#log cabin school house

[edge-oftheworld]

if I designed a village for 5sos to live in

happy 30th ashton I drew you a little piece of paradise in the blue mountains

[thevillainswhore]

“Good girl,” he mumbles, running his fingers through your hair while looking at you.

So We Meet Again

Pairing: Lumberjack!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Word Count: 3.8k

Summary: A reunion between two old friends quickly turns heated.

Warnings: friends to lovers, fluff, smut, blowjob, mouth fucking, ball sucking, praise, pet names, cum eating.

Author’s Note: This is part of The Love In The Woods Collection ❄️ beta’d by the lovely @buck-star thank you my love 🥰 dividers by @saradika-graphics.

You didn’t know what to expect once your old friend opened the door to his cabin. It had been years — too many of them since you had last seen him and to say you were nervous was an understatement. 

The logs that had been carefully wound together to uphold the structure were beautifully cut, a deep mahogany that was rich in pigment. But you couldn’t help but quirk your lips at the beigeness of it all. 

A little splash of colour would do the trick. 

You had no time to internally decide what kind of palette you could imagine for the rustic cabin before the wooden door creaked open and a vaguely familiar face came into your view. 

“Bucky?” You gasped, the air knocked out of your lungs. “Is that—Is that really you?��

Far from the scrawny boy you had attended school with, your old friend stood before you transformed into a man. 

The stubble that graced his cheeks was new. The once long hair that he had chopped down into a short fluffy cut was also new. The muscle he had packed on that made the woolly coat he was wearing strain against his arms was definitely new.

All new territory that you had no idea what to do with. 

“Hey, Dolly. It’s been a while since I’ve seen that pretty, little face.” 

Oh, the deep voice was a welcome surprise too. 

“I—” You didn’t know what to say, shell shocked by the sight in front of you. “You’ve gotten taller.” 

Bucky laughed abruptly. “Well, damn. Thanks, sweetheart.” 

You let out a small huff of laughter for your own awkwardness. “What I meant to say was you look good.” 

Though a lot had changed since you last saw Bucky, one thing that had stayed the same was how bashful he got over the slightest compliments. 

Rubbing the back of his neck as a hue of red blossomed on his cheeks, he smiled. “You know how to make a man blush, don’t ya?” 

Just as you were about to reply, a gush of frosted wind made you stumble. Bucky shot his arms out and grabbed you before you could fall. “Shit, let’s get you inside before it gets nasty out there. Come on, you.” 

With his arms still keeping you balanced, Bucky brought you over the threshold and into the warmth of his home. He shut the door with his foot and continued to smooth his hands down your coat covered arms. 

“This place is beautiful, Buck. I can’t believe you made this by yourself,” you said in awe. 

“I’m glad you like it. You helped me design it after all.” 

You spun around with your mouth open. “You did not keep those sketches after all these years!” 

Bucky shrugged with one shoulder and slid his palms into his pockets. “I did. I neatened them up a little here and there when I got the planning permission. But I kept them.” He pointed towards the fireplace with his head, a fond smile curving his lips. “Look.” 

After tapping the excess snow off your boots on the doormat, you made your way towards the mantelpiece that hung above a roaring fire. Low and behold, there were the drawings the two of you had made together years ago in college. Ripped out of your notebook and framed. 

“You believed in me when not many people did.” Bucky’s voice was closer as he came up behind you. “You didn’t laugh when I told you I wanted to build my own company. It's because of you that people took interest in this house and now I get regular contracts to keep me steady.” 

Unexpected tears began to bubble to the surface. You couldn’t believe your old friend had kept something so sentimental and created something so beautiful out of it. Sniffling, you faced Bucky and hugged him tightly. “I’ve missed you, Buck.” 

Instantly, his arms curled around you, holding you with just as much vigour. “I missed you more, Dolly.” 

The two of you kept huddled in your embrace for a while, savouring the feeling of each other after lost time. 

Suddenly, a thought popped up. You pulled back, though Bucky’s arms held firm around you. “Wait. Does this mean what I think it does?” 

Your excitment began to grow at the grin on your friend’s face. “Why don’t you go and find out?” 

With a squeal, you quickly toed off your boots — not wanting to dirty the cabin — and ran down the hallway. If Bucky hadn’t changed anything about the floor plan, you were sure to find what you were looking for. 

And to your delight, once you had ripped open the door, you found your most prized possession — the library. 

You spun around, unable to contain the emotion in your voice. “You really built it.” 

“I don’t know why you’re so surprised, sweetheart. I told you I would.” Bucky leaned against the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, watching you with an unknown look in eye. 

“But—“ you tried to reason. 

Though Bucky quickly shook you down, already knowing what you were trying to say. “But nothing. You’re still my best friend no matter where in the world you are. No matter if we haven’t spoken in a while. This is for you, Dolly.” 

You swallowed the growing lump in your throat. “It's beautiful, Bucky. I love it.” 

“You’re welcome here anytime. You know that.” By the earnest look in his eyes you knew he meant it too. 

After you had explored the house some more, Bucky had ushered you to the table to get some food down you. His concern for your wellbeing hadn’t changed at all since school. He was always mothering you, making sure you were taking care of yourself. 

It was like the two of you had never been apart. Conversation came easily over his homemade meal. Laughter bounced off the walls of his kitchen. It was easy to fall back into your friendship. 

But there was something else brewing that you couldn’t explain. An added supplement to your relationship. 

There were lingering looks over the candles scattered across the dining table. There were flirtations that made you squirm in your seat. 

If Bucky wasn’t your friend, you’d have thought that you were on a date. 

But Bucky was your friend. And every time your eyes caught each other and his hand brushed over yours, you found yourself thinking of him differently. 

Snow pelted harshly against the windows and you looked outside to find the storm predicted by the weather forecast was raging in full force. You wiped your mouth with a napkin and sighed. “That’s just going to be great to drive in.” 

Bucky’s eyes snapped up to you in aghast. “You’re not actually thinking about going out in that, are you?” 

“What other choice do I have? I’ve got to get to my hotel.” 

“Absolutely not.” Bucky shook his head in finality. “You’ll stay here.” 

Your eyes widened in shock. “I can’t just stay here, Bucky. This is your home!” 

You knew you sounded stupid, especially when he raised his eyebrow at you. “My home is your home. You’re not riskin’ your safety just to stay at some deadbeat motel where the doors don’t even lock. Not a chance.” 

Bucky’s reasoning was sound. The room you had booked was kind of cheap and you shivered when you thought of the possibilities why. But after a night filled with inexplicable tension, you found yourself still weighing the options.

Bucky must have seen the indecision in your features. The groan of his chair pushing out caught your attention and you had to bite your tongue when he crouched before you to hold your hand.

“Come on, darlin’. You can’t go back out there tonight. Stay with me.” 

You would always argue it was his eyes that persuaded you. Bucky always had a way to make you give in to him with his steel blues. It was the same as college kids and you realised it was the same now. Only more dangerous. 

“Okay,” you whispered around a gulp. Squeezing his hand, you confirmed, “I’ll stay with you.” 

Bucky’s eyes lit up. Pulling you out your seat, his large arms wrapped around your shoulders and squeezed you tight. He nuzzled his nose into your hair and let go of a deep breath. “That’s my girl.” 

Your body shouldn’t have reacted the way it did. You were just glad that Bucky was too enthralled in your hug to notice anything amiss. 

Clearing your throat, you stepped back and smoothed your clothes. “Let me help you put all this away.” 

Immediately, Bucky took the plate you were about to grab. “Not a chance, Dolly. Go sit down and wait until I’m finished and then I’ll show you to your room.” With his free hand, he patted your lower back, enough for his fingers to skim the top of your ass and shooed you away. 

Once the kitchen was cleaned, Bucky lifted you off the sofa with his hand and guided you towards the hallway where the bedrooms resided. You weren’t quite sure why you faltered upon the first step, but you tried to control your breathing enough to push yourself to keep walking. 

The night wasn’t what you expected when you decided to visit Bucky. Maybe it was silly to have any sort of expectations after so many years apart from your friend. 

However, this new element came at you with no time to prepare. 

Especially not when he let you lead so he could place his hand on the small of your back. Not when you felt the movement of it gliding further down to rest on the curve of your ass. And not when he grabbed your hand to pull you back once you surpassed the open door to his bedroom. 

“So—um—the guest room is just next to mine.” Bucky looked down at you with what you could only call desire in his irises. 

“I know,” you breathed airily. “I helped you design the layout, remember?”

Bucky swallowed. “I guess I’ll say goodnight then.” 

“That would be best.” Though you made no way to retract yourself from his proximity. 

“Goodnight, Dolly.” 

“Night, Bucky.” 

The air became stifling hot, even as the cold crept in from the open windows around the house. 

Wetting his lips with his tongue, Bucky slowly moved forward with what you supposed would be a friendly kiss on the cheek. You kept deathly still as his stubble scratched against your skin, even though a shudder clawed its way down your back. But your attempts were useless when his lips hovered a little too close to the corner of your mouth. 

Bucky let himself linger before he pulled back. Though he could only manage to draw himself away from you slightly, allowing the two of you to breathe each other’s air. His eyes were blown, like he’d taken a hit and his hand squeezed your waist like it was painful for him to move. 

Who made the next move would continue to be debated for years to come. What you could both agree on with certainty was the instant connection the two of you felt when your lips finally connected. How perfect the two of you intertwined your bodies in a dance of fiery passion.

The nagging voice that had tormented you throughout the night vanished and you finally let yourself go, losing yourself into Bucky. 

“Fuck,” he murmured around your kiss. “I’ve been wantin’ to taste those damn lips all night, Dolly.”

You tangled your fingers into his fluffy hair, pulling harshly as his hands sneaked up your shirt to feel your bare skin. “Then shut up and stop wasting your breath.” 

His responding growl sent a shot of electricity between your legs and you couldn’t help but flick your tongue against his to hear it again. 

The two of you made out like a couple of horny teenagers in the hallway, unable to keep your hands off each other. It was as though Bucky was the oxygen you craved after being starved of air. You’d die if he let go of you. 

Bucky began to step back into his bedroom and the door crashed against the wall. You broke away when your feet recognised the soft carpet furnishing, a string of saliva still connecting your mouths together. 

“What are you doing?” Bucky whined while his chest heaved and his eyes were hooded in pure lust. 

Ignoring him, you dropped down onto your knees with a thud. His eyes shot open and you graced him with a sultry smile, licking your lips while you slid your palms up the denim covering his thick thighs.

“Oh, shit. You’re really gonna—”

You didn’t give him the time to finish his sentence. Adrenaline was sparking your momentum in that moment and any doubts about how fast you were moving were pushed out of your mind as soon as you tore his jeans and underwear down in one go.

Bucky’s heavy cock bounced out of its confines. He was all girth and length, a true testament to the rest of his bear-like physique. Although his dick was intimidating and you had to take at least a whole minute to stare at it in wonder, you got to work quickly.

There were no teasing licks, no hesitant strokes of your hand. You went all in, hollowing your cheeks while you began to feed yourself his cock. You held the base with one hand and slid your other further down towards his balls, beginning to massage them just as you felt the head of his length hit the back of your throat.

“Holy—D-Dolly, you gotta—fuck that’s so good—Slow down, baby. You’re g-gonna choke.”

Lifting your eyes to settle them on Bucky’s, you winked and hummed around him, watching in delight as his eyes rolled back in ecstasy.

“So that’s how it’s gonna be,” he chuckled before biting his bottom lip, beginning to gently meet the rhythm of your mouth with his own thrusts. “Ain’t gotta tell me twice, baby.”

Spit drooled from your mouth, pooling onto the hardwood floor, while your eyes began to water. Any decorum had gone out the window and all that was left in its place was raw, shameful mouth fucking. Bucky couldn’t keep his jaw shut as he towered above you, watching how his proportions bullied the tightness of your throat.

“Good girl,” he mumbled, running his fingers through your hair while looking down at you. “Good fuckin’ girl. Gettin’ all messy for me.”

His hands tightened their grip, tugging enough for a sharp pain to sting your scalp. But it only served to rile you up more. Letting his cock fall from your mouth with a wet pop, you reached further down to suck his balls. 

Bucky choked on his own spit at the sensation of your tongue flicking against the thin, delicate skin and the warm wetness your saliva provided him. “Sh-Shit, Dolly! Uh-huh, baby—Just like that.” 

Cradling the back of your head with one hand, Bucky used the other to hold his cock. He wanted to see the tears glistening over your waterline. You hummed as you made eye contact with him and the vibrations ran through his whole body and lit his nerves on fire. 

“That’s right, suck my fuckin’ balls. Look so pretty on your knees for me and your own damn spit covering your face.” With a grunt, Bucky pulled back, almost regretting leaving your hot mouth, and grabbed your chin, spitting on your awaiting tongue and shoving his dick back down your throat before you could blink. “Show me how much you missed me, baby.” 

Your body was like a live wire, sparks shocking your nerves and leaving you pent up and on edge. The pure animal had come out of your best friend — a side to him you had never had the pleasure of seeing before — and it only made you crave your own stimulation. 

Your jaw ached and your throat cinched in pain every time the fat tip of Bucky’s cock hit the back of it. But none of that mattered when you watched the harmony of pleasure across his face. How he looked at you like you were an angel on your knees, serving your god. 

You grabbed the base of his cock with your hand and pulled him out of your mouth. “Paint my tongue, Bucky.” There was a hoarse rasp to your voice but you swallowed and began pumping his length. “I wanna know what you taste like.” 

Bucky’s eyes gained a new gleam, one that frightened and excited you. 

“Fuck my life. What the fuck have we been doin’ all this time?” Grabbing the length of your hair and twisting it around his hand, he pulled, forcing you eye to eye with his crotch. “Come here, Dolly. Lemme feed you my load if you wan’ it so damn bad.”

Bucky fed you his cock and widened the stance of his legs, his free hand framed your chin — smothered in a combination of saliva and pre cum — and began to thrust. 

Spit flew out of your mouth, each squelch and gag leaving no room for anything but Bucky’s thick length to take ownership of you. Your cries fell on deaf ears as Bucky became a man possessed. 

“Gonna take it, sweetheart? Gonna swallow my cum and fill up your tummy?” 

You nodded as best as you could, moaning around his girth and trying to convey with your eyes how badly you wanted him to use you. 

Bucky licked his lips, panting viciously. “You’re mine now, Dolly. Do you understand?” 

When you didn’t answer, too drunk off his cock, he harshly tapped your protruding cheek. “Answer me, sweetheart. Do you fuckin’ understand?” 

You gargled around his length, tears streaming down your cheeks as you screamed your muffled agreement. 

Bucky swiped his tongue across his teeth and grinned. “Good. Cos’ I ain’t letting you go.” 

Your nails dug into the meat of his thighs, trying to steady yourself from the cruel thrusts. Bucky began to grind his cock down your throat, leaving you depleted of oxygen and struggling to form a single coherent thought. 

“‘M gonna cum, baby. C-Can’t hold it any longer.” Bucky’s legs started to shake with his impending orgasm, his words slurring the closer to his end he got. 

So with a sudden bout of eagerness, you slid your hands around to his ass, gripped each cheek and pulled him impossibly further down your throat until you couldn’t breathe. 

Bucky didn’t even have a chance to warn you before his cock began to pulse, not a second later shooting pearls of thick, white cum from his tip to coat your tongue. 

“D-Dolly—baby—I can’t. F-Fuck, I’m cummin’ so much. All this fuckin’ cum for you, sweetheart—” he rambled. Stumbling over his own words until his dick finally began to settle and his load had all been released. 

