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zizzlekwum · 1 month ago

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Stranger In A Not-So-Strange Land

Masterlist

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The BAU goes to New Orleans to solve a series of murders. Follows the events of Criminal Minds Season 2 Episode 18 "Jones."

Trigger Warnings: mentions of and mild descriptions of sexual assault

Word Count: 6,396

Tag List: @leftoverenvy @itsmeanobody @ctrljuls @theclassicgaycousin @fatherfigured [if you want to be added to the tag list, please comment or send me an ask]

NOTE: Sorry it took so long. I was sick for a week, and then I was almost finished last night (I had one more scene to write) and then my bunny, Pippa, unexpectedly died, so that ruined the rest of the night and I basically stayed in bed crying.

You arrive at work early, yawning as you sit down at your desk. You’re not surprised to see Hotch already at work. He gives you a nod as you sit down at your desk and start researching crime statistics.

“Morning, Y/L/N.”

You look up to see Prentiss sitting down at her desk across from you, giving you a small smile. “Hey, Emily,” you greet before yawning again.

“Rough night?” she asks.

You shrug. “I’m bipolar,” you explain. “I’m medicated, but about once a month, like clockwork, I go three days without sleeping.”

She frowns, eyebrows furrowing in sympathy. “That sucks. What do you do all night?”

“I lay in bed and pretend I’m sleeping,” you tell her. “I read a study once that found that pretending to sleep is actually more beneficial than just saying ‘fuck it’ and not trying. Basically, laying down and trying to sleep will help you feel more rested, even if you don’t actually sleep.”

“That’s really interesting,” Emily says.

“I thought so, too,” you say. “I would try to find the study for you, but it was back in my own universe, so I’m not sure it exists yet.”

“You should tell Reid about it,” she says. “I’m sure he would be interested.”

“What would I be interested in?” Reid asks from behind her, walking through the doorway.

“Just a study I read years ago,” you tell him. You’re filling him in when Hotch comes out of his office.

“We have a case,” he says. “Conference room, please.” You all nod and follow him into the room, where JJ is standing in front of the TV.

“We’ve got a serial killer in New Orleans who killed at least three men pre-Katrina,” JJ informs you. “Until now, the New Orleans police department believed that the serial killer died in the storm.”

“What’s happened to tell them otherwise?” Morgan asks, taking a sip of his coffee.

“A fourth body was found in the French Quarter last night.” JJ pulls up an image of the victim. “Same MO. Another male. Throat slashed, eviscerated.”

Prentiss frowns. “A year and a half? That’s a long cooling-off period. Are we sure this is the same unsub?”

“Well, he was probably displaced by the storm,” you point out. “Maybe he kept committing murders in another jurisdiction?”

“Possible,” JJ says, nodding at you. “He send a letter to William LaMontagne, the head detective on the case, claiming to be the same unsub.”

Gideon crossed his arms in front of him. “LaMontagne have any leads?”

“He died in Katrina,” JJ says. “His son is actually heading the case now.” You fight back a smile at her unknowingly mentioning her future husband.

“That can’t be easy,” Morgan says, frowning.

“Well, we need to pour over the evidence from the first three murders and determine the pattern,” Hotch says.

JJ shakes her head. “Katrina washed everything away. The three victims we know of, their autopsy reports, witness statements, DNA test results.”

“So basically, all we have to go on is the latest victim?” Reid says.

“Until he kills again,” Hotch adds.

“Fun,” you say, sarcasm dripping from your voice.

* * * * *

On the jet, you’re playing Pokemon Diamond on your DS, since there aren’t any files to go over.

“Hey Reid,” Morgan says. “What’s going on up there?”

Reid shakes his head as if to clear his thoughts. “I was just thinking of this old friend of mine from Las Vegas— Ethan. I’m pretty sure he lives in New Orleans now.”

“Really? Gonna give him a call?” Morgan asks.

Reid shrugs. “We grew up competing against each other in absolutely everything. Spelling bees, science fairs. We also both had our hearts set on joining the Bureau, but… first day at Quantico, he backed out.”

“He probably just couldn’t take the heat,” Prentiss jokes with a smile.

“It’s not really for us to judge, is it?” Reid frowns.

Prentiss’ smile fades. “Right. My bad.”

JJ clears her throat. “These are copies of the newspaper articles on the murders, dating back to early August, 2005.” She hands you a stack of papers as you close your DS and put it back in your bag. “It’s all we have to go on.”

“He killed three times, he stopped for eighteen months, then he started killing again,” Hotch says.

“We should have Garcia run a list of any offenders in the area,” Gideon says. “Anyone who spent the last year and a half doing time, and like Y/L/N suggested, anyone who was forced to relocate after the storm and recently moved back.” He nods at you.

“What is the victimology in killing a mechanic, a real estate broker, and a cook, with ages ranging from twenty-two to forty-five?” Prentiss asks.

JJ nods. “And this latest is a thirty-three year old taxi driver. They just don’t seem to have very much in common.”

“Apart from being men,” you say.

“And walking the French Quarter at night,” Morgan adds.

“Which is notorious for muggings off the main drag,” JJ says.

Prentiss frowns. “Yeah, but this guy isn’t in a rush to flee the scene. A slaughter like this takes time.”

“Andrei Chikatilo fantasized that the men he killed were his captives,” Reid chimes in, “and that torturing and mutilating them somehow made him a hero.”

“The city’s barely back to life,” Gideon says. “Something like this could cripple its psyche.”

“So where do we start?” JJ asks.

“We don’t have any case files or anything,” you remind her. “We really only have one place to start.”

Hotch nods. “Square one.”

* * * * *

When the plane lands, the team splits up. You go with Reid and Prentiss to the ME to examine the body.

“Four layers of fatty tissue sliced through like butter,” the ME says, uncovering the body. “I only seen that three other times.”

“You work this case initially?” Reid asks.

The ME nods as you slip on a pair of latex gloves. “You don’t forget victims like this. It’s like they were dissected.”

“I can still smell the alcohol on him,” Prentiss notes, also putting on gloves.

The ME shrugs. “This is New Orleans. Dead or alive, it’s a smell you get used to.”

“No defensive wounds,” you note, carefully lifting up the victim’s arm.

“Most likely a blitz attack,” Reid adds. He examines the stab wounds. “No hesitation marks or rapid thrusts. Cuts were methodical. Almost procedural.”

“My guess?” the ME chimes in. “Whoever gutted this guy was taught to.”

“You’re thinking he might have some medical training?” Prentiss asks.

The ME nods. “How else could he carve around every organ and leave each one intact?”

“Has anyone come to claim the body yet?” you ask.

“Anyone we could speak with?” Prentiss says.

“No,” the ME says, shaking his head. “I’ll end up boxing up the poor bastard’s ashes, left to collect dust in storage. All the bodies I’ve been through in the last year and a half, it’s a wonder I still have room.”

* * * * *

When the three of you get back to the station, Hotch is looking at a projection on the wall.

“Is that the letter from the unsub?” Prentiss asks.

“Yeah,” Hotch says. He reads it aloud. “‘I’m back with a vengeance. I wanted you to know… the last guy made it easy, being out so late, stumbling home drunk. I enjoyed slicing around the organs, thought about sending you one. He was asking to be ripped. Don’t you think, Boss? Yours Truly.’”

“To say that the victims were asking to be killed denies all culpability,” Reid says. “Most sexual sadists rationalize their own behavior by blaming the victims like that.”

Prentiss shakes her head. “But there was no evidence of sexual assault in the autopsy. He could be a homosexual male stabbing because he needs violence for arousal.”

“Every kill he’s acting out a fantasy of revenge,” Hotch says.

“What if he’s trying to act out something else?” Reid says.

“Like what?” Hotch asks.

Reid glances at the projection of the unsub’s letter. “With the exception of the victims being men, it’s the same MO.”

“What are you talking about?” Prentiss asks.

“Oh!” you exclaim. “Jack the Ripper?”

Reid nods. “Exactly. All four victims were found with their throats slashed, eviscerated, and the murders perpetrated in semi-public places after dark. Investigators taunted with letters addressed to ‘Boss.’ The only difference is that case was a hundred years ago and the murders took place in London.”

“And the unsub wants us to think that he’s the modern-day version loose in New Orleans,” Hotch says.

* * * * *

The next day, you find yourself at the scene of another murder. You, Morgan, and Reid are questioning the victim’s friends.

“So the three of you were out together last night?” Reid asks.

The man to your left nods. “Mark had just paid his tab at one bar and was on his way to meet us at another.”

“You guys get in any trouble?” Morgan asks. “Drunken brawl? Anybody get out of hand?”

The other man shakes his head. “We were just out to have fun, you know? Minded our own business.”

You adjust your glasses on your nose. “Could Mark have met a girl? Maybe upset her boyfriend?”

“No, ma’am.” The man on the right shakes his head again. “He struck out like we all did.”

Morgan nods. “Thanks guys.” You, Morgan, and Reid turn back to the body, where Prentiss, Gideon, and Detective Will LaMontagne are standing around the victim.

Will crosses his arms. “I can hardly keep up with this guy.”

“Well, if he’s mimicking Jack the Ripper, that might be precisely the point,” Prentiss says. “He terrorized London for months without ever getting caught.”

Gideon looks at Will. “I’d appreciate it if you’d gather your men. We’d like to give you a profile of who you’re up against.”

* * * * *

Back at the precinct, the team stands in front of the New Orleans cops, ready to tell them the profile. Hotch stands in the middle, while Emily is leaning against the wall next to you.

“The offender we’re looking for is friendly, agile, somewhere between thirty and thirty-five,” Hotch starts.

“He’ll lure with charm, kill with rage,” Gideon continues.

“We believe he’s murdering men to reclaim his power,” Emily says. “This unsub suffers from low self-esteem, but he probably covers it well. He dresses impeccably to feed the facade. Jack the Ripper himself was an impetuous lust murderer, whereas this offender is organized, calculating. He might even stalk his victims for days before the actual kill.”

“We believe this killer identifies with Jack the Ripper because he’s lost his own identity,” Gideon says. “Maybe through years of child abuse or some catastrophic event.”

Hotch continues the profile. “Because he overcompensates to hide his insecurities, we believe he may hold a position of authority at work.”

“We also believe the unsub has had medical training,” you add. “Consider EMTs, doctors, and veterinarians, people who may have an advanced understanding of the human body.”

“Please be careful,” Gideon says. “For this unsub, the French Quarter is a hunting ground. He’s certainly already proven he knows the terrain.”

The cops disperse and you and Emily return to the conference room to look over the evidence when Emily’s phone rings.

“Prentiss,” she answers, putting the phone on speaker.

“What was the thing Jack the Ripper took from one of his victims?” Garcia asks. “Besides. Well, you know. Her life.”

“Oh, uh….” Prentiss trails off.

“Tick, tock,” Garcia says.

You think for a moment. “Kidney?”

“Ding ding ding! Y/N’s right,” Garcia exclaims. “How horrifyingly fantastic is that?”

Emily nods at you, making you smile. “Garcia, are you going anywhere with this?” she asks.

“Just that I found an unsolved murder that happened four months ago in Galveston, Texas, with the same MO, the victim missing that very organ. I amaze myself.”

“Hey, I did wonder if the unsub was displaced by the hurricane,” you point out.

“Y/N, you are also amazing,” Garcia says.

Emily laughs. “I agree,” she says, causing your cheeks to heat up. “Great work, Garcia,” she says.

“Who was that?” Gideon asks, walking into the room.

“I may have been right,” you tell him. “Garcia found a case in Texas that fits the Ripper’s MO, four months ago.”

Gideon nods. “A lot of Katrina refugees relocated there after the storm.”

“It could definitely be our unsub,” Prentiss agrees. “He removes the kidney, just like Jack the Ripper.”

Gideon gestures to you. “Call Reid and Morgan. I want the four of you on a plane to Texas tonight.”

You nod, biting your lip. “Will do,” you tell him quietly.

* * * * *

Emily glances back at you as you follow her up the stairs into the jet. “Are you okay? I know you had a hard time in Texas during the last case.”

You sigh, fiddling with your hands. “I’m treating it as exposure therapy,” you tell her with a shrug. “It’s how I got myself used to the grocery store during the weekend days when it was wicked crowded. Besides,” you say, shooting her a smile, “I know you wouldn’t let anything happen to me, even if my asshole ex somehow did show up.”

She chuckles, throwing an arm around you. “You got that right. We have your back.”

The two of you settle in and wait for Reid and Morgan to get there, chatting about the case as you wait. After a few minutes, Morgan walks onto the jet.

You nod at him. “Hey.”

“Hey,” he says, putting his bag down. “Where’s Reid?”

“He’s not with you?” you ask. Morgan shakes his head.

Next to you, Emily frowns. “We were hoping he was.”

“Thought you said you called him?” Morgan asks her.

She nods. “I did! Four times, nothing.” She glances at her watch. “The victim’s fiancée is expecting us.”

“What do we do?” you ask.

Morgan shakes his head. “We got one option. Wheels up.” He goes to tell the pilot to take off.

* * * * *

When you get to the fiancée’s house, it’s dark out. She invites you in and you take a seat next to Prentiss on the couch, Morgan on her other side.

“Everyone kept saying crime’s gonna skyrocket after the relocation,” the victim’s fiancée says. “You just never think it’s gonna happen to you.”

“The report said that your fiancé was bar-hopping for his bachelor party on the night he was killed,” Prentiss says.

“We were supposed to be married in October,” the fiancée says. She takes a deep breath. “He was just out celebrating that with friends.”

“Was there anyone at Leonard’s bachelor party you didn’t know?” Morgan asks.

She shakes her head. “We all grew up together. They’re like family to me. Whether they met somebody out, you know, that’s a different story.” She laughs humorlessly. “They’re a rowdy bunch. They’d party with anybody.”

You finish up the interview and leave the house. You hop in the back seat, giving Emily the passenger seat while Morgan drives. Emily sighs. “Each of the last two victims was traveling with a group. Both were drinking, both in public arenas, bar-hopping. So how could their friends not see anything?”

