#reaching across the aisle to hateful people or anything

[noneedforbloodpressure]

Community organizing and solidarity would have been a requirement regardless of the outcome of the US 2024 election, but in the wake of the turnout we got, it is ESPECIALLY important.

More than anything else we have to stand together to protect each other, especially the most vulnerable members of our societies. When you are at a loss for what to do, know that you can always look out for one another.

This is your responsibility: stand with your Jewish and Muslim neighbors, with your Black neighbors and other neighbors of color, your LGBTQ+ neighbors, your disabled neighbors, your immigrant neighbors, your poor neighbors, your neighbors who are women. Stand with these groups even when they are not your neighbors - even if they live halfway across the world. We are citizens of the greater world, not just our hometowns and countries, remember that. Defend the rights of marginalized people and protect them from bigotry even when you disagree with them; even when you may condemn an individual marginalized person’s actions for one reason or another. Understand that human rights are unconditional, even if you hate someone or they hate you.

Seek to treat people with compassion. Look internally and put in the work to unlearn your biases and to shift from an individualist to community oriented mindset. Refuse to see people as monoliths, and if you have done harm, work to netter yourself so you will not do so again. The people you hurt may not trust or like you, but put in the work anyways - stand with them anyways - because not only is this the right thing to do, but it is a matter of survival. And in all of that, treat yourself with compassion too. It is easy to despair. It is easy to rage at nothing and everything. It is hard to keep moving, to keep your heart open, to keep caring. It takes work. (And, for the record that work does not mean ignoring or suppressing your anger, grief, or despair. It does not mean your anger, grief, or despair is invalid or unreasonable. That work means learning to deal with them in healthy ways so that you are not controlled by them).

So grieve, reach out, stand together. Be better than what you were. Keep putting one foot in front of the other. The future comes, and we cannot weather it alone. We are stronger together.

[nonbinaryeggrolls]

When Someone Tries to Touch Your Hair

JJK men x gn black!reader

I had this idea for a little while and I absolutely love it. As someone who has to literally fight off ppl with a stick to keep them from basically "petting" me, I thought it would be so cute to write about the JJK men sticking up for you

Warnings: Fluff!, no nsfw but MINORS ARE STILL NOT ALLOWED GO AWAY, angst in Gojo's, specified braids/locs/twists in Toji's, unwanted physical touch, I think that's it!

Starring: Nanami Kento, Toji Fushiguro, Gojo Satoru

MINORS DNI. AGELESS AND MINOR BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED

Nanami Kento

Of course he remains calm, he's always calm. but trust, inside he is BOILING with anger

Kento adores your hair, it sounds weird but he loves watching you on wash day care and tend to your hair with such detail and precision. Apart of it is so he can learn to do it himself one day so you won't have to spend so much time doing it yourself

He's always buying the best products for you no matter how expensive he knows black hair care products can be.

Design Essentials, Creme of Nature, Mielle, jojoba oil, tea tree oil, hair masks, curling cream-- you name it (or even glance at it in the store) he's already bought it for you

So seeing someone disrespect you by even attempting to touch you makes him absolutely livid

Kento: "I don't know I didn't think it was all that great, the plot didn't really make a lot of sense." Kento said as you two walked out the doors of the movie theater.

Y/N: "What?! I thought it was good, you're always hating on superhero movies you're like an old person. Oh! the boba place closes at 9:30 did you still wanna--

"Oh my gosh I just have to ask who does your hair? It's so pretty!" A young woman around your age popped up from behind you guys, her intensity kind of startling you a little bit

Y/N: "Oh, thank you that's so sweet! I actually do it myself" you smiled and she looked at you in astonishment

"Really? Wow it looks like it was done by a professional, I bet it takes you so long!"

Kento's eyebrow raise and body stiffen in an almost defensive way, he was already anticipating what was coming next

Y/N: "Yeah, sometimes it can. It kind of just depends on how tired I am that d--

Your body leaned back as she reached out to grab the top of your head. Kento wrapped his arm around you and pulled you back by your shoulders, shooting daggers at the woman as if she had just committed an unforgivable act

Kento: "Please step back. You don't need to touch them to compliment them." he reprimanded and held a firmer grip on your shoulder. He wasn't going to yell at a woman he didn't know but he sure as hell was going to get his point across

"O-oh Im sorry I didn't mean anything by it. I just think it looks really ni--

Kento: "Then you can think it's nice from a distance, they're not a dog. Have a good night." Kento intwined your hand in his and led you away to the car. You looked up at him and a small grin grew across your face

Kento: "Don't look at me like that."

Y/N: "You're like a guard dog. Like a snappy little golden retriever." you giggled before planting a kiss on his jaw which he returned with one on the top of your head

Kento: "Cmon lets go get boba."