You struggled to hold the vast amount of cum in your mouth, some of it sneaking out from the corner of your lip and joining your tears as they rolled down your chin. Your bloodshot eyes, rimmed with red speckled veins looked up to Bucky, watching the pure elation on his face while his fingers started to carefully unfurl from your hair. 

Slowly, once Bucky’s length began to soften, he retracted his hips, letting his cock fall from your mouth. His thumb rested on the dimple of your chin, rubbing back and forth as he caught his breath, a new hunger in his eyes. “You still got my load in that pretty little mouth, baby?” 

Tightening your lips, you nodded, chest heaving and nostrils flaring with an adrenaline that hadn’t been sated. 

Bucky smirked wolf-like and kneeled down on one knee to match your height. “Wanna show me?” 

Caught up in the boundaries the two of you had surpassed, that threatened to untangle the very purpose of your being, you held your friend’s eye and leisurely stuck your tongue out. White cream, thick and musty, balanced on your tongue, exposed and vulnerable. 

Bucky’s eyes darkened and you barely had time to anticipate his intentions before he threw himself forward and kissed you. 

You squealed, panic surging through your limbs and stiffening your body. But Bucky grabbed your waist and hoisted you up onto his lap, manipulating your legs to wrap around him. 

The shock of him tasting his own cum left you paralysed, unable to reciprocate his kiss properly. However, the deep groan that rumbled from his chest at the motion of your tongues colliding and his load falling onto his own kick started your body. You kissed him back with reverence, a fire rekindling in your lower stomach. 

Your faces were a mess of spit and cum, though the two of you were more concentrated on each other, content in getting lost in the new development of your relationship. 

The kiss eventually died down, Bucky leaving a couple of intricate, slow pecks to your lips before seperating. He kept close, noses teasing each other while you caught your breath. 

Tenderly, he swiped the gooey liquid lingering around your mouth with his thumb and tapped your cupid's bow twice, a plea to open up. You complied, allowing him to enter and you were quick to enclose your lips around him and suck. 

“Good girl,” Bucky whispered, watching you with wide eyes. “You’re such a good girl for me.” 

Before you could reply, he lifted the two of you up with ease, keeping a firm grip around your midriff, and laid you down on his bed. 

“Let me see what else you’ll do for me, Dolly.” Bucky’s eyes bore into your own gaped ones, still trying to wrap your head around the events of the night. “Please.” 

There was no other answer. Not when he caged you with his thick arms and not when he delicately trailed his nose along the sensitive skin of your neck. “Okay, Bucky.” 

You couldn’t have imagined where that night could have taken you. Nor could you have conjured up how the hell the two of you ended up fucking until the early hours, singing songs of praise to each other and experiencing a pleasure that you thought would forever be a myth. 

And when you awoke in the morning, scared and worried of the consequences of your actions, you were sure you would regret it. 

But as Bucky tore your clothes off, pouring his adoration and devotion into every crevice of your body with more skin that was revealed as your heart beat as one, you couldn’t even try to muster up any feelings of remorse or anguish. 

You just wanted your best friend to fuck you until the sun came up. 

[shhhimnothereiswear]

I think I'd be an avatar of the Eye (I LOVE learning new stuff) or the Spiral (im just funky like that)

I think I'd probably give a statement on the Corruption (I'm currently writing a fan statement on it B] )

ok wait im curious-

which tma entity do you think youd be an avatar of and which do you think youd give a statement on

[meetmypointlessaddiction]

December Fic Day 2 ~ Movie

Summary: Your daughter is out on a camping trip, what better way to spend the night than cuddled up in front of the tv with your husband?

Warnings: none that I'm aware of but as always please tell me if I'm wrong

Pairing: pretty sure this is suitable for everyone (fem!reader/male!reader/gn!reader) but I am still new to writing anything other than fem!reader so any pointers are greatly appreciated.

Enjoy and please like and comment if you do. Something as simple as an emoji literally makes my day better so please don't hesitate to comment and obviously reblog to share my work.

December Masterlist

Finding time to spend together could be difficult for Logan and you. Between work with the x-men and caring for your four year old, Charlotte, having time to just relax together was very rare. But tonight, tonight you were in luck. It was a Saturday in December, your cabin was decorated with lights and tinsel and pictures of Santa and snowmen that Charlotte had drawn were stuck to the walls with sellotape. Tonight, Charlotte was out on a camping trip with Scott, Jean, Storm and a group of kids from the school meaning you and Logan had the cabin to yourself for the first time in a very long time.

Logan was outside chopping wood that would hopefully keep the fire going through the winter, just in case it rained or snowed and the other logs that Logan had stored were deemed unusable. You sat on the porch, wrapped up in a pair of your fluffiest pyjamas and Logan’s hoodie on top of them, drinking a mug of hot cocoa as you watched him. “You almost done, tough guy?” You asked him and he stopped chopping, looking at the pile of wood he had made and contemplating it. “We can always finish em tomorrow, Lo. There ain’t no forecast of rain or snow for tonight.” Logan was seemingly stuck on what to do as contemplated your suggestion. “Or we can always put the rest in the garage just to be safe.” 

“Alright. You head on in, bub an’ I’ll put this in the garage.” You just nodded and walked back into the cabin, the warm air surrounding you and warming you to your bones. You always tried to keep the cabin as warm as possible in the winter, knowing that too much cold air could make your husband’s bones ache and it would take forever to get rid of the pain. It was then that you came up with the best idea of how to spend your night alone. 

~~~~~~~~~~

While Logan showered, warming his bones and the metal inside him, you gathered all of the blankets and pillows in the house, stealing a few off of Charlotte’s bed that she hadn’t taken camping with her and piling them all up on the couch. You chucked a few different nibbles in the oven, some pizzas and garlic bread, onion rings and some stupid mozzarella ball things that Logan had become obsessed with, that particular obsession being shared by your daughter. When your husband finally came out of the bathroom, a pair of plaid pyjama pants and a white shirt adorning his body, he seemed confused at the state of the living room. 

“Are you cold? Do you want me to put some more wood on the fire, my love?” Logan offered, confused by why you needed so many blankets and pillows on the couch. 

“What? No. Logan we are having a movie night. We are going to watch all the Christmas movies that we want to watch, no more cartoons or kiddy films. We can watch absolutely anything! Logan we can watch an eighteen!” You saw how his face changed from confusion to a slight smile to a grin as the smell of the food and the mozzarella balls hit his keen sense of smell.

“Mozzarella balls? Baby you really know the way to my heart. Alright, let’s have a movie night.” Logan grinned and wrapped his arms around you tightly, holding you close to him and pressing kisses to your head. “I really love you. I love Lottie too but my god I am so glad she is sleeping out tonight.” Logan mumbled and you nipped his side, eliciting a laugh from him as he just squeezed you tighter. “I get you all to myself for the first time in months.” 

“You’re jealous…” You teased and the tips of Logan’s ears turned a pinkish colour as he tried to argue his point. “You’re jealous of our 4 year old.” You pressed your face against his chest and laughed. The teasing resulted in Logan chasing you around the kitchen counter until you yielded and agreed that he was not jealous of the attention your daughter got (he was sometimes but he couldn’t let you know that, he’d never hear the end of it).

~~~~~~~~~~

With the food cooked and dishes out onto plates on the coffee table, you and Logan snuggled up under the blankets with a plate on each of your laps as you stole bites from each other and argued over whether Die Hard was a suitable movie to watch at Christmas (Logan disagrees). “Baby, it is an action film set at Christmas. That don’t make it a Christmas movie.” 

“Logan. It is a Christmas film. You just disproved your own point, it is set at Christmas and is literally set during a Christmas party. It doesn’t get more Christmassy than that. Watch it, you’ll see. Besides, why does it matter? It’s an eighteen. We have the house to ourselves so we are going to watch all the movies that we can’t watch when Charlotte is around.” 

Logan gave in and let you have your way, as he always does, and the pair of you ate the food, drank hot cocoa and cuddled up beneath the multitude of fluffy blankets, Logan comically ending up with Charlotte’s pink and sparkly fair princess blanket wrapped around his shoulders. It might not have been the night in that the pair of you would have originally planned but it was the perfect way to spend your evening together, cuddled up in front of the fire with the lights from the Christmas tree sparkling.

Dividers: @coolcatsgraphics

I'm also on A03 :)

[aphroditelovesu]

Heyaaaa, how are you, babe? Can we have a Yan!Platonic Nico di Angelo and Yan!Platonic!Percy Jackson with a daughter of Poseidon ‘reader’ (aka Ayane Ishikawa my OC XD), pretty please? They discussing who would be the best big bro to Ayane lol 🥺🥺

❝ 💀 — lady l: hii, babe! I hope you like it. It's a little short and very soft yandere, but it's more focused on their relationship, which, by the way, I'd love to hear you describe! 👀

❝tw: none, i think? just fluff and very soft yandere.

❝🌊pairing: platonic yandere!nico di angelo, platonic yandere!percy jackson x daughter of poseidon!reader.

❝word count: 850.

You loved your brothers. You really did. Percy was always protective and the comical relief you needed sometimes and Nico was sweet and protective of you too, but he was less controlling than Percy.

You sometimes found it funny how they were always fighting over you. Percy was really your brother but you considered Nico as your brother too. The son of Hades became attached to you the moment you, Percy, Annabeth and Thalia found him with Bianca at that school. His protectiveness only increased after his sister's death.

You loved them deeply. You would be willing to die and kill for them and you knew the feeling was mutual. But sometimes.... They were a little too much to deal with and you liked having a moment alone, something that since your arrival at Camp Half-Blood had become almost impossible.

You remembered your first day at Camp Half-Blood. Percy was excited to show you everything, from Thalia's Pine Tree to the Big House. Nico, on the other hand, seemed more reserved when you first met, but you knew he was only concerned about ensuring your safety. The first days were full of adventures and discoveries, but also a lot of responsibilities and hard training.

There were days when everything seemed like a whirlwind. The missions, the training, the council meetings... Percy and Nico were always by your side, but sometimes, you missed a moment of peace. A moment of your own.

One afternoon, after a particularly grueling workout, you decided you needed some time to yourself. Leaving a simple note for Percy and Nico – "I'm fine. I need some time alone. I'll be back soon." – you ventured out of Poseidon's cabin. You walked into the forest near the camp, a place where the sounds of nature offered a welcome solace from the chaos of the camp.

You found a small clearing, lit by the afternoon sun. You sat down on a fallen log, taking a deep breath and letting the calm surroundings wash over you. It was the first time in weeks that you could hear your own thoughts.

The only company was the dryads and some satyrs looking for these dryads. You smiled as a dryad waved at you and turned into an oak tree.

As you were lost in your reflections, remembering peaceful moments before your life turned into a whirlwind of battles and quests, conflicts with gods, and your relationship with your divine father, you heard a faint rustling in the leaves. You looked around, your heart racing a little, but you relaxed when you saw that it was just a curious squirrel. You just hoped your brothers weren't spying on you like they had many times before.

Time passed quickly, and before you knew it, the sun began to set. You knew it was time to go back. Although you loved your brothers and the camp, you knew that these moments of solitude were essential to maintaining your sanity. You stood up, feeling refreshed and ready to face whatever came next. And you knew that what would come next would be a whirlwind of questions from your brothers.

When you returned to the cabin, Percy and Nico were waiting for you, with mixed expressions of concern and relief. Percy was the first to speak, ''Are you okay?! We were worried.''

You smiled as you saw the concern in Percy and Nico's eyes, and realized how much they truly loved you, "I'm fine, really.'' You replied, trying to reassure them. ''I just needed some time to think.''

Percy sighed, clearly relieved. "We understand, but next time, give a little more notice, okay? We almost set up a search of the entire camp."

Nico, who had remained silent, finally spoke up, ''We know you need time for yourself, but you're important to us too. We want to make sure you're safe.'' There was an intensity in his voice that showed how seriously he took his responsibility to protect you and you knew that this responsibility, this protection came from a pain that he would always keep within himself.

You nodded, understanding their concern, ''I know, and I appreciate that. I promise I'll let you know better next time.''

As if there will be a next time.

That night, instead of going out for another training session, the three of you decided to spend time together, just talking and laughing. Percy told funny stories about his first days at Camp Half-Blood, while Nico, a little more reserved, shared some memories of his childhood with Bianca.

You loved them and you knew it. But they tended to become increasingly overprotective when you decided to leave without warning. They hated it when you did that. Were you that naive? The camp might be safe but they didn't trust the other demigods and gods. Nico and Percy that night, after you fell asleep, made an oath to each other.

You wouldn't go out alone anymore. And they would be sure that you would obey that. It's not like you really have a choice.

[rebelliousstories]

Seasons Greetings

25 Days of Ficmas

Relationship: Remy LeBeau/Gambit x Reader

Fandom: X-Men

Request: No

Warnings: Fluff

Word Count: 1,078

Main Masterlist: Here

X-Men Masterlist: Here

Summary: Being so far away from home at the holidays, it was not something that most people could do. But leave it to a Cajun in love with another Cajun to bring home to him.

Consider Donating: Here

“Remy, ya ‘round ‘ere somewhere?” Poking her head into another room in the mansion, the woman was on the hunt. Looking around for her lover, she was trying to locate him so that he could come have some dinner.

“Remy, where ya at?” She called again, dipping into a random study. Finally, the familiar head of hair sitting against the windowsill. Sighing in relief, she was not sure whether or not she had gotten his attention, but came over to sit next to him.

Wrapping her arms around Gambit, she pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Whatcha doin’ up here, mon amour?”

“Just thinkin’, chere. Dats all.” Remy grumbled, keeping his eyes outside on the snowy ground below. He pressed a kiss to her warmed hand in return.

“Gon’ need more den dat, Remy. Ya been upset for da past few days. Tell me what’s wrong,” she tried to prompt him onto speaking more.

“Well, I just… guess da Gambit is feelin’ bit homesick, or- or like, nostalgic tonight ‘s all.” Muttering into the sweater the covered her arms, he tried to almost disappeared into the soft wool.

“Oh, Remy,” she cooed, nuzzling into the side of his head. “Whatcha thinkin’ ‘bout dat’s got you feelin’ so down?”

He took a minute to answer, looking very hesitant to say what it was. “‘Member dem bonfires up and da road on Christmas Eve? I miss those da most.”

“Maybe we should show these Yankees what a proper Cajun Christmas looks like, yeah?” She shook the other Cajun slightly, looking deep into his eyes. There was a twinkle there that had not been there before as he got excited at the prospect.

“It’s snowin’, but dat jus’ means dat de ground no set ablaze.” Her smiled widened as Remy was getting into the spirit again.

Rushing to throw on the proper outside attire, she barely managed to get her coat on when she was being pulled out the door by her boyfriend. Giggling, they set out together to gather enough dry wood and sticks to build their little fires. It was a little difficult with the snow, but they made it work.

Once they gathered enough to make one, now the real fun began. The more wood they gathered became different shapes and creations. Remy managed to find just enough to turn into a log cabin looking thing, while she attempted to make one that looked like an alligator. All the while, they kept laughing, and smiling. Reminiscing about their childhood Christmas’s.

“What are you two doing?” A sudden voice came through as they were building a fleur-de-lis. Ororo stood there, white hair nearly blending in with the snowy background.

“Cajun Christmas, Storm.” The woman beamed, adding small twigs where she could.