“It’s like when the lion preys upon an antelope,” Morgan says.

Emily frowns. “You lost me.”

Morgan laughs. “Well that’s because you, Emily Prentiss, have never been one of the antelope.”

“Oh, scratch that,” Emily says. “You totally lost me.”

“Me too,” you say, frowning.

“Okay, check this out,” Morgan says. “The antelope travel in packs. So the lion just sits and waits. Waits for just one of the antelope to break away from its herd, so when he’s alone, vulnerable, and completely unprotected, that’s when the lioness strikes. That’s when she makes her move.”

“Wait a minute, ‘her’ move,” Emily repeats.

Morgan nods. “There’s only one thing that’s gonna make a straight man leave his friends on a guys night out. And it’ll make him leave every time. One of the victims was out for his bachelor party. Another one out with just the guys. What’s the only temptation that’s gonna lure these men away from each other.” He takes out his phone and dials.

“The unsub’s a woman,” you finish.

* * * * *

Back at the precinct, you, Morgan, and Prentiss are looking through the case files again when Reid walks in.

“Hey, you guys are back from Galveston?” he asks, sitting down next to you.

“First light this morning,” Morgan replies. “Where were you?”

“I was out with a friend, I already told you,” Reid says casually.

“I called you four times,” Prentiss says.

“I didn’t have any cell phone reception, so I didn’t get your message until late,” Reid says.

Prentiss rolls her eyes. “Right.”

Reid looks to you. “What’s going on?”

“Unsub’s a woman,” you tell him. “We’re looking through the evidence again with that in mind.” He opens his mouth to respond when Hotch walks up behind him.

“We just found another body in the Quarter,” Hotch says. “Let’s go.”

* * * * *

At the scene of the newest murder, Morgan is examining the body as you, Prentiss, Gideon, and Reid watch him.

“Throat’s been cut,” Morgan says. “He’s been disemboweled, too.”

Gideon crouches down next to the body. “Reeks of booze,” he says. “It’s more than a pattern.”

“Only this time, she cut off the earlobe,” Morgan adds.

You nod. “Like Jack the Ripper.”

Prentiss looks at you. “What do you mean?”

“In one letter or correspondence, Jack the Ripper promised to cut the earlobe off his next victim, and he did,” Reid says.

“Wasn’t that the only day he killed twice?” you ask. Reid nods.

“So she’s gonna kill again by the end of the day,” Gideon says.

“Most likely,” you say. “Unless we can stop her by then.”

“Okay,” Prentiss starts, “what do we know about female serial killers?”

Gideon nods. “Basically, you have two types.”

“The Sante Kimes model,” Morgan says. “Cold, calculated. Preys on men for money. Takes her time building relationships.”

“Doesn’t sound like this unsub,” you say.

“It’s more likely we’re dealing with the Aileen Wuornos archetype,” Reid agrees, nodding at you. “Motivated by paranoia and fear, luring men with sex.”

“This unsub’s organized,” Gideon says. “She follows a routine. She meets men in a bar, flirts with them over drinks, and suggests they consummate the evening in an alley.”

“We should patrol the streets tonight,” you say. “Especially knowing we can expect another body by the end of the day.”

“Office just brought me this,” Detective LaMontagne says from behind you. You turn and see him holding out an evidence bag with what appears to be another letter from the unsub inside.

Emily takes it from him and reads. “Dear boss, by now I have rid the world of one more. So many men, so little time. I hope you don’t mind the mess. They make it so easy, I just can’t help myself. Yours truly.”

* * * * *

Later that night, you and Emily are patrolling the alleys together.

“Most of the women are in groups,” you note, looking around.

Emily nods from beside you. “We should be looking for someone on her own.”

You frown, thinking of the latest letter. “So many men, so little time,” you repeat. “She’s dead set on killing men. I wonder why?”

“She might be misplacing the rage from a father who molested her,” Emily suggests. “Some people think Jack the Ripper mutilated women after his mother sexually abused him for years.”

“She seems apologetic, weirdly enough,” you add. “At least for leaving a messy scene. I don’t understand why.”

Emily shrugs. “That might be what the detective’s father figured out before he died.”

You sigh. “Okay, I’m going to preface this with the fact that I’m not victim blaming, simply curious, but why are these men just fine with following a stranger into a random alley alone? I would never.”

Emily chuckles. “They’re not thinking with their head.”

“At least, not the correct one,” you respond. She laughs.

“Exactly.” The two of you continue looking around for anything that stands out, conversation lulling for a bit.

“Do you know what’s going on with Reid?” Emily asks after a little while.

You let out a long breath. “He… I mean, he hasn’t been the same since Tobias Hankel, and understandably so,” you tell her. “But I wish he’d let us in.”

She looks out at the crowd around you. “Not to change the subject, but I feel like we’re missing something. Let’s go meet up with the others, see if they’ve had any luck.”

You nod, following her through groups of people, fighting the urge to reach out and grab her hand so you don’t lose her. You find Morgan and Reid first.

“Hey,” Morgan says, shaking his head. “We got nothing.”

You frown. “Well, we’re running out of time. Day’s almost over.”

Emily sighs. “Hopefully Hotch and Gideon or JJ and the detective had better luck. Otherwise….” Her voice trails off, but you all know what she means.

Otherwise, you’re going to find another body.

* * * * *

The next morning, you arrive at the scene of the newest murder. Detective LaMontagne is kneeling next to the body, shaking his head.

“She’s mocking us,” he says, standing as you, Emily, JJ, Gideon, and Reid duck under the crime scene tape.

“And she’s true to her word,” Emily notes.

Reid crouches down next to the body. “Does anyone have any tweezers?” he asks. One of the crime scene techs hands him a pair. “Thank you.” He uses them to extract something white from the victim’s mouth.

“What is that?” JJ asks.

“I have no idea,” Reid says.

You look closer as Reid stands. “A note, maybe?”

Reid unfolds the paper and nods. “Y/L/N is right.” He looks over at the detective. “It’s addressed to your father.”

“Let’s see it,” Gideon says. Reid hands him the paper. “‘Dear boss,’” Gideon reads, “‘he wanted it, with that sharp tongue and vulgar hand. Thought you’d like to know, another will soon get what he deserves. Yours truly.’”

“It’s weird,” Reid notes.

You frown. “How so?”

“Typically offenders write letters to be heard,” he explains. “Jack the Ripper bragged about not being caught, but this unsub isn’t using correspondence to flaunt her latest kill, only to explain why she did it.”

“It’s possible that she considers herself a vigilante,” Prentiss suggests. “That the men she’s killing deserve to die.”

“Or maybe she’s contacting your father, not because he was the lead detective on the case, but… because she believes he’d understand,” Gideon tells the detective.

“You think he knew her somehow?” Detective LaMontagne asks.

“Can you think of a woman in your dad’s life he helped through a tough time?” JJ asks. “Might be another police officer, I don’t know, a prostitute he helped get off the street?”

The detective shakes his head. “Nah, he hasn’t dealt with prostitutes since he worked sex crimes.”

“The unsub wrote, ‘he was asking to be ripped,’ ‘I just couldn’t help myself,’ and ‘he wanted it,’” Reid says.

“Wait, that sounds a lot like what rapists say to excuse their behavior,” you say. You turn to the detective. “You said your dad worked sex crimes? Maybe she was one of his victims.”

Reid nods at you. “Exactly. She may be mirroring the man who raped her.”

“Detective, where are the files stored from your sex crimes division?” Gideon asks.

Detective LaMontagne shakes his head. “They were housed in the same place as homicide. Most of them washed away.”

“Did your dad have a partner?” JJ asks.

“Yeah, J.R. Smith,” the detective says. “Smitty, they called him.”

“Maybe he remembers something,” you suggest.

“Yeah, but they had a falling out,” Detective LaMontagne says.

Emily frowns. “What about?”

The detective shrugs. “I don’t know. They stopped talking when he left sex crimes. That was nine years ago. The guy didn’t even come to my daddy’s funeral, so….”

“Do you have a problem calling him?” Gideon asks.

“Not if it means breaking this case,” Detective LaMontagne says. He looks down at the body, frowning. “Honey, may I borrow your hand for a minute?” he asks JJ. She nods. The detective uses her to look at the victim’s hand, where there’s a stamp. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

“What?” you ask.

He gestures to the hand. “That stamp? It’s admittance into the Mon Cherie. It’s a bar in the French Quarter.” He stands. “Nine years ago? It was called Jones.”

“Bingo,” Gideon says. He turns to JJ. “Get Garcia on the phone.”

* * * * *

At the Mon Cherie, Detective LaMontagne leads you all towards a man sitting alone at a table. “Smitty, how are you?” he says, holding out a hand to shake.

Smitty stares at him. “I hope you got a good reason for dredging this crap up,” he says coldly.

Detective LaMontagne lowers his hand. “Well I was hoping you might remember being called here with my daddy nine years ago.”

“Is that a joke?” Smitty asks, glaring at him.

The detective shakes his head. “No?”

Gideon steps forward. “My name’s Jason Gideon. We’re from the FBI. We’re investigating the series of murders in the French Quarter.”

Smitty shrugs. “What’s that got to do with me?”

“We need you to tell us what happened the night you and Detective LaMontagne answered the call in this bar,” Emily says. Smitty just stares at her.

“Am I missing something?” the detective asks.

Smitty smiles, and it makes you want to take a step back. “You really don’t know, do you? After that night, your daddy tried to bring me up on sanctions.”

“Why?” Detective LaMontagne asks.

“It was Mardi Gras. Some girl claimed she was raped,” Smitty tells him. You grit your teeth at his wording and flippant attitude. “I wasn’t buying it.” You fight the urge to cross your arms.

“What did she say happened to her?” JJ asks.

“Brass backed me up,” Smitty continues, ignoring JJ. “They ended up transferring your daddy out to shut him up.”

“What happened here?” Emily asks, glancing at you with a frown.

“It almost cost me my career.” Smitty ignores her.

“Do you mind telling us what happened?” Gideon asks the question this time.

Smitty stands, walking across the room. “My best recollection, she said she was sitting at the bar with two friends. One of the boys asked her if she wanted to play some pool. Witnesses claim she was up for anything.” You grit your teeth again but say nothing.

“She followed him up here?” Emily asks as he gets to the stairs.

Smitty nods. “His friend not far behind. She knew he was there.” You bite your lip. “That girl was a tease,” Smitty says. You want to punch the smug look off his face. “She was looking for a good time. Anyway, a couple guys were going along with that.”

“Did she yell out for help?” JJ asks.

“She said she did,” Smitty says, rolling his eyes. “But not a single person claimed that they heard her.”

“That’s what you registered as a disturbance?” you ask incredulously, your voice coming out louder than you mean for it to.

“It was Mardi Gras,” Smitty tells you. “Listen to me, that girl had enough beads hanging from her neck to jewel a small city. Anyone who exposes themself that much in one day isn’t a credible witness in my book.” You flex your fingers in an attempt to not curl them into a fist, a habit you formed as a child when you would get upset.

“But she wanted to press charges,” Detective LaMontagne says.

“I told her it was a waste of time,” Smitty says. “I knew one of the accused. He was a good kid.” He shakes his head. “He didn’t need the stink of that accusation.” You grab the bottom of your shirt into a fist.

Gideon sits down next to Smitty. “So you protected a rapist.”

Smitty scoffs. “Well, that right there was a bone of contention between his daddy and I. As far as I was concerned, no such rape ever took place. Now are you gonna tell me why you went and dragged this dirt back through my life?”

There’s a pause, and then Gideon speaks. “You know the serial killed who’s cutting up men in the French Quarter? She was your victim.”

“We’re trying to find a name,” Detective LaMontagne says. Smitty shakes his head.

“You don’t even remember her name?” Emily says.

Smitty rolls his eyes. “It was nine years ago.”

“Okay then, how about the name of the ‘good kid?’” you ask. “You know, the one who raped her.” Smitty takes another sip of his drink, not responding.

“Smitty,” Detective LaMontagne says. “You tell me right now or I’ll file a new sanction against you, and I guarantee you, this time it’ll stick.”

“Ronnie Thibideaux,” Smitty grumbles.

You turn and stalk outside, where you allow yourself to clench your hands into fists.

“You okay?” Emily asks from behind you.

You turn to face her. “I don’t like him.”

She smiles softly. “I can tell.”

“Was I that obvious?” you ask.

She shrugs. “Maybe not to a normal person, but I am a profiler, and it was written all over your face.”

You sigh. “I’ve watched enough SVU to know how common his mindset it, but I can’t fucking stand it.” You kick a pebble. “Like, he’s supposed to help protect people, not victimize them further! God, I fucking hate people.”

She puts an arm around your shoulders as the others exit the bar. “Caring so deeply about other people is a good thing,” she tells you. “Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

Gideon gives you a questioning look, and you nod resolutely at him. “I’m good. Let’s go interview a rapist.”

* * * * *

Back at the station, you’re watching from the other side of the glass as Emily and JJ talk to the rapist, Ronnie.

“Mr. Thibideaux,” Emily starts, “we need you to answer a few questions about a disturbance you were involved with in 1998.”

Ronnie looks at her, a small smirk on his face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“At a bar called Jones,” JJ adds. “It was Mardi Gras.”

“Well, then, I must’ve been drinking some, because I don’t remember a thing,” Ronnie says, that stupid smirk growing wider.

“We just need to know the name of your accuser,” Prentiss tells him.

Ronnie shakes his head. “Look, I told you I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

JJ shakes her head. “The statute of limitations is up,” she says, rubbing her face. “We just need a name.”

“Someone accuses me of rape, I’m gonna remember her name,” Emily says, sitting down across from the rapist.

“Unless you’re used to it,” you grumble to yourself. “Probably raped other women, too.”

“Well what can I tell you, cher?” Ronnie says, slight agitation creeping into his voice. “I guess she didn’t make that good of an impression.”

“Oh, that fucker,” you seethe, fidgeting. Your cross your arms, then uncross them.