Toji Fushiguro

Rage, Rage, and more RAGE

The anger that fills this mans body when someone tries to touch you is immeasurable, ESPECIALLY if its a man

Sometimes you have to calm Toji down when someone tries but its no use, he's already out of his seat and practically ready to kill

Toji is definitely someone who values his personal space, so he completely understood your frustration when you talked about how crazy it is that some people think its okay to try and touch you without permission

He's only seen it happen a few times, thankfully most people had common sense. But there was always that one asshole that crosses the line

You and Toji were out on a late night supply run getting items for Megumis science fair project. You roamed through the aisles of the arts and craft store filling your basket with acrylic paint, styrofoam blocks, construction paper and glue sticks

Toji: "What kind of fifth grader does a science project on soil erosion? Can't we just do something normal like a volcano or something?"

Y/N: "Are you gonna keep complaining all night or are you gonna actually help find everything on the list?" You turned around mad dogging him, both of you were tired and a little bit cranky and snappy at one another. Most of it was playful but some of it intended

Toji: "You look like a pig when you scrunch your knows like that." He chuckled attempting to pull you in for a kiss

Y/N: "You bitch-- Go get someone to open the spraypaints for us!" You said shoving your hand in his face and pushing his head back. Toji sauntered away to find the nearest employee to assist you guys

You stood alone in the aisle for a few minutes scrolling through instagram to pass the time until Toji came back, until a tap on your shoulder caught your attention. A random man, had approached you attempting to spark a conversation. Your eyes jotted back and forth around the area wondering where tf could Toji be and why was he taking so long to get back

"You got a really pretty smile you know that? Pretty hair too, you do this all by yourself?" He asked and took one of your (protective style)'s in his hands

Toji: "Now you..." Toji came up behind the man and planted a firm grip on his shoulder, "...are way too ugly and way too short to think they'd ever want someone like you to touch them. Don't you think?"

The man trembled in place at the vast size difference between the two

"I--"

He couldn't get a whole sentence in before Toji pulled him back by his hair then slammed him head first into the shelves next to him, making the man scream in pain. The star captured the attention of multiple employees and needless to say it wasn't long until you were being led out of the building by security.

Toji: "Did I do too much again?" He asked from the passenger seat, knowing full well he didn't regret his actions

Y/N: "We just got banned from the store, what do you think Toji?"

Toji: "Are you mad at me?"

Y/N: "Yes I'm mad!"

Toji: "Mm. The blush on your face doesn't look like someone who'd be mad at me." He grinned and you tried to hide the smile that started to form

Y/N: "Shut the fuck up."

Gojo Satoru

Gojo unfortunately was very ignorant to the topic at first

Maybe it was a cultural difference but when you told him people would ask to touch your hair he thought it wasn’t that big of a deal

“If someone admired your hair so much that they want to get close to it shouldn’t that be a compliment to you? It’s like they’re complimenting an artist for their artwork right? I don’t really see the harm in that, I touch Getos hair all the time and he's fine with it.” He said once before

Nonetheless it led to a very heated argument

He didn’t understand all the fuss around it, that was until he saw it actually happen

Seeing how physically uncomfortable you get when someone you don’t know tries to “pet” you put it all in perspective for him

Y/N: “Gojo, hurry we’re gonna miss the train!” You shouted as you ran through the subway station

Gojo: “I’m coming slow down! I don’t wanna drop anything.” He followed closely behind carrying the other bags of groceries you guys got from the farmers market

You both managed to slip through the train doors in time before it departed. You two managed to find two seats by the window, it was a preferred spot that way you both could gaze upon the countryside greenery as you passed on your way back to the city. Gojo leaned against the window and you leaned against his shoulder, the both of you trying to get some rest after a full day of walking.

The train stopped at its next spot to let on a few more passengers and a tap on your shoulder shook you out of your rest.

“Can i touch your hair?” a young woman behind you asked, but she had already reached out her hand before you could even answer. You pulled back before her hand could touch you

“Oh, um no please don’t do that…” you awkwardly said and turned back around. You looked over at Gojo who you know heard everything but was undermining the situation yet again

Gojo: “Calm down she didn’t mean anything by it, go back to sleep.” He dismissed you, not even bothering to open his eyes as he still laid against the window. You let out a low scoff and laid back against your seat instead of Gojos shoulder like you were before

The next few minutes we’re quiet as you dozed back off until you heard a loud camera click and could hear the girl frantically trying to turn the volume down

Y/N: “Did you just take a picture of me?”

“Oh it wasn't a bad one I was just sending your hairstyle to my friend I think it’s cute.”