“And what do you do with these wooden structures?” Noticing just how many there were around the front yard of the school, Storm was utterly confused as to what these two crazy Cajuns were going to do.

“We light ‘em up.” Remy stated.

“That checks.” Storm shrugged. “Want an extra hand?”

And just like that, now three people were working on building. Ororo was intrigued as the two southerners explained to her why they did what they did. “In Cajun country, these bonfires light the way for Christmas mass. Dey serve gumbo, and make sure people reach church before Pére Nöel reaches der houses. We must put up a hundred o’ these before Christmas Eve.”

“Yeah. And Pére Nöel to us Cajuns don’t come in a sled wit’ da reindeer. He come wit’ a pirouge pulled by gators. Dis why Cajuns da best.” She added to her boyfriend’s explanation.

The stories from their childhood around these bonfires demonstrated clearly just how much this tradition meant to them. She also noticed that Gambit was in a much better mood than he had been recently. Perhaps this is what he needed; a little taste of home.

What the three did not know was that they were slowly accumulating an audience. Students watched from the windows, or they made their way to sit on the front porch of the school. The other adults were also finding ways to watch what the three were doing. Only when they began lighting them up, did they realize what had happened. Oohs and aahs sounded off, making them look over to the front of the school.

However, one person that did not understand what was going on was Charles. As he rode through the school, he became more and more confused as he could not find a single student nor teacher. That is, until he felt the culmination of all of their thoughts out front. Wheeling closer, he panicked a bit as he saw the flames but calmed down when he actually made it outside. With a smile, the professor found a spot to sit and watch the display of beautiful flames, and enjoy the warmth they provided.

Lighting the last structure, Remy grabbed his girlfriend’s hand and pulled her up to where the students and teachers sat. He sent a smile to Xavier, who winked a him in return. Storm went over to stand with Rogue and Wolverine who watched with rapt attention.

“This makin’ ya feel bettah, Remy?” She asked, leaning her head back onto his chest while she sat in front.

“Yes, it is, chere. Merci beaucoup.” Gambit pressed a kiss to her neck, and watched as the flames danced higher and higher. The chill of Christmas was gone, and he knew it was not about the temperature outside.

The fires went out a few hours later, but they continued watching until the wooden structures had been reduced to cinders. Only then, did everyone begin making their way in.

“Gambit,” Storm called, “thank you for letting me help you both. That was a lot of fun. Perhaps we can do it tomorrow for actual Christmas and you two can make some gumbo?” She left to go back into the warmth of the school before her after that.

However, the couple was stopped by Charles before they made their way in. “That was wonderful, you two. Next time, let me know first. I almost panicked when I saw the smoke rising.”

The couple looked at each other with matching smirks. Stepping forward, she rested her hand on the professor’s chair to lead them all inside. “Tell me, Charles. You ever had proper gumbo?”

Oh yeah. Remy was definitely in love with this woman.

[poppitron360]

Lost Trio Week- Day 1: “Wilderness”

@lost-trio-week

GLEESON HEDGE, STATUS REPORT 09/07:

As reluctant as I am to be posted at this backwater dumping ground of a school, I am pleased to inform you that I have been keeping a close eye on the new students here.

No clear suspected Half-Bloods yet, but I’m still getting adjusted to the smell of this place. I’ll sniff ‘em out sooner or later, don’t you worry.

GLEESON HEDGE, STATUS REPORT 09/21:

A particular girl has caught my eye as a potential demigod. Name’s Piper Mclean, daughter of famous movie star Tristan Mclean. Daddy paid a lot of money to shove her here. Known kleptomaniac, has a scary-good way with words. Last week, she suggested a specific place to shove my baseball bat, and she sounded so persuasive I was almost convinced to do it… I didn’t, though. But I almost did. Powerful stuff.

No mother that we know of, which is a good sign. Probably dyslexic, too, if her worksheets are anything to go by. I’ve put her through the wringer in gym class, and she’s lasted well. Indications of enhanced speed and strength.

I’ll keep an eye out for any others, and will report back soon.

GLEESON HEDGE, STATUS REPORT 09/30:

I’ve been watching closely to see who Mclean keeps company with. Demigods tend to gravitate towards each other.

She’s made friends with this delinquent boy, Leo Valdez. Mother died when he was small, has spent the last seven years between foster homes, correctional schools, and the missing persons’ registry. No father on record. Diagnosed ADHD. Definite Half-Blood smell.

He’s a smart one- got a good knack with gadgets. He reprogrammed my megaphone last week. He’s also a troublemaker. Him and McLean are always up to mischief, doing my goatly head in. I fear Cabin 11 should get a bunk ready.

In other news, I’ve started to sniff the scent of a monster, perhaps masquerading as one of the students. But it could just be the axe body spray some of the kids wear. When can you get me outta here?

— — — — — — — — —

GLEESON HEDGE, MISSION LOG 12/19:

Today, I woke up in a canary cage.

Jason, Leo, and Piper have apparently been on this valiant mission to rescue me from the clutches of the storm spirits. With their top priority out of the way, the four of us are now on a quest to rescue Hera.

After me and Jason bravely fought off King Midas (back from the dead, by the way), narrowly escaping danger within an inch of our lives, we made it safely to the riverside, where we are now attempting to douse Mclean and Valdez who have been unfortunately gold-ified. More to report soon.

— — — — — — — — —

GLEESON HEDGE, MISSION LOG 07/18:

One month into our voyage on the Argo II. Iris messages are becoming few and far between as we get further and further away from home.

I spent my day helping Valdez with one of his damned “projects”. He’s been all over this ever since he found those Archimedes stuff under Rome. I don’t understand it.

Kid’s been anxious. I can tell. I can’t blame him, considering how much he’s got on his shoulders. I know he feels guilty about what happened to Percy and Annabeth. I’ve been trying my best to console him, but I think he thinks it’s pity. The best I can do is help him out with his stuff, keep him smiling, and make sure he remembers to eat.

Jason and Piper saved me a job today, as they came in at around midday with some food for him. The three of them really seem to care for each other. In my 107 years of living, a sight like that is always nice to see.

I patrolled the deck in the evening, with the help of the Di Angelo boy. He puts on a mean exterior, but he’s a sweet kid, and was eager to help me out when he saw me patrolling on my own. I’m not as skilled an empath as some of the other Satyrs at Camp, but it doesn’t take much to feel the waves of pain coming from the boy. After going through Tartarus on his own, and then being trapped in that jar… I can understand why he acts closed off. I would, too.

It won’t be long until we reach the House of Hades. Soon, this will all be over.

— — — — — — — — —

Dear Chuck,

You are one week old today. I look into your eyes, and I see so much joy, so much wonderment, so much love for the world. I hope you never come to know how cruel life can be.

Today, I went to a kid’s funeral.

The aftermath of the battle hit both camps hard. Many demigods lost their lives. A few of them I knew, a few I didn’t. One of them struck me more than most.

As I watched the shroud of the Half-Blood I’d sworn to protect go up in flames, I thought about that joy, that love for the world in your eyes. Leo Valdez was a brave boy, but I could tell he’d had a hard life. I never want you to experience the pain he went through.

There’s talk he might still be out there. I’ve heard rumour that the Seven managed to acquire a physician’s cure, but I’m sceptical. I don’t think anyone could have survived that explosion, not even a son of Hephaestus. But Leo’s a fighter. He’s strong, and I just hope he’s strong enough to make it through.

He gave up his life only a few hours after you were born. He was only sixteen, and even though that’s a lot compared to our lifespan, it’s still so young. Too young.

You will grow up in a safer world because of his sacrifice. I want you to remember that.

I was his protector. And I failed him. I promise I will not fail you.

Love,

Papa xxx

— — — — — — — — —

Dear Clarisse,

I’m not sure if you’ll get this with coms down, but the primitive mortal postage system seems to be a bit more reliable than the usual forms of contact. I did manage to receive your letter last week.

Yes, Mellie is recovering nicely- now four months post-partum! Little Chuck has begun teething (so if this letter is a little chewed up, that’s why). He’s hitting all his milestones and is well on his way to being a healthy little boy. You should see his little face when he tried tin cans for the first time!

On a sadder note, the search for Valdez still turns up nothing. Piper’s close to giving up, but Jason, bless his bleating heart is still adamant that the boy’s out there. If you ask me, it’s putting a strain on their relationship. They’ve been fighting more and more. I’d be surprised if they make it ‘til Christmas.

I wish I could be a glass-half-full kinda goat, but as it’s been four months since Leo disappeared, and with no sign aside from that initial message, I hate to admit it but I’m losing hope. And I can’t help but feel like I’m responsible. I was his protector. I could’ve done more to stop it.

There’s something suspicious going on over here in Southern California. Jason and Piper are looking into it, but until we know more, there’s nothing I can really report.

Work as Mr Mclean’s life coach is same as usual.

How is University of Arizona? Are you blending in with mortals enough? If anyone gives you crap, I can beat them up for you.

Lots of Love,

Hedge.

— — — — — — — — —

GLEESON HEDGE, STATUS REPORT 04/02:

Jason Grace is dead.

If Grover managed to get home before this letter did, you probably already know.

Leo Valdez finally made it to us, with news of the siege at Camp Jupiter. It’s not looking good. Apollo is heading over there to fight.

Leo seems relatively unharmed considering his brief death.

That’s now two demigods that have died under my protection, despite Valdez’s resurrection.

I will be escorting the Mcleans to their new residence in Oklahoma, and will continue to serve under the guise of Mr Mclean’s life coach, keeping a close eye on Piper and Leo while they’re away from camp. After the war and the fight with the Triumvirate, I don’t think they can take any more onslaught from monsters. I’ll keep them safe, don’t worry.

— — — — — — — — —

GLEESON HEDGE, STATUS REPORT 09/01:

I saw Leo and Piper off on their first day at New Rome University today.

I’m glad we got that minor issue of having blown up the city out of the way in time for Valdez to start his freshman year. That kid’s got a bright future ahead of him.

Sometimes I hate being an empath. There was a bittersweet aura around us all, remembering the friends who never got to make it this far.

Nobody said Jason’s name. But I could feel it.

I’m glad these two get a second chance. A chance to keep living. They’re lucky that way.

I hope they do okay there. I really do. I’m gonna miss those two.

Now that they are securely out of harm’s way in the city, I think it’s safe to say that they are no longer under my protection.

And I think it’s time I retire.

— — — — — — — — — — — —

Happy Lost Trio Week!!!

Day One and off to a great start! I am so excited for this week and can’t wait to read all y’all’s fics and see your fanart when I get back from Hiatus.

Some bits with the timeline are probably wrong. I went of Fandom Wikipedia as there’s not much Coach Hedge stuff across the books, but they don’t deal in exact dates (I had to write the dates the wonky American way for the sake of realism but just know that it pained me to do so).

Thanks to @demigod-shenanigans for helping me out with this. The hcs really helped.

I love Hedge. I really do. And I think his relationship with the Lost Trio is super sweet. He does care for them, despite how much of a liability he seems. The fact that Leo died the same day his kid was born is never brought up.

Something a little different to what other people might be doing, I hope. I know it’s not “technically” lost trio but Coach Hedge is the unofficial 4th member and he doesn’t get enough recognition. And showing the Lost Trio through his eyes was quite fun.

@euryvices-deactivated20241019 @deciduowl @lavenderfairiez @ottpopfic @ginnyluna @groverapologist @echo-stimmingrose @keefessketchbook @sleepyycapybara @123letsgobestie @kaleidoskuls @fairytalesociology @four-leafed-queer-gal @child-of-helios @green-tea217 @puzzled-pegasus @twomanyfandomshelp @lokiwiiiiiii @yoshuko-ew @frayna-of-the-hollow @via-rant @daonedaonlyskh @hadeslegacyhephgirl @siimplyapril @pjowasmy1stfandom @thetourturedwritersclub @m-for-now

[drewtober]

Hey! Sorry this has taken so long--had a lot of family things come up one after another after another, and lots of work on top of all of it. Been kinda one thing after another these past few months. 🤣

TAGGING AND SUBMISSIONS

I'll open up submissions on October 1st for any pieces if anyone wishes to submit, and I'll check the tags once a day for reblogging. The tag is #Drewtober2024.

LOCATIONS

This list is mainly for quick reference or to spark an idea, but if I’ve forgotten a location in a game that you wanna illustrate go for it! I’m doing this from memory.

SCK - Paso Del Mar High School, Maxine’s Diner, Aunt’s Eloise’s house

STFD - The studio, Dwayne’s apartment, Aunt Eloise’s apartment (this is the only game I've not played, so I'm unfamiliar with all the locations).

MHM - Nancy’s room, the basement, Abby’s room, the library, the parlor, the foyer

TRT - Nancy’s room, the foyer, the library, the locker room, Marie's tower

FIN - The Royal Paladium

SSH - The exhibits, the Henrik’s lab, Nancy’s hotel room, Henrik’s hospital room, Joanna’s office, Alejandro’s office, Taylor’s office

DOG - Sally's cabin, Mickie's speakeasy, the ranger station, the woods, Em’s Emporium

CAR - Nancy’s hotel room, Joy’s office, the security office, Ingrid’s workshop, the various rides in the amusement park, Rolfe Kessler’s workshop

DDI - Katie’s boat, Jenna’s cafe, Whale World, the lighthouse, the beach, the sea caves, the smuggling tunnels

SHA - The ranch house, the stable, the farm yard, Mary’s gift shop, Dry Creek, the cliff dwellings

CUR - Nancy’s room, Linda's room, Jane’s room, the conservatory, the library, the foyer, the alchemy lab

CLK - The Lilac Inn, the tunnels, Josiah's house and barn, the mini golf course, Jim's office, Bogart's pond

TRN - The dining car, the sleeping car, Camile’s car, Jake’s car, the map room car, the dancing studio car, Fatima’s shop, the crypts

DAN - Minette’s workshop, the reception office, Dieter’s studio, the park, the sewers, Cafe Kiki, Jay Jay’s house, Noisette's stained glass safe

CRE - Big Island Mike’s property, the beach, the Hilihili labs, the volcano, Three Finger Rock jungle, Dr. Kim’s base camp

ICE - Nancy’s room + all guest rooms, the fishing shack, the Trapper Dan's Needle, Julius's cabin, the basement

CRY - Renee’s room, Bruno’s room, the library, the miniature’s room, the foyer, the garden, the cemetery, Bernie’s log and swamp, Zeke’s

VEN- Nancy and Helena's room, the ca, the flower stand, the various plazas, Antonio's office, Casa dei Giochi

HAU - The foyer/downstairs, Brendan and Caitlyn’s room/tower, Fiona’s room, the library, the castle grounds, Fiona’s bog hut, The Screaming Banshee Inn, the laboratory

WAC - Nancy and Corine’s room, Mel’s room, Izzy and Leela's room, the basement, the library, the common area, the courtyard

TOT - The basement, the farm house, the barn, the wind mills, Pa’s shop, Pa's museum

SAW - Nancy’s room, the baths, the hidden bath’s, Yumi’s apartment, the gardens, the bento stand, the pachinko parlor, the ryokan foyer, Rentaro's workshop, Takae's classroom

CAP - Nancy’s room, Karl’s office, the gift shop, the security booth, the monster’s camp, the dungeons, the glass blowing studio, the dining hall, the courtyard

ASH - River Heights police department, Toni's ice cream shop, Alexei's antique shop, Brenda's van, Nancy's house, original town hall

TMB - The camp tent, the tomb

DED - Ryan's workshop, Mason and Ellie's offices, the break room, Gray's security room, Niko's office and secret lab, the main lab

GTH - The cemetery, the crypt, the dilapidated house, the mansion parlor, the kitchen, the basement, Charlotte’s room

SPY - Nancy’s hotel room, Bridget's hotel room, Cathedral HQ and server room, Moira’s house, the training grounds, the cookie stand, the train station

MED - Pacific Run camp, the puzzle palace, the Annunaki star cave

LIE - The museum, Melina's office, the stage, the sets, the Niobe's pottery workshop

SEA - The Missti Skip, the Heerlijkheid, Magnus's cabin, the caves, the gift shop

BONUS DAYS/ALTERNATIVE DAYS

MID - Mei and Jason's hideout, the Parry house, Lauren's shop, Olivia's shop, the museum, the courthouse, the Hathorne estate and grounds, the cemetery, the tunnels,

KEY - Hungerkünstler Cafe, Oskar's exhibit, Zlaty Custom Jewelry, Aparát, Radek's marionette theater, Prague castle courtyard, St. Vitus cathedral, the alchemy lab, the astronomical clock

[fictionadventurer]

Time to talk about James Garfield! He's nearly forgotten today because his presidency was cut so short, but he might be one of the biggest over-achievers ever to reach the White House, and I'm overdue to tell you about his life story.