“Unlike yourself, right now?” Emily is saying to Ronnie.

“Y/L/N, take a breath,” Hotch says quietly from beside you, his tone soft.

You sigh. “I’m fine,” you tell him. “Just really hate rapists.” You refocus on the interrogation room.

“You know,” Ronnie says, leaning forward, a dangerous glint in his eye, “I’m guessing if someone did do something to that girl that night, then she was probably asking for it. Maybe even liked it.”

“Oh, what a fucking ass hat,” you say. “He’s not even gonna tell us a name!”

“Guy’s not giving up anything,” Detective LaMontagne says from behind you.

“Reid, after the double murder, what was the Ripper’s next move?” Hotch asks.

“He mutilated and dismembered Mary Kelly in her one-room flat until she was unrecognizable,” Reid reports. “It’s believed to be his most vicious kill of all.”

“He had privacy,” you say.

“And time to torture his victim before killing her,” Morgan adds. “Maybe we’re not too late.”

You shift your attention back to the interrogation room, where JJ is showing Ronnie pictures of the victims. “She murdered these men, and I’m guessing it’s only a matter of time before she works her way back to the one she really wants to kill.” Ronnie looks at her abruptly, alarm written all over his face.

“She make an impression now?” Emily asks.

Ronnie swallows. “Sarah Danlin.”

You turn and walk away, grabbing a drink of water while JJ calls Garcia. She’s hanging up when you return, water in hand. “We got her,” she tells you.

* * * * *

At Sarah Danlin’s apartment, the team spreads out in groups to cover all entrances. You’re paired up with Hotch and Morgan, while Reid and Detective LaMontagne take the back entrance.

“Sarah Danlin! FBI! Open up!” Morgan yells. When there’s no answer, Hotch gives him a nod and he kicks the door in. You follow behind Hotch and Morgan, gun drawn, as you check each room.

“Clear!” you call out.

“Clear!” Morgan shouts.

You meet in the living room. “She’s definitely not here,” you say.

“Guys, there are some ripperologists who speculate that Mary Kelly was actually killed in a flat that Jack the Ripper rented for the night,” Reid says.

Morgan takes out his phone. “I’m gonna have Garcia check Sarah Danlin’s credit card accounts. It’s a long shot, but maybe we can trace her room back to her charge cards.”

You look closer at the coffee table. “Look.”

“Souvenirs,” Hotch says, picking up a paper. “These are from bars in the French Quarter. This is from Mon Cherie.”

Morgan shakes his head. “She’s trolling for victims in the place where it all began.”

“She can’t move on,” Hotch says. “The rape isn’t the whole story. I’ll bet there’s a history of sexual abuse that contributes to her rage as well.”

“It’s almost like by taking on the Ripper persona, she was trying to kill something within herself,” Reid says.

Morgan’s phone rings. He opens it and puts it on speaker. “Yeah, mama, what do you got?”

“Sarah Danlin’s Visa was charged an hour ago at the Royal Ruby Inn,” Garcia tells him.

Morgan smiles. “Ah, baby girl, you never disappoint. Thank you.” He hangs up and looks at the detective.

“That’s two blocks from here,” Detective LaMontagne says.

“Let’s go,” you say, everyone rushing out of the room and back to the SUVs.

It only takes a minute to get to the Inn, and you jump out of the car as soon as it stops, following Hotch at a run. He quickly describes Sarah Danlin to the desk attendant, who directs you to her rented room.

Hotch kicks the door open to find Sarah Danlin standing over a naked man who’s tied to the bed by his wrists. She has a knife in her hand. “FBI!” Hotch shouts.

“Drop the knife!” you tell her.

“Drop the weapon!” Hotch repeats.

“He wanted it,” Sarah says, pointing the knife at the man’s throat. “And he got it.”

“Put it down, now,” Morgan says.

Hotch raises his wrist to his mouth. “We need an EMT tech right away,” he says quietly into the receiver.

Sarah looks over her shoulder, focusing on you. “What are you waiting for?”

Morgan shakes his head. “Ma’am, we don’t want to shoot you,” he says.

She smiles humorlessly, looking at Morgan. “Be such a shame to waste this. Do you want it, too?”

“What we want is for you to please put the knife down,” Morgan says.

“Come on,” Sarah tells him. “Don’t fight it.”

You shake your head. “Sarah, please. We don’t want to hurt you.”

Detective LaMontagne comes into the room, lowering his weapon. “Sarah,” he says carefully. “My name’s William LaMontagne Jr. You knew my daddy?” Sarah’s eyes fill with tears as Detective LaMontagne inches his way closer to her. “Hey there. You trusted him, so trust me.”

“Where is he?” Sarah asks him.

“The storm took him,” the detective tells her. A tear rolls down her cheek. The detective puts a hand out, slowly reaching for the knife. “Come on. It’s over.” Sarah gives him the knife and breaks down, falling into his arms. “It’s over,” he repeats, carrying her out of the room.

You immediately start working to free the victim from his restraints, taking out your knife and slicing though the fabric. “You’re going to be okay,” you tell him as the EMTs rush into the room and begin their assessment.

You follow the EMTs as they load the victim into a stretcher and wheel him out to the ambulance, breaking away from them when you notice JJ and Prentiss pulling up.

“Hey,” you greet them. JJ gives you a nod as she walks over to where the detective is leaning against his car. You smile over at them.

“What’s that look for?” Emily asks, following your line of sight.

You shrug. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” you tease.

She laughs before her expression turns more serious. “I just wanted to check in on you, make sure you’re okay.”

You nod. “I’m good. I just hate that rape isn’t taken seriously a lot of the time. There’s a quote, something along the lines of, ‘rape is the only crime where you have to prove the victim’s innocence.’ I just hate that that’s pretty much true. It doesn’t matter if the victim was walking around naked, as long as they say don’t provide consent, it’s rape.” You sigh. “I’m lucky enough to never have been sexually assaulted, but I know a lot of women who were. Well, you know. I used to know a lot of women who were,” you correct yourself, frowning. “Anyway, as much as I miss my old life, I’m glad I found a new family, too. The BAU and the Jeffersonian team are the only reason I’m able to function, really. I’m not sure what I’d do without you guys.”

She smiles, putting an arm around you. “You’ll never find out.”

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cowboylikeyouu · 2 months ago

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avengers interstellar AU

since i've seen it in theaters last night i can't stop thinking about writing an avengers/winterhawk interstellar AU and i feel like it's eating me from the inside, so i'm just gonna throw all my ideas at you. spoiler warnings for interstellar and a fanfiction i'll probably never write (having some interstellar knowledge is recommend lol i'm not explaining any of the movie aspects)

it's not gonna be as angsty as actual interstellar bc i can't do main character death for the life of me, i'm gonna ignore a lot of science bc i'm stupid and it's gonna be heavily winterhawk focused bc i'm insufferable, but here we go:

the world is ending and has been for years due to the blight and everything, yap yap yap you know the deal. the avengers basically just were a team of super talented scientists and engineers and test pilots, doing a lot of research for years and also dealing with some international shit or smth idk and it doesn't really matter. the team doesn't exist anymore bc they're not needed anymore, with food becoming the most dominant problem and everything, again, yk the deal. so most of them decide to retire from shield/nasa work and become farmers/etc.

nasa is doing the lazarus missions tho, and who volunteers? 10 people who don't really matter to the story (just like in the movie), steve (bc he's steve goddamn, ofc he's gonna volunteer to go on a suicide mission to possibly save humanity) and nat (bc she's rational, + she knows clint's probably gonna settle down with bucky somewhere (they've been in that "we fuck and spend almost every minute together, and we're so obviously in love but too scared to talk about it" stage for years), so she knows she won't be needed anymore bla bla)

clint's devastated about nat leaving, but she's like "enjoy your time as a farmer and when fury asks you to travel through spacetime to rescue us in a decade, you better be married to bucky's ass, idiot".

bucky's angry with steve for leaving but not surprised, and he's like "don't you dare die out there or i will walk through that goddamn wormhole just to kill you again"

tony's super pissy with steve for leaving, but doesn't show up to say goodbye or anything bc they're not really on speaking terms (they had an affair that was obviously much more than that during the period when tony and pepper had broken up, but then something civil war-like happened, and they're still angry at each other bc of that, and now tony's with pepper again, but there's obviously still a lot of unresolved stuff going on between them ykyk.

regarding steve & bucky: pretty sure i'll make them both the same age as everyone else, so no "frozen/held captive by hydra for 70 year" business, but i still need them to be supersoldiers. so maybe steve still volunteered for the experiment, and maybe he even became some kind of captain america (but an astronaut-version of him???), and bucky still got the not-so-good super-serum thingy and was held captive by hydra, but "only" for a couple of years, before he was rescued and joined the avengers.

again, all of that's not that important, the only relevant thing is that bucky got the serum and that it slows his aging process significantly.

whoo, lots of exposition sorry. that was basically just the prologue.

fast forward, 6-10 years, idk. pepper and tony had morgan, but pepper died of cancer (and i HATE nothing more than killing of a woman for an mlm ship, but seeing as cooper's wife in interstellar died as well, forcing him to leave behind his kids without a mom, i think it's a valid plot point for once). clint took bucky with him to his parent's old farm, they had peaceful couple of years, both recovering from trauma yap yap yap, they're happy alright (and officially together bc this is NOT a winterhawk slowburn).

then they all get a call form fury tho, being like "hey guys, sooo steve's, nat's and [random third character's] worlds look promising, wanna travel through the wormhole and check those planets out lolol???", and they obviously don't want to, but they all knew that day would come, so clint, bucky, tony and someone else (haven't decided who, bc that person's gonna be the one who dies on the water-planet thingy close to gargantua, so that's a hard decision to make) become the endurance team and set off into space.

and here's the thing: tony's on the mission bc he wants to save the life of morgan and especially her potential future kids and OFC bc he has a tiny hope of seeing steve again. clint's on the mission bc with bucky on the ship as well, there's nothing keeping him on earth, + the tiny chance of seeing nat again. bucky's on the mission for all of those reasons, but there's another factor for him, and that's time dilation.

he's a couple of years older than clint, but due to his slow aging, their body's are pretty much at the same stage already if u know what i mean, and while clint's relatively chill about it bc "hey man, you still gonna look sexy as fuck when i'm a bald old man, i'm so lucky", bucky's freaking out over it.

he's well aware of the time dilation caused by gargantua, so his plan is to be the one to stay behind on the ship while the others fly down to the planet on its horizon, and to NOT put himself into hypersleep for all these years, so that when clint and the others come back, he's gonna have a few physical years on clint again. his thought process is kinda like "i'd rather spent 20 years alone on a spaceship with the knowledge that clint is probably alive and i will see him again, than to watch him die of old age and keep living on my own for another 50 years". it's kinda stupid, but that's love for you guys.

so yeah, they travel through the wormhole, clint, tony, and [random fourth character] go down to the planet on gargantua's horizon, clint's convinced bucky's just gonna sleep for 7 years bc that's what sane people do, [random fourth character] dies, tony and clint have to stay down there an hour longer due to the water damage on the ranger, yap yap you know the deal, they go up again and BOOM: they've been gone for 23 years and bucky spent all those years alone and awake and looks 10 years older than before they left. many emotions for both of them "fuck yes clint, you're alive, i fucking missed human contact", and "jesus christ bucky you put yourself through this for me and" and "JESUS CHRIST bucky you put yourself through this FOR ME?????"

anyways, next stop is steve's planet. good news: steve's alive, bad news: the planet isn't a suitable candidate for a new world. the obvious new plan is to go check out nat's world bc it's quite literally their last chance. tony - now that they already "wasted" 25 years on this mission and found steve alive - really just wants to go back to earth tho and see morgan again. he knows that clint and bucky won't agree to that tho, so he kinda manipulates steve into getting on a ranger and flying up to the endurance again, leaving clint and bucky behind on steve's planet. don't be too angry with him, he just wants to see his daughter again, alright :,)

neither steve nor tony are exceptional pilots tho, (that's clint's fucking job), so they don't manage the docking process. bc this isn't a main character death angst fic, they don't die in an explosion like dr. mann did in interstellar, they just cause the endurance to spin rapidly, and then kinda float next to it in their ranger being like "well shit". clint and bucky come in with steve's old lander to save the day, and clint manages to dock onto the spinning spaceship (like cooper does in the movie) and stops it, and then talks tony and steve through the docking process on another point of the ship (the endurance, the rangers, and the landers all work the way i want and need them too btw, idc about accuracy when it comes to this kinda shit lol i just want them all to survive)

when they're all safe on the ship again, they talk it through. the endurance + 1 lander HAVE to go to nat's planet, it's the point of the entire mission, but clint's a self-sacrificing idiot, so obviously he wants tony and steve to have a chance of going back to earth. they load up on lander with enough fuel to take steve and tony back through the wormhole (they're not sure if the lander can withstand it, but it's the only way), from where it should be possibly to contact earth again, so that someone could get them.

clint tells bucky that they have enough resources and enough fuel to get them both to nat's planet safely, which is a lie, but bucky trusts him bc they're in love, man.

clint does the iconic slingshot-around-gargantua-or-whatever manoeuvre to give the endurance the boost it needs to reach nat's planet, and he also does the iconic "yeah, i'm just gonna load up one of the rangers with one of the robots (the robots are FRIDAY and JARVIS btw) and let it fall into black hole to hopefully gather some data, but then i also let myself fall into it without telling you beforehand" move, bc they need to lose the weight and there aren't enough resources for both of them.

he's like "this is paypack for your aging dick move, say hello to nat for me" and then he's gone. ouch.

then there's the whole black hole shit, with the 4th dimension tesseract and the data from the black hole that i don't really give a shit about rn tbh lol. the "solving the gravitation equation" problem won't be a huge part of the plot anyways, bc yes, it's an important factor to this story's universe in general, but i really just wanna focus on bucky and clint in the fic, so idc. it's all kinda happening in the background.

clint sends the data to earth in morse code like cooper does in the movie - tho idk yet if he sends it to a now much older morgan, or peter parker (who's kinda tony's mentally adopted son btw) or directly to tony, who made it back to earth safely. idk. like i said, doesn't really matter. the tesseract collapses, clint's gets picked up by stark station that they were able to build bc of the data he send them, all is well.

his slingshot manoeuvre around gargantua did cause another time dilation ofc (idk if i'd make it 60+ years like in the movie tho), so maybe tony's already dead when clint gets picked up by the station. due to slowed down super soldier aging steve's still alive and well tho, and they have a little chit chat where steve's like "go find bucky, clint, there's nothing keeping you here" and when clint tells him he should join him, steve's like "i'll follow, we all will at some point, but i promised tony to look after morgan" (who's older than steve at this point).

so clint steals a ranger (they're advanced by now, but not 100% cleared to do interstellar travel yet, but this is clint we're talking about and cooper literally did the exact same thing in the movie) and sets off to nat's planet.

it takes him a few years, but he gets there, and bc i'm a soft soft softie, OF COURSE both nat and bucky are still alive, already raising the first generation of the new colony (bc they obviously didn't know if they solved the equation after all). i'm not entirely sure how plan b in interstellar war supposed to work, like who would carry & birth the first generation?? but bc of the fact that they only put one woman on the mission, i'll just go with "they have artificial wombs" :D

and now they'll just chill there until the rest of old humanity joins them.

and idk, the thought of bucky and clint being adam and adam of a new humanity for a few years (bc nat puts herself into hypersleep on a regular basis being like "i cant deal with you two idiots for too long, i'm gonna sleep 'til these babies are grown-ups so that i can actually have some good conversations") just really does it for me lmao.

and they all lived happily ever after.

okay this was a long one, sorry, nobody's gonna read this post anyway lmao. i just needed to get it all out of my head bc i'm still not sure if i actually wanna write it or not. i feel a lot better now tho, maybe my head won't explode bc of this idea tonight.