Y/N: “I don’t care. Don’t take a fucking picture of me if—

“I didn’t even touch you so calm the fuck down…this is why no body likes to compliment you people anyways. You take everything too goddamn seriously.” she muttered the last bit under her breath but still loud enough to pick up. This sentence being the one that finally caught Gojos attention

Gojo: “What was that?” He stood up towering over the young woman

“I-I didn’t say anyth— I’m s-sor—

Gojo: “Shut up. Delete it. Now.” His eyes pierced through her and she scrambled to reopen her camera and delete the photos. She flipped the phone towards his face to show that they were no longer in her folder

Gojo: “Now go to a different seat. And if you touch them against i’ll smash that stupid fucking phone into the fucking concrete.” The young woman ran from her seat to the other side of the train as quickly as possible and Gojo sat back down. He attempted to put his arm around you but you wanted no part in it, for the next 30 minutes you ignored every attempt he made to get a word out of you. Even on the walk home you were cold

Gojo: “Y/N if you don’t tell me what’s wrong I can’t fix it!” he said as you entered your apartment

Y/N: “IVE TOLD YOU WHATS WRONG BEFORE. YOU DONT LISTEN!” you yelled, something he rarely heard you do, “I told you countless times before that people trying to touch me is a reoccurring problem for me and what did you do? You belittled me and made it seem like no big deal. Why did it take someone being blatantly racist towards me for you to actually start caring? Why did I have to prove the problem to you?” He looked back at you with no words just a stunned expression as he struggled to find the right thing to say

Gojo: “I…I don’t know. I’m sorry.” you rolled your eyes at his lackluster reply and turned away to the bedroom

Y/N: “Whatever. I’m going to bed.”

Gojo: “Y/N, wait I—

you slammed the door in his face before he could finish his sentence

story belongs to @nonbinaryeggrolls

do not steal

[angstylittleguy]

Broken

The first time Dalton shrinks in front of Bennett. The experience leaves him injured and mistrusting of Bennett, who doesn't quite understand what he's done wrong.

tw: anxiety, uncomfortable touching

character context: Dalton is a size-shifter whose height is affected by his emotions. Bennett frequently gets stuck in time loops and the only way to get the loop to end is for him to survive the day.

word count: 2.1k

-> In Which Everything Goes Wonderfully Wrong masterpost link: Here

-> character introductions and moodboards: Here

Dalton felt an itch begin to spread across his skin. It started on his chest and it felt like his heart was being squeezed. He took in a sharp breath, gaining the attention of Bennett. His eyes snapped over to him.

“You okay?”

The itch was spreading, moving down his arms and his legs. Not now, not now, Dalton thought, his heartbeat spiking. He felt like he couldn’t catch his breath.

Bennett was staring at him with concern, briefly glancing around the library to see if anyone else had noticed his panic. Dalton’s hands were on both sides of his head and he was bent over the table. 

He had to focus. Swallow down the itch. This could not happen right now, not in a crowded place like this. Not in front of Bennett. 

Bennett reached a hand out to him. “Dude, what’s going on? Are you alright?”

The unexpected touch on Dalton’s arm pulled him out of his concentration, and he felt himself drop down a couple of inches. Once it started, there was no containing the shift in size. Without a word, Dalton stood from the table and rushed to the nearest aisle of bookshelves. 

It was just his luck, Dalton thought. The university library was a horrible place for him shrink down. What was worse, was that it was happening in front of Bennett. He had only just met the guy a couple days ago, and he was one of the only two people that knew about his abilities. Rory had left them alone for just a measly few minutes to go and find a book she needed, and now she wouldn’t be around while Dalton was small and unprotected.

He reached an isolated corner in the back of the library—just in time, too—and Dalton felt the world shift before his eyes as his stomach dropped. He fell to his knees in an attempt to lessen the temporary vertigo. With labored breaths, Dalton looked up, seeing the shelves tower high above his head. He was about half the height of a regular-sized novel right now, and he was out in the open for anyone to see. Anxiety gripped at his throat. 

Thundering footsteps caught his attention, and without a moment’s hesitation, he sprinted to the nearest bookshelf in an effort to conceal himself. 

Bennett slowly came down the aisle. “Dalton?” he called, “Where’d you go?”

Dalton shouldn’t say anything. He shouldn’t reveal his hiding space. He’d never been around Bennett small. He would be completely at his mercy. He had no idea how Bennett would react. 

Then again, Dalton was in the middle of a public library at his university. Anybody could find him, and when he was this vulnerable there would be nothing he could do if they decided to do anything to him.

His safest option would be with Bennett, no matter how unfamiliar that territory is.

Dalton peeked his head out from his hiding place. “I—I’m here,” he called. He hated how his voice trembled.

Bennett’s eyes shot down to the ground, and Dalton watched in anxiety-riddled silence as he waited for Bennett to spot him. 

