at your skin. Panic surged as you realized the dire truth—you were trapped in a rapidly escalating inferno, the feeble extinguisher in the coat closet down the hall a futile defense against the voracious blaze.

In a moment of stark clarity, the gravity of your predicament spurred you into action. With a surge of adrenaline, you propelled yourself from the chair, the urgency to survive propelling you forward into the chaos that now threatened to consume everything you held dear.

Coughs wracked your body, each one a painful reminder of the toxic haze that enveloped you. Progress down the hallway to your bedroom, where a window offered a slim chance of escape, was agonizingly slow. Every step felt like wading through thick molasses, your lungs struggling against the suffocating smoke that blurred your vision and stung your eyes.

With each labored breath, the world around you seemed to shrink, collapsing into a tunnel of darkness edged with fiery tendrils. The simple act of putting one foot in front of the other became an insurmountable task, your once steady gait reduced to a feeble shuffle.

As the noxious fumes tightened their grip, your body rebelled, betraying you as muscles weakened and limbs trembled. A wave of dizziness swept over you, sending you crashing to the floor just beyond the threshold of your bedroom, a heap of limbs entangled in desperation.

You didn't want to surrender to the engulfing darkness, to succumb to the relentless assault on your senses, but the overwhelming exhaustion and the crushing weight of the smoke rendered you immobile. Each breath became a Herculean effort, a battle you were losing with every passing moment. In the suffocating grip of the inferno, the line between survival and surrender blurred, leaving you teetering on the precipice of oblivion.

With Steve's image haunting your thoughts, the anguish of imagining his devastation at your untimely demise propelled you to summon the last vestiges of your dwindling strength. Dragging yourself across the threshold of your bedroom, you managed to seal the door behind you, hoping to stall the relentless advance of the flames, if only for a fleeting moment.

But deep down, in the recesses of your consciousness, you knew the bitter truth—you were trapped, a prisoner within your own infernal tomb. The window, a beacon of salvation mere feet away, might as well have been miles distant, for in your weakened state, the prospect of reaching it was as futile as grasping at shadows.

Resigned to your fate, you surrendered to the inevitability of your demise, seeking solace in the feeble comfort of knowing you had tried, however futilely, to defy the merciless grip of fate.

As you lay upon your bed, eyes closed against the encroaching flames, a sense of grim acceptance settled over you. The searing heat, once a torment, now enveloped you in a macabre embrace, consuming you in a maelstrom of agony. Each lick of flame was a cruel reminder of your mortality, each scorching caress a testament to the merciless whims of destiny.

And then, in a cruel twist of fate, the pain ceased, leaving behind a deafening silence that reverberated through the void of your consciousness. In that final moment of clarity, as the flames claimed you as their own, the weight of unspoken words hung heavy in the air—an eternal lament for the love never declared, for the life never lived to its fullest potential.

Steve's frantic steps echoed through the sterile halls of the hospital as he raced towards the receptionist's desk, his heart pounding a frenetic rhythm of panic. Tears blurred his vision, his breaths coming in ragged gasps as he approached the woman behind the desk, his voice trembling with desperation.

His cry of your name reverberated off the walls, laced with a raw intensity that spoke of his deep-seated fear. He reached out as if to grasp onto something solid in the tumult of his emotions. "Where is she?!"

The receptionist, a bastion of composure amidst the chaos, rose from her seat with practiced grace, her movements slow and deliberate. With gentle hands, she attempted to steady Steve, her touch a fleeting anchor in the storm of his anguish.

"Sir, please, try to calm down," she implored, her voice a soothing melody amidst the cacophony of distress. She met his gaze with unwavering empathy, understanding the depth of his anguish.

But Steve was beyond consolation, his anguish too potent to be assuaged by mere words. "No! You don't understand!" His voice cracked with emotion as he pushed away from her gentle touch, his desperation palpable. "I need to know she's okay. Where is she?!"

The receptionist's expression softened, a silent acknowledgment of his pain. "She's in surgery," she replied, her tone gentle yet resolute. "The doctors are doing everything they can."

Though her words offered a glimmer of hope, Steve's heart still clenched with fear. He hung onto her every word, his breaths shallow and uneven as he waited for reassurance.

"But for now," she continued, her voice a soothing lullaby in the midst of his turmoil, "she needs you to take a deep breath and stay calm."

As Nancy stood on Steve's doorstep, her eyes glistening with unshed tears, her words seemed to echo in slow motion, each syllable weighted with a gravity that threatened to crush him. He listened in stunned silence, the world around him blurring into a haze of uncertainty and dread as he hastily grabbed his keys, his mind a whirlwind of fear and hope.

Driving to the hospital felt like navigating through a thick fog, his thoughts consumed by one singular prayer echoing in the recesses of his mind: "She needs to live." The words tumbled from his lips in a broken sob, a desperate mantra repeated over and over again like a lifeline in the darkness.

The hospital waiting room became his temporary sanctuary, a silent witness to the agony etched upon his features as he sat vigil, each passing moment stretching into an eternity of unbearable suspense. Visitors came and went, their concerned faces a blur as he mechanically recited the same refrain: "I don't know."

Hours stretched into an endless expanse of time, the rhythmic ticking of the clock a cruel reminder of the minutes slipping through his fingers like grains of sand. Exhaustion threatened to claim him, pulling at his eyelids like weighted anchors, but still, he remained, unwilling to abandon his post until he knew her fate.

And then, just as weariness threatened to engulf him, a voice pierced the silence, jolting him from the edge of sleep and back into the harsh reality of his uncertainty.

It was a nurse who had called your name out into the waiting room, waiting patiently by the door with a clipboard in hand.

Steve's heart leaped at the sound of those words, a surge of relief flooding through him as he declared himself her husband, a title that felt both surreal and achingly real all at once. The weight of those two words��her husband—pressed against his chest, filling him with a sense of purpose and belonging that he had never known before.

As the doctor delivered the news of her condition, Steve's mind struggled to comprehend the gravity of her injuries, each word landing like a heavy blow against his fragile hope. Severe third-degree burns, a long and painful rehabilitation process—the reality of her suffering threatened to overwhelm him. But amid the flood of information, one fact remained steadfast: she was alive.