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artist-issues · 2 years ago

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Some head-profile-study things for the characters of my HTTYD3 rewrite, because ya’ll have me on a creative kick, apparently. The idea ran away with me and not one of you have lifted a finger to stop it

Anyway!

Here’s our three main dragon characters (I think there might be one or two others, but only one is another Fury, and he’s more of a presence than an actual character 🤷‍♀️)

You’ve got our beloved Toothless. I purposely kept his head narrow and his eyes catlike here because I would have kept his design largely similar to the first (best) film. By the time of this reimagined movie, I would’ve had Toothless enjoying his life as the Alpha with Hiccup to the fullest. No boredom or “oh no, Berk is overcrowded.” He gets his kicks from pulling new flying stunts and baffling kids who are learning to ride their own dragons—no “duhr hurr guess playing Fetch is my new favorite pastime, -slobber slobber pant pant-”

Because Toothless’ story always mirrors whatever is happening with Hiccup, my HTTYD rewrite would deal with the fact that while Hiccup has found acceptance and hope for a future among his own kind (Vikings) Toothless has not. Sure, he’s leader of the other dragons—but how many times did you see Toothless spending one-on-one time with any dragons, the way Hiccup spends one on one time with Astrid for support and help? I mean, outside of the television shows. So he begins his interest in the Fury Flock because, a-la Call of the Wild, there’s an opportunity for him to be accepted by his own kind even after being raised apart from them.

But I want to be clear—Toothless would not be desperate for their approval. He’d instinctively start to pick up on the Fury Flock’s social hierarchy and, just as instinctively, start to climb that ladder because he’s a highly skilled Night Fury. When Hiccup and his Riders first find the Flock, they realize how incredibly dangerous it is to try their usual methods of taming a whole group of dragons who are Furies, can camouflage, and are loyal to a ridiculously human-hostile leader. So Valka sort of coaches Hiccup on how to shadow Toothless, from a safe, observant distance, while Toothless gets closer and closer to his own kind. Hiccup hopes to get some questions answered this way: like, why are the Furies so covered in scars and signs of human/dragon conflict? And who are the mysterious human scouting ships, newly entering Berk’s territory, that the Furies keep raiding?

(It’s Grimmel and his people, but you guys knew that)

Next up is Old Night Fury! I’ve already said a lot about him. Basically, this Old Night Fury is the only Night Fury who survived this last thirty-year-long migration season from the Hidden World to Grimmel’s land. In fact, apart from Toothless, Old Night Fury might actually be the last of his own kind. Think Kerchak from Tarzan, but more murderous of humans and accepting of Toothless. Old Night Fury shoots human beings first, and usually doesn't bother hiding or running away if directly confronted. He is fiercely protective of the Fury Flock and they obey his every spine-click (that’s how they communicate) command. Old Night Fury is just as willing to accept Toothless into the Flock as he would be any new Fury seeking to join—but he has to prove himself a valuable member of the hunt, first. Old Night Fury is the only Fury alive who knows how to get to the Hidden World, and uses his echolocation to lead the group. Eventually he poses a threat directly to Hiccup, leading Toothless to drop the covert-act and defend his master. The Old Night Fury is ultimately killed by Grimmel, making Toothless the only echolocating dragon alive capable of leading the Fury Flock back to the Hidden World for the next 30 years. And Finally, our Love Interest Fury, Ambush! This is the Light Fury’s redesign. I call her species “‘Sky Furies.” They can blend in with their surroundings for a short period of time (Night Furies cannot, in this rewrite), they live in complex social hierarchy systems led by the bigger, stronger Night Furies, and they breathe smaller, smokier plasma bolts. They communicate by dolphin-esque clicks, swim as fast as Night Furies can fly, and most of their lives revolve around either migrating or participating in high-octane community hunts. For more on Sky Furies you can check out my other posts (because apparently I’m doing a lot of them ^^”) But this particular Sky Fury is named Ambush. She is the best hunter, the quickest flier, and at the very top of the Sky Furies’ social ladder when Toothless meets her. Hiccup names her, quietly to himself, after noticing that she’s gained a deadly reputation among the mysterious (Grimmel’s people) ocean voyagers.

Unlike the canon Light Fury, Ambush has a personality. She definitely still hates humans, but it’s less in a blank, skittish-cat way and more in a ferocious, that’s-my-natural-hated-enemy-and-I’m-going-to-get-first-dibs way. Because Sky Furies decide who gets to eat first by who brought down the prey. And after their war, Sky Furies don’t just view people as prey, they view them as war enemies. Other aspects of her personality: competitive. Ambush has been leading the hunt for basically her whole life. She’s been eating first and enjoying the deference of her Flock-mates, uninterrupted. But when Toothless shows up, and thanks to Hiccup’s secret help, he beats her at just about every feat of speed or strength. At first this makes her mad. Then she’s attracted to him—because another aspect of her personality is insatiable curiosity. It’s what gets her hit by one of Grimmel’s traps. Toothless and Hiccup save her—specifically, Hiccup himself, whom she personally tried to eat three or four times beforehand. From that moment on, Ambush is eager to see more of the funny little human community and is cautiously observant of all things Hiccup, whenever he’s on the scene. Basically, Ambush is Dragon-Astrid—emphasis on “‘Dragon.” Because they should’ve stuck to the whole “everything that happens to Hiccup should be mirrored in Toothless and vice versa.”

Once Ambush has chosen Toothless and learned to not just trust, but actually like Berkian humans, she supports him against the Fury Flock. When Old Night Fury tries to kill Hiccup and winds up getting them both captured by Grimmel—leaving Toothless grounded—it’s Ambush who rallies the other Furies to trust Toothless’ leadership and mount a rescue mission.

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dreamonminecraft · 9 months ago

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I'll put it out there for anyone still interested in hearing it, my interpretation of dream's tweets last night were that he and caiti's friend have talked about that night prior to this and that they were both upset with Harry's interpretations and exposing of a party he had nothing to do with (similar to what dream said in his reddit post at the time. These are not new details. Basically the only difference between what dng are talking about in the screenshots and how caiti described her abuse is the number of people). The big point about Dream's screenshots is that both Dream and caiti's friend emphasize how fucked up it would have been to have Harry expose this story if caiti had actually been through something while dream was around(which was also the sentiment of the Internet as a whole when this happened. Dream even got Harry to delete the tweets because of it). George was never involved in Harry's original "callout" which was full of misinformation and bias.

Which brings us to the second part of the statement. "I am unaware and never was aware of any misbehavior." -> in my mind that means "George has explained his perspective to me (obviously he's waiting to comment until we get to hear it) and if he's lying to the internet, he's also lying to me. I was never aware of any assault when it happened or at any point after, period."

Now for a lesser analysis and more personal thoughts - I don't think there's really a world where one of them continues content creation and the other doesn't- just putting it out there. Being apart almost killed them and I think Dream has an underlying belief that George is telling the truth because he's also partially being accused and knows himself that he didn't cover anything up. Like the truth video said, it's really hard to prove you /didn't/ do something, especially if you were very drunk and the actions were in person. The best we can hope is that George doesn't mince his words, has a good alibi, and tells the truth above all else.

#Prepare for the worst hope for the best

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commanderthalys · 9 months ago

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tell me about ro'wynne!

ANON YOUVE MADE MY DAY :D !!!!

You are getting a ramble as a treat and because I love her dearly 😌

Originally Ro was a warcraft oc of mine, she was a night elf Druid that over time got corrupted by N’Zoth via a long process that I won’t go into here but yeah, she had an existence prior to gw2 and she’s the only one of my blorbos so far who has.

In gw2, Ro’wynne is my sylvari firstborn of the Pale Tree. She had an incredibly strong dream connection that lets her basically send feelings and speak to people through the dream. However before she awoke this dream connection was so strong that she unknowingly delved deep enough into the dream that she touched mordremoth, who in turn planted a little seed in her brain that slowly wormed its way into her thoughts until she thought its commands were her own, but it didn’t affect her until later in life.

When she awoke she kept her strong dream connection, and saw herself as the protector of her fellow firstborn. She loved all of them dearly (except Faolain sorry she tried), especially Kahendins, her brother, and Wynne, her unrequited love. As tragedy after tragedy hit the first of the sylvari Ro became increasingly fearful of the world and isolated herself emotionally (she was already very shy and had a hard time communicating unless it was through the dream) becoming a distant and intimidating figure who tirelessly trained to protect the remaining sylvari. She only left the grove a few times in her life pre HoT and all of those times were to rescue sylvari who needed her (the secondborn and Tiachren).

During the attack on the Pale Tree by mordremoth, Ro fled with the other mordrem, influenced by the elder dragon to seek him out. He twisted her into one of her champions, giving her a monstrous form but making sure that she was still recognizable as the once noble protector of the Grove. He also twisted her perception of what was happening, and she believed that by converting sylvari to mordrem she was healing her poor people, and she became known as a formidable enemy to the pact. Using her intense dream connection to overwhelm sylvari and turn them, as well as her new strength and speed made her a force to be reckoned with. She was never killed, and once mordremoth died she fell into a deep hibernation that lasted a year, where her body tried to go back to its old form and heal.

Eventually she woke up in an almost trancelike state and purely on instinct started heading to the grove, by the time she was near populated areas of Caledon she was conscious and began remembering the horrible things she had done, and with her dream connection restored on waking up again, local sylvari could sense a serious distress and found her wandering in the woods. Aife and Niamh came to see if the rumors of their sister being alive were true, and when they found her she begged them for a quick death. Seeing her as Ro’wynne again and not a mordrem, they decided to take her back since she was to weak/upset to hurt them.

Over a long period of time she reunited with all of the firstborn, moved in with her brother Kahendins and made peace with the Pale Tree, and years later she’s in a much better place and helps tend to saplings. She has some rough days physically due to the pain of her awkward mordrem body, but she’s learned to live again and tries her best. Ro’s always been a person who loves deeply but had trouble expressing that, and it took all of that to have her start reaching out more. She’s very sweet and often can be found in the quiet hidden corners of the grove working on anything that keeps her hands busy (she especially enjoys baking making jam, and gardening among them!). She still tries to help out where she can but her role has changed from a fighter to more of a healer with time. She’s my beloved and I love her very much…

#Tysm anon I’m sorry you got blasted by so much text diehej #gw2 #guild wars 2 #ro’wynne #Lynx talks

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killthefuhkinglights · 2 years ago

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[page transcription below]

Apparently Frank Iero Is Not Okay.

For the ultimate test of My Chemical Romance's seemingly inescapable ubiquity, stay tuned to MySpace pages and message boards everywhere. When XØ- the debut from MCR guitarist Frank Iero's hardcore-punk side project LeATHERMOUTH- reaches the masses, you'll surely start seeing a gazillion comments from teenage girls raving, "OMG! Frank is sooooo hot! I love LeATHERMOUTH!" Were this record the product of just about anyone not involved with MCR, you could safely wager that most of said fans would run away from XØ as fast as humanly possible with their fingers wedged in their ears.

LeATHERMOUTH, who officially consist only of Iero on vocals and Rob Hughes on guitar, specialize in a particularly punishing form of hardcore that combines sludgy doom metal and harsh grindcore, topped off by Iero's ferocious screams and often twisted, eye-brow raising lyrics. Speed and fury are the name of the game here, and thus none of the album's 10 tracks break the three-minute mark (the disc's total running time is just over 21 minutes). While LeATHERMOUTH certainly aren't reinventing the wheel, songs with names like "I Am Going To Kill The President Of The United States Of America" and "Your Friends Are Full Of Shit" are far from dull. XØ's sheer brutality and shock value alone make the record the complete anti-My Chem experience, a perfect soundtrack for driving around with a corpse stashed in your trunk. (EPITAPH, epitaph.com) Brendan Manley

In-Store Session WIth Vocalist Frank Iero

LeATHERMOUTH are your forum to vent. What's got you so angry?

Just everyday life, and things that affect us that people want to pretend doesn't exist: feelings of isolation and depression, and the way the world is going. There are other things too: "Catch Me If You Can" is based on the letters written by Jack the Ripper. It's basically about cutting up girls, which is always fun. [Laughs] A lot of the songs seem to be about killing girls.