He hated the fascination that took over Bennett’s features when their eyes locked. Dalton couldn’t help but to take a couple of steps back as Bennett lowered himself to the floor. 

“Holy shit!” A smile crept onto Bennett’s face. “You’re so little.”

Dalton flinched at the volume of his voice, stumbling back a couple more steps. He was nearly totally concealed by the shadows of the bookshelf, and frankly, he felt much safer in there. Even if Bennett hadn’t done anything, he couldn’t help that his flight instinct was screaming at him to run. 

“Keep your voice down,” Dalton told him, his own voice hushed. 

“What was that?” Bennett asked, leaning forwards. “I can hardly hear you.”

He was close. He was too close. “Step back,” Dalton said, voice brittle. He held out a hand as if that would do anything. 

Dalton couldn’t pinpoint the expression that painted Bennett’s face at his words, but he didn’t like the way his eyes softened. “Hey, man,” Bennett said, “it’s just me.”

Yeah, no shit. Dalton did not know Bennett. They had only just met. He had no idea how Bennett would act around him at this size. “I need you to go get Rory,” Dalton told him.

“Why? What’s she going to do that I can’t?”

She would know how Dalton was feeling. Her abilities made sure of that. And even though he would never wish this kind of anxiety on his worst enemy, having someone know exactly what was going through his mind would be better at handling him small compared to someone that Dalton only knew as… sporadic.

“No—nothing,” Dalton responded, too stressed to argue. “Just, we need to get out of here. Like, right now.”

“Okay,” Bennett nodded. “I can handle that.”

He reached out a hand and scooped Dalton into a fist. 

The claustrophobia was immediate. Dalton felt like he was being squeezed—no, he was being squeezed—and the air was quickly stolen from his lungs. His ribs felt like they were going to shatter. He was going to tell Bennett that he was holding him too tight, but his world was lurched forwards as they took a giant step forward. 

Dalton wanted to yell, wanted to demand that Bennett put him back down because he regretted his request to leave immediately, but the fear of being heard (or worse, seen) by others made him keep his mouth shut. 

“I’m gonna put you in my hoodie pocket,” Bennett said as they approached the table they had been working at. “So, I can grab our stuff.”

Without warning he was shoved into his front hoodie pocket. Dalton fought an unmanly yelp as he scrambled for purchase in the fabric.

It was hot, it was tight, it was moving, and there was nothing Dalton could do about it. Where was Bennett taking him? Was he going to tell Rory what was happening? Or would Dalton be stuck with Bennett alone until he was able to grow to his normal size?

The walk felt much too long, or much to short, Dalton couldn’t decide. Bennett’s calloused hands found their way around him again, and Dalton was forced back out into the open. His head spun as Bennett adjusted him right-side up, and Dalton was then—rather carelessly—dropped onto a hard surface. He hit hard, not prepared for the drop, and fell on his side, a hard ough! escaping his lips on impact. He propped himself up on one elbow as he took in his surroundings, afraid to find out where Bennett had taken him.

He was in a dorm room, and Dalton could only guess it was Bennett’s. It was messy—clothes scattered on the floor, loose papers sprawled across the surface of the desk—and as he looked around it seemed that Bennett caught on to what he was thinking.

“Uh, sorry about the mess.” He began to pick up his clothes and throw them into his wardrobe. “I wasn’t really expecting company.”

Dalton, finally free from his fabric prison, took this moment to catch his breath. Not being Bennett’s center of attention and being high off the floor was a lot better than what had happened to him so far.

He couldn’t bring himself to stand just yet. His stomach was still lurching from the jostling movements and his legs were weak with anxiety. Dalton watched Bennett shove his clothing into his wardrobe with enough force to snap Dalton in half at this size if Bennett felt like it. He needed to get up, needed to put himself somewhere he felt a little safer. 

Dalton sat up, the pain around his ribs almost immediate. They felt bruised—maybe worse—and Dalton knew instantly that coming here was a bad idea. He should have known that Bennett was just too curious about his abilities, and that nothing good could come from this little unwanted adventure. 

Bennett sat down at his desk, towering over Dalton’s pitiful form.

“So, now what?” Bennett asked, harshly propping his elbow up on the desk and cradling his chin in his hand. “How do we make you big again?”

Dalton swallowed thickly as he looked up at Bennett, unable to hold eye contact any longer before he forced his head to look back down. “Time,” he choked out. 

Bennett hummed, the fingers of his free hand appearing out of nowhere and grabbing hold of one of Dalton’s arms. His forearm was pinched between two fingers, squeezed just a little too tight. He was then forced to turn his arm over as Bennett examined his too-small limb. “What are you doing?” Dalton asked him, forcing his voice not to tremble.

“Just looking at you,” Bennett answered. “You’re just so small it’s actually insane.”