Clutching onto that lifeline with all his might, Steve's trembling voice cut through the haze of his thoughts, a desperate plea to be near her, to see with his own eyes that she had indeed survived the ordeal.

"Can you take me to her?" His voice wavered, betraying the tumult of emotions raging within him.

"Of course, right this way," the doctor responded, his tone a beacon of reassurance amidst the chaos. With a nod of gratitude, Steve followed the doctor, his steps heavy with anticipation and trepidation.

As he approached her room in the ICU, anxiety gripped Steve like a vice, his heart hammering in his chest as he prepared to face the sight of her injuries. But in that moment, as he stood on the threshold of her room, the enormity of their love washed over him, a beacon of strength in the face of adversity. For even in the wake of tragedy, their bond remained unbreakable, a testament to the enduring power of love. And as Steve stepped into her room, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead, he knew with unwavering certainty that together, they could overcome anything.

[jakeyt]

Distorted Hues

Pairing: Danny Wagner x f!reader

Summary: Sometimes, you have to do a lot to try to get to the top. But things go downhill quickly when you try to explain to Danny why you do the things you do to get there. You had good reason for what you did, he just refused to understand.

Warnings: marijuana use; a lot of angst; mentions of cheating and sexual situations; allusions to depression; a reader who is truly struggling to be emotionally available

Word Count: 1.7k

a/n: when i saw the pictures of him that i used for my cover, i was instantly inspired to write angry Danny. i couldn't stop thinking about it. so, when gvf posted this tiktok, the story hit me like a freight train. i mean, Danny saying "I'll get right fuckin' on it" (iykyk 🫠🥵). . . that was the final push.

and so, Distorted Hues was born.

enjoy!

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From the moment you’d made your way to a sit on the lap of a rotund, balding producer who’d (strangely) attended Woodstock, you knew he’d been watching you. Every move you made, Danny watched.

His dark eyes had been burning ruthless holes into your back the entire time. 

You’d always been able to feel his eyes. Even as far back as when you were kids. He’d watch you like a hawk when a teacher would scold you for bad behavior, or anytime you were hanging out with a group of friends at recess that he was (or wasn’t) included in. He had always hated the idea of you being in any sort of trouble. He had been your number one protector since you met each other on the first day of fourth grade.

You knew him like the back of your hand. And your body was accustomed to every movement he made, so you were completely in tune with it when you felt his eyes leave you. And when you glanced up to see where he’d gone, he was on his way to the tour bus. You could feel the anger radiating off of him from yards away. 

So, when he trudged back to the bus, you felt obligated to follow his lead. See it out. It made you absolutely furious that he couldn’t understand. No matter how many times you’d explained your (admittedly, slightly inappropriate) behavior with higher ups, he acted like a child. 

But you felt the need to explain yourself once more to this precious man you’d loved for most of your life. He had to understand. 

You hit the bong of a random Woodstock attender on your way to the bus. It made you amble behind your drummer boyfriend just a bit more, but you didn’t give two shits.

And still, you thought you were a good girlfriend. Because even amidst your burgeoning high, you wanted him to get some sort of explanation. You could have decided to sit with the group you’d taken the hit from. But you didn’t. 

Initially, you had felt bad for ignoring Danny to get a little high. But, the compliment you got from the dreadlocked man whose bong you'd borrowed? It was worth it. Better than the marijuana he’d given you. He had offered slurred praises of your band’s set and performance from that day. . . 

For a moment, it had made you forget any worry about Daniel and his moody behavior. 

You were always overjoyed to know when people had noticed (and adored) your talent. You thrived off of that recognition. You always had.

Ever since you were little, you’d lapped up every piece of fawning you received. Whether it was a middle school play you’d performed in, or today’s performance of yours at Woodstock. . . It was worth it. You’d always worked so hard — especially for this. Your burgeoning fame.

As had he. And he needed to finally understand why you’d been doing what he’d seen you doing.

“Quit acting like a fucking baby, Daniel,” you shut the door behind you, not caring that your tone was sharp. You stomped your way over to where he was pacing back and forth in your touring van, biting his lip in contemplation. He had a hand to his chin. “I know what you saw. I was literally just trying to help us. You know this.”

Your words were ever-so-slightly slurred. The marijuana you’d just consumed was settling in your system, making life hazy. But no matter how foggy you felt, his anger seeped through the haze. 

Damn him. Now all you wanted was this fucking high. Screw him and his pointless worries.

“I’m so fuckin’ tired of you ‘helping’ us, y/n. You don’t have to do it by hanging all over every man who has a fancy title,” he turned to face you. He crossed his arms over his chest. “And it makes me a baby? Because I get pissed when I see you, my beautiful girlfriend, being a tease to all of these random ass men? You know they want you and you want that if it gets you famous. Even if it means sacrificing us. Fuck, y/n.”

You huffed, your high feeling distorted and wrong. “No. That’s not it,” you pointed a finger up in his face. “I’m getting us ahead. You hear all of those people on that stage out there? I’m making us like them,” You leveled him by placing your hands on your hips. You stood your ground. “It’s what we want.”

He gave a sarcastic sigh and shook his head, “No, it’s what you want. You’d want to fuck a man to put me in a Hollywood studio? The man who loves you, fame or no fame. . . That seems a little shitty to me,” He shoved his way past you. “No thanks, babe. I’ll pass on that one.”

You were starting to think the weed had been laced with something as the high you were getting wasn’t settling the way it normally would have with regular green. You sat down on the little couch next to you. 

He glanced over at you in your state and couldn’t help walking over to check on you. His big, brown eyes were investigating your face. He knelt in front of you, and placed his hands on your knees. 

His beautiful, dark brown doe eyes stared up at you through his lightly tinted shades, lovingly. “You okay?” He rubbed at your bare knees. 

Normally, him caring for you would make you get so hot you’d make him carry you to the nearest bed. But at this moment? All you wanted to do was push him off and not look anywhere near him. 

So you did just that. 

“I’m fine, Danny,” you swayed a little as you found your footing, tramping away from him. Your heavy footing shook the unsteady floor of the van. 

You crossed your arms in an act of self defense. You knew you’d been wrong for pushing him away, but you were so far gone. Your stubbornness always kicked in when you were inebriated. 

You faced him. 

You looked him up and down. And dammit if he wasn’t the most stunning man. His white button down exposing his muscular, tanned chest. The bit of chest hair he had peeking out from the open lapels. 