What's the story behind "5th Period Massacre"?

Kids are killing each other in school, and people are very quick to condemn the entertainment industry, or the parents or the kids themselves, who must be "off." I'm not saying those aren't some of the reasons, but no one talks about the little fucking prick who calls the kid a "faggot" or beats him up every day, so he sees no way out other than going home and getting his father's gun.

How about "Sunsets Are For Muggings"?

It's about going to see my psychiatrist. Every appointment I had was at night, around sunset. It's about taking all the pills to make yourself better, yet never feeling normal, and knowing that everything you're saying is going in one ear and out the other. I've definitely had to deal with mental illness in my family; that's a very personal thing that I deal with on a daily basis. "Sunsets" is my way of saying that no one is looking out for you but yourself, and you have to consider that no one fucking cares.

Will teenage girls who are into My Chem be horrified?

That's the funny part. "Catch Me If You Can" for example, has some pretty harsh lyrics about women. The last half of the song says, "A gift from God doing the Devil's crimes/I'll set shit right one whore at a time." Watching a good handful of little girls singing that line with you is a little weird, and really fucking funny. The things that make me laugh are things that are horrendously awful, [like] people falling down or getting attacked by animals. If I can have girls singing back about cutting themselves up or setting themselves on fire, that's pretty much a good show.

Some people will say, "My Chem is huge. What's this guy's problem?"

There are a million things I can say are great about my life, and a million things that really fucking suck. I can't explain why I have a problem with depression or anxiety; I don't know, and nobody can tell me why, either. I just do what I can to stay sane on a daily basis, and [LeATHERMOUTH] are one of those things that help me, getting it all out on a record, and playing shows. The first tour we did was really refreshing, exhausting and cathartic, and I wasn't pissed off anymore. Now that I've been home for a while, all that hate has built up again, and I think I need to do a couple more shows. [BM]

Alternative Press, In-Store Session interview with Frank Iero on LeTHERMOUTH's album XØ

#frank iero #leathermouth #xø #interview #what the fuck is wrong with him <3 #i think i need to sit down #frank we need to talk #iero are you listening to me #edit to the tags: tay you’re absolutely correct #as usual AP is pretty disrespectful to the artist and is talking about it as though it’s some nasty little creation /neg #why is this you’re characterization of teen afab fans?#the last two lines of the interview lead in have me seeing red #how is leathermouth anti my chem #how can you be that insensitive to the music multiple artists and fans as an interviewer for a music mag #riddle me that #cause i’m not fucking getting it

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pbandjesse · 6 months ago

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We just had a stressful 20 minutes. Everything is fine now but man. Did not expect that! Sweetp tried to jump over the fence. We banished him into the house but then he pushed open the catio door?! Broke the caribeaner and was alone in the back!! And then in figuring out how to secure the door me and James were in the basement finding a drill bit and I accidently stepped on James's hand so hard they are icing it now. We are just killing it tonight.

Today was not nearly as stressful. It was mainly a really nice day. Mostly restful even if it was to hot.

I didn't sleep great though. I was not feeling amazing emotionally last night and was really upset. Which just made me frustrated with myself. And with James and with the world. So it wasn't the best sleep. And when I woke up I felt. Bleh. The sun was to bright. The world was to hot. But I went and got cleaned up and tried to feel better.

And I did. My hair was dirty and I was to hot. But I was having a nice day. Even if I was sweaty.

I continued to only want to eat Celeste pizzas. I would have my brownie from the farmers market. And then a little frozen pizza. I would spend the morning doing some stuff around the house. I did some cleaning. I moved the one rug from upstairs into the studio. I want to reassess the little room so I was thinking about moving things around in there.

I would try to deal with the heat with fans. I had one going upstairs and two downstairs. The backdoor open. Just trying my best to deal.

I had Ruby the Roomba going and she kept getting stuck today. But it was fine. I put her in the doorway pit because it was really dirty down there. There is a rug that goes in the pit and I will put that back soon. I want to look at peel and stick tiles for in there too though. I just hate the fake wood so much. It feels bad and it looks so cheap. But it's such a small area I am not super concerned about it. It's low on the list.

I would go out for a drive. I took myself to savers to walk around. I listened to music and enjoyed how full the shelves were. There were to many people and they are clearly reorganizing the store so there were a few aisles I couldn't access. But that's was fine.

I found a vintage house building kit I'm excited about. And a few pieces of clothing. Nothing super exciting but some basics and some things I think will be nice for work. Unsure once I tried them on but with some adjustments I think they will be excellent pieces.

I paid and folded all my things and went to the car. I was shocked at how overheated I was. I had brought a nalgene of ice water and it was the only thing keeping me going I swear.

I went to joann's next. They did not have the big eye needles I was looking for. So I would have to order those online. But they did in have a buy three get three sale on thread. I am running low on black and white so I grabbed some of those as well. The line took forever but it was fine.

I drove down the road to go to the goodwill. Which is not a good goodwill but I did find two excellent mirrors. One is a round one with a silver tray and floral details on the edges. And the other is a vintage catalog piece with shelves that I'm going to use for mugs. And they both were only $10 together!! Amazing.

I decided to indulge in a craving I have had and went to Sonic for mozzarella sticks. But I won't be doing that again. While they were good enough, the sauce was sour, and for 5 mozzarella sticks and a small soda it was almost $9??!! Insane.

I went home after that. I was to hot. And my ears were closing up again. Stupid allergies. It was nice to be home.

When I got back here I tried on the clothes. Mixed results but I have some ideas. I would have a snack and hang out with sweetp. Periodically I tried to do some little tasks. I mainly would work on a drawing for my teddy bear hospital and then worked on some research and planning for me and Mom's trip next year.

James would come home before 5. And after drying off would hang out on the couch with me for a bit. We would hang the mug shelf mirror. And learned how to use the Bissell cleaner we got as a house warming gift. There was a learning curve but I'm excited that we have this now. I want to try it for the seats in the car.

We would chill for a bit but soon James said we should go get groceries. And we did just that. (After working together to carry a shopping cart across the parking lot that had broken wheels) We got a little more then James had planned. Snacks and such. But I think we did good. Though we were twarted by an older woman who kept blocking entire aisles and then was in front of us at the only open register and took almost 15 minutes?? The people behind us were angry but I was just like. Confused. But it was fine. We didn't take nearly as long. Packed and paid. I was a little annoyed because James got the cheaper toilet paper and I felt mad. But it wasn't a really a big deal I was just tired and to hot and wanted to go home.

When we got back here James put thing away. And I would drag my rocking chair outside to enjoy the evening. James would bring a chair and a table out too. So they could be on their laptop while I was watching videos on my phone.

We both got a scare when Sweetp jumped on the fence. Scared both of so bad we jumped up and I grabbed him and put him inside.

We would stay outside without Sweetp. He would go in the catio and things would be fine.

Eventually we went back inside. And that's when I heard a sound and was like hmm. Weird.

Then a few minutes later I was like. Wait where is Sweetp. And that's when I saw he was outside on the other side of the catio!! He had pushed the door so hard he broke the lock!! I was so mad!

And like I said in the confusion and trying to fix the issue I stepped on James and felt so bad. But everyone is okay now. Sweetp is trying to hang out because he knows we're upset. But hopefully tomorrow we can try again and everything will be safe and no one tries to go over the fence!!

I cannot wait until we have a good fence and a better backdoor. Hopefully very very soon.

Tomorrow is memorial day! Me and James are going to their cousin's going away party in DC in the afternoon. It is supposed to be a rainy day. But that is okay. I am just hoping it is cooler.

Now though I am going to go wash my hair. Jamea is hanging the smaller mirror in our bedroom for me. I am tired and a little unsettled but I am okay. And I love you all. Goodnight my friends. Until tomorrow.

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baby-yaga · 8 months ago

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yesterday, post burial, on our way back to the church to grab a plant, my mom told me, "love him for who he was, dont hate him for who he wasnt. thats the best way to go through life without baggage." and i get where she was coming from, but i dont think thats right.

sometimes people say that the opposite of love isnt hate, its indifference. i did love my dad. i also hated him. they never cancelled each other out. i can love him for his warmth, his humor, his intelligence, his gregariousness, and still hate him for his absence, the abuse, the neglect, how he gave so much of himself to everyone else but his 3 children.

im haunted by my mom telling me that my dad once told her, "if i knew then what i know now, we never wouldve gotten divorced." i cant even picture what that wouldve been like. there was a brief period after my dad left his late wife, where he was living with us again. my parents werent together, it was basically a roommates situation, and in all honesty it was the best part of my teen years.

we had all been through a lot. his late wife was abusive to pretty much everyone in her life, except when she was passed out on oxy. i was deeply resentful of my dad remaining married to her despite how horribly she treated my brother and i, and also him. when she passed away, we were all having dinner with my sister, and when my dad told trey and i what happened, i think it was really shocking to him that we looked at each other, and replied, "good."

but when he lived with us again, it was weird, but it wasnt bad. i liked having him around all the time. i liked getting to spend time with him for real. he picked me up from school, we ate dinner together, watched movies, i started going to the gym with him. we were living together when i went on my first date ever. we were living together when i came out to him. we were living together when i tried to kill myself.

but it didnt last forever. he moved in with a new girlfriend eventually. he kept it a secret, so when he moved in without telling me before hand, i was so mad. i wouldnt go over to their place, a duplex that was less than 5 minutes from our house. i wouldnt meet his girlfriend. i think i was hurt beyond words that he was breaking up our family again, but i didnt realize that until just now.

he tried to force it one night, wanted to ground me if i didnt come. we got into a tug of war match over my laptop in the entry way. i was so frustrated, hurt, i felt so un-heard, i screamed, "i hate you! i never want to see you again!"

he looked surprised. then, he looked devastated. he put down my laptop gently on the entryway table, and left without a word.

he called that night, and explained himself. he said something like, "a friends son passed away recently. i just dont want to lose our relationship."

i said, "im sorry that happened, dad. but i wish you wouldnt try to make me feel bad just because you feel bad."

he replied, "so im just supposed to feel miserable by myself?"

i dont remember what i said exactly. it was something to the effect of, "fine! keep making everyone around you miserable, until you have no one around but yourself!" i slammed the phone down. this was in like, 2008 or so, so we still had a landline, lol.

we didnt speak for 2 weeks. he picked up my brother to come sleep at his place, didnt speak to me, and then would leave. i didnt know that what i wanted was for him to move back in for good. it wasnt reasonable, really. he wanted to date, i think he felt weird about it while living with my mother, and also he didnt have his own room, he was sleeping in a bunk bed with my brother. so i understand now why him moving out happened. but at the time i was so upset hed kept it a secret from me. i still think that was the wrong move. if hed been open about it, given me some time to adjust without springing it on me, it mightve gone a little smoother.

anyway, the night i spoke to him again. he was coming over to pick up trey again. i started crying and threw myself at him. i said i was sorry over and over. i missed him so much. i loved him so much. i just wanted him to be my dad again.

he just held me, and rocked me back and forth. he kissed the top of my head and said, "its ok, its ok." we stood like that for a long time, until i stopped crying. i met his new girlfriend that night. they showed me the room theyd prepared, a bed and everything, for my brother and i to share. it was the first time id ever had a place to stay at his house. before, i was sleeping on the couch, or, when my step-brother was in basic training, i got to sleep on his futon. it meant so much to me.

i miss him. ive missed him my whole life, it seems. missing him isnt new. but this is different. it feels like theres an empty pit inside of me that i was positive was bottomless, but its somehow gotten deeper.

#dead dad saga

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brokenmusicboxwolfe · 9 months ago

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Yesterday I took a quick walk to the swamp because Mom had been too weak to talk long.

The western section of the swamp, the one effected by the “new”** beaver dam, had dropped 2 feet in water level in just two days. That means something has happened dam, and most probably the recent local kill the beavers/clear the swamps has started to hit close to home….

So, I was upset. But, interestingly, it has had a good side.

Today Mom was in a bad way. When I called Mom said nothing and my sister-in-law took the phone. She told me Mom was doing her “fish impression”, gasping for air more than breathing, and it probably wasn’t worth trying today because she couldn’t talk and wouldn’t be listening much. She suggested I just try again tomorrow, but I said I wanted to just talk at her for 5 minutes. Just so she could hear me and know I love her….

The phone was set be her head and I started what I expected to be a short monologue to silence. And it sure seemed to be just that, until I started telling her about the beavers. She was unhappy to hear about it and started talking!

Mom and I not only talked a while about that, but then about stuff I’d been working on, stuff I have planned to do, the news, what I watched last night***, and eventually back to reading to her****. I had gone in expecting to too not hear her say anything, and struggle at five minutes, but we went on for nearly 1 1/2 hrs with her still able to say goodbye!

So, basically, I think getting her emotionally hooked with the drained bit of swamp made her feel she needed to talk about it, which in turn gave her the push she needed. Yes, she is incredibly weak and found breathing hard, but sometimes the right motivation can really help.

Funny though, isn’t it? One day something makes me sad, and the next I am so very glad I had it to talk about.

**There are three beaver dams on the swamp along our place:

The “old” dam. It was created something like twenty or twenty five years ago. I’d go every single day to break a hole in it. That sounds like I had it in for the beavers, but actually I was trying to protect them. I knew if the water level got visibly from high nearby road people would “do” something. Then the government decided after a hurricane to use funds to clear the swamps. They were supposed to leave the beavers be, BUT the idiots doing it couldn’t tell a beaver dam if their lives depended on it. “it wasn’t a beaver dam. It was just mud and sticks!” they told Pop. And that was that for beavers for many years.

The “current” dam. When beavers finally returned they build their new dam down stream. This is the one that you see in photos I post, the one that created the lovely pond and where I has been watching the beavers swimming around. The place with the irises and my favorite tree to flop next to. This dam was safe, too far away to effect the road and with the neighbors, being duck hunters, glad it’s there.