There was a lump in Dalton’s throat. “Please—please let go.”

“Relax, dude. I’m not gonna hurt you.”

It was too late for that, Dalton wanted to say. But he kept his mouth shut and let Bennett continue to gawk at him. He just prayed that he got bored soon. 

“Your hands are so tiny,” Bennett said. “They’re like the size of my fingertip.” 

His fingers moved down the length of Dalton’s arm, pinching his hand as he marveled at Dalton’s size. Bennett chuckled. “I can’t help but to laugh,” Bennett told him, “this is just so crazy.”

He then yanked on his arm and Dalton lurched forward. His ribs screamed with pain and without a hand to catch himself with, Dalton rolled sideways onto his shoulder. He hit the surface of the desk with an oof.

“Sorry, man.” Bennett was still chuckling, oblivious to Dalton’s discomfort. “I just…” His voice trailed off. “Wow.” 

With each prod and poke and unintentional careless action, Dalton felt more and more broken. Tears began to well in his eyes—tears that Bennett didn’t notice due to his curiosity that overpowered his sensitivity—and a sob caught in his throat. 

Dalton bit his lip, struggling with the internal conflict of wanting Bennett to understand and fearing his own vulnerability. Fear left him frozen where he fell, head and shoulder pressed against the hard surface of the desk. Bennett’s touch never relinquished.

As Bennett’s finger lingered on his side, Dalton’s breath hitched, the ache in his ribs intensifying. He wanted to speak up, to tell Bennett to be more careful, but fear held his tongue. 

A finger ran down the length of Dalton’s side with the intention to forcefully lift him from his spot on the desk. Finally, a single tear rolled down Dalton’s cheek. A choked sob escaped through his lips, and Bennett’s touch froze in its place. 

Dalton swallowed hard, his whole-body tensing as Bennett’s finger pressed against his bruised ribs again. “Bennett, please,” Dalton managed to choke out, his voice trembling.

Bennett paused, noticing the fear in Dalton’s eyes. “Oh,” he said quickly, withdrawing his hand. “Did I hurt you?”

Dalton nodded silently, his chest tight with anxiety. 

“I—I’m sorry.” Bennett was cupping his hands together, holding them close to his chest. “I didn’t realize.”

Dalton didn’t move for a few long moments. He allowed himself to cry. To grieve for a loss of normalcy that he hadn’t realized he lost. He waited for the stinging sensation in his ribs to mellow out enough for him to sit up, to look at Bennett with red, tear-stained eyes and demand that he go and get Rory so this nightmare can come to an end. 

Bennett was already crying. “I’m sorry,” he said again. “I wasn’t thinking and—”

“That’s the problem,” Dalton replied bitterly, his voice barely above a whisper. “You don’t think.”

A silence settled between them, thick and heavy with unspoken words. 

“I’m so sorry, Dalton,” Bennett finally said softly, his voice tinged with regret. “I’ll try to do better. Next time—”

“There is no next time,” Dalton interrupted. “Please, just call Rory.”

Without a word, Bennett turned away from the desk. He dialed a number on his phone and put it to his ear. 

[sparkle-fiend]

A very happy birthday to @thefreakandthehair 🥳

Steve pulls into the driveway behind Eddie’s van and just sits for a second after turning off the car. It’s been a shit day – he hates his new coworker, a kid puked in the aisle between the cartoons and the romantic comedies, and a downpour started the moment it was time to leave. He can feel a headache threatening just behind his left eye. 

But none of that matters now. He breathes in and out until the frustration fades, feeling the tension ease out of his shoulders and clenched jaw. It’s movie night and Steve has the day off work tomorrow – which means he and Eddie will probably get pleasantly toasted and watch movies until they pass out together on the Munson’s couch. He’s been looking forward to it all day.

He pulls his umbrella out of the back seat and flicks it open, even though it’s not far to the door. The rain is coming down so hard it makes a drum beat on the thin nylon stretched over his head, so loud he almost misses the sound of cursing coming from the backyard – until a particularly loud “Fuck!” filters through the rain sounds.

Steve immediately circles around the corner of the house. He spots Eddie by the thrifted patio table, looking like a drowned cat with his curls weighted down by rainwater. Bizarrely, he seems to be wrestling with a bunch of balloons tied to the back of a chair. 

“Eddie?” Steve calls out.

Eddie fumbles with the pocketknife he was using to try and cut the balloons free. “Shit!” He sticks his thumb into his mouth and flings the little blade onto the table. “Damn thing’s too dull to cut string, but it can still cut my hand? Argghhh!”

Steve jogs across the yard to reach him. “Hey, are you okay? What the hell are you doing out here?” 