His tight, chocolate curls were mesmerizing.

You didn’t approve of your line of thought, but you still spoke it into the taut air stuck between you and your longtime confidant. 

“Why don’t you go do it?” You shook your head, instantly regretting your words. And it was as though you couldn’t stop the words that came next. There was a wiser version of you saying ‘stop!’ in the back of your mind, but you continued. “You go out there and find a girl who could help us get somewhere. And then fuck her till she can’t walk. Sex with you, baby. . .fuck,” you grinned in spite of the foul words you were uttering, thinking about what it felt like to have him inside of you. You felt the wise version of you crumbling with each suggestion you made. You wanted to stop yourself, but the devil on your shoulder kept you going. “She’ll do anything you ask after that. You hold a lot of power—more than you know. Take one for the team, Danny. If you don’t want me to be the one to do it, you do it.”

You hated every word. You wanted to bite them all back. But you made no action that made it seem that way. Your body felt completely empty. . .yet so heavy, full of lead. 

You were weighted in your spot. 

You saw the exact moment his face and chest deflated, losing hope. You’d never seen him in such a way. It broke you. “Do you hear yourself?!” He took a couple steps back from you. “You’d sacrifice our whole relationship for that?” He motioned between you, then decided to come closer to you, still. “All of this—us. . .For silly fame?” 

You didn’t want to speak your next words. But still, you did. You didn’t know what had suddenly come over you. 

“I don’t want this,” you made a mocking motion of his previous one. Not true. You knew it. You couldn’t live without him. “I want the music. Don’t be selfish, Danny. You’re fucking sexy. Use it. If you love me, do it.”

His jaw clenched. He was done. You could tell. His fists were flexing at his sides. He was livid. Though, you still knew he’d never hit you. That wasn’t this man. 

He would, however, punch the next thing in sight, after leaving the area you occupied. Even in his hurt, he refused to scare you. 

This perfect man you didn’t deserve. . .

You felt tears well in your throat, but you were so lost to the moment, you knew they wouldn’t fall until later when you reflected on this, alone. 

Without him. How without him, though? Would he be completely gone? Would he leave you?

What in the hell had you even said? You shook your head, already not being able to completely recall what you’d said. 

You leaned against the nearest counter top, putting your palms against it to balance you. 

You watched him take long, heavy strides. You expected them to be to you, to check to see if you were alright. Just like always. 

But instead, he went to the door. He whipped it open. 

He gave you one last look. 

“I’ll get right fuckin’ on it,” he spat in your direction. Every ounce of venom possible sat in his tone.

And then the door slammed, you flinched at the sound. He had left you. Completely alone. 

Alone was how you’d cry later when the tears actually came to you. 

When the high was gone. 

Would Danny be gone when the high eventually left? Your chest hurt at the thought. 

Your heart actually ached for him. It was already missing him. You’d never been away from each other for more than a week—in all of the years you’d known one another. 

What in the hell had you done?

You slid down to the around, leaning your head against the cabinet door behind you. You decided you’d take a quick nap against the cabinet. 

Your thoughts were suddenly gone, washed from your mind. 

You were empty. 

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a/n: hope you felt allll of the emotions i did while i was writing it :') also, i am very mad at reader for hurting precious Daniel.

[rainboq]

88. “I’m better, now that you’re here.”, Chasemarsh

To call Victoria’s art her passion was, quite frankly, understating it. Not her photography, that was her profession, the path she’d been pushed onto by her controlling and overbearing parents. Not that she disliked being behind a camera, the routine of staging, lighting, posing, and finally taking the shot had become a form of therapy for her. Each shoot was a triumph against him, proving that she was free of his bullshit. But it was never what she yearned for in her heart.

No, that was her poetry. She lived and breathed for it, the urge to put stanzas to paper burned in her veins.

She’d started penning verse in middle school, words flowing from her pencils, pens, and keyboards like water through a stream. Her heart sang as the stanzas danced, thoughts and emotions spilling from her onto the page and making her feel whole. Then her parents had found out about it.

“Trite”, “clichéd”, and “overwrought” had been the words out of her parents lips, back in the days when she still saw them as people to aspire to and emulate. As they had crushed her spirits, she had crushed the poet in her, compacting that Victoria into a little box and shoving her down into the darkest recesses of her mind.

It had hurt, of course it had, killing the poet in her had been on the hardest things Victoria had done. As 13 rolled over into 14 she had lain crying on her bed, clutching her notebook to her chest as her parent’s derision echoed in her mind. ‘You’re not a kid anymore, quit being so childish’ they had demanded of her as her womanhood bloomed with all the subtle grace of a derailed freight train.

But try as she might, no matter how much she tried to bury that side of her, Victoria the poet never truly died. She came close, along with the rest of Victoria, but like her, she was stubbornly persistent.

And like the rest of her, Victoria the poet was concerned with one thing, and one thing only: the pursuit of excellence. She couldn’t just be okay, or good. No, she had to be the best. She had to pursue greatness with every fiber of her being. Poems were written and rewritten, edited and revised until they barely resembled the unguarded words that had tumbled out of Victoria’s mind.

Even now, more than a decade after their deaths, the barnacles of her parent’s voices clung to her mind, burring deep between the folds and savaging her neurons. Too emotional, too proziac, too plain.

Nothing was ever good enough.

It couldn’t be, it had to be perfect.

But it never was that either.

Her throat burned as she sat on the couch of their condo, tears rolling down her cheeks as her fingers rubbed through the thick, fluffy fur of their calico cat Charlotte-Marie. Normally the feline was enough to sooth her, but not after tonight.

It had taken years after everything that had unfolded for Victoria to dare let the poet in her peek her head out of hiding. And more gentle coaxing still to let herself put pen to page once more. She had finally let herself take the next step, and shared her verse publicly at a slam at a nearby cafe.

A cafe that she could never show her face at again. Not after that reception.

It was stupid, she knew that, but that didn’t make it hurt any less.

Her heart burned, her chest was tight as if she were in vice, her breathing came in short, ragged gasps, tattered and torn like the rest of her.