The “new” dam. This one was started a couple years ago down stream, close to the western border to our property. It had been “under construction” before I discovered it. I wondered if it was just the next generation moving on their own home or what. That section is still full of trees because the ponding hasn’t been going on that long and it wasn’t as deep yet.

*** “Flight of the Conchords” is my current tv watching. Movie wise things have been disappointing, but this show has been making up for blah movies.

My movie comments were (to use one example..Movie: Company Business) “I hadn’t noticed Mikhail Baryshnikov is short, and I thought he looked about the same height as David McCallum, and OMG they were they WERE the same height! And I swear that movie script was unfinished, like there was stuff that felt like writer place holders to figure out later only they didn’t…which is weird since the writer was also the director. Pity, as a spy movie set in that very specific period where the cold war was ending and no one knew what would come next, with an American and Russian bonding in a thriller/comedy/buddy picture sounds fun.”

I swear, every movie I’ve seen lately (old, new, prehistoric) has ended up with me saying “pity”.

**** Still Terry Pratchett’s The Truth. Mom has had some bad days lately, so we haven’t finished it yet. There was a chunk today about the public not caring as much as out hero about the news he writes, and how no matter how imperfect the Patrician is, how much worse other leaders had been and very likely could be….well, it felt very relevant!

#my day #rambles #mom #beavers #family #conversations

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ederlot · 1 year ago

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Dinner with Jackson

I was quite the loser once. I had never been very popular. I knew a lot of people, but only had two friends. Very good friends they had become over the years. The kind of friends who you could wake up at night. Not that I had ever used that knowledge, but if necessary it was possible. I knew that for sure. I didn't need more friends either, or so I thought at the time. I was not very active on social media. I did have a Facebook and an Instagram, but that was more because everyone else had them. I never felt the need to have a lot of followers, so that I could say I had a lot of friends. I think I'm way too down-to-earth to call people I've never met in real life 'friends'. Or too old. I remember the time when we used to go to a café to meet each other, relax and do crazy things. But that was quite some time ago. I have done many studies. From psychology and cultural sciences to electrical engineering and nutrition, but I had not completed any. They were all boring and not really what I was looking for. What was I looking for? I still wouldn't know. My search led to various jobs and eventually I ended up in the office of a large transport company. Also boring, the work, but the people were quite nice. Very multicultural. The conversations often went nowhere (if I understood them at all) and I didn't really have a strong bond with anyone, but there was a lot of laughter.

With a pounding head full of thoughts, I stared at the small print on the screen. Basically I was staring through the screen (the work was really boring). Slowly I started filling the input fields with requested information. Today's hundredth order. I almost met my quota. Luckily it was almost time to go home. The sun shone brightly outside. I almost melted while smoking during the breaks. Not just me. The Arab colleagues, who were used to more heat, also found it unpleasant when it was so hot outside. That's the disadvantage of here, either it's cold and wet, or it's suddenly way too hot. The wind didn't bring any relief either, if there was any. On days like this the wind was like a hairdryer. Every breeze was warm and dry. Sigh! That last order was finished. Of course I could have done more before it was 5 o'clock, but I didn't. They immediately expected me to do more orders every day. That's how it worked at the company. There were those show-offs who always did more than necessary. But they were called to the lead if they suddenly did less, but were still above 100. I got a cup of hot chocolate from the vending machine just to kill another minute. As always, I spent the rest of my time looking interestingly through my notebook, as if I were working on a very difficult order. Some thought the work really interested me. In the beginning I did, but after two years of continuously doing the same thing and running into walls when I had an improvement proposal, the fun was really hard to find. It paid quite well, especially if I had to work in the evenings with all the shift allowances. And there was regular overtime. I didn't have much to do at home, so I was always allowed to come back if there was a lot of work. That made me a bit popular. At least with the shift lead.

I always thought I came from a warm family. Until a while ago I was doing a bit less financially. Then I discovered I had to figure it all out for myself and learned that you only really got to know people when you were in a difficult situation. There are some life lessons you don't actually want to learn, but they are thrown into your lap for free. Fortunately, I was able to start at the transport company after a period of unemployment. However, the bond with my family is no longer as strong as before. I think for them it is, because they treat me like they used to. However, I find it difficult to forgive them for their absence when I needed them most. I had a nice car. I had to sell it to pay my mortgage. That's why I was now on a bicycle in the killing heat. Air conditioning would be nice. I even took a boy from the streets into my house so that we could share the costs. His name was Jackson, a black guy who wanted to take all his friends into my home as well. Or so it seemed. He came from a special project of the municipality. Well… I had trouble with it at first. Car gone, privacy gone. But I really needed the money. He was under supervision, so it seemed safe to me and the municipality paid, so I was sure I would never have to chase the money. But now that things were going better financially, I could no longer get him out of the house. And hey… sometimes it was quite nice to be with someone. Alone was just alone, right? It was still quite far to my house actually. A half hour cycle in the blazing sun. A sip of cold Coke would be welcome.

I clumsily pushed my bike into the shed, where, after a moment of riding itself, it fell against a pile of boxes that had been there since the move. Every weekend I decided to clean out the boxes. And every day I decided to be more careful with my bike. It was the only means of transportation I had. But on the weekends I had other, more fun things to do than tidying up the shed and after work I was too tired to park the bike properly. Actually, I just never felt like it. Home was my safe haven. At least it was before Jackson came along. Luckily I still had my own room, which Jackson was not allowed to enter.

“Did you bring any pizza rolls?” came a deep voice from the living room. “And the milk is gone.”

God damn it, I hadn't even closed the front door before he started whining. It often happened that Jackson would have liked me to bring him anything and everything after work. He hardly ever went shopping himself.

“No,” I replied, throwing my bag under the coat rack. “I just got home from work and I can't smell all the food you've been eating!” “I texted you,” Jackson immediately protested.

The pounding in my head, which I suffered from at work and which had disappeared due to cycling, returned. After work I wanted to be left alone for a while. Even if it was just for a few minutes. In my mind I walked to the kitchen and took a large glass from the cupboard, after which my eye fell on the calendar that was taped to the refrigerator door. Gosh! It was Friday. Nice weekend! Every day seemed the same at that boring job. It often happened that I had forgotten the days of the week and had to accidentally find out that the weekend had started. I once even managed to go to work on a Saturday and did not understand why the gate was closed. Oh yes… Dinner with Jackson tonight, it was noted on the calendar. He was actually going to go with friends, but they canceled. And he treats, so why not. At an all-you-can-eat in the city. I used to eat there with my friends. The choice was large, the food tasty and not too expensive. Jackson also had his good habits. What the…! Why did the refrigerator look so empty inside? Where's my coke?

“Where's my Coke?” I shouted irritatedly from the kitchen.

“It's gone,” came the voice from the living room.

Sigh. So I could still go to the supermarket with my headache. The idea of; Jackson also has his good sides, disappeared immediately and with a wildly beating heart I walked to the living room. There he was, slumped on the couch. 400 pounds of body in just a pair of white boxer shorts, barely visible through his belly, which hung well over it.

“Couldn't you have gone to the store yourself?” I asked, already knowing what the answer would be.

Jackson didn't respond. As usual, he paid more attention to the program on television than to me.

“I was watching this,” he finally said, probably starting to feel uneasy about my icy frame and piercing gaze.

Sometimes we had conversations that were easier than this. About life, the mistakes we had made and our dreams. It took a while, but I finally got Jackson to tell me something about himself every now and then. Sometimes we even laughed about ourselves and each other. More often than not, there were situations like this where I was irritated and Jackson didn't seem to care much. It seemed impossible to make appointments with him. Jackson had proven to be very good at saying yes and doing no.

“I'll go to the supermarket in a moment,” he said after a few minutes, without taking his eyes off the television. 'Let's check this out first. It's almost over."

He'd had all damn day to go to the grocery store and get everything himself. Angry, I walked back to the kitchen and filled the tall glass with tap water to quench my thirst. Jesus man! I had never seen such a lazy nigger. We had to be at the restaurant in less than two hours. He never achieved that. The supermarket was not very far away and you could get there quickly by bike. But not Jackson. The last time he cycled it took him 20 minutes. He had come back completely out of breath. And then he wasn't even as heavy as he is now. And then… my poor bike. Would it hold that weight? How am I going to get to work on Monday if that thing was completely collapsed?

“Never mind, I'll go, again!” I shouted as I placed my half-full glass in the sink and walked into the hallway. “Just freshen up a bit for tonight. And wear decent clothes.”

There was silence from the living room. No response when I closed the front door behind me and took my bike out of the shed again.

“Oh, that guy can whine!” Jackson thought. With a groan he stood up with difficulty and pulled his sagging boxer shorts over his plump, protruding ass. Why on earth had he planned dinner with him? Contact with the friends he used to have had deteriorated since he lived here. They used to be together often, on the street. His father had died when he was a toddler. He did not have good contact with his mother. Neither with his two sisters. They were too busy with themselves. With make-up and men. Maybe as an older brother he should have paid more attention to them, but Jackson had chosen a different path. A path of crime, of stealing and drugs. Until he was at the police station again and was assigned a house for some project. At first he didn't like it, but after a while he started to see the usefulness of a home. It was actually quite nice. A bed, a shower. A place to feel safe. And Eder… oh well, he wasn't too bad apart from his whining. He did the shopping, cleaning, payments. And he was a good cook. His friends still lived on the streets. Or in prison. Jackson had never been to prison. He had been spared that fate.

Jackson glanced in the mirror on the wall in the hallway next to the stairs before beginning his climb. There was a piece of dust in his deep navel that he clumsily picked out with the help of the mirror. He could no longer look over his stomach. It was therefore no longer possible to pick something out of his navel without a mirror. Despite his weight, Jackson's body was not flabby. Not liquid, like the bodies of many fat people are. His belly was large, but firm. And so were his legs, which had to bear all the weight. His legs had always been strong. Handy for running from the police if he stole something again. A deep sigh. Then he slowly climbed the stairs. With each step his boxer shorts slid down a little, revealing a high butt crack, but Jackson didn't seem to mind. Breathing deeply, he reached the last step. Holding on to the banister, he took a good minute to recover from the climb. Thoughts of all the food at the buffet made his mouth water. He had been looking forward to it all day. Actually, it didn't matter to him who went with him, as long as he was there himself. With a bar of soap he washed his armpits and the underside of his fat breasts, which swayed violently despite their firmness. Groaning from bending over, he took off his boxer shorts and also washed the underside of his stomach. These were the places where there were the most sweat spots in this hot weather. They eventually started to itch, he knew from experience. And he felt cleaner and fresher when they were washed. He didn't take time to take a shower. He wanted to be ready when Eder got back. He didn't mean to piss him off. He wanted to go to the supermarket himself, but sometimes he just couldn't find the energy to do it. Then he couldn't pull himself away from the television and the couch and he stayed seated. All day. Like today.

Naked, Jackson walked to his bedroom and took a pair of clean boxer shorts from a drawer. A purple one. He never wore briefs. They were no longer comfortable now that a large fat pad was growing under his belly. He flopped clumsily onto his bed and struggled to get the boxer shorts over his feet. His legs had grown a bit bigger again, he felt as he pulled at the fabric. He lifted his stomach and pulled the boxers up a little further. Again he breathed deeply, as if he had exerted himself heavily. Groaning, he got up and walked to his wardrobe. Decent clothes. What were those actually? Jeans will be better than sweatpants. It was a great opportunity to also wear the new blouse that he bought last month. Jackson didn't like to wear jeans and blouses. He preferred looser clothing around his body, such as sweatpants and shirts. They gave him more freedom of movement and were easier to take off if he got hot. The first pair of jeans he found in his messy wardrobe went straight into the trash. It dates back to the time when he first moved into the house and he could barely pull it over his thick calves. The second pair of jeans had frayed holes at the knees. The pants slid more easily over his calves, but got stuck at his thighs. Sitting on the edge of his bed, Jackson tugged at the dust in frustration. Well, surely he still has one pair of jeans that fit? With a loud crack, the holes at the knees tore out and with a thud, Jackson fell back onto the bed. He had pulled too hard and so these pants also had to go in the trash. Panting, he got up and looked through the shirts in his closet for another pair of jeans. He heard the front door slam shut. Eder had returned, so time was running out. The taxi that would pick them up would be at the door in about an hour.

It was good to see that Jackson was no longer on the couch, a sign that he was changing clothes. Do not get me wrong. I wasn't the type who only wanted to be seen with people in expensive clothes. But I also didn't want to be seen in a restaurant with someone who looked like a beggar. I hurriedly emptied the shopping bag. Finally, Coke! I poured the remainder of the water from the glass into the sink, filling it halfway with coke. I also brought a box of frozen pizza rolls that Jackson had requested. They seemed gross to me, but Jackson ate more of what seemed gross to me. For example, sandwiches with cheese spread, real cheese, jam and chocolate sprinkles. He could eat a whole loaf of it. I greedily drank the coke and ran upstairs to my room to change clothes. I didn't see Jackson. He had closed his bedroom door. I didn't really feel like saying anything to him. There was a nice tense atmosphere again. That promised something for tonight. I personally had no problems finding nice clothes. A lot of it came from the time when I was in a better financial position. Then I had too much money, or so it seemed. Buying designer clothes was one of my hobbies. Crazy actually. It was never about the brand for me, but the clothes were just beautiful. And the quality was good, which is why I can still wear them now. It is not yet pale or full of holes. Then I had a good job at a large bank. Sometimes I still regret leaving. Well… I had indeed resigned there myself. I had my reasons, so I didn't really have to regret it. Money wasn't everything. There was also such a thing as personal happiness. Not that I found that afterwards. I was still searching for what I wanted to do with my life. I started to feel more and more in a hurry. I wasn’t 18 anymore and I wouldn’t live forever. A loud groan sounded, followed by a 'damn it'. Well, Jackson is having a hard time with his clothes. For a moment I thought I was going to check on him, but something stopped me. A white Calvin Klein t-shirt with print. I was going to wear that this evening. With black jeans. Time to get dressed.