James Garfield, like Lincoln, came from a dirt poor background. Pretty sure he was the last president to be born in a log cabin. His father was a farmer who died when he was three years old, leaving him in the care of a mother and older brother who doted on him. They recognized that he was smart and wanted him to make something of himself, but young James had read a few too many books that romanticized life at sea, so at sixteen he ran away from home to get the closest possible version of that experience that he could manage--working on a boat in the Erie Canal. He came back home within a few months because he nearly drowned, and by then, his mother and brother had scraped up enough money for him to go to school.

After high school, he went to a prep school where he worked as a janitor to pay for his tuition. At least, for the first year. By his second year, the school decided to hire him to teach six classes! And later added two more because he was so popular! While he was still attending the school as a student, mind you! He went to college, became the principal of his old prep school, studied for the bar and became a lawyer, got involved in state politics, and then left to go serve in the Civil War, where he became the youngest-ever major general. Then his friends asked him to run for the US House of Representatives, and even though he refused to leave the army to go campaign, he won the election. Then he did leave the army to join the House, where he served eight terms.

Which brings us to the 1880 presidential election. Which was an absolutely wild and crazy political battle within the Republican Party. The big issue was civil service reform. Up to this point, all federal employees were appointed by the ruling president's party--it was called the spoils system, because "to the victor go the spoils." The president (or whoever he gave hiring power to) could appoint whoever he wanted to any government position, regardless of whether or not the person had any relevant experience. By the 1870s, this system had become a cesspool of corruption and cronyism, but the Republicans were split on the need for reform. On one side, you had the Stalwarts, who wanted to continue with business as usual. On the other side were the Half-Breeds, who wanted to replace the spoils system with a merit-based system where employees would have to meet certain education or experience requirements to get the job, which they could then stay in regardless of which party was in power.

Anyway, when it came time to choose the presidential candidate, the battle got ugly. On one side, you had Senator Roscoe Conkling of New York, a political boss who maintained his power through the spoils system, who was there to nominate Ulysses S. Grant to a third term. On the other side, you had James G. Blaine (the Magnetic Man from Maine), a Half-Breed who'd been Conkling's archnemesis ever since he called him out on the Senate floor as a seedy, ruthless villain.

James Garfield had no interest in being president; he'd seen too many of his friends (including James Blaine) get their principles warped by their obsession with the presidency, and he wanted to stay well away from all that. He was there to nominate John Sherman (younger brother of a certain famous Civil War general). Sherman, for his part, knew that Garfield was the more popular politician from Ohio, and hoped to neutralize him as a potential competitor by asking him to give the nominating speech.

So anyhow, at the nominating convention, Conkling gives this rousing speech in support of Grant that has the crowd going wild. There’s no way Garfield's going to be able to follow that. So what he does is look at the crowd and calmly talk to them about how there may be a lot of noise and emotion here today, but this isn't where the election is going to be won. Votes are going to be cast by ordinary Americans living on their homes and farms with their families, and they need to know that there's someone who can serve their interests in the White House. The crowd is spellbound. Garfield then asks them, "What do we want?" To Garfield's horror, one guy yells out, "We want Garfield!"

Garfield made it clear he was there to nominate Sherman, and finished his speech. Then the voting began. Round after round after round of voting, with no one candidate getting enough votes to win the nomination. Garfield got one vote in the third round. In the thirty-fourth round, he suddenly got seventeen votes, as delegates desperate to escape the gridlock decided to throw some votes behind a different name. Garfield stood to protest, saying that no one had the right to vote for him since he hadn't consented to be nominated, but the president of the convention, who secretly liked Garfield more than any of the other candidates, told him to sit down.

By the thirty-sixth vote, Garfield won the nomination. He reluctantly accepted.

When Garfield won the presidential election, it was the first time since the Civil War that a president had been elected who had support in both the North and South. Garfield was seen as a man of the people, living proof of the American dream that any man, no matter how lowly, could one day rise to become president. As Garfield rode in the carriage toward the White House for his inauguration, a man in the crowd yelled out, "Low bridge!" as a reference to Garfield's now-legendary past as a canal worker; Garfield grinned, took off his hat, and ducked.

Once he became president, Garfield became embroiled in the war over civil service reform. Since it hadn't been reformed, he had a constant stream of office-seekers coming to beg for appointments to federal positions, and a lot of federal positions that needed to be filled. His archnemesis was Roscoe Conkling; Garfield was determined to enact civil service reform, and Conkling wanted to do all in his power to prevent it. Conkling forced Stalwart members of Garfield's Cabinet to resign, and he went to war with Garfield over the filling of federal positions.

And that's an interesting story, but the more important part of the battle was with another person entirely, who Garfield had never met. Charles Guiteau was a madman with a checkered past, who'd been involved in strange sex cults and in running various scams--mostly running out on rent payments. During Garfield's election, he gave one speech in support of Garfield to a tiny crowd, and Guiteau, in his delusion, thought that under the spoils system, this entitled him to a reward. He wanted to be a foreign ambassador, and he came to the White House every day seeking a meeting with someone who could give him the job. He was mostly stopped by Garfield's secretary, and his attempts to get help from the vice president and various Cabinet members also failed.

At last, Guiteau became frustrated, and decided that the only thing to do was kill Garfield. God wanted to maintain the spoils system, he thought, and the only way to do that was to get the reform-minded Garfield out of the way so the spoils system advocate Chester Arthur could be president. Guiteau tracked the president to a couple of spots in Washington, but always found a reason not to take a shot.

But on July 2, 1881, when Garfield was at a Washington train station, Guiteau shot him in the back. The bullet went past Garfield's spine and lodged in his pancreas. Robert Lincoln--who happened to be traveling with Garfield--secured the services of the doctor who had treated his father. The wound was examined--the doctor poking unsterilized fingers into the bullet hole--and Garfield was transferred back to the White House for treatment.

If the bullet had been left alone, Garfield would most likely have made a full recovery--nothing about the wound was fatal. Unfortunately, he was president of the United States, and doctors were determined to give him intense medical care--which meant that he died through medical malpractice. The head doctor thought these new-fangled ideas about "germs" and "sterile procedure" were conspiracy theories, and certainly not worth the extra work of sterilizing everything. The wound was repeatedly probed with fingers and unsterilized instruments, which led to a massive infection that spread through Garfield's whole body.

Alexander Graham Bell invented a medical detector to locate the bullet; it would have worked, but Garfield's doctors--convinced they knew the path the bullet had taken--only allowed Bell to scan the right side of Garfield's body--and the bullet was on the left.

Garfield was unable to keep down solid food. He dropped from 210 lbs to 130 lbs. Massive pockets of pus formed throughout his body. He was literally rotting from the inside. Yet by all accounts, Garfield remained cheerful and kind to everyone who cared for him.

Garfield was a healthy fifty-year-old man, and he rallied a few times, but he wasn't able to overcome the infection. The heat and humidity of Washington only made it worse. An air-conditioning device was invented and installed to keep the room cool, but at the beginning of September, the decision was made to transfer Garfield to a house at the New Jersey seaside, in the hopes that the cool sea breezes could aid his recovery.

Garfield left Washington on September 6. A special train line was constructed that took him right up to the door of the house; when the train got stuck on the final hill, a crowd of hundreds that had gathered in support of the president worked together to push it to the top. Garfield's final few days were spent in the pleasant seaside atmosphere, but it was of no use. Garfield died on September 19, 1881. The country plunged into mourning--this president with so much promise, this man of the people, was dead, only six months into his presidency.

That short term means that Garfield is mostly skipped over in American history classes today, but he absolutely should not be. His rise from poverty to the White House is inspiring, and his death is tragic. There is so much to his story, and it's a shame that it gets shuffled aside in the grand sweep of American history.

[the-fandom-queen]

Seth and his Brothers

“Seth Gordon was one of the first Foxes signed to Palmetto State University. Born and bred in Birmingham, Alabama, he was the fourth of seven sons.”

Sibling relations that haunt the narrative but it’s me thinking about the Gordon brothers.

Stetson

Jeremy (only one canonically named)  

Beau

Seth 

Charlie

Cooper

Tommy 

Stetson - Oldest brother (6 years older than Jeremy, 10 years older than Seth)

The first child

Never got along well with his parents, specifically his dad.

Moved out as soon as he turned 18, 2 months before his dad left

Seth only holds vague memories of him playing baseball and teaching him to swim. 

Jeremy (4 years older than Seth)

Dark brown hair, Dark brown eyes, crooked nose from that one time Seth broke it, 5’11

Became the oldest when Stetson left

Used to look up to his big brother, even though Steson never really wanted to hang out with his younger brother a lot.

Became the ‘Man of the House’ and parent overnight the day after his 12th birthday

Had to figure out how to get 5 boys under the age of 10 to eat vegetables and shower

Of course he resorted to violence

In all seriousness, this child was just going off the examples he had

Being raised in the south by parents who clearly didn’t have much concern with their children’s development, Jeremy had already received his fair share of spankings

And to a child that age, there really is no difference than a spanking for misbehaving and being hit for no reason

So he used the skills he had to make sure Seth and his brothers didn’t wander too deep into the woods and hosed themselves off in the backyard before they tracked mud into the house

Missed his fair share of school to take care of the others

The baby’s got hay fever? That pre algebra test is not of importance right now

Never cared for school too much anyway, always preferred to work with his hands

His dream is to build himself a log cabin out in the woods and live out there alone

Favorite color is green, favorite season is summer, favorite genre is dad rock (they parentified the fuck out of him)

Is closest to his brother Beau

Is aro ace but doesn’t really care? He’s never had an interest in dating or sex but he chalked most of it up to just being to stressed

Goes to trade school once he finished high school and becomes a welder

Doesn’t leave home until Tommy is 16. He feels like he can’t

Tries to keep in touch with all of them but sometimes it's just too much

Has a gorgeous cocker spaniel he named goldie. 

Beau (3 years older than Seth)

Dark brown hair, Dark brown eyes,freckles, 5’10

Brother closest in age and relationship to Jeremy (it helps that they shared a room growing up)

Was the quiet one out of the older 4

Hates haircuts so his hair is grown out all skater boy mophead-like (teen wolf season 1 scott mccall haircut fr)

Picked up odd jobs throughout middle and highschool to help his mom with the bills

He’s been a tutor, a shelver at the library, a busboy, you name it and Beau did it at 13

Knows how to sew really well from constantly patching up everyone’s clothes

Because he’s quieter and one of the shorter brothers, the average outsider assumes he’s fragile

He’s actually the most violent of them

Him and Jere once broke the dining room table roughhousing because Jeremry tried to force him to cut his hair

Beau picked up the scattered splinters with a bloody hand while Jeremy tried to fix the table 

The table still wobbles a bit

Got into a lot of fights at school, ended up being recruited for his school’s wrestling team

Was almost a state champion but got ill before his last match because Cooper brought home some stomach bug and got everyone in the house sick.

Moves in with his friend when he graduates and takes classes at community college

Comes home every now and then to make sure they don’t burn the house down or kill each other

Favorite color is blue, favorite season is winter, favorite genre is country (couldn’t free him)

Is now an ESL teacher at an elementary school

Has an on again off again girlfriend (like his brother) who is a librarian.

Charlie (one year younger than Seth)

Dark brown hair, Hazel eyes, uneven undercut and snakebites 5’11

Was once Seth’s other half

They shared everything growing up: a room, clothes, music tastes, girls

Got into less trouble than seth in school but outside of it was a different question

Got caught shoplifting and vandalizing buildings like every tuesday

Once tried to steal the tip jar at this small grocery store but the owner caught him

The owner, Owen, offered to workout some kind of deal with Charlie instead of calling the cops (after charlie begged him not to, because one more report and they were going to send him away, potentially for good-)

So charlie starts working at the store

Granted, he’s making pennies on the dollar but he's 14 and he doesn’t mind too much

Owen is the first kind male authority figure he’s had like ever so he enjoys spending time at the store.

And this has nothing to do with owen’s son whose the same age as charlie and really cute 

He kind of hates school but only goes because he truly cannot give the local sheriff's office another excuse to get him in trouble

He does enjoy witnessing the store function as a business though

The budgeting, the inventory, payroll, he wants to learn all of that

Seth thinks he’s a maniac but what does Seth know? He literally joined the chorus 

Graduates school by like the skin of his teeth but when he does Owen promotes him to associate manager (he’s the longest working employing second only to Owen himself)

Obviously doesn’t go to college but when Seth gets recruited to Palmetto he’s decked out in orange trust

He makes it to one game prior to Seth’s 5th year and he lost his voice cheering (they lost)

Is queer but also doesn’t care, he just likes what he likes and never really tells anyone

Favorite color is red, favorite season is summer, favorite genre is rock/midwest emo (same as Seth’s) 

Floats in and out the house after graduating depending on if he is currently in  a relationship and if he’s staying with them

Cooper (3 years younger than Seth)

Light brown hair, Dark brown eyes, almost constant tan somehow, 6’1

You know how Noah Kahan said “Attention deficient kids in their gym clothes”? Yeah he was singing about Cooper 

The brother with the most property damage under his belt and not even because of anger issues and lashing out, he’s just impulsive as fuck

He’s also very angry but that doesn’t really change anything, he is a Gordon after all

Truly spent the first 16 years of his life just doing shit and trying to avoid the consequences

Gives him great uncle lore though

Wanna hear about the time he played Mercutio in his school's production of Romeo and Juliet? What about the time he stole a catalytic converter? 

The others are kind of scared of him only because they never know what to expect

He joins his school’s JROTC his junior year and uses the national guard as a reserve officer to pay for college.

He majors in kinesiology and becomes a physical therapist 

He moves out after he gets his degree

He’s not particularly close with his brothers but he loves them all

He’s shit with birthdays so he usually doesn’t remember to call them until 2 months after

They don’t mind.

As mentioned before, he does have adhd

His guidance counselor points it out to his mom but she never does anything with that information so he never gets an official medical diagnosis

Or medication 

Safe to assume he tried his fair share of substances as a teen

He had to stop all of that when he started basic though, and he will admit he’s better for it

He finally gets an official diagnosis and medication after he completes his service obligation

Favorite color is orange, favorite season is summer, favorite genre is rap (is also a surprisingly big folk pop fan)

Has 2 orange cats names lulu and lemon

Romance status: crushing on the receptionist at his job, hard.