She was worthless. An untalented hack fraud who couldn’t even hold a candle to local teenagers and students at a Thursday night poetry slam. Totally unworthy of anyone’s attention, never mind friendship, or the love of—

The door to the condo clicked open, snapping Victoria out of her thoughts. Charlotte-Marie sprang to her feet, stretching out luxuriously with a loud mrrp before scampering off to the door.

Victoria stayed put. She was a wreck, what a waste of time it had all been, and now she was going to waist even more of—

“Victoria?” Asked Kate, the voice of her wife high and concerned, “Is everything alright?”

It had once been embarrassing how easily Kate’s voice could put her at ease, after everything she had done, but now it was more than welcome. The pressure in her chest eased, the burning in her heart settling as she heard Kate’s stocking covered feet padding over the tile. Her voice came as somewhere between a sigh and a sob. “No.”

“Oh dear, I’m so sorry,” Kate’s footfalls sped up as she made her way past the kitchen and into the living room with Victoria, “What happened?”

“It’s stupid,” Victoria shrugged as Kate’s arms reached over the sofa and and wrapped around her shoulders and chest, her soft lips finding Victoria’s neck, “Don’t worry about it.”

Kate’s neck and chest pressed into Victoria’s back, the pressure and the gentle vanilla of Kate’s body wash helping bring her back down to earth.“Well I’m already worrying, so you’ll just have to tell me.”

“I suck at poetry,” Victoria spat out, her body cringing, “Everyone had all these corrections and suggestions, but they were already things I’d changed or edited out. It made me feel so fucking stupid! I can’t even edit my poems properly for fuck’s sake.”

“Shhh,” Kate gently cooed in her ear, the warmth of her breath tickling over Victoria’s neck, “It’s okay, I’d probably feel the same way if someone suggested that about my drawings. It’s normal to feel that way when someone suggests you change something back. How are you feeling?”

Victoria shrugged, her hands moving up to rest on Kate’s arms, her thumbs rubbing over the soft skin of her forearms, “… Better, now that you’re here.”

“That so?” Kate giggled softly, her head moving forward.

Victoria’s head turned, her lips finding Kate’s for a brief, loving kiss. “Yeah.”

Kate returned her kiss with another of her own before releasing Victoria and walking around the couch to sit next to her. “So, was it all bad?”

“No,” Victoria was forced to confess as she raised her arm and allowed Kate to nestle into her side, “Max was there and she was really supportive, she told me she really liked the poem.”

“I had a feeling, she’s always so sweet,” Kate sighed as Victoria’s arm wrapped around her shoulders.

“And hey, at least I know that I’ll never be as bad a poet as Chloe.”

[rabbitcruiser]

Osoyoos Lake, WA (No. 4)

Oroville was first settled by European settlers in the late 1850s and known as 'rag town.' The settlement was named Oro, after the Spanish word for gold, in 1892 after the surrounding gold mines and in an attempt to attract prospectors and merchants. The Post Office objected to the name "Oro" because a town was already named "Oso" in Washington, so the name was changed to Oroville, in 1909. Oroville was a stop along the Spokane Falls and Northern Railway line from British Columbia to Spokane, via Molson and Chesaw. In 1914 a third branch south to Wenatchee was constructed to avoid the steep inclines on the original Spokane track.

Passenger train service to Oroville was operated by the Great Northern Railway until July 14, 1953, with freight operations continuing later.

Oroville started to become a tourist location in the mid-2000s, large condo developments were proposed. After peaking in 2005–07, the city’s economy has suffered since the Great Recession of 2008. Oroville is home to the Dorothy Scott Airport, an international municipal airport with U.S. Customs check, located two miles outside of the town center. The airport opened in August 1937.

Source: Wikipedia

[when-life-gives-you-lemons-if]

About Barlow being the other parent.

I can envision the absolute unit of a freight train of realisation hitting him.

Like he's just going about his business, planning his next 'unplanned' visit to MC, when BAM! There's the sudden, random thought of, "Huh, MC's kid looks kinda like me."

Barlow would then start to count all the little details he recognises whilst a feeling of unimaginable dread starts to build in the deep recesses of his mind.

Then the aforementioned train come through and it becomes "Oh [MC's favoured swear]! MC's kid looks a whole lot like me!".

You must really love drama to inject so much of it in your IFs.

You're worrying about something that I haven't even written yet, Anon.

Like...

[codenamehazard]

InFAMOUS Theory: The Origin of the Conduit Gene

Genetics; the study of genes, genetic variation and heredity in organisms. A study that records the wonderfully complex and rich tapestry that is Life all the way back to the first things that had DNA and RNA. Records of a history rich in trials and tribulations of billions of species, all fighting to find their niche in the ecosystem so they may survive and thrive, to pass on their genes to the next generation. A truly beautiful field of science.

With Earth being the death-planet it is, constantly trying to kill its inhabitants one way or another. Ever since the beginning of Life, organisms fought like hell to eke out a living. To continue on and not become the fuel for something else’s survival. Time marches on- environments change, become hostile for some and an Eden for others. For any to survive, they must adapt, and to adapt, mutations happen. Some mutations were beneficial, allowing the organism to survive better or adapt to the new environment. Some were neutral, neither help nor hindrance. Some were detrimental, harming the species’ chances for survival. As organisms adapt and change, nature does what it does best: weeds out the garden of Life. Those that adapted enough to survive and reproduce continued on, their genes successfully passed down. Those who didn’t went extinct; a dead end of that particular lineage.

We know somewhere in this tapestry, the Conduit gene would arise and sow the seeds of the Prime Conduits who would shape the world, for better or for worse, but we don’t know the why, the how, the when or the history of a gene that turns humans into demi-gods.

With this theory, I hope to maybe answer those questions in a way that makes sense.

—---

Let’s start with what we know.

The Conduit gene is a naturally occurring, recessive gene that is dormant at birth, but when activated can give one incredible powers. In a semi-populated area, one in every 16 people will be a carrier of the Conduit gene. The gene is also carried by rats and chimpanzees and the gene also creates a physical characteristic that only certain individuals (namely John White aka The Beast and Cole MacGrath after John gave him the ability) can see. This physical characteristic is seen as a glowing yellow nerve-like bundle in the chest, near the spinal cord.

Another thing of note is that even before activation, a Conduit positive individual seems to have higher than average durability, the prime example being Cole’s accident with a freight truck prior to the events of InFAMOUS. The accident should have at the least permanently disabled him, if not outright killed him, but he survived the accident with only minor injuries.