Eddie pouts as Steve hands him the umbrella, tugging the wounded hand away from his mouth so he can check it over.

“Well I had everything set up for an awesome party, and then this rain fucked it all up.”

“I didn’t know you were having a party,” Steve says absentmindedly. He smoothes a finger gently over the little cut on Eddie’s thumb. Thankfully, it’s not deep – the bleeding is already coming to a stop.

“Uh, yeah?” Steve looks up at Eddie’s confused tone. “For your birthday?”

Oh. Steve immediately feels like an idiot. It is his birthday – he’d actually forgotten it. He tries to laugh it off. “Oh yeah. I just wasn’t expecting a party or anything.”

Eddie looks weirdly upset by that statement. “But you’re… Steve, you’re the birthday guy. The party king of the Party. You love birthdays!”

That’s not exactly true. Steve likes taking care of people. He likes to give gifts and cook for his friends – birthdays just give him a good excuse. His own birthday has never really been a big deal.

“And after the blowout bash you put together for me, you didn’t think I’d try to do something for you?”

“I didn’t… you don’t have to like, return the favor or anything. That’s not why I did it.” Steve runs his hand through his hair nervously. All the volume is gone, deflated in the rain – just sad, limp strands of hair fighting to curl in whichever direction they please, instead of his carefully styled swoop. “I just… like to celebrate the people I care about.”

That might be admitting too much, but it’s the truth. 

Eddie’s face softens. “Steve, this party isn’t some kind of obligation. I… we’re doing it for the same reason – to celebrate someone we care about.”

His dark eyes are so intense. It feels like there’s more there – a weight to his words, something Eddie’s not admitting to out loud yet. Like they’re standing on the edge of something, almost ready to take a leap.

The moment is broken when a rivulet of icy water runs down Steve’s back. He shivers violently, and both boys blink. 

“Shit, you’re standing here soaked,” Steve says. “You must be freezing. Let’s get inside.”

They walk close together under the umbrella on the way back to the house, and Steve enjoys the warm press of Eddie’s shoulder against his own.

It’s not until they reach the door that something occurs to him. “Wait… you said ‘we’?” 

Eddie flashes a wild, impish grin. He flings open the door, revealing a living room packed to bursting with damp partygoers, waterlogged streamers and balloons. “Surprise!!!”

[niallsgoldhoop]

Chapter One

Niall

I’ve always loved the smell of fresh cut grass.

When I was a teenager it usually meant that someone was about to hand me some cash for taking care of their lawn.

Now?

Now it reminds me of how lucky I am to spend my days at my favorite place on earth and call it work.

To call it mine.

Standing with a steaming cup of coffee in my hand, I can’t help but smile as my eyes look out over the perfectly manicured rolling green hills.

“Ready for another day?”

Rory Barnes steps up next to me with his own cup of coffee. When we met years ago, neither one of us expected that one day we would get to work side by side. Hiring him as a general manager has remained one of the best business decisions that I’ve ever made.

“You know I’m always ready.” I laugh. “Anything interesting going on today?”

Rory blows out a breath, the steam from his coffee disappearing. “Not that I know of. I’ve got a few final interviews so that we can hire a new marketing executive since Rhonda retired.”

“Rhonda will be missed. How many people are you down to?” Turning to face him, I drain the rest of my coffee and cross my arms over my chest.

“There’s four.” Keeping his gaze over the vast expanse before us, he smiles. “I think I know who would be the best fit, but I wanted to give everyone the same amount of interviews to try and steal my attention like they have.”

“Whoever you think is best works for me.” My watch vibrates on my wrist with a reminder of a meeting in ten minutes. “I’ve got to get to my office, but just let me know how it goes, okay?”

Lifting his coffee cup in my direction, he smiles. “Have fun with that.”

Laughter mixes between the two of us as I walk away, headed through the oversized glass doors and through the open floor plan of the clubhouse. It’s been four years and every single day that I get to walk on this property it still blows my mind.

As soon as I step into my office, my eyes travel across the awards and trophies and all the way up to the framed green jacket hanging above from my desk.

My office is a highlight of the career that I once had— the one that felt like it was cut short after a few too many surgeries, but also the career that gave me everything that I have now.

Sitting down in the plush chair and reaching for the tortoise shell glasses that sit on my desk, they rest on the bridge of my nose as I pull up the reports and grab a notebook and a pen from the ‘best boss’ mug that one of my employees bought me.

Meetings always seem to be one of my least favorite places to be, but when you own and run a prestigious business it only comes with the territory. So I put on a smile as the screen on my computer fills with other faces, thankful that this is one meeting I don’t have to travel for.

Not that I don’t like to travel, but sometimes it’s nice to be where you are.

It’s nice to be home.

————

If there’s one thing I hate, it’s the grocery store.

At least after work.