When Jackson came to live with me, he was a slim, even athletically muscular boy. Afterwards I heard about his street life, how he had always had to run from the police and that he trained almost every day with climbing frames in playgrounds and loose paving stones that he pulled off as weights. So I understood how he got that body. If I must believe his stories, he never had a home before. No one took care of him. I think he likes it here. Not that I care for him, and I only clean his mess because he doesn't do that himself and I like living in a reasonably clean house. But I still have to cook. For myself, so I cook a little extra and he can eat too. At first he ate almost nothing. Everything I made was dirty. We always ate separately and often he wasn't even home. I then saved a portion for him to heat up in the microwave. When the plate was empty the next morning I knew that he had come home, that he had probably slept in bed and that he did like the food. One day he told me that his best friend had been arrested and taken to prison. He hoped for a while that things would not be too bad and that friend would receive a less harsh punishment, but that turned out not to be the case. Yes, from that moment on Jackson stayed home more often and we ate together more and more. From that moment on I was also able to cook increasingly larger portions. The food tasted good to him. Too good perhaps. There were days when he would lie down in bed after dinner with a stomach ache because he had eaten too much. About six months ago I started noticing that I was losing food. Then suddenly the milk had disappeared from the refrigerator or I couldn't find a pack of cookies that I was sure I had stashed in the pantry. Of course Jackson didn't know anything about anything, but I still assume he drank it or ate it. At first I thought he was suffering from a tapeworm, but when his weight started to increase seriously I knew better. In just under a year and a half, Jackson went from a fit, muscular guy to the over-the-top pudding he is today. He didn't seem to care that much. Sometimes I wondered if he even realized that he had become so fat.

I nervously looked at the clock in the living room. The taxi would arrive in fifteen minutes to take us to the restaurant. I didn't even know Jackson had ordered a taxi. While changing clothes I realized that I didn't know how we were going to get to the city center. Somehow I always think that the bicycle is the only means of transport these days. Sometimes I'm not quite right in my head, I know that. I did like to walk to the city myself. If I have an appointment with one of my friends. I'm not afraid of a brisk walk. But I don't see Jackson walking far anymore. He would probably faint halfway due to his weight. By the way, he could hurry up changing clothes. Otherwise he would be late for his own dinner. I always liked to be on time. Better much too early than a little too late. I didn't know why that was. I did know that I could be annoyed if I had made an appointment and the other person showed up much too late. Of course something could come up, but please let it know. Or those people who were way too early. That I was sitting relaxed on the toilet and the doorbell suddenly rang. You can also call or app then, right? In the kitchen I filled my glass halfway again with cola. That was one of my weird things too; Fill glasses halfway. Just imagine if that taxi came and I hadn't finished the Coke yet. Then it would sit on the counter all evening and it would be lukewarm and without sparkles when I came back. Then I could wash it down the sink. I wasn't a big drinker. Not a big eater either, but I just didn’t get a smaller glass. And where was that fat guy? How much time did it take you to change clothes?

I looked at myself in the mirror by the stairs. The Calvin Klein shirt still fits well. The black jeans had become a little too big, but that's why they invented the belt. In the past three years I had not gained any weight, rather lost it. Due to the stress of not having money I had lost about 50 pounds. I had never been really fat. Quite sturdy. In any case, I was more solid than I am now. People complimented me on losing weight, but a compliment is worth nothing if losing weight was not the intention. Unfortunately, I knew what it was like not to have money to buy food. And if the money was there, I wouldn't be hungry because of all the worries. Fortunately, that period was now behind me. There was a heavy stomp on the stairs and Jackson appeared, huffing and puffing like an old steam locomotive. He descended slowly and laboriously, step by step, holding tightly to the railing. My god… what did he look like! The jeans he was wearing were so tight around his legs that he could barely bend them. His new yellow blouse that looked like it came straight from Hawaii (I thought it was ugly) was no less tight around the rest of his body and certainly didn't hide his love handles, which were too big to hold with one hand, bulging out of his pants. They even hung over it a bit. The yellow fabric wasn't strong enough to support his belly, so it hung low over his crotch. The buttons were tense, as if they were about to pop off at any moment, and openings showed the black color of his flesh. One button above his navel wasn't even closed. His fat arms literally bulged out of the short sleeves. Why hadn't he just put on baggy sweatpants with a t-shirt and left his ugly blouse open? Shit man! If I sent him back to wear something else, he would definitely be late for the taxi.

“You look good,” Jackson said, a little surprised when he caught his breath.

It had indeed been a long time since I had put on my old, expensive clothes. I didn't have to hit on anyone at work anyway and there was no point in wearing expensive clothes on the bike. They would only get dirty with sweat.

“Thank you,” I stammered, not really knowing what to say about him.

The doorbell rang, meaning the taxi had arrived. I quickly said that his new blouse looked good on him as I walked to the front door. Jackson waddled after me. I think the driver was also shocked by that big, black figure behind me, because he quickly took a step back when he saw Jackson. At the taxi I buttoned the open button of his blouse with some difficulty, after I had asked him to hold his stomach for a moment. Why hadn't he bought a size larger? Jackson struggled to get into the backseat of the taxi. While sitting, there was even more pressure on the buttons. The one I had just closed had sprung open again. He seemed to be having trouble breathing. Was he holding his stomach in? In my mind I hoped that nothing crazy would happen in the restaurant. Even if nothing crazy happened, it would still be a special evening. I realized that I had never had dinner with a black guy before. Perhaps it was normal in his culture to walk around with broken buttons on a yellow Hawaiian blouse. Well, at least that's not the case here. Jackson moaned softly. His pants were very tight.

We got to the restaurant in no time by taxi. I looked at Jackson as he paid the driver. The button on his blouse wasn’t just opened, it was gone! It was probably still in the taxi. I didn't feel like looking for it. And Jackson wasn't even aware that he was missing a button. He didn't notice at all that his belly fat was now bulging out of the gap between the buttons in his blouse. If only he had worn a black blouse, it wouldn't have been so noticeable. He walked towards me with a cheerful look. He must have felt blissful from all the smells of freshly baked food that greeted us. Modest as I was, I let him into the restaurant first. After all, he had made a reservation and would pay afterwards. He waddled impatiently after the waiter who pointed to our table. He probably saw the opening in the blouse, because he gave Jackson a dirty look. Funny how truly modest people don't point out flaws to others. Just like that snot in someone's nose that you don't point out to him or her, so that they look like an idiot all day long. I kept a small distance from Jackson and the waiter, as if I didn't want anyone to think I belonged with them, while soon afterwards I was sitting at the same table. Some of the other guests had also seen Jackson and many quickly turned their eyes away. Their children giggled softly, but luckily no one spoke to us.

“I'll go to the buffet,” Jackson said. The drool just barely came out of his mouth. “Will you order me a Coke?”

What the…! Before I could respond, he had gotten up and walked over. I must admit that the extensive buffet, which was clearly visible from our table, looked very inviting. And maybe it was better that way, because I saw dozens of people looking up when he walked past.

The situation reminded me of the barbecue I hosted for my friends and family early last year to celebrate my permanent employment at work. It was more of a party out of common decency, because my bond with the family was already crumbling considerably. Jackson was there too, of course, and a few of his friends, and although he wasn't as heavy as he is now, he had already gained quite a bit of weight. His friends looked at him the same way the people here do now, with some disgust on their faces. Well… those friends were still mainly on the street. They did not want to participate in the project in which the municipality would also look for a house for them. I never saw those friends again afterwards. Actually pretty sad for Jackson. Sometimes I wonder if it doesn't hurt him. He also ate at the barbecue. Even when everyone was gone, he continued to eat. I think that was also the first time he went to bed with a stomach ache. I wanted to call an ambulance, but he really didn't want that. All the meat was gone. The next day it came out again in the toilet. The whole house smelled of it. It was one of the few times Jackson had apologized. Not only because of the smell, but also because of his poor behavior the night before in front of my family and friends. He was ashamed. I didn't think he should have apologized. I already wanted to get rid of my family and the meat had gone nicely. My friends… they didn't like him that much. They felt he was taking advantage of my kindness. They didn't come to my house that often anymore. Especially when Jackson was there and he was almost always there. That's why I went to visit them, or we went to a terrace in the city center.

“A coke and a sweet white wine,” I ordered when the waiter came by.

A nice sweet wine, I deserved it after a week of hard work. Jackson drank almost no alcohol. An occasional beer, in the evening in front of the television when I had bought toast or other tasty things. A table further away I heard children giggling. Not much later, Jackson appeared. There was a mountain of food on his plate. Shrimp, eggs, something that looked like a steak, a puff pastry case with ragout and all kinds of things were hidden under a pile of potato salad.

“Could there be more to it?” I asked sarcastically as Jackson sat down.

The coke and wine were brought, after which he eagerly looked for his cutlery, on which he had placed the plate. “I'll go back right away.” He smiled showing his big white teeth. “So, let's enjoy first.”

I pointed out to him that his cutlery was under the plate because he looked like he was trying to push the food in with his hands. I couldn't deny that Jackson always ate with relish. I could learn something from that. I always eat in a hurry and because I have to. In the past, I often didn't take the time to cook a decent meal. Sometimes I even skipped meals. If I didn't feel like driving to the grocery store to get something to eat, I didn't. Now that Jackson is here, I eat more regularly. At home then. If I forget to take bread to work again, I can still easily not eat for the whole day.

“You should have told me that a button on my blouse is missing,” Jackson said suddenly between two big bites.

Wow, awkward moment. Someone had apparently brought it to his attention. I didn't know what to say for a moment. It might have been polite if I had made a comment, but then? We couldn't quickly drive home to get another blouse or shirt.

“You're right, I could have let you know that a button is missing,” I finally said. “I hope you don't feel uncomfortable now,” I said afterward.

Jackson shrugged, stuffing his mouth with the last bite before this plate was empty. I stared at him, waiting for him to swallow the bite and answer.

“I'm here to eat, not to worry about what others think. There's nothing wrong with male black meat, right? Let them take a good look. And I'm also here to have a good time with you."

He added the latter quickly, as if he were afraid of offending me. He pushed the empty plate to the center of the table and stood up again.

“I'll go again.”

And he was gone.

A buffet was actually not suitable for two people at all. If you went there with a group, there was always someone at the table with you. If there were only two of you, you were often alone. The sweet wine here was tasty. That was not the case at every restaurant. After taking a big sip, I decided it was time to take a look at the food myself. Jackson stood by the hot plates, where chefs were preparing the meat and vegetables. I myself was more into the small snacks. They had plenty of those here too. A glass of shrimp cocktail. That was mine. And some deviled eggs. A few slices of smoked salmon (I was a fish lover) and meatballs. Oh…did I see fried squid rings there? I took that with me too. It seemed like a lot, but my plate was not even half full. I had barely sat down at the table when Jackson also returned. His plate was fuller. Two steaks and a sirloin steak. That was also one of those dirty things that Jackson couldn't get enough of. I once ate a sirloin steak at my ex's parents' house. Damn! That filthy fat edge. I still get nauseous when I think about it. It was the first time in my life that I didn't eat the food out of decency, which led to another awkward situation. I really couldn't get it in no matter how much I wanted to.

“Thanks for the invite,” I said, trying to make conversation as Jackson devoured the meat in front of him. “I know you would rather have been here with your friends…”

The latter came out before I knew it and I decided not to finish my sentence. I didn't know how much Jackson would be bothered to hear it.

Jackson shrugged again, but made no further response.

“Don't you ever miss them?”

I couldn't resist asking the question. Personally, I would miss my friends if they suddenly disappeared from my life. Jackson stopped eating for a moment and stared at the half-gnawed sirloin steak on his plate.

“They themselves chose to drop me,” he replied somewhat under his breath. I had to make an effort to understand him. “I don't miss people like that.”

He lifted the sirloin steak to his mouth with his hands and began to hastily bite off large pieces. I didn't have time to ask more questions, because Jackson got up again to get more.

Maybe it was his tactic to shut me up. Jackson didn't like to talk about his friends. In the beginning, yes. He was almost proud of them, how they managed to survive on the streets. I often had discussions with him about the ethics of stealing, but Jackson really thought differently than me, so those conversations were never satisfying. Let me also go to the buffet. The nice thing about buffets was that you didn't have to eat everything in a certain order. You just took what you felt like at that moment. People always looked at me in amazement when I could fill a plate with desserts in between, and then move on to savory, warm things. They just had white chocolate mousse here. And brownies. Ice cream, I wasn't crazy about that. This is enough for now, I can always go back. Jackson was already in place. Two full plates lay on the table in front of him. Was one plate no longer enough or something? It made me feel sick looking at the two mountains of food. What must those chefs have thought when that fat boy appeared in front of them with two plates? Would they have made a comment? Parts of the food slid from the plate onto the table as Jackson eagerly began to eat it. It looked quite unappetizing. The big bites he took, which were swallowed almost without chewing. Others saw it too. They had followed him with their eyes from the moment he passed their table with the two full plates. Have you ever seen someone looking at something in disgust? The restaurant was now full of looks like this. I think the children found it exciting and probably wondered whether he would get to finish the plates. Well, he seemed to be able to do it easily. With a soft 'pop' a second button popped off the blouse, revealing even more of his black belly. Shit man! He won't be walking half naked to the buffet again, will he? I pretended to be invisible and turned my gaze to the white chocolate mousse on my plate as several other guests walked past our table on their way to the exit.

“Disgusting,” one of them said quietly.

Jackson didn't notice. He was too busy scarfing down the food. “Delicious!” he suddenly shouted.

I was shocked and choked on the mouse. Others looked our way. What the hell…! I stared at my plate again. Maybe I should just walk away. Er… get chocolate mousse again or something. Satisfied, Jackson rubbed his stomach and felt the second button had disappeared. He smiled. “This is really great man!” he said, leaning back to give his stomach more room.

He sat there for a moment and stared into space. I wondered what was going through his mind at this moment. What would someone who had just consumed four full plates be thinking about? Jackson rubbed his stomach again, then struggled to get up.