Three activation methods have been seen, Ray Sphere detonation, an unknown method used on Lucy Kuo for her activation, and extreme environmental stress. 

—--

Now, onto the theory.

With rodents and primates both having the gene, it stands to reason that this gene would go back at least as far as the closest common ancestor shared by both mammal types. Such ancestors dating back into the Cretaceous Period, the Age of the Dinosaurs.

Now in this ancient past, Earth was a very different place, not only in environment, but also in composition. Among the stones and minerals found in this saurian eden was a curious metallic ore that glowed with a faint purple light. These curious veins were natural Rayacite, the scientific name for Blast Shards. All decaying away with their Ray Field Radiation. These Rayacite ores weren’t much different than finding Uranium out in nature

Most animals didn’t seem bothered, dinosaurs, insects, reptiles, all appeared unbothered… Save for one group. Mammals.

Mammals were affected negatively, falling sick and dying off. The only thing that gave them any hope was to live the fast-growing, short-living, make as many offspring as possible lives of rodents in order to survive giant feet, giant bugs, hungry protobirds and the Ray Field Plague.

However… Something started to happen, a mutation that made the early mammals more resistant against this radiation, allowing them to live healthier for longer. Those with this odd mutation were naturally able to get more mates and have more offspring. The lucky offspring that got this mutation were also healthier. Nature runs its course and those with this mutation started to propagate more, outcompeting the others that didn't have this gene.

Time goes on and mutations continued to happen, some good, some bad, but over time, this gene continued to evolve. Longer lives, more resistance, hardier bodies where a Purgatorius could shrug off being stomped on with... Relatively minor injuries. Maybe some of the mammals started to be drawn to the natural Rayacite, maybe not. Somewhere on this evolutionary trip, a big mutation happened that made this proto-Conduit gene into something more akin to the modern day Conduit Gene.

(There maaaaaay or may not have been super-powered shew-monkey things running amok during the time of the T-Rex or maybe proper activations happened later, but I'm sticking with that because the thought of super-powered rodent-monkey mammals terrorizing creatures like Velociraptors and it is quite the funny picture.)

Able to chase off predators and defend their territories, these super-powered mammals made ideal mates, those genes got passed on and for a long time, the ancient Conduit Gene was dominant.

As the Euarchontoglires began to split into the clades that would give rise to rodents, lagomorphs, treeshrews, colugos and primates, these new mammals would be bequeathed with this ancient and powerful gene.

The world continued to change and shift, and life continued on as normal. Even with the odd superpowered mammals running around doing mammal things.

The true chaos begins when the primates start to walk upright and use fire. Brains becoming smarter and more clever, any active Conduits among them start to experiment with their powers. Such power to protect and hunt, these actives most likely became seen as de-facto leaders in their tribes and hunting packs.These ancestral humans continued on their path, becoming smarter, creating languages, cultures and mythologies. The active Conduits of their respective clans were probably seen as god-like beings or being blessed by gods or spirits.

Somewhere along the way, these early humans discovered Rayacite and with it, the potential to awaken Conduits and strengthen those already active. Creating many a ritual to become one of the divine or the blessed, to awaken their powers. Their reasons their own.

Legends continued as language evolved too. Spoken to written. Stories told, art created, all chronicling the stories of these gods in human flesh. Sadly, with such power, corruption is a constant temptation and as humanity evolved and their understanding of their gifts and the strange glowing metal that increases their power, a heavy cloud started to loom overhead.

People started to become greedy.

Some of the ancient Conduits discovered that they could become truly god-like in power and form, making it so that they were practically untouchable and immortal- but such power came with a heavy price. They had to subsist on RFR for without it, their bodies would fall apart and decay.

Like many of Earth’s natural resources, these natural Blast Shards and the radiation they bled into the environment was a finite source. Sure, at first there was plenty to go around, everyone could get their share. Even the gluttons could gorge, but like all finite materials, they started to run low. What do the greedy do when the supply runs low?

They go to war, and what terrible wars they were. These so-called gods sent armies, both human and Conduit alike, to fight. Calling such wars divine. Many lives lost, the Earth bled and wept as these armies fought. So terrible were these wars, it scarred humanity. The Conduits, once respected and honored, now became feared and hated. Those who were called gods and saviors now became the monsters that stalked nightmares and brought ruin.

But even in this nightmare, something had begun to change. As the gluttons drained the RFR away, the plague that had haunted humanity ever since their dinosaur days started to disappear, mutations happened and children were being born without the Conduit gene and they survived plague free. So as the "Old Gods" started to die as there was not enough RFR to sustain their bodies, those that lived in fear retaliated against the weaker Conduits, hunting them down as monsters.

What once was a boon was now a bane as the powerless hunted the powered. While even the weakest of Conduits could overpower a single man, they were quickly overrun by the numbers. Nature seemed to be forcing this gene into obselation, but some Conduits got smart and  hid their powers away.

The less they used the powers, the more muted they became, allowing these clever ones to hide away among the normals. These "mute'' Conduits still kept their durability and were still ideal mates, animalistically speaking. Through them, the Conduit gene was passed on.

These children were now mingling with non-Conduit humans, growing up and having children, both normal and positives. With the plague not a worry, there was no need for the Conduit Gene to be so... Up front.

And so the gene fell dormant, recessive and uncommon. Silently being pasted on from parent to child. Without the world being an irradiated hellhole, people who did have this sleeping gene in them went about their entire lives without even knowing just what kind of potential they had. Living regular human lives, being no different from their peers aside from being much more hardy.

And this was how life went on... Until Empire City and the Ray Sphere blast.

--------

I'd love to give a big shout out to @rogueshadeaux for helping me out with proofreading. She gave me a lot of pointers and I truly appreciate the help! Give her fanfic, InFAMOUS: Erosion, a read! She's a very talented writer and deserves all the attention and praise!