Everyone rushes around trying to grab things without paying any attention to their surroundings.

It feels like an actual nightmare every single time.

Usually I make a point to come early on a Sunday morning or just have my groceries delivered, but sometimes there is something I need that just isn’t already in my pantry.

Like ice cream.

That’s the real reason that brought me here yet the basket hanging from my arm is full of other odds and ends.

Mostly things that I definitely don’t need.

Muscle memory takes me closer to the frozen foods, specifically the ice cream I’m desperate for, only when I turn to go down the aisle my body collides with another sending the basket in my arm and theirs crashing to the ground.

In a matter of seconds, the lighter tan color of my pants seems unrecognizable as dark soda explodes at my feet and covers the fabric along with the pickle juice from a broken glass jar.

So not only do I have soda dripping down into my shoes, I now smell like I’ve showered in pickle juice.

“Oh my fucking god, I am so sorry!” The dark haired woman drops to her knees to start trying to pick up the pieces of glass that she can. “I can pay you for new pants— Or to have those cleaned.”

Taking a deep breath through my nose, I crouch down and reach for her hand before pulling it away from the broken glass so that she doesn’t cut herself, an odd sensation zipping through me at the touch. “Don’t worry about it. Accidents happen.”

“No, really.” Rich, chocolate brown hair falls down into her face only for her to push it back behind her ear. “I’m sorry. It was stupid of me to not pay attention to where I was going because I was in a hurry.”

She lists off the exact reason why I didn’t want to come to the grocery store tonight, yet for whatever reason, I can’t find it in me to be annoyed.

Quite the opposite actually.

“It’s not the end of the world, I promise.” Grabbing the things from my basket and placing them back inside, I stay crouched in front of her. “Are you alright? Hurt anywhere?”

“No, everything is fine.” With a small smile, she follows my actions by placing her things in her basket minus the broken pickle jar and the soda that has soaked into my pants. “I’m not hurt. Well, besides my pride at least.”

“You sure?” I ask as we both stand up. “I’d hate for you to be hurt.”

Looking from her left to her right, she takes a step back from me with a tight smile on her full pink lips. “Yeah, I’m sure. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine.” I smile. “Besides my pants.”

“Really, I can pay for—“

Waving my hand in front of my face, I give her another smile of my own. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Okay.” Her dark chocolate gaze drops down to her basket full of snacks and a couple pints of ice cream. “Have a good night.”

With that she turns on her heel and makes her way out of the aisle faster than I may have seen anyone move before, leaving me standing alone at the scene of the crime.

Alone and covered in soda.

And smelling like pickles.

————

THE FIRST CHAPTER!!!!

let me know what you think!!

-Alex 🍀

ps i know this is SO SHORT but i’m gonna update the other chapters too!!

[jackalopescruff]

i just turned 20 like a day ago do you have any life advice

God I'll be up front in saying this is a hell of an ask. I can't really see myself giving you the grandest sage advice about life but I can at least tell you this and if it helps it helps and if not well, you'll be fine, I have faith that you'll figure it out, we all can.

But that being said here is what my 20's taught me: Learn to cook please, its awesome, its a fun skill, you will enjoy it, and you will always have a skill that is necessary in hard times when you cant get easy make food. Second, learn to love humans, they are cute creatures dude. Humans arent evil by nature they are capable of it for sure but what they are most capable of is love and art and community. learning to love your fellow person is the only way to survive, you are gonna have to reach across the aisle, you wont see 100% with every one you meet but if everyone is just trying their best to be a good person then thats what counts. Nothing is this or that, nuance is directly linked to your compassion and empathy you have to learn to understand the whole picture learning to not make snap judgements and to bear the resistance of wanting all the info on things before you condemn people is a must. You have to let your love guide every thing you do. If you are angry at the systems it must be because you love the people it hurts not just because you hate that it exists. Love is your everything and it should be rooted in all your emotions even the angry ones. Love yourself love each other, build a community of friends, build a community with your neighbors lift each other up, push your own comforts to learn other perspectives, you gotta brush elbows and touch grass its really true.

Most of all remember this, you got a lot of life left 20 30 40 its all still young. You wont have everything figured out by 30 and not by 40 you are learning forever but you can do anything and even though great hardship may come your way nothing is permanent, life is a gift, and you have to live.

[magicfootballstuff]

Turbulence (ona batlle x reader)

Summary: Ona is there to help you with your fear of flying on the way to United’s training camp in Malta.