Tommy (5 years younger than Seth)

Dark brown hair with gray streaking through, Hazel eyes, birthmark on his cheek that looks like a bruise, 6’0

Is the youngest Gordon brother

When he was first born they used to just call him “the baby” and the nickname has stuck, despite tommy’s protests

Started graying early at 16 like all the other Gordon brothers but chose to not dye his hair and cover it up like they do.

Dyslexic and chronically online, the worst combination

Looked up to Seth and Charlie the most growing up

He played exy for a bit because Seth did but he didn’t really care for the sport

Took up soccer and found a really joy for it

He was also really good

Is probably the loudest brother

Felt quite lonely growing up because he was treated as the baby brother everyone had to take care of but no one wanted to hang out with

Is disastrously bisexual but prefers to not say anything and let others figure it out on their own

Loves birds but couldn’t have one growing up because Jeremy and Seth were always bringing home random dogs and natural enemies you know

Gets a soccer scholarship to Palmetto (almost didn’t take it because he hates orange)

Majors in Real Estate and becomes an agent when he graduates

Favorite color is blue, favorite season is fall, favorite genre is indie (his spotify wrapped is the most random thing ever)

I could talk about how they react to Seth’s death but in my mind he’s still alive! So instead I will use the idea someone else had i forgot who, where Seth survived the overdose but was in rehab for the year so he has to repeat his 5th year.

Jeremy’s phone wakes him up in the middle of the night and he’s pissed. He looks over and sees a number he doesn’t have saved but looks vaguely familiar. He answers and it's Allison, Seth’s sorta girlfriend.

She’s crying

She tells him Seth overdosed and that this one is bad. (She seems to be holding something back but he doesn’t push. He assumes it’s just preemptive grief)

He asks her if there’s anything she needs from him but he already knows her answer, they’ve done this dance before, this isn’t Seth’s first overdose.

She just tells him to stay close to his phone and hangs up.

Jeremy sighs, sends a text off to the family group chat saying Seth overdosed and went back to sleep. Sue him, he has an early shift in the morning.

Midway through the next day he gets a text from Allison telling him how Seth is being forced into rehab for the next 9 months.

He leaves work early and goes to Beau’s school because clearly this was more serious than he thought

He feels guilty for not being more concerned earlier but he’s in Alabama and Seth is in South Carolina there wasn’t much he could do but now that he’s really thinking hecould’vediedBeauhepropbablyalmostdied-

They take off work the next day and drive up to SC

By time they get there it's too late and Seth has already been admitted into Easthaven and he is not allowed visitors.

They still see Allison though, who fills them in more about Seth

She’s clearly upset but it feels like more than his overdose, or even his institutionalization 

She doesn’t say anything about it though

They go home and tell the others everything they know

So they can’t see Seth until April of next year

They write him letters instead

He never responds, they don’t know if he’s not allowed to send mail out or if he just doesn’t want to

They tell him everything in the letters

Beau talks about his girlfriend and their latest fight, Charlie about how Owen fell on his ass the other day, Cooper about his ass of a professor, Tommy about his offer to play at Palmetto, Jeremy about his dog and her beef with the neighbor’s Siamese cats

They write and write and what they don’t know is, Seth reads them all

The letters help keep him sane in there

And when he is released in April, right before his birthday, they all come down to pick him up

[blueiscoool]

Lost and Found: Bottle Hunter Digs Extraordinary Farmland Treasures

Tom Askjem is a time traveler. Every May to November, he disappears into the bowels of the earth, descends to depths of 13’-plus, and returns to the surface with treasure—bottles and glassware from farming’s past.

After 1,800 pits and hundreds of thousands of relics, Askjem is equal parts archeologist, thrill seeker, and mole. Muscle on dirt, the North Dakota farm boy has turned an addiction into a career, multiple books, and a captivating YouTube channel with millions of views. However, Askjem seeks more than glass.

“I’m digging for adventure, history, and love,” he says. The past is in these holes and there are countless numbers of them across farmland.”

Time to hunt with a master.

The Infection

On the flats of extreme eastern North Dakota’s Traill County, Askjem, 32, prepares for a dig trip. “No mountains and no hills in the Red River Valley,” he describes. “You can see your dog run away for days. The land is mostly featureless, other than a few big cottonwoods and shelter belts where farms used to be.”

A mop of blonde hair sits atop a 6’-tall, lanky frame as Askjem saddles his pony—a Honda Civic. At the current mileage rate, the Civic will be junkyard fodder before it has a scratch: 60,000 backroad miles added to the odometer in the past six months.

Askjem piles layers of gear into the trunk, including three of each tool for insurance: shovels, pronged garden forks, trampoline pads, probe rods, buckets, plastic scoopers, trowels, tents, sleeping bags, blankets, pillows, air mattresses, clothes, and waterproof, Redwing leather work boots.

“It never gets old,” he says, wearing a wide grin. “I caught the infection when I was a kid.”

Digging Bodies

Pushed from the Grand Forks area by the historic Red River flood of 1997, Askjem moved to a farm outside Buxton at six years young. The main property was an 1878 homestead—a progression from sod house to log cabin to the present standing 1898 farmhouse decked in Victorian-era woodwork and hardware.

Surrounded by history, including the skeletons of old wagons and rusting machinery, Askjem explored a 5-acre patch of woods on the property, and chanced on a garbage dump: pop bottles and trash.

Askjem dug.

“I went deep and found stuff going back to 1898. When you’re a kid living in the country, there’s no going down the street and there’s no hanging with friends to play video games—you make your own adventure. I started hitting up all the farmers I could find for leads.”

Behind the wheel of a rattling go-cart, Askjem sought Buxton old-timers and collected tips on abandoned houses. “They all helped me,” he says. “Nobody cared where I hunted because I was just a little kid exploring for all the right reasons.”

“I’ve still got an elementary school journal with an assignment describing my weekend,” he adds. “I wrote, ‘Me and Mom dug up old bodies.’ The teacher marked my paper out of concern,” Askjem describes, with an easy, deep chuckle. “I meant to spell bottles, not bodies. But it shows I was truly hooked.”

Indeed. Wonderfully hooked.

Soft Landing

Why are bottles buried under farmland and old house sites?

Prior to plastic and synthetics, glassware held everything: medicine, hygiene products, alcohol, soda, and beyond. Glass was it.

Additionally, prior to waste disposal services, homeowners discarded trash on-site—in back yard outhouses, trash depressions, burn pits, and wells or cisterns. In short time, the various ground receptacle spots were filled and forgotten.

“Let’s say, for example, a family moved in around 1880,” Askjem explains. “That site likely has two or three outhouse locations prior to World War l. The outhouse spots filled up at a rate according to family size. I dug one farmhouse site that had six outhouses in a 10-year span. Folks went into the outhouses and threw away bottles: medicine, opiates, beer, whiskey. It was convenient and private, and had a soft landing, and got covered quickly. Even now, the bottles often are still preserved.”

“Generally, these houses also had a burn pit and/or dump pit. In the early days, they burned all trash in the stove for heat. Also, homestead bucket wells were filled up with trash and bottles once they were replaced by pump wells. Cisterns also were eventually filled up, but most of those are associated with houses in town.”

And the sites remain, he emphasizes, hiding intact relics beyond the reach of farm machinery or tillage equipment.

X Marks the Spot

Location. Location. Location. Other than a tip or invitation, how does Askjem find dig sites?

X marks the spot, at least in the county courthouse or public library. He spends winters poring over early property transaction documents. “I look at lot sales. If several lots sold for $100 each in 1880, but one sold for $1,000 in 1885, the price climb tells the story and likely represents a building location.”

“I also read old newspaper archives, looking for hotel or business advertisements,” Askjem continues. “Then I can look up the proprietor’s name and keep tightening the scope, narrowing down the exact building location.”

“Every single house is different, but generally, in the countryside, outhouses were 30 paces out the back door. In the city, where most lots were 140’ long, outhouses could be as close as 5-10 paces.”

Confident of a site’s potential, Askjem first asks for permission to dig from the landowner. “Property owners are always so kind to me and I don’t hide anything I find. They’re curious about what is in the ground, just like anybody else.”

Second, he grids out the site. “I put down markers 2 paces apart, maybe 20 paces long. I push probe rods into ground and feel for compaction differences. Depending on the location, I’ll call in and have utility lines marked out for power and gas.”

Decked in Levi’s and a tank-top, it’s time to tunnel.

Claustrophobic Comfort

Shovel in hand, Askjem descends into a layer cake of dirt: black topsoil to brown-colored clay to telltale ash to a use layer containing treasure.

“Generally, I go deep to find old items in quantity. The earliest bottles were used to the last drop by farmers and thrown out empty. Therefore, when they froze in brutal Dakota winters, the glass didn’t break from liquid expansion.”

As Askjem extracts glass vessels from the dirt and grime, his encyclopedic knowledge registers with each find. He recognizes the type, manufacturer, and age. Ink bottles, hygiene bottles, medicine bottles, beer bottles, soda bottles—and far more spill from the holes.

“I find patented medicine bottles across the country, but my favorite are soda bottles because they are unique to their locale and have character. The old soda bottles are usually marked with the bottler and town name because they were returnable.”

The outhouse pits are typically 6’-deep at home sites, with an average size of 6’-by-4’-by-3’. “I’ve dug ghost towns, dug saloons, train depots, and pool halls that were 12’ long, 4’ wide, and 8’ deep. I remember a hotel pit that was 20’-by-20’ and 8’ deep. There was a military fort with pits behind the barracks that was 12’ long, 4’ wide, and 13.5’ deep: That was a week’s worth of digging.”

Askjem’s subterranean realm provides no comfort to the claustrophobic. At 8’-9’, he braces the holes with woodwork. “I’m in a solid clay base that doesn’t cave, but I have a healthy respect for the ground’s limitation. Sometimes, it looks like I’m digging a rabbit hole.”

Preserved in nature’s freezer, the artifacts unearthed by Askjem often are in phenomenal condition.

“Pieces of newspaper can still be read; bottle labels are legible; white lime used in decomposition is visible; and undigested seeds are everywhere. Even 120-year-old human waste sometimes is perfectly preserved and still smells like hell. I wear a hydrogen sulfide respirator in those cases.”

“It’s all there; almost like it was dropped yesterday.”

Ghosts in the Ground

In 2022, Askjem began chronicling his digs via a YouTube channel, Below the Plains, and soon captured millions of views. At two posts per week, he gins footage at a steady rate to feed the algorithm, a tough task considering the ground in his geography is frozen from mid-November to mid-May.

Additionally, Askjem has written two in-depth books (Nebraska Soda Bottles 1865-1930 and A History of North Dakota Bottling Operations 1879-1930) and has more on the way. “I put the bottle prices in the books because they can sell for a whole lot and I always tell the landowners. Listing prices draw criticism, but that’s important to me because it helps preserve the item, and preservation of history is what drives me.”

Covered in dust or mud at the end of each day in digging season, Askjem is highly respectful of what he finds—almost reverent after 1,800 digs. “I appreciate everything I uncover because it represents a part of someone’s daily life and existence. There’s nothing wrong with coveting bottles, but I’m really in those holes for the moment of discovery.”

Even when not digging, Askjem is on the move, surfing on the coasts or river diving for lost cargo. In the decades to come, will he continue burrowing into the past? “Twenty years from now, I hope I’m still digging and there’s nothing I’d rather be doing right now.”

“There’s not an infinite amount of lost bottle sites, but there’s certainly an incredibly high number,” he continues. “There were 300,000 homestead farms in North Dakota with a minimum of one well, one outhouse, and one trash dump. And that doesn’t include towns where most of the population lived. There are millions of these sites in North Dakota and far more in other states.”

Respect to a freewheeling hunter like no other. Bottles draw the eye, but ghosts draw the heart: “The moment never gets old when you uncover a bottle and find that history,” Askjem adds. “Never.”

By CHRIS BENNETT.

[dozing-marshmallow]

Hi 👋 , could you write a fic of chris and wife! reader visiting his homeland of newfoundland and meeting his family. (btw you're like the #1 chris fanfic writer on this app, keep up the amazing work!!)

#1 Chris fanfic writer is a MASSIVE compliment, thank you so much!😳 this is a new request, but my brain was suuuuper fixated on it, so I hope you enjoy!💗

CHRIS MCLEAN AND WIFE! READER VISITING NEWFOUNDLAND ONE SHOT

We're heading down to Newfoundland That rocky eastern shore!

That song’s been stuck in your head since you found out Chris was taking you on a private trip to his homeland.

You kiss his cheek,“You were such a sweetheart for bringing the contestants to your childhood home, Chris!”

He didn’t see what the deal was,“It’s nothing. You get to meet my mom and know Jerd a little more. The rest of the family aren’t important.”

“Hold up, Chris.” your grave sounding words draw him away from the window,“That sentence doesn’t feel right.”

“What do you mean?”

You weren’t gonna comment on Chris devaluing the position of his other family members, since it was his family, it was his business,“Well, we’re married... Doesn’t that mean I should’ve met them during our engagement or at the wedding?”

“Uh...” he chuckled,“There’s a reason why it’s us going to them, (Y/N).”

You put the pieces together,“I won’t ask anymore.”

Without Total Drama, this visit was a lot more ordinary yet unfamiliar. The smell of marine clogs your nostrils and seagulls’ squawks still active at this time of day clanged your ears.

Chris knocks on the barn door of his old home, opened by an auburn haired woman in a matter of seconds. Wrinkles lightens her face, almost like they mainly came from her constant joy rather than age as demonstrated with her loving greeting to Chris, making her title in his life clear.

Your anxiety in making a good first impression was compressed when she called your name more cheerfully, wrapping her arms around you,“Welcome welcome, I was wondering when Chris would finally bring ye home! Look at ya, Chris was right when he told me he married a bonnie lass!”

You looked at him for help. What did she say?

“She means an ugly cow.” by that look on his face, you knew he was teasing.

“Ohh patch aht, Chris! Ye ken what I meant when I said that.” his mother scolded him, turning back to you with a smile,“I meant yer a fine woman, love! Maybe too good for my wee Chris here.”

“Mommm...” now he knew how it felt hearing something dislikable, pouting at her,“You don’t mean that.”

“Aw stop yer whinin’, mac, it’s been a long time since yer introduced me to somebody I liked, hasn’t it?” she nudges him gently with her knuckle, addressing both of you,“Come in, I’ll fetch the Screech!”

Here was what the rest of the contestants didn’t get to see. A warm cabin-like house where most of the walls and stairs were made from logs. A lot of fish decor and though there wasn’t much interior walls, it was easy to tell where the kitchen and living room separated at. It was strange that Chris had not lived here for a long time, yet his scent was still so fresh among the furniture.

“Your mom is so nice, Chris!” you exclaim to your husband, looking around the well kept lounge, with three sofas and a coffee table,“You didn’t tell me she was so cheerful.”

He chuckles, shrugging,“Now you know where I get my smile from.”

And you recognised a duplicate of that smile in a photo frame, a teenage looking boy standing next to a woman who had a big resemblance to his mom. Both of them looked forward to the camera, appearing to be outside on a warm crowded day,“Was this you?”

He looks at it and nods,“That was on the final day of high school. It’s weird looking back on how I used to look without my stubble. I was still a hunk either way!”

You look at another frame, above the fireplace, of another younger Chris, dressed in a grey sweater and his hair medium cut. He looked about seven here,“Aww.. And this was you as a little boy. Your face was so round.”