[adaharablack]

Rating: Explicit Archive Warning: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Category: M/M Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Relationship: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter Additional Tags: Hogwarts Eighth Year, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Not Epilogue Compliant, Post-Hogwarts, Draco Malfoy in Azkaban, Trans Draco Malfoy, Pansy Parkinson & Harry Potter Friendship, Harry Potter & Blaise Zabini Friendship, One Night Stands, Getting Together

"He was not allowed to kiss Draco Malfoy, and he certainly wasn’t allowed to love him. So he didn’t, simple as that. Wanting Draco was a secret that Harry tucked away in a box, far in the dark recesses of his mind, somewhere he could never look at it. It only spilled out when he was drunk, and looking for someone to fuck, scanning every room for platinum blonde and usually settling for the next-best-thing.

So when he catches sight of Draco’s face, at the end of a bar in a gay club in muggle London, it hits him like a freight train."

[iamprchung]

Dancing in the Moonlight 6/?

Synopsis:

From the lofty recesses of Aspen, where luxury collides with a trail of vicious attacks, FBI agents Mulder and Scully interview a jittery waitress who whispers of hidden darkness within the resort. Following cryptic leads, they face off with a grieving relative, fiercely protective of the official investigation. As tensions rise and the truth remains elusive, a chilling question hangs in the air: are these savage attacks the work of nature, or something far more sinister lurking in the shadows?

Notes:

To split or not to split, this has been the constant, burning question during the entire writing process of this part. This has gone through four rewrites trying to whittle it down, but it’s not going to farewell if I don’t treat it right. I’m still darkly chuckling about where this has come considering it was supposed to be a quick one and done, born of a single scene idea… one of which has not even occurred yet, and making me mad and feverish to reach!

Speaking of feverish… Yes! Skinner is showing up – God as my witness, that man will be in this this story – and not for something lame, like a cameo!

And as a matter of fact, I did consider naming this part ‘From Monster to Moron.’

Dancing in the Moonlight 6/? – Spirit Animals

By PR Chung

Amanda Payne, or Andie as she preferred, exhibited signs of what could be past trauma, traits that became evident during her interactions as she guided Mulder and Scully through the Spectrum Lunate kitchen.

Along their route through the restaurant kitchen, the looks thrown by Andie’s co-workers were undeniable. At first, it seemed like circumspection or curiosity, as word spread about the FBI investigation, but it soon became apparent there was an air of disapproval and even mockery cast toward Andie.

Moving out of the kitchen area and the acute attention of other employees, Andie’s nervous chatter transitioned from the mundane about back-of-the-house operations and became more focused, with a hint of bitterness, as she remarked on the deaths of her friend and co-workers.

“This was Jeff’s area,” Andie pointed out as led them through the large, busy kitchen, “but this isn’t even all of it.” She gestured toward two steel doors, “The freight elevator, direct line to the delivery bay and main storage.”

“He managed all of this?” Scully asked, impressed.

“Oh, yes,” Andie nodded enthusiastically, “The supplies, inventory, food deliveries, lots of responsibilities.”

“Who’s managing this now?” Mulder asked.

Andie glanced toward the kitchen, hesitating before she answered. “Marty. Marty Kolwalski, he does�� at least until they find a new manager. Maybe Mr. Gunderson will make him the new manager.”

“Gunderson?” Mulder repeated the name. “As in Mayor Gunderson?”

Andie squinted and dipped her chin. “Yep. Yep, one in the same. He’s part owner here, in the resort. But he’s pretty much in charge of hospitality.”

“Do we take the elevator?” Scully asked Andie, wondering about their route.

“No, Jeff didn’t go that way… that night,” she explained tentatively, “He, um, he went this way, down the stairs. I’ll show you.” She led them through a doorway and into a stark stairwell, the sound of distant motorized equipment ricocheting up through concrete.

Andie motioned for them to follow her, continuing, “See, he took the stairs. He was always going a different way around here. You’d never know where you’d run into him, which way he was coming or going. He didn’t like a lot of attention, and I think… I think that’s what got him killed, being secret like and taking that shortcut.”

Scully glanced at Mulder. This sounded like a purposely varied routine. “Andie, did he ever say anything about being followed or being concerned for his safety?”

Andie looked back at Scully, frowning confusedly at the question. “No.”

“Are you or any of the other employees concerned about safety?” Mulder asked, “Have you or anyone else seen something on the resort grounds that concerned or scared you. Anything strange?”

Andie hesitated, glancing back at him. “Strange? Like what?”

“An animal, or something animal-like, maybe something no one had seen before?”

Andie shook her head, working her mouth before she replied, “uh, yeah, I mean, we seen all kinds of animals around here, but… we never saw a mountain lion if that’s what you mean.”

“Not exactly…”

“You or none of the other employees have ever felt threatened here?” Scully broke in, shifting away from Mulder’s line of questions. “By any of the local wildlife?”

“Oh, you know, you gotta be careful,” Andie answered in a sing-song tone, “they can be really cute, especially those little baby bear cubs, but wow, momma would not like you hugging on one, I’ll tell you that.”

“Did you know Alice Steinman,” Scully ventured.

Andie’s mood shifted, dropping at the mere mention of the name. She nodded, “She was my friend. Alice was my dearest and only friend.” She hesitated, coming to a stop on the stairs, the slightest smile touching her mouth, “she was my spirit animal.”

“Your spirit animal?” Mulder asked.

“Yeah, like, you know, some people have actual spirit animals, like eagles or bears…”

Mulder nodded, “Or wolves?”

“Yeah,” Andie agreed enthusiastically, “like that, but Alice, she was my spirit animal. She really took care of stuff, she had a plan, and she didn’t take shit off anyone that gave it to her. She was fierce, but…” Andie hesitated, lost in thought for a moment. “She was kind, though.” She looked at Mulder and Scully. “She was really kind to me.”

“Andie,” Mulder said in a careful tone, “Back in the bar, Marty mentioned that she had gone to see her ex that night, at the Sonder Hill facility. Did she go there often?”

“Alice went to see Randy a lot,” Andie explained, slowly starting back down the stairs.

“Randy… her ex?”

“Yeah, Randy Rabb, you know,” Andie explained, her mood lifting, “the guitarist for Osculate.”

She looked back at the agents for a reaction. Neither reacted and Andie was clearly shocked. “Osculate?” The band was obviously not in the agent’s CD rotation. “They did ‘Long, Long Lick.’ You gotta know that one?”

“My BMG club selections haven’t come in yet this month,” Mulder offered with a shrug.

“Sonder Hill is a addiction rehabilitation facility,” Scully stated, “Andie, could Alice have possibly supplying Randy with drugs?”