“Are you really going back to the buffet with your blouse half torn open?” I said cattily. I was terribly ashamed. What must those people be thinking? More and more of them seemed to leave because of him. Jackson nodded his head. He probably didn't care what I thought about it. Suddenly there was a loud gurgling sound under the blouse. “Ooh, but first I'm going to the bathroom,” Jackson said. 'And quickly too. All that food is putting pressure on my intestines. Can you help me get up?'

I didn't dare look into the restaurant anymore for fear of all the eyes that were undoubtedly staring at us, while Jackson tried to get out of the chair, leaning on me. Wow, that boy was heavy! With a clearly audible groan and a final effort he straightened his legs. While he waddled towards the toilets, I quickly ran back to the dessert corner of the buffet. I don't belong with him… I don't belong with him, was all I could think. Some children started laughing and pointed after him. There was a huge tear in the jeans near his butt. The purple boxer shorts he was wearing were clearly visible. Oh my God! Back at the table, I hoped Jackson would never return. That this was all a bad dream. I never asked him to wear clothes that were too tight. Just decent clothes. I quietly ate the freshly made chocolate mousse. Would Jackson really want to eat more? How was he going to make it? With a torn blouse and pants? I would be ashamed of myself if I walked around like that. Should I forbid him from getting more? That wasn't possible, right? Maybe all this wasn't necessary and my first wish came true, because it took quite a while before Jackson showed himself again. Crazy things went through my head. Could he have fallen down the toilet? Could he have produced such a big turd with all his food that he couldn't get it out? Could he have gone into cardiac arrest due to his obesity? Only then do you realize that no matter how ashamed you are of someone, you don't want anything serious to happen to that person. It took at least half an hour before he appeared again. His torn pants hung in front of his crotch. He couldn't get it any higher. The bottom of his stomach was sticking out of his blouse, in front of the purple boxer shorts, which would certainly have been visible otherwise. The waiter looked after him. Fortunately, more guests had left in the meantime, which made me feel a bit safer.

With a sigh he sat down opposite me again. “I couldn't get my clothes on, man,” he said. “I got a little bigger than I thought.”

Finally, Jackson showed traces of self-knowledge. And I hoped that, like me, he thought it was time to go home. But unfortunately. Drooling, his head turned back towards the buffet and I could almost hear him thinking about what to get next.

“You know there's a huge tear in your jeans?” I said, stopping him from getting up.

I didn't feel like having to support him again. Jackson looked at me in shock. Apparently he didn't notice. I don't think it's strange if your belly is so big that you can't see your own pants while sitting on the toilet, even though they are hanging around your ankles.

'Your ass is bulging out, man. You really can't do that.'

Jackson stared at the empty table in front of him, clearly disappointed. I thought that was sad again. For him, a nice dinner should not end in disappointment. Especially since he was the one who paid. “Can't you go get me a plate?” Jackson asked softly. 'Just one, then we'll leave quietly.

Well, go ahead then. I wasn’t really willing to be treated like his personal servant, but there was no other option. As long as he just sat there with his big, black body and torn clothes, he couldn't attract much more attention than what he had already done. He didn't really care what I took with me. Everything was tasty, so I took the liberty of putting everything on the plate. Pizza slices, mashed potatoes with sausages and a variety of meats freshly baked by the chefs on the griddle. Previously I judged the food mountains that he had brought with him, but now I do exactly the same. Perhaps I should have taken two plates with me. The chefs smiled at me. Of course they knew that all that meat was not for me. Jackson was amazed when I came back. I had managed to put more food on a plate than him. Immediately he started eating it. In the meantime, I got a plate of small dough dishes that I hadn't seen before. At the table I grabbed one myself. I gave the rest to Jackson, who already had half of the full plate empty.

“Man, this is so good,” he said with his mouth full, after which he added a triangular-shaped dough snack.

Honestly, I don't cook that well. Not that extensive anyway. Somehow I felt at ease again. As long as Jackson stayed put. All he had to do was eat. And it helped that many people had already left the restaurant. It was already almost nine o'clock. Many people don't stay in a restaurant for very long.

What a slimeball! I've never seen someone so squirming and begging for a plate of food. One plate had become four. Finally time for dessert and so I walked between the buffet tables for the fifth time in search of sweet treats. Okay, what should I take with me? Profiteroles, brownies, cupcakes. Chocolate mousse; pure, milk and white. The plate was completely full again when I walked back to the table. Jackson breathed deeply. He barely got up to reach the plate. That's what you get when you eat that much. I walked back to the buffet, to the wide freezer that was there. Jackson liked ice cream, I knew. After all, he ate all those tubs of ice cream, which I wanted to save for those few times when I really felt like it. They had many flavors here. Hmmm… banana, chocolate, vanilla. And a few scoops of less common flavors. So, a generous dollop of whipped cream on top. If he still wants to eat, I will let him eat!

“You're good to me,” Jackson said as I returned to the table and placed the bowl of ice cream and the huge mound of whipped cream next to the plate of desserts. I sat down on my chair and decided that this would be the last round. The restaurant was about to close and Jackson looked like he was going to explode at any moment. There were only buttons left on his blouse near his breasts. The rest popped off two plates ago. He had also unbuttoned his pants to create more space for his stomach so he could push even more food into it.

“I can't take it anymore,” he finally said with a deep sigh that made his face look painful.

His overfull stomach pressed on his lungs, making breathing difficult and even painful. It also made a gurgling sound. Maybe it was too tight. I hadn't seen Jackson eat this much before.

“That's a shame,” I said.

'Come on, your plate is almost empty and you still have to finish that ice cream, right? That whipped cream isn't filling. You'll finish it in no time.'

Jackson nodded, as if he thought I was right, and continued eating the chocolate mousse. If you're so greedy, eat everything, I thought. Otherwise it's a shame. Of that ice cream and of my time getting it. Slowly, Jackson finally brought a spoonful of ice cream to his mouth. Apparently the ice cream was very tasty, or it was just a new flavor that made Jackson eat faster again. Spoonfuls of whipped cream eagerly disappeared into his mouth. Almost empty. He leaned back in his chair, trying to relieve the painful pressure in his stomach.

“Just a little more,” Jackson panted when the ice cream was gone too. “Just a little more pudding, I can still finish that.”

But I had other plans and called the taxi. Jackson didn't seem to be completely in this world anymore. His eyes looked dazed, as if he were going to faint at any moment. If I had gotten more, it would have been good, but I thought he actually wouldn’t mind to go now.

The waiter looked wide-eyed at the large, black belly, most of which rested visibly on his thighs, as Jackson paid her. Tipping was probably something he had never heard of, because he paid to the cent. My phone beeped. The taxi had arrived, I saw on an app.

“We have to go, the taxi is here.”

I hopped out of my seat with relief. As I expected, it had been a strange evening. On the one hand I was happy that it was over, but something in me also liked it. It was just a shame his clothes were too tight. That had attracted too much attention.

“I…I can't get up!” Jackson groaned. 'I ate too much.'

Of course I was allowed to support him again, but this time it was more difficult to get him up than when he had to go to the toilet. He kept falling back into the chair. His gut looked hard and swollen. A soft burp left his mouth. We had to hurry. This taxi wouldn't wait forever. Fortunately, one of the servers was kind enough to help us. Or he just wanted to get rid of us. They were probably happy that we were going. The waiter stood on the other side of Jackson and with some effort we got Jackson out of the chair. He held his stomach tightly with both hands as we guided him to the exit.

“What a big eater,” the waiter said to me.

He winked. I give him a phony laugh. The clerk and driver helped Jackson into the taxi. I took a seat next to him in the back seat and hoped to become invisible again through sheer willpower. It was not easy to get him into the taxi. He could no longer bend over, there was too much food in his stomach for that. Finally, he collapsed into the backseat, his legs spread wide to provide all the room his belly needed. Weird gurgling noises came out of it as Jackson gently rubbed it. He breathed deeply. As long as he doesn't fart here. The driver probably thought the same, because he raced us back home, taking a speed bump a little too fast.

“I'm exploding!” Jackson shouted, when the threshold was behind us and I had regained my place in the backseat. Jesus, that guy was really in a hurry. A loud belch escaped Jackson's mouth. The driver remained silent. Even when the taxi started to smell like grilled meat and fried potatoes. The gurgling sound from his stomach became louder and louder and for a moment I wondered if it was actually possible to explode from eating too much. Fortunately, we were back in my street. While Jackson was trying to get up in the restaurant, I had taken the liberty of grabbing his wallet, which he had placed on the table. Fortunately, there was still enough money in it to pay the driver. This one didn't get a tip from me either, grumpy guy. He hurriedly parked the taxi on the sidewalk in front of our house. It was clear he wanted to get rid of us.

No doubt the driver would have thought we were the biggest bastards he had ever transported. He sullenly took the money I gave him. Huffing heavily, as if he were about to give birth at any moment, Jackson lay slumped in the backseat. Judging by the smell that made its way out when I opened the door, he had just farted.

“Help me,” he said softly, trying to pull himself out of the doorway.

It was not easy to get that monster out of the car. He had done an extremely good job in the restaurant. Eight large plates of food, that's no small feat. After ten minutes he had not moved an inch. The driver looked impatiently at our fumbling. It didn't interest me. What a jerk! Once again, Jackson fell back into the backseat after I tried to pull him up. A loud fart escaped. Jackson groaned.

“Come on, one more time,” I said, grabbing his arm again.

Jackson remained seated. “I'm in so much pain.”

Don't whine so much. It was his own fault that he was now sitting there with a painfully full stomach. I counted down and pulled him out of the taxi with all my strength. It worked. Panting, he stood in front of me, holding his stomach tightly again. The driver stood there and looked at it. I didn't spare him a glance. As I supported Jackson to the front door, I heard the taxi drive away with screeching tires. Another loud fart sounded. Digesting all that food will produce the necessary gasses. His belly looked big and hard. Maybe it was a good idea to make him throw up over the toilet to take away most of the tension. Calling an ambulance was not an option, Jackson never wanted that when he had a stomach ache from eating. Maybe he was ashamed of himself if he had lost control again. In any case, it didn't look good. Jackson's face contorted in pain with every step he took and that black belly, it was really big and bloated. It stood out heavily in front of us as we walked down the hall. His head was wet with sweat and he was breathing deeply. I honestly thought he was going to drop dead at any moment. That his heart couldn't handle it anymore. He was already out of breath, and he still had to climb the stairs. I thought it would be better, and he wanted it too, to put him on the bed instead of on the couch. He had plenty of room in bed to recover from all the food. And I would rather have him release all the fumes in his room than in the living room.

Gawd…! And just as I was using force to push him up by his fat ass, he let another one out. Jesus, they were getting harder. The neighbor must have heard this. And the smell! Oh my God. A really diarrheal smell! Disgusting. We were almost at the top of the stairs. After each step, Jackson needed a few minutes to catch his breath. With one hand still holding his stomach, with the other he lifted himself up onto the banister. If only it didn't come loose from the wall it was attached to. If Jackson were to fall now, I would be beneath him. Neither of us would probably survive that. But that smell… terrible!

“I can't anymore,” Jackson whimpered.

His stomach rumbled unnaturally loudly. This is the moment it's going to burst, I thought and pushed his ass again. Groaning, Jackson stepped up another step. His blouse was below us, in the hallway. I had helped take it off so he could move a little more and to cool him down a bit as the sweat was pouring off his body. Hop, another step!

“We're almost there,” I said as Jackson collapsed.

He shouldn't be stuck here now. I didn't feel like having to support him all night. I couldn't see how many steps we had to go, because his body blocked my view, but there couldn't be many. Jackson laboriously took another step. Then another. We were upstairs. I sighed. What a late night job. Jackson waddled to his room without my help. A burp. His ripped jeans hung from his knees as he flopped back on the bed. It creaked under his weight. Curious, I checked to see if his heart had not stopped yet.

“Thanks,” he puffed softly.

I nodded and left his room.

There I was, in the middle of the night, sitting on a slightly sagging couch in the living room. What a night. I had poured myself a coke. I didn't have any wine, but I was most certainly in the mood for it now. He came to live with me, Jackson, a year and a half ago. Slim, athletic, from the street and he used my house as a kind of youth center. Those friends of his, they were not sweethearts. Neither was he. My stuff disappeared, my money disappeared and my privacy was completely gone. I was bullied and humiliated in my own home. I couldn't get rid of him anymore. He was too well protected by the municipality for that. I had actually signed up to keep him in my home for five years myself. So I couldn't get rid of his friends either. I had even called the police a few times to have them thrown out of the house. Idiots, they were. When they had ridiculed me so much that I fled my own house crying, I had decided to poison Jackson. But yes... then I would go to jail myself and I wasn’t willing to do that. I discovered that Jackson started eating more when he was sad or disappointed. I made good use of that knowledge because, I thought, if he gained a lot of weight, he would no longer be able to survive on the street and his friends would no longer be of any use to him. Then they would stay away. That would be nice revenge for Jackson's retarded behavior towards me. Not only in terms of his friends, but also in terms of the household. He really did nothing all day but watch television and give me orders. So I became his maid. I did the housework, laundry and shopping. And most of all, I cooked. I regularly asked him about his friends, about his mother and sisters. And about his dreams and wishes. And I always asked before or during dinner. He almost never answered with words, but from the intense eating that suddenly occurred, I could see that I had hit him somewhere. Sad really, but I still wanted to get rid of him. I wanted to move on with my life, without someone constantly watching what I was doing and depriving me of the energy to do the things I really wanted to do. It didn't look like he was going to leave voluntarily. I'm just glad those horrible friends got the hell out of here. And that the clothes that were too tight were torn now. Fortunately, he couldn't wear those anymore. Well boy, you shouldn’t eat so much and be so lazy. That was not a healthy combination. Jackson, 400 pounds in a year and a half. Could I double that in another year and a half?

#fatstory #ederlot #fetishfantasy #noshame #gaystory #gayfantasy #naughtyidea #darkdeeds

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