He admires it,“It sure was. I remember shortly afterwards, I lost my first tooth.”

Then caught your eye, a time where he didn’t have any teeth: his mother, with much more frizzy hair and large hoop earrings, holding a baby close to her chin. They must have been at a beach, the woman’s vest being an appropriate choice for those outdoors.

“Aww, you were such a cute baby...” even with the low quality cameras had back then, you could still make out the the docile face Chris once had. You beamed at how he started off in the world as this beautiful baby boy.

He grins at the petting compliment,“The best thing on the planet was once so small you could pick him up in your arms!”

That’s still possible, but anyway! It was very clear his mom loves him, with a lot of moments of his childhood put up on show in her living room- you were happy that your husband had such a good relationship with one of his parents,“You love your mom a lot, don’t you?”

“How can’t I? She’s an amazing woman who’s done a lot for me. Probably the reason why I have some humanity left in this calamitous heart.”

Said woman returns back with a tray of four bottles of Screech,“Jerd should be here in ‘bout two shakes! Leave that bottle for him.”

“Thank you, mom.” though, he proceeded to walk out,“Bladder’s full.” Ah.

In the meantime, she invited you to have a seat on one of her comfy beige sofas. You decided to use this time to ask her some questions,“So... Ms McLean-“

“Katherine, dear!” your mother in law interrupts you kindly.

Your appreciation rose. She was as pellucid as when she first saw you come with Chris,“Thank you, Katherine. How long have you lived here in Newfoundland for?”

“Been living ‘ere before Chris was born! This is where his dad’s from and he wanted to stay so I figured I ought to come live with him.” Katherine replied, taking a sip of her Screech.

“Wow! And your accent is still very fresh.” you make an obvious comment on her heritage.

“Well lass, when yer getting old, it don matter where you are. Your roots will always wanna come back up to enjoy the review of yer life.” she winked,“I have learnt a bit about how these people in Newfoundland parts talk though! For example, they like to say “‘Ow’s she cuttin, me cocky?” as a way to say “How are you, my friend?” Funny, isn’t it!”

Your face stretches in surprise,“I never would have thought that was how they asked how you’re doing! Though, these kind of idioms are what makes cultures so beautiful and unique, right?”

“For sure!” her amused smile tones down to a very welcoming one as she put a hand on your shoulder,“Aw (Y/N). I really wished I was there to congratulate ye on the wedding day. I woulda loved to seen you in that lovely white dress.” her smile folds away, almost like she was lying to you...until she added,“My Christian on the other hand had to go looking like a pure bampot with all that gel he keeps using. Woman to woman, dae ye dig it?”

Before you could answer, her son returns to the living room, not pleased with the first words his embarrassed ears encountered,“Of course (Y/N) likes my hair! I totally looked way more gorgeous than I normally do on the wedding day, and that’s beyond science! Have you seen the photos?”

“Oh I saw everything.” you knew this was his mother for her to not be fazed at all by his self absorbed utterances,“That don’t mean ye should be using that damned gel every day! Dae ye ken what will happen if ye keep going? Yer gonna lose all this nice hair I used to comb for ye everyday and yer gonna be as bald as a nickel! And I know that’s not what ye want, but I canny tell ye what to dae, it’s yer life and I’ve done me part as yer mom while ye were a wee bairn.”

Chris didn’t like being told what to do, but he made very few exceptions to people’s advices, like from his mother,“Okaaaaay Ma... I’ll lay off the gel every two days. Happy?”

She kisses him apace,“That’s my boy!”

On cue, the short cousin arrives, looking identical to the first time you saw him from third season, in his sun coloured raincoat to his fiery red beard.

“Jerd!” Chris goes over to his ginger relative and clasps hands with him,“How you been?”

“Well, b’y!” he keeps his large genetic smile as he saw you,“Ah, the pretty lady! ‘Ow's she cuttin', me cocky?” he miraculously asked, enthusiastically shaking your hand.

“Best kind b’y, thank you!” never has been a better time to be prepared!,“We saved you a bottle of Screech.”

Jerd notices and he grabs it off the tray immediately,“Cheers! I’m just ‘bout gutfounded for some of this good o’ stuff!”

You weren’t thirty minutes in your stay at Newfoundland, but you already decided. You needed to visit them more often.

[whencyclopedia]

John Marshall

John Marshall (1755-1835) was an American lawyer and statesman, who served as the fourth chief justice of the United States Supreme Court from 1801 until his death in 1835. Considered one of the most influential chief justices in US history, Marshall participated in over 1,000 decisions, including Marbury v. Madison, which established the principle of judicial review.

Early Life & Revolution

John Marshall was born on 24 September 1755 in a log cabin in the frontier community of Germantown, in Fauquier County, Virginia. He was the eldest of 15 children born to Thomas Marshall, a land surveyor who, over the course of his career, would accumulate some 200,000 acres (81,000 ha) of land spread out across Virginia and Kentucky, making him one of the largest landowners along this frontier. Thomas Marshall, who had worked alongside a young George Washington to survey the land that would become Fauquier County, eventually became one of the county's most prominent citizens, serving as its first sheriff and later as its representative to the House of Burgesses in Williamsburg. In 1754, Thomas married Mary Randolph Keith, a reverend's daughter who was related to both of Virginia's leading families, the Randolphs and the Lees. She gave birth to John a year after her marriage; through her, John Marshall was a distant cousin of Thomas Jefferson, his future political rival.

Despite the pedigree of his mother's side of the family, John Marshall did not receive a gentleman's education. Instead, he was raised on the frontier, first in the wilderness of Fauquier County and later in the Blue Ridge Mountain region. He was easy-going, with simple tastes in clothing and food, and a manner that was rustic yet pleasant. His black eyes were said to have been full of intelligence and good humor, and his boisterous laugh was enough to put anyone at ease; one future colleague would later recall that Marshall's laugh was "too hearty for an intriguer" (Wood, 434). He was mostly home-schooled by his parents, although he did receive a few months of formal education at an academy where he befriended future president James Monroe. His education was cut short, however, by the outbreak of the American Revolutionary War in 1775. His father had supported the Patriot cause and joined a militia regiment leaving John, dutiful to both father and homeland, to quickly follow suit.

In 1776, Marshall was incorporated into the Continental Army as a lieutenant. In the autumn of 1777, he served under General Washington in the Philadelphia Campaign, seeing action at the Battle of Brandywine and the Battle of Germantown. When the army hunkered down for a bitter winter at Valley Forge, Marshall suffered through the cold and the hunger, shivering side by side with the other men; when the winter snows thawed into springtime mud, he drilled with them as well. In 1780, having risen to the rank of captain, Marshall was furloughed from the army and went off to the College of William & Mary to study law. As he left the military behind, Marshall reflected on his wartime experiences and came away with two beliefs that would greatly impact his career. The first was a fierce admiration for George Washington, whose integrity and determination led Marshall to believe that he was "the greatest man on earth" (Wood, 434). Second was a belief that the nation, were it to survive, needed a strong central government; Marshall's experience at Valley Forge, where Congress had struggled to keep the army supplied with adequate food and clothing, had been enough to convince him of that. Armed with these convictions, Marshall set out to embark on a legal career, one that would shape the destiny of the infant United States.

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[whereisyourstar]

Just Thirty Steps

Part 2 of the Stand By, Hold Back, Be Patient series

Part 1 Part 3

Rating: SFW

Word Count: 4.3k

Warnings: Mentions of abuse (parent to child), referenced home invasion, fear, reader's continued bad financial decisions, the slow burn isn't even a puff of smoke yet, overzealous italics

Fear is a known quantity. A turbulent childhood exposed you to the concept early—any child of divorce, especially a long overdue one, knows that particular flavor of fear. It stayed with you in your teen years, when you found yourself so completely under your mother's thumb that you could barely breathe. It followed you to the city, where you'd been happy for the first time in too long, ensuring you make its acquaintance in anxiety, in decision paralysis, in losing friends. It made a home for itself in that shitty rented bedroom, first in the personal bite of poverty, then in the invasion of your space, your sense of security. The incident. The attack.

This was supposed to be different. This place, your cabin with its gruesome past, the quiet woods, your sweet dog, was supposed to be safe. You had been safe here. You'd kept to the routine, kept to yourself for the most part, hadn't caused trouble, had been smart, and yet—

It's broken. You look out the windows obsessively and the press of the forest is claustrophobic around your home. There's a sinisterness out there now, you've seen it firsthand, heard it breathe, bargained with it, and you cannot unsee it. That silence you liked so much before is now strained between the next knock of tree limb or shift in the foundation to makes you jump out of your skin.

You do think of running. It's what you do when you're scared, it's natural—scared of your parents fighting, so you're the first to school in the morning. Scared of your mother, so you run as far as you can from her. Scared of the city, so you run to wilds. Scared of the wilds, so—what? Where do you go from here? You put everything into owning this place, so sure of it, and you don't see a clear path out.

Sometimes you glance at your phone, at the messages and calls piling up from a number you haven't had the guts to block yet. You could go home. Back to the town that reminds you so much of Crystal Lake, where your mother never left and would invite you back with open arms, then make you pay for it every single day. You've been granted a chance to leave, for whatever reason, and these are your options: admit defeat, prove your mother right, and go home with nothing. Or stay.

Is your pride worth your life?

You get as far as picking up your phone before you stop, breathe, and hold yourself back from wrenching it at the wall instead. The phone is a useful tool no matter how much you hate it, and you don't have tantrum repair money just now.

It takes two days of huddling in fear just to get that far, and it's like a switch is flipped in your brain immediately after. The safety is gone from this place, so what do you do? How do you make it safe again? How do you protect yourself from something like Jason Voorhees, the newest iteration or the ghost?

The next day is spent researching. If you learned anything while pursuing your unused Music Theory degree, it's that you're a subpar student but a damn fine researcher. So you hunker down and look up everything on your house, comparing blueprints (courtesy of the now-defunct New Beginnings Development Co.'s public plan submissions to the town of Crystal Lake) to advice online. Your door locks are infamous in the locksmith community for being particularly easy to break (great), but your windows are actually pretty high-quality. The outer walls are comprised of thick, sturdy oak logs, sourced directly from the small clearing the cabin sits in, and sealed to withstand floods, high winds, and the occasional determined animal. Ditto with the roof, and you're actually impressed with New Beginnings—for a scummy development company, they actually put some real money down building this place. If it weren't for the location and the murders, you're certain it could have easily sold for over a million, billed as a rustic second home for city-weary socialites. Which, well. You certainly saw the appeal, and barring the murderer in the woods, still can't believe you got this place for what you did.

You write down exactly what you need—replacement locks, replacement keys, power tools you've learned to use from videos—and call up the hardware store in town. The older woman on the other end redirects you to a chain store forty-five minutes out of town and gently insists on getting a locksmith, to which you say you'll think about it. No way are you trusting this to someone else, your every neuron hates the idea of letting someone have access to your house, to these needed locks, but you don't say that part aloud. The bored employee who gets the phone at the chain store puts you on hold for twenty minutes while he finds the items you're looking for, but he comes back successful, and that's all you care about. "Perfect," you tell him, already standing from your computer chair and stepping into your shoes. "Can you hold all of that for me for…two hours? I'm pretty far out, but I promise I'll be there to get it." The employee says something about being off shift in thirty, but he puts your stuff under the desk and slaps your name on it all. Heracles, awakened from his nap by the sudden movement, sits up and tilts his head at you curiously. And damn, you never thought you'd be this kind of person, but you can't just leave him here for that long. Not with what you both know lurks out there. To the employee, you say, "Ah, wait—are dogs allowed inside?"

Shoes on, Heracles harnessed and leashed up, keys in hand, hunting knife strapped to your left hip and hidden by your t-shirt, all that's left to do is…go out there. The truck is parked next to the right wall of your house, under a little awning that just covers the cab. It's thirty steps, maybe less if you carry Heracles and use every inch of your stride to hustle to it. Thirty steps. You check the window near the front door, peer from behind the curtain as conspicuously as possible. No shapes in the forest, no white masks, no viscious knives. A fat, brown little bird sits on a branch just outside and chirps cheerfully, like nature itself is teasing you for being so nervous. It's just thirty steps.

You open the door, usher yourself and Heracles out, and slam your key into the lock the same instant you close it. Normally you would turn it three times, listening for the clunk with each turn, but you don't have that kind of time. God, your hands are already shaking. You turn, scan the forest, heart racing impossibly fast, and still nothing. Ten steps. Heracles stops to sniff a tuft of grass and you can hear your own pulse. Twenty steps. The truck is right there, fucking beautiful in all its promised faded sanctuary. Thirty, you twist your key in the lock, Heracles jumps right in and you silently promise him an entire chicken breast all to himself for being such a good boy, drop into the seat, close the door. The lock clicks. You turn the engine over on the first try and only jump a little when the casette that came with the truck starts up its folksy crooning. Seatbelt goes on, gear shifted, and you're rolling down the grassy tire-trail that serves as a road to and from the main road.

It's only when you allow yourself that sigh of relief that you catch movement in your rearview mirror. You watch in horror as Jason just walks out of the woods directly in front of your house and stands there, watching your truck as it rumbles away. He's illuminated by a midday sun, the details of him brought out by it even as you leave him behind. Tall, but you knew that, and dressed in a bafflingly mundane green work shirt and dark brown carpenter pants. The hockey mask is there, as expected, and his weapon is firmly sheathed on his belt. For some reason, that scares you more than anything—a man like that could kill you with your bare hands, you're certain. Had he been watching you? But Heracles hadn't reacted at all, his tail high and wagging with the simple joy of being outside.

You feel his eyes on the back of your neck the entire time you drive.

That bored employee, bless his soul, kept his word about hiding your items behind the counter. You give your name, pay—all the while wincing at the necessary addition to your credit card debt—and consider asking about one of the electric chainsaws you saw walking in. Better not—even if you could afford something like that, you're more likely to hurt yourself trying to wield it than successfully scare off Jason.

You aren't particularly anxious to get back home, so you let Heracles wander the store, then the shopping center it's situated in. He turns heads—he always has, that bully breed reputation precedes him—but those brave enough to ask if he's friendly are always treated to a thorough assault of sniffs and hesitant tail wags. There's one woman with two kids that is so kind, so respectful in directing her children in how to pet Heracles without scaring him, that you're tempted to hand over his leash and walk away. He'll keep those children safe, you knew that even before he flopped onto his back so they could rub his belly, and maybe this lone woman could benefit from some companionship? Whatever life they can give him, it's better than the one you're taking him back to. Will begging for his life even work a second time?

But the family leaves and your mouth stays shut. You can't shake the sense of shame that grips you for not taking that chance. You can't escape your situation, but maybe he could have. As an apology for being such a selfish owner, you buy him a too-expensive hotdog from a nearby truck and let him eat it in three bites, stroking his silky ear the entire time.

On your way back, you wonder if you shouldn't call the non-emergency line in Crystal Lake and ask for an escort to the cabin. Even if you don't fully explain your reason, you doubt it's the first Jason-related anxiety call the department's gotten. Probably not even the first of the year.

Something in you is…resigned, though. You're either about to die horribly, or you're not. You hope it's the latter, else all this planning and researching ways to fortify your house has been an exercise in futility, but if it's the former…well, then you don't have to worry about it anymore. It's the exhaustion that constant fear begets, that numbing, but recognizing it for what it is doesn't change your decision. Still, you rewind the cassette and let it play in its entirety twice on the way home, and by the second time around you know enough of the words and melodies to sing along.