Andie came to an abrupt halt on the stairs, turning to look at Scully with a scowl. “She wouldn’t have done that!” She declared defensively. “She wanted him to get out, to get back with the band. Him and Alice were going to get back together when things were better.”

“Did Jeff ever go with her to visit Randy?”

“No.” Andie said tightly and turned, starting back down the stairs with a weighted gate. “They didn’t talk anymore after he was made manager.”

“Was she in line for the position?” Scully asked taking an extra step or two to align herself with Andie on the stairs.

The woman drew back, her expression pinched. “It was Alice that should have been manager, yeah. She really knew this place, how it worked inside and out. She would have been an awesome manager.”

“But Jeff got the job instead, why?”

“She shot down that handsy…” Andie paused, glancing back up the stairs cautiously before she continued more quietly, “that handsy Gunderson, Jimmy. That’s why she didn’t get the job.”

“Alice turned down his advances,” Scully asserted.

“Like a million times. He was always creeping her out, coming into the bar and following her, wanting hugs, and asking her out. She’d had it and told him the honest to God truth one night.”

Andie looked at Scully, saying, “she said she regretted that, telling him the truth.”

They reached the bottom of the stairway, where it opened to a utilitarian space. A garage bay stretched to the left, while a push bar door stood sentinel straight ahead. The sounds of motorized equipment now loudly filling the concrete space, crashing in from the delivery bay.

“Did he ever threaten her, or do anything to hurt her?” Mulder asked Andie.

“No, I don’t think so,” Andie frowned thoughtfully. “She never said he did, and I never saw him do anything other than be a creep, you know.”

“Andie!” a male voice shouted down the stairwell, making her jump and whimper. “You done showing those agents around yet?”

“That’s Marty, I’m going to have to go, I can’t show you all the way,” she told them. “But honest, I didn’t want to go out there anyway.” She hurriedly pointed toward the exit door with a shaky hand. “Got out that door, and It’s the wooded area straight across, that’s where… that’s how Jeff went. Straight across to employee parking.”

“Andie!” Marty shouted again.

“I gotta go,” she said and headed for the stairs, leaving Mulder and Scully behind.

Speechless, they watched her climb the stairs at breakneck pace. A beat passed before they exchanged a wordless look.

Finally, with a grin, Mulder told Scully, “I’m torn between running out to get Osculate’s latest album and getting an audience with the elusive Mayor James W. Gunderson.”

“Mulder, I’m not certain if what that woman has told us can be taken for fact. I believe she’s suffering from either post trauma or a dissociative disorder, conditions that manifest in ways that blur the lines between reality and memory.”

“That doesn’t lessen the importance of what she’s told us.” Mulder retorted. “She just seemed nervous and upset.”

“It certainly lessens the validity of it.” Scully proclaimed.

“Scully, this man, the mayor, Gunderson, has a connection with all three victims.”

“It’s a relatively small town, Mulder,” Scully said. “The man, who I might note you have not even met, being part owner in the resort, and works in the city offices, is circumstantial in itself when it comes to him being connected to the victims. It’s not an incrimination.”

Mulder declared, walking into the delivery bay, his voice nearly drowned out by the cacophony of noise.

The delivery area was a symphony of organized chaos. Trucks occupied four bays, a waiting line forming behind them. Trailers aligned with the dock apron were hurriedly offloaded by forklift, headed for the refrigeration and storage lining the apron. On the far side of the dock, the open freight elevator stood open and at the ready, a hungry maw for the next kitchen delivery.

“Some operation,” Mulder observed before turning back to the exit Andie had directed them to.

“I need to point out that Skinner was adamant about not pursuing your… theory any further. We need to focus on the facts of the case during the investigation. There’s already been one complaint…”

“And I’m sure there will be more the closer we get to what’s being covered up in this town.” Mulder declared as they went through the exist door, stepping into the openness of the resort back property.

The sound of music filled the air, drifting down from above them. They looked up seeing the restaurant terrace, perched on sturdy timbers, stretching out over an ever-increasing wooded area, lunch patrons barely visible along the edges, and the tail-tale signs of a band set up and playing to the guests.

“Lively place,” Mulder commented, squinting upward at the restaurant terrace.

“If a band was playing the night of Raven’s death…” Scully postulated, “likely no one would have heard him call out.”

“But did he have a chance to call for help?” Mulder wondered aloud, scanning their surroundings, viewing clutches of woods peppered throughout, a narrow walk gated off from the rest of the resort that meandered far to the right leading to the parking lot, a steep hill rose up to the left leading up under the restaurant terrace.

“It’s no wonder Raven took a shortcut,” Scully observed.

“Come on, Scully, let’s see what’s in these spooky old woods.”

---------------------------- xXx-------------------------------

Entering the woods that separated the resort from employee parking, they quickly recognized the location of Raven’s death, where on branches remnants of crime scene tape fluttered in the breeze. At the base of a tree a makeshift memorial had been created with colorful plastic flowers, candles, cards, and objects appearing both personal and symbolic tributes.

“Ironic for a man who didn’t like to bring attention to himself.” Scully observed.

Mulder added, “Not to mention the attention his death alone stirred up.” He crouched before the memorial, studying its contents briefly. From among the items, he picked up a small stuffed animal that was clearly a wolf. Holding the toy up into Scully’s view, “not actual size?”

Scully sighed purposefully, “You know what they say, Mulder. Size matters...”

“You shouldn’t touch that,” a man’s voice sounded from behind them, immediately turning their attention from the memorial.

A man stood at the edge of the woods, watching them. Older, with silver hair pulled back in a short ponytail, he was dressed plainly in a plaid shirt and jeans, a large silver buckle glinting in sunlight peeking through the treetops. His face was lined and ridged by age and sun exposure, his features of almond eyes, strong nose and high cheek bones spoke of his native American heritage.

“Why?” Mulder asks, “because of its spiritual properties, a supernatural connection between the deceased and the spiritual plane?”

The man stared at him; his voice laced with annoyance. “Because his sister left it here for her brother, you moron. How would you like someone taking the flowers off your loved one’s graves?”

“No, no I wouldn’t” Mulder got the point and offered a thin apologetic smile as he carefully put the stuffed animal back among the memorial. He stood and took a quick step back as the man approached.