Heracles, who had been sound asleep in the passenger seat for the last leg of the drive home, sits up ramrod straight as you turn onto the not-really-a-road. He stares through the windshield with that preternatural focus from before and whines, high and tight.

"He's out there," you whisper to him, knuckles white on the wheel. "I know."

The rest of the ride is silent. Only the dull roar of the truck's engine prevents you from jumping every time a too-near branch thwips against its body, and you silently thank your past self for not shelling out an extra 500 for a newer, quieter car. You're announcing your presence as obtrusively as possible out here, but when you have every reason to believe you're going to be murdered as soon as you step out, frugality is all the comfort you're likely to get.

It's well past sundown when you back the truck cab under its awning. Heracles' whining has progressed to a full, trembling rumble and, more than anything, your heart breaks for him. "Thirty steps inside, buddy," you tell him. "Just thirty steps."

Your hand barely touches the door handle when there is a massive thud and the entire truck jolts on its suspension, dipping backwards severely, and you know before you even look back. You just see the legs in your back window, standing in the truck bed, which means the rest of him is leaning over the top. An image, violent as it is startling, flashes behind your eyes of that machete puncturing through the truck's roof and finding its home in the top of your skull.

Heracles is with you as you throw open the door and sprint for freedom. Your bags of hardware and tools are heavy, but you've got them slung on your arm and keys in the other hand. The truck door stays open, let the bastard keep it if he wants. Fifteen steps, you can make it in fifteen at this stride.

Something slices the air directly next to your head and your steps falter, then twist, as you flinch. It's over, this is going to be the death of you. You hit the ground hard and the breath is knocked out of you. Precious seconds are wasted scrabbling in the grass to get your balance back, getting as far as your knees when you see that deadly machete half-buried in a trunk a few feet away. And, terribly, there's Heracles standing at that same tree's base, his hackles raised and head down as he growls mercilessly at the man behind you. If that's Jason's only weapon, if you can get ahold of it before he does, maybe you and Heracles will be enough to scare him off. Maybe—

As you push off from the ground, you swing your bag-laden arm behind with all your might and feel it connect with something solid. Jason doesn't make a sound, but you know the combined weight has to be close to forty pounds, which should be enough to knock anyone off their balance, even if only for a moment. The momentum half-turns you as you launch forward, and you have just enough time for your heart to sink when two giant hands snap painfully around your upper arms and bear you back down to the ground.

You cry out before the incoming ground can empty your lungs a second time, and distantly you hear Heracles barking, but mostly you just hear that breathing. It's all around you, you can feel it on your face as Jason takes you to the ground and keeps you there. Nowhere else to look but into the terrible emptiness behind the hockey mask's eyes, nothing to do but struggle—in response to your foot finding some purchase in the dirt, enough to lurch you a touch, he pins your thigh down with his knee. You cry out again, pain and panic, and realize belatedly that you have your breath again.

"Heracles, run!" you scream, stretching your neck and craning backwards to try and see him. A glimpse, and he's just standing there, right next to that fucking machete that will almost certainly kill him, and you want to cry. "Run! Heracles!" He barks, ear-splittingly loud, then whines twice. Another glimpse, he's moved backward a pace. A grim hope spreads through you and you try, one last time. "Go! Go, Heracles, just go!"

He goes. You hear his paws scrambling in the grass, then the crash of underbrush, until all that's left is Jason's panting and your own shallow breaths. A silent thank you to a god you don't believe in for letting your boy escape his fate twice.

You crane your neck back, finding it unstrangled, uncrushed, completely untouched, and feel a cold chill when you see that Jason is staring into the forest where Heracles just ran.

He's off you instantly, all the pressure, both physically and in presence alone, disappearing as he stands and begins to stomp after Heracles.

You gurgle something like a no as you try to get your aching limbs to cooperate. Nothing's broken, you're numb with fear but you know you'd feel that, but everything aches where you've been pinned. Just getting onto your hands and knees is a trial, and Jason is already gone by then, but you still have to try. A faltering effort gets you to your feet, and you straighten every inch of your bruised spine into standing. Your target is just ahead—he left his machete in the tree when he went after your dog. His mistake. The handle is grimy in your bare palm, filth of the sort you're glad you can't clearly see coating its surface, and it's slick enough that you almost lose your footing on your first pull. Second attempt, two hands, and you finally feel how much resistance you're up against. Third attempt, two hands, and a leg braced against the tree's thick trunk and—like it's butter, the machete slides right out.

It's huge. Easily three times the size of your hunting knife, and even that had felt like a dangerous amount of naked blade. This thing is monstrous, the edge wickedly sharp and obviously maintained. You dedicate an entire second to looking it over before giving a practice swing—so much lighter than you thought it would be—and swallowing your abject horror at what you're about to do. Just go into the woods to hunt a killer with his own weapon. Hurt him, kill him, maybe manage to scare him off, but you have to do it at all costs. For Heracles.

You get three shaking strides in when the underbrush crunches directly to the right and suddenly he's there again, stepping out between the trees. And, if you hadn't been slammed so hard into the ground before, you could almost believe that that's your dog he's bringing back to you. Silky tan fur, boxy head, pink nose, and bright, trusting eyes. Your dog, your Heracles, walking sedately next to Jason Voorhees, content to be led by the leash in his hands.

It makes no sense. Like before, that night on the porch, you suspect a trick. What's the angle here? Get your dog back, just to force you to watch while he kills him? Keep Heracles for himself after he's gotten rid of you? Heracles is remarkably calm, hackles down and only a little white around the eyes to be standing next to a complete stranger, and a male one at that—could Jason have given him something? Sedatives?

Jason stares at you, the machete in your hand. You hold your ground, stubborn and paralyzed, and try to keep the tremble out of your voice when you say, "Let him go."

Even in the barely-there light, you can see him lift his massive hand and point directly at you. The machete. A trade.

Okay. Give the killer back his weapon so he can have an easier time killing you after. You're obviously not going to do that, but—

Oh. Jason tosses the loop of Heracles' leash with surprising accuracy, lands it directly on the tip of the machete, and you scrabble to take the loop without slicing a finger off in the process. You look up and Heracles is already trotting over, tail starting to wiggle as he noses into your shin. "Holy shit," you breathe, bending at the waist to smooth a hand over his silky coat to check for damage. Nothing, save for a twig caught in his jowls, which you pick out and toss away without thinking. "I've got you, buddy, it's okay, it's—" But this is no time to celebrate, not with Jason looming and breathing so heavily just steps away. You straighten, make what passes for eye contact with that mask. "I'm going to pick up my keys, unlock my door, then put this machete on the ground, and you are going to wait until Heracles and I are back inside to get it. Deal?"

It's insane even as you say it. Absolutely nothing is stopping him from stepping over and crushing your head in one hand right now, you have no bargaining power here, but he brought your dog back and you have to believe that means something.

Jason Voorhees stands utterly still, not even the rise and fall of his chest visible in the darkness, when he purposefully dips his head into a nod.

You keep him in sight the entire time you walk backward to get your abandoned keys. Machete up, even as your aching arm quivers. A spare thought goes to the bags, their contents now spread out on the ground, and you have to mark them a lost cause. Your fault for not putting that into the deal, not that you'd much like to scrounge around for anything with this man watching you. Then it's up to your door, where you fit the key into the lock without looking on your second try, and you herd Heracles in. Drop the machete in the gravel-dirt that makes a walkway, slip behind the door, and slam it shut. Just like that other night, you turn its shitty unreplaced lock, then drag your table in front of it.

The developers at New Beginnings failed to give your front door a peephole, a fact which you're glad for, because it means you're not tempted to press against the wood and peek. You listen at a distance from the door that you hope means a machete won't come slicing into your stomach from the other side. No chance in hell you're going to stand by a window, despite how nice and safe your windows are, and watch that way. After a considerable amount of time, minutes ticking by in your head, you hear the gravel crunch once, twice. The sound of breathing behind the door, faint but there, then another shifting crunch, and nothing else.

When you finally back away from the door, Heracles looks up at you and wags his tail, jowls falling back into a perfectly happy smile. Jesus. This dog will be the death of you yet.

The sofa is your bed for the night, your actual bed all but abandoned at this point. You curl against the plush arm and lay your head down, but you're too tense to even think about sleep. What the hell was that? He was going to kill you, he had you pinned to the ground, forcing you to be aware of just how breakable all your limbs are. He threw that machete just a breath away from your head! But, for the second time, you are coming out of an encounter with a half-mythical local monster no worse for wear. Your body hurts, and you know you'll be more bruise than person in the morning, but you're not dead. How many people can claim that?

You stroke a hand down Heracles' back, comforted by his unconscious weight sprawled across your legs. How many people can also claim that Jason Voorhees found their dog in the woods and brought that dog back unharmed? Never mind that you were trying to get Heracles away from him in the first place, purposefully driving him to the trees…the question still stands. Not to mention how many people have successfully bargained with the man.

Exhaustion gets the better of you after hours of this. It's a blink-and-wake sleep, where one second you're bathed in the nebulous safety of your cabin, blink, then you're being licked awake Heracles. Sun pours in through the windows, burns your tired eyes, and you flail a bit in confusion before conscious thought kicks back in.

Routine. Get up, check the locks, feed Heracles, feed yourself. Admit that you need to go to the store and actually grocery shop—what's a little more credit card debt. Change out of these dusty clothes, you slept in yours last night, and do a thorough self-inspection in the mirror after a shower. Bruises on your upper arms, purple and ugly and painful. Bruises on your spine, and another on your thigh. It aches to walk, but the fact that you can is a significant win in your book.

You need to get to work, you've been half-assing it these past few days—understandably, but your supervisor is going to notice soon—but something nags at you. All that research, all that motivation from yesterday to try and make this place safe for you…that's still a viable plan. And all that hardware is still sitting out there, scattered in the dirt, assuming Jason hasn't helped himself.

You have shoes on and keys in hand before you can stop to think about it. Just a quick step outside, grab what you can, and scurry back in before anyone can stop you. Easy. "Stay right here," you instruct Heracles. "Back in a sec."

Open the door. Slip out as quickly as possible. Close the door. Perfectly to plan, and you almost don't care that you forgot your hunting knife, except something catches on your shoe and you barely avoid tripping on it. Heart pounding, you glance down accusingly and find the handle of one hardware store bag caught on the tip of your shoe, its twin standing upright next to it. That is...not how you remember it.

It's all there when you crouch to take inventory, even the receipt. You count it twice, and every door lock, key, and tool you bought is in the two bags like nothing ever happened. You know you didn't leave it all like this, but can't make your brain reconcile the memory to the evidence right in front of you.

Maybe movement catches your peripheral, maybe it's just a sense, but you look up and see him there, standing very still in the treeline. An imposing, ragged creature, watching you just as much as you're watching him. You stand, a prey animal caught in the sights of a predator, and no claws to protect you.

"I see you, Jason."

[sfwregressionfanfictions]

Growing pain: Johanna Mason x little reader

Summary: Johanna and (Y/N) find ways to live after the pain.

Wc: 4k

Tw: hunger games details, mentions of death and gore. Less that The Hunger Games , but more that the average agree fic.

I feel like I’ve lost control of everything since the games ended and the rebellion succeeded. After years of torture, it was over but I wasn’t over it. Mentally I was never free. I feel it lurking around every corner, in my brain and physically.

I see the faces of the people I killed in the arena and for the rebellion. I see the faces of those I lost: Finnick, bogs and so many others. I see the torture I endured in the capital and in my district. I cannot sleep due to this haunting.

I’m lucky enough not to be alone. After the rebellion won the therapist said both Johanna and I should not live alone. We both quickly decided we tolerate each other well enough, so we would rather live together than have a “babysitter”. We still have mandatory therapy appointments but most are done on the phone.

Johanna was loud and harsh a majority of the time, she seemed to have calmed down slightly since our freedom was established. She was outspoken still but she was honest and genuine. She always tried her best to calm me during my episodes, she has improved her ability to empathize but still struggles.

She says I help ground her too. I never feel like I do, but I suppose I can’t determine how she feels. She sometimes talks about how we met, she talks about how she saw me during my games while she was the mentor, and she discusses the past and who we were. Johanna has grown nostalgic, talking about the innocence in my eyes during my first interview. It’s hard to remember. I’m only 21 now, but it’s hard to remember when I was a child or when I had a childhood.

Even before the games, I fought to survive and help my family survive. I trapped animals by the fences and worked for anyone willing to pay. And not to talk about the horrors from after my first game.

Now we live in a house on the edge of the woods in district 7. Johanna has started building a log cabin farther into the woods, as she has wanted to do for a long time, it’s part of her therapy I think. I meet with my therapist meets with me every Saturday morning, and so far she’s said I’ve made no improvements.

She wants to actually meet in person this weekend so we can try a new method. I agreed, only because I knew Johanna would be in the woods. She would probably stay close enough to hear me if I scream, she’s always nervous to leave me with strangers.

Johanna had left early for the woods, claiming she wanted to get a lot of work done. My therapist showed up with a large bag over her shoulder. She made herself comfortable in Johanna and my living room. She accepts my offer of water, rejecting coffee or tea.

“So how have you been sleeping?” She asks, as soon as I sit across from her.

“Umm… The usual amount… I guess maybe a little more…” I reply shyly. I hated that question.

“That’s good that you are increasing your sleep, even just a little. That’s a huge step for you!” She said, she was sincere, but I always feel like she’s being sarcastic. “What about nightmares?”

“No change,” I said almost too fast. It’s not that there was an increase in number, it was an increase in severity.

“Okay, now I was hoping you would be willing to talk about what you were like before the games?” The therapist asked.

“God it’s been so long, I guess I was a normal child? I mean I had a family, I went to school, worked. I was the average kid in my district.” I reply.

“So what I’m hearing is you never really had time for those key parts of being a kid?” The therapist asked, “Did you feel like your needs were being met in all capacities?”

“Yeah! My family gave me the best life they could!” I yell, I felt like she was spitting on the efforts and the fight they put into providing the life I had.

“I didn’t mean to offend you, I simply meant compared to that of perhaps a capital child!” The therapist explained, “the reason I brought it up is so I could be positive that this therapy had a chance to be helpful.”

“What is this therapy?” I said reserved again.

“So it’s called age regression. It is a coping/therapeutic method that helps you reconnect to your inner child, to a point where you were safe and felt loved.” The therapist explained, “what it is, is you revert to a childlike mental state where you will have a chance to engage with like like you are that age.”

I grumble, almost embarrassed that this is even a suggestion. I think about how Johanna’s therapist told her to build the house she wanted and acknowledge the way she feels. AND I GET TURNED INTO A BABY?

“You don’t seem thrilled by the idea, however, I would really like you to give it a genuine try.” The therapist said, “I won’t ask you to attempt in front of me as I know you aren’t ready for that yet. But I would also like you to reflect if there was any time you might have accidentally or unintentionally regressed okay?”

“Yeah, I guess I can try to do that.” I signed.

“Okay, I will leave you with this bag of different items that might help you regress. And how about we call next week and meet in person the time after that?” She asked.

“Yeah, that will work for me,” I said staring at the bag as if it could come alive at any point.

She was quick to leave after that. Once I was alone, I picked up the bag. However, the door goes flying open, and in comes Johanna. She tried to play it cool, but it was obvious she wanted to make sure I was okay.

“What’s in the bag?” Johanna immediately asked, pointing her ax at it.

“Apparently stuff for a new type of therapy…” I gave up the information.