“What business have you got here?” He questioned, clearly irritated. Without giving them a chance to speak, he went on while he bent to straighten items in the memorial. “You two come down from that hotel to see where a man was torn to pieces? Going to go back home to your suburbs and tell the story to your friends over wine and cheese?”

Both agents had pulled their identification out while the man was talking. “Actually, sir,” Scully said drawing his attention, “we’re investigating the recent deaths. I’m special agent Scully and my partner, agent Mulder.”

“Are you related to Jeffery Raven?” Mulder asked.

The man straightened slowly, “I’m his grandfather, Joseph Raven.” He looked between them, and squinted at their IDs, lingering for a moment before speaking. “FBI. Why are you investigating Jeff’s death?”

“Not just his death, but the two other attacks.” Scully explained.

Joseph nodded, thoughtfully considering them. “So, you, the government, doesn’t believe the Sheriff is doing his job?”

“Do you believe the Sheriff and his department are doing their job?” Mulder asked, reflecting the man’s challenging tone.

“Yes.” The man straightened, his expression growing harder.

“Sir,” Scully interceded, forcing a pleasantness that she could barely muster that drew the man’s attention. “We’re not hear to question the Sheriff or his department’s competence in this matter.”

“Then what are you here to do?”

“To determine if your grandson and the others were murdered.” Joseph Raven looked at Mulder, who concluded, “And assure no one else dies.”

“Everyone dies eventually.”

“Sir, did your grandson ever mention if he was concerned for his safety for any reason?” Scully’s voice was growing lower, her patience wearing.

“No, he never said anything.”

“What about something, anything in the woods?”

Scully closed her eyes and shook her head, so badly wanting to scold Mulder. “Don’t…” she internally begged.

“Jeffery grew up here, in these hills, these woods, with the wildlife.” Joseph explained sincerely. “There are always risks in these parts. Animals are unpredictable, just like people.”

“You’re a member of the Ute.” Mulder straight out asked the man. “Am I wrong?”

Joseph was stone-faced. “I am.”

“Your people, you trace your origins to a half man and half wolf. Is such a creature stalking these woods?”

Scully half turned from the unfolding scene, touching her head that was beginning to ache.

“Creature?” The man said, offended. “The Creator does not stalk woods or kill people like some Hollywood monster. Government, my grandfather talked about the Creator, about Sinawav. He talked about retribution for a man’s bad behavior, told stories about wrong doers and those that strayed from the path…” Joseph took a step closer to Mulder, giving the agent an intense glare. “My grandfather was ninety-four years old and senile as hell.”

Mulder considered the man, unaffected. “Had your grandson strayed from the path?”

Joseph Raven took a moment, closing his eyes and lowering his head, gathering an inner strength for which Mulder was testing. “My grandson was a successful man,” he finally said, raising his head, turning to address Scully, “I was very proud of him for achieving what all of us were denied. This is all I know.”

The man began to walk away and stopped, half turning to look at Mulder. “I’m going to try not to be insulted that you reduced me and my culture to a stereotype. And I will consider not reporting you to the federal government for these insults.” Joseph turned then to Scully, “You really should put in for a different partner, this guy is going to drag you down.”

With that, Joseph Raven walked away from the agents, leaving the woods to enter a utility truck parked in the employee lot. It took only a moment before for the engine to roar to life and the tires squeal as the man aggressively backed up and pulled away.

“Great, Mulder, now we’ve pissed off the native population—” Scully’s scorn was interrupted by the honk of a horn.

“Hey!” They turned in the direction of the shout, seeing Kessler waving from the window of his SUV in the parking area.

Jake Goodman leaned into view, a big smile on his face as he waved at them.

“You two just going to hang out in the woods all afternoon?”

 ---------------------------- xXx-------------------------------

To be continued… and continued… and continued…

[tweexcore-undrgrnd]

if this ever gets weird: obscure review edition.

(slight spoilers)(probably more than slight)

if you thought there was any chance in hell I would not watch this as soon as I possibly could.. oh to be wrong. autism always wins.

Things i thought were great:

heart-wrenching cathartic piece of art that made me weep , all the clips of Cedric on stage where the lights shine on his hair , lots of silly little moments... all throughout their time they're just... whimsical , the 1 million shots of all the pedals and tech pieces (love) , very funny English accents , waow ftm backstory waow... , kissing the homies anyone??? oh and also long hair pre 2000s Cedric you have my HEARTTT

Things I thought were not great:

I heard some songs from despair come on and immediately all the life drained out of me in horror because I Knew shit was about to go down. been religiously listening to that cd but still It is like a clarion call from hell. (did anyone get that)

yeah I don't actually have any gripes with it I was too in love with the whole thing ..... glad I saw it now. it feels like this is the right time for me to be viewing this. evaluating what I want in my own life too.

I can't stop thinking about the unconventional uses of love and affection from Omar's commentary too, I really feel it when he says he loves Teri and Cedric. it means so much to me to finally see someone like him just admitting so openly that they feel so deeply and genuinely towards the people around them! using words that might confuse others with a too closed-minded view of what love, and soulmates can be. he's totally radical.

(was loving the taped glasses here)

It always takes me out when Cedric's been very honest in recent years and interviews just, plainly saying what he feels. he's got such an air of sincerity and wisdom about him that's amazing to see so much of in this documentary. The difference in how he and Omar talk about painful things is so interesting to me, their way of recounting and the words they both use is nothing short of a wonder to hear. For Cedric in particular, listening to him really tap into that emotional side and physically express it, crying and letting pain shake his voice a little at times, that's amazing. for someone who seemed to disconnect themselves and push people away in that aspect, being so open and honest now is an insane progression.

this scene... hi girl

At the end of the doc, when they're talking about coming back together and their bond and doing volta again, and it's cutting back to clips of them being young together GOD. THAT HIT ME LIKE A FREIGHT TRAIN. being able to stitch that film together and look back on it, seeing some of the worst times as halcyon in your memory and actually making that mental journey something physical, that other people can experience is so magical. this whole thing is like being let into the deepest recesses of their mind, it's terrifying, I love it.

sharp turn now, um..... lots of technology... big fan.. I'm definitely going to be making a few gifs of the equipment.. I'll probably make a post with 1 million screenshots anyway bleh bleh bleh