“Yeah? Morphling? That’s some good stuff to help you forget the pain.” She jabs at herself, she had an intense addiction after she was held in the capital.

“Umm… no… I don’t know exactly what is in it…” I didn’t lie, I technically didn’t know exactly what was in the bag.

“Okay,” She raised her hands as a surrender, “I have to get back to work, but I’ll be back before dinner tonight.”

“Okay, be safe,” I reply.

“Obviously, got a lot to do still!” She replied.

With Johanna gone, I brought the bag to my room. I closed to door and immediately started going through the bag. I was almost embarrassed to say that I was excited, it felt like I was getting lots of gifts.

On the top of the bag, I pulled out fake stuffed animals, a bunny, and a bear. I giggled lightly thinking of how Jo and I presented, the stuffed animals looked like us. I was fast and jumpy during my games, like a bunny. Johanna was strong and sturdy with her axe during her games, like a bear.

I go into the bag again and find a few types of dolls. Then I pull out diapers, I yelp at this. I placed the diapers very far away, I wasn’t willing to try that! I grab another item quickly to avoid lingering on the diapers. The item I pull out is a storybook. It was a picture book, it looked like something I would have enjoyed as a kid.

I dove into the bag again, this time pulling out a coloring book. I could do that and not feel too embarrassed. I continued pulling stuff from the bags, primarily toys, pacifiers, and teethers.

With everything laid out, I decided that I was willing to try the coloring books and teethers/paci tonight. The stuffed animals somehow already made themselves at home on my bed. I guess I should put on something comfortable and try what the therapist said.

Once cozy, I lay on the floor and begin looking through the coloring book. I settle on a picture of a Pegasus with butterflies. I begin coloring the picture, I start on the butterflies, coloring the wings a burnt orange. I was cautious of the edges.

Soon enough, I was done coloring the butterflies and I am feeling slightly fuzzy in the head. It was odd, it felt like when I would go to the parties in the capital and would drink the strange bubbly drinks, that always made me giggly. I was giggly now too. I notice I am not holding the crayon correctly anymore. I am gripping it in my fist, and rubbing it against the page.

I feel light, almost weightless. It is nice to feel so carefree, I am childlike again. I feel like when I was 7. I dive back into coloring, one page turns into two turns into a handful. My drawing begins to ignore the lines and I pick the most fun colors rather than the ones that would work together the best. I start sprawling on the floor, rubbing my eyes with my balled-up fist, and haphazardly swiping my hair out of my face with no grace.

I suppose it must have been a while since I began my session. Because it grew dark in my room, as the light from the window faded out of view. I whimper at the change in light, I feel silly being scared of the dark but I was so small. Smaller than when I was 7, I wanted Johanna. I always felt safe with her. However, I couldn’t let her see me like this. I felt embarrassed that this made me feel better, I should be able to deal with it like every other victor. But here I am sprawled on the ground giggling at the pictures I color, as my thumb migrates toward my mouth. Just as it passes my lips, the slamming of a door startles me. Johanna always was rough on the doors after a long day.

“(Y/N)?” She yelled out from the living room. I freeze, think big thoughts, think big thoughts I repeat to myself.

“Yes?” I yell back, I sounded wrong. I move to get up and go to the door, hoping she wasn’t set on coming into my room as there was no time to get everything hidden before she comes in. I was lucky enough to slip out before she made it to my door. I smile at the sight of her sweaty frame, she had been working hard on the cabin. Seeing her like this was always slightly domestic, she had a slight smile and her axe was left at the door.

“What have you been up to, birdie?” Johanna asked, she called me that as the first time we met, I squawked like a bird. I did not mean to she startled me and now she wouldn’t let me live it down.

“I was doing something that the doc wanted me to do…” I reply shyly, It was scary to talk about treatment. Johanna would want to know, making a comment about ‘supporting’ each other. She acted like it was important to us, but I think she just likes being nosy. “I meant to make dinner, but I go distracted…”

“You sound off, weird almost,” Johanna said bluntly, she didn’t mean it in an offensive way she just spoke like that. “How about we cook up some soup now? We got that rice from district 11 that you liked, we can try to make the rice soup seeder made that one time.”

She always seems to remember the small things that I liked. Last week, she decided to visit Finnick (He was alive but had some nasty scars from the muttations.), and came back with a Tupperware of the same dessert Annie made for her baby shower. I mentioned once that I wish I had the recipe so I could remake it, but I knew it was an important family recipe for Annie so I didn't pry.

“I would like that…” I reply, I sounded small and innocent still like a child. Johanna said nothing this time, I suppose she didn’t care enough to point out that fact.

“Start filling that pot up with water, I’m gonna clean up a little,” Johanna says walking to the bathroom, Johanna has gotten better with showers and water in general. She doesn’t freak out about water she knows is going to touch her, but surprise water still gets to her. Puddles, rain, and any splashes.

Once the pot is filled up, Johanna is out of the shower. She is dressed in a tank top and sweatpants. She looks so pretty.

“All filled up, what is the next step chef?” I asked my voice almost back to normal. I still felt slightly fuzzy in my head.

“You are gonna chop up some broccoli, and I am going to make the base and rice.” She said she was always good at delegating work.

With that, she’s pulling goods out of the pantry and fridge, and I am getting the knife and cutting block. By the time I get the large block of wood, I am pretty sure Johanna made it. If I was being honest, using a knife made me nervous still. I would start to shake and think back to my game.

I stood there staring at the board that had broccoli sitting on it, the knife in my hand. I didn’t mean to space out at this scene. I must have stood there too long, not moving. I felt a hand wrap around mine, as I hold the knife. My head whipped around only to see Johanna’s pity-filled smile.

“It’s just broccoli,” Johanna said, it was blunt. It was meant to be soothing though, it worked better on me than it would on others. Johanna did the leg work of cutting up on veggies while I just leaned back into her sturdy frame.

Johanna was always overly gentle with me, even when she was rough on me it did not compare to the roughness she had towards others. When she had flashbacks or breaks, she never hurt me. She would scream and cry, trying to get me away, but would never hurt me. When we first moved back to district 7, she would rarely shower due to her fear of it, however, I slowly got her to shower. I would stand in the way of the water and she would let the mist that bounced off me hit her. It took a while but she eventually got to a point where she was comfortable showering alone.

“You know you can tell me what your head doctor said to you right?” Johanna asked, before following it up, “Or I could call her and have her tell me…”

“I feel like that would be breaking a rule,” I giggled at her. We placed the knife down as we finished cutting the vegetables.

“Then tell me, little bird,” Johanna said, as she poked at my sides. I felt my face go red and my eyes water a bit.

“You will make fun of me, and then leave me here alone,” I reply looking down at my hands.

“Now, does that sound like something I would do?” She asked as she dumped the vegetables into the soup and left it to simmer. “What if I told you something that my head doctor told me to do that I don’t like?”

I stood there, ‘would I trade a secret for a secret?’. I nod as I pull myself onto the counter to sit.

“My doctor says it's important that I start connecting with more people and try to connect on a different level…” Johanna all but groaned out.

“Like date someone?” I squeak back.

“I suppose, something about taking care of someone I connect with and care about… blah blah blah. Like I pay attention to that.” Johanna huffed, her eyes bearing into mine as to say she wanted to say more, to be vulnerable but wasn’t able to form the words.

“Do you not want to ever have that? Someone that loves you as you love them?” I ask quickly, I was never good at hiding my feelings. I always had an affection for her, although I tried to break it. As Johanna would always refuse to love another person after what happened to her.

“I…” She starts and trails off as she stares into my doe eyes. She bit the inside of my cheeks as her eyes flicker to my lips. “Stop trying to stall, tell me what your stupid head doctor said.

I stare at her for a second before reaching my pinky out and asking her if she would still stay with me no matter what. She connected our fingers with a small scuff at my antics. I soon spoke, “So she said before we could deal with the trauma from the games and the umm… you know afterward. I have to address the trauma I have from my childhood…”

“What the f*** does that even mean?” Johanna says, getting angry that the doctor wasn’t just fixing me. I appreciate that she cares this much, but she was being loud and aggressive about it and it startled me.

“She wants me to create a safe childhood for myself…” I am still picking at my nails but I am hyper aware of her shifting next to me.

“What?” She was confused, I could almost hear the cogs turning in her hair.

“She ummm… she wants me to regress…” I finally say, Johanna still didn’t understand but she faked a smile.

“Well, do you think it will fix the screws that are loose?” She asked, it was all she could, she didn’t know anything about it. All I could do was shrug before turning my attention to getting bowls and spoons.

Johanna did not push the topic anymore, at dinner she talked about how the cabin was coming along. She said that I was going to get to decorate it, she would make any furniture I wanted. It was her way of sharing what mattered to her. Her love language

I told her the following day I was going to go into the market to get groceries and asked if there was anything she needed. She said no like always, she always wanted to be the provider. I only smiled and nodded before resuming eating my soup.

The evening was like any other, Johanna and I sat on the couch. She is reading a book about an adventure that takes place far away from here. I sat close to her, writing a grocery list. My head eventually makes its way to her lap. Her hand finds its way to my head, playing with strands, almost petting me. Johanna and I fell asleep like this, I was the first to fall asleep obviously.

This happens a lot, usually when this happens Johanna will either carry me to bed or if she is tired also she will simply wiggle in. She tries to wake up before me so I dont catch her being soft but sometimes I get lucky. I was not lucky that morning, she was gone by the time I woke up. She was most likely in the woods again or perhaps she went to speak with the lady down the street to get a new ax head made.

I did not fret over her whereabouts, she was strong and reliable. I was quick getting ready, I loved days at the market. Now that people are able to enjoy life, the market was light and airy. Kids played and danced, there was always music playing and the shopkeepers were always throwing extra into my bag, as I was a ‘leader’ in the rebellion. I always refused the gifts, I was never a leader, simply a survivor.

Today I stopped by a small flower stand, I always pause to look at them. I could never get myself to buy them, I feel like a capital citizen using money on lavish goods when people could be starving. I am aware the war is over and the likelihood of starvation is low with the new leadership.

I was in the market for about two hours before deciding to walk back to victors village. I took what was considered the long way back, and it only took an additional 5 minutes. However, I enjoyed the extra 5 minutes of birds singing and trees so tall I couldn’t see the top.

When I returned, I opened the door to find Johanna on the couch reading a book. ‘Must have decided to have a short day,’ I think as I drop the groceries in the kitchen before walking over to see how she was. Once I walk back into the living room, I see the title of the book she was reading. I freeze, “Age regression: explanations and tips”. There were other books all similarly themed.

“What are you doing?” I ask nervously. I nibbled on my lip to keep from attempting to remain grounded.

“Reading.” She said dryly, flipping the page. She was obviously enthralled by the book. She had tabs sticking out of it and a pen in her lap.

“You don't have to read that, you can act like nothing is happening!” I meekly reply. I want to cry from embarrassment, how could I be doing this nonchalantly. This is embarrassing.

“Why would I do that? That is stupid.” She didn’t spare a glance away from the book, “Do you need help with the groceries?”

“Umm… No, I can do it. You don’t have to worry about it.” I sputtered out as she finally glanced away from the page she was on, placing a bookmark in it and stood up.

“Too late, you are stuck with my help.” Johanna grunted walking past me to the kitchen.

I follow behind, looking lost. All I could really think of was ‘why?’. Why would Johanna go out of her way to do this for me? Why did it seem she was enjoying my suffering?

“Ohhh, you got the stuff for the meal we had when Katniss visited! It was tasty. When are we making it?” She asked, snapping me out of my mental tirade.

“We can make it whenever, there isn't a specific day I was planning to make it.” I reply, grabbing the bag that held the fruits I bought us.

“Cool, cool. You should read some of the books I got, they are really informative.” She said, watching me like she did during the 75th hunger games. Cautiously, ready to save me from an unseen force.

“Why did you get them?” I ask, staring at the apples I placed in our fridge.

“Well we are gonna be living together for a while so I thought I should at least know a little of what was going on in that head…” Johanna trailed off, an unsureness settling over us.

We let the silence fill the room until she lets out a forced cough. I popped my head up from were I was squatting, still holding the food I meant to put away. She spoke, “So I read that usually regressors have a caregiver, did your doc say anything about getting one?”

I shook my head, not knowing exactly what it was. I did understand she seemed bitter about it. She seemed glad to know I wasn’t planning to get one, she was rather territorial.

“Okay, for now perhaps, I could take on that role? Then my shrink is happy and I know that you are safe.” She suggests.

“Okay, I suppose that’s okay. I don’t know what that means though.” I said.

“I will teach you”

[gaybaby2424]

(TURNED INTO A STINKY DIAPER FAG BY PRETEENS PART 2)

They got me out of the stroller and laid me down on a blanket as 1 boy knelt down beside me and said I can’t believe what a pathetic shitty diaper faggot you are your 20 and got turned into a poopy baby by 14 year olds how are you so pathetic and as he continued to stare at me he decided to make me smell and lick his surprisingly hairy sweaty pits and his smelly hairy ass. As I was licking his hole he started shitting a lot in my mouth and as I kept gagging on his shit as he finally stopped shitting and went over to a huge box and came back with a bag full of stuff as he started grinning evily he begins to take out pink mittens and booties a short rainbow tutu that says poopy baby then he pulls out 10 filled bottles 2 more thick diapers and locking plastic pants after he put everything on me he sat down and cradled me in his lap as he started shoving the bottles down my throat after the 10 bottles I felt huge and then they packed everything back up put me in the stroller and headed to the middle school playground where I saw my father waiting for me as he was looking down at me in the stroller and he says uhh ohhh what happened to my 20 year old son he looks like a 3 month old. As I cried he lifted my legs up and bent down til his face was right in front of his butt and sniffed the shitty diaper as he puts my legs down he gets undressed and I cry even more. When he finished getting naked I keep staring at his body because he is covered in thick sweaty hair. He notices me staring and says does my pathetic stinky baby want to smell his manly daddy. before I could shake my head daddy lays a big blanket down and put me in the middle laying me on my back and his hairy dick starts to get harder and then lift his hairy arms up and puts my face into his nasty pits and forces me to smell and lick him. And as I worship my own father I cry harder and harder because my own dad is standing over me while I’m in shitty diapers and sissy clothes it’s way too embarrassing to see my dad like this but for some reason when I smelled his pits I loved it and as I greedily smelled and licked his hairy pits and body he turned around and put his hairy ass on my face and I tried to get him off but my dad wouldn’t budge so as my fathers thick smelly hairy ass is on my face I can’t help but start to sniff him and lick his hole but after a few minutes I felt shit enter my mouth and I started to get scared but kept chewing my dads poop after he stopped pooping he got up sat next to me and said is my pathetic dirty diaper faggot son loving his new place in the world. You are gonna be the most perfect stinky baby fag isn’t you son. All I could do was accept my fate and nodded my head and then said well I have an even better surprise for you I am going to be taking you to my home to be the baby of the house and my wife and husband is excited to meet the new baby and even your big brother is excited to meet you as you just stare into space you didn’t realize your were in a car stopping in front of a big log cabin. Dad got me out and carried me inside and put me in my new bouncer and said wait here baby I’m gonna go get your new mommy and daddy and big brother even tho he is actually 12. When he came back with mommy and daddy and big bro they all surrounded me in my jumper and my mommy and both my daddies told me that I have to be good stinky baby for my big bro and daddy told my big bro that I am my brothers slave now and he got way too excited as he picks me up and carries me towards his room