———

“Science is mental, isn’t it?” you overhear Ella saying to Alessia in the row behind you, as the rest of the Manchester United team boards the plane ready to fly to Malta for a week-long training camp before the second half of the season resumes. “A tiny metal box that flies thousands of metres in the air. We could literally drop from the sky at any moment, except we don’t.“

It’s the kind of profound yet idiotic statement you’ve come to expect from Ella but instead of laughing at her crazy thought processes like you usually would, her words have all the hairs on your body standing to attention. You hate flying, not that any of your teammates know this. As an international footballer it’s unfortunately part of the job, but over years of travel you’ve developed coping mechanisms and even gone to therapy to try to reduce the terror you feel every time you set foot on a plane.

All that hard work is pointless as soon as you hear Ella’s reminder of how easy it would be for the plane to go down with you onboard.

“Is this seat free?” Ona asks, standing in the aisle and gesturing to the space next to you.

Still gripped with fear, you can’t form words, but nod. Ona stows her backpack in the overhead compartment and drops into the seat beside yours.

“Can you imagine being a pilot though?” Ella continues talking behind you. “Like if I make a mistake at my job, we might lose some points and I get a bollocking off Marc. But if a pilot messes up … boom! People die.”

You grip the armrests on either side of you and try to focus on the breathing techniques your therapist taught you to calm your nerves before a flight. But as hard as you try, you can’t block out Ella’s voice as she continues talking about plane crashes.

“Are you okay?” Ona asks. “You’re a bit pale.”

You want to make a joke about how not everybody gets to spend their winter break topping up their tan in the Spanish sun, but the only word you manage to choke out is, “Fine.”

Ona can tell you’re anything but fine. She frowns at you in concern and then, as Ella moves on to recount some YouTube video she saw about a plane that went missing and was found on the ocean floor months later, Ona pieces it all together and says, “Oh.”

Without you needing to say anything else, Ona extends her neck and peers over the seats into the row behind.

“Tooney,” she warns Ella.

“What?”

“Can you save this conversation for after the plane lands?”

“You scared of flying, Ona?” Ella teases her.

Ona glances across at you, then spares you the embarrassment by saying, “Well if I wasn’t before then I might be now you said all that.”

“You know,” Alessia pipes up, “I read something on Twitter the other day that says you’re actually more likely to die in a road accident on the way to the airport than in a plane crash.”

As the last few people board the plane and find their seats, Ona settles into her own seat again and reaches for your hand.

“I’ve got you,” she reassures you, her voice low enough that nobody else can hear. “Whatever you need.”

“Thanks, Ona.”

“No, seriously,” she insists. “You need me to distract you through the take off? Or want to sleep on my shoulder during the flight? I’m here for that, okay? And just squeeze my hand if you’re scared. Like this.”

Ona demonstrates, squeezing your fingers as she gives you a smile that’s full of warmth.

“I’ve got you,” she says again.

You’re still scared of flying, still scared that your life is in the hands of the pilot sitting in the cockpit at the front of the plane, but with Ona sitting beside you and her hand in yours, the fear is lessened, hidden under a blanket of reassurance that her hand holding yours provides.

[riality-check]

Skylines, Cigarettes, and Second Chances

Fourth (and final!!) chapter: See Through

“You’ve reached Dustin Henderson,” the voice over the phone says. “Right now I’m on spring break, enjoying sunny, sunny Boca Raton. Leave me a message, and I’ll be sure to call you back on the-”

Eddie hangs up the payphone, trying not to slam it down onto the receiver. He’s recognizable, both from the fame and with the added bonus of the scar on his face, and he really can’t deal with fans coming up to him right now.

No one is at their best in the airport.

He steps away, dragging his suitcase behind him, and sits in a chair at his gate. He puts his guitar at his feet with his suitcase, careful not to jostle it. He tries to breathe, tries to focus, tries to think of anyone else who can pick him up from the airport in Chicago and drive him to Hawkins.

Stupid Henderson and his stupid spring break. Eddie really hopes he’s having the time of his life, he really does, it’s the kid’s senior year of college, but, more than that, he really hates him right now.

It’s unfair. He really can’t hate him. It’s not like Dustin knows that Eddie is heading back. It’s not like anyone knows that he’s taking a red-eye flight back to Chicago.

But it’s also not like there’s anyone else who can pick him up.

Eddie holds his head in his hands and tries to breathe. The airport coffee tasted like rust, but it woke him up enough to power through a two-hour flight at one AM. He bounces his leg to work out some nervous energy and wracks his brain for literally anyone else who can pick him up in Chicago.

Anything to keep from thinking about Wayne right now. He’s fine, he said he was, and he doesn’t lie, but Eddie thinks he deserves to be a mess about it right now.

He goes through the list of people he knows who have cars in Chicago, who wouldn’t mind taking him back to Hawkins, and finds that there is one.

No.

Absolutely not.

There’s no way. He doesn’t even know if he still lives there. And there’s absolutely no way Steve will do him any sort of favor. Eddie doesn’t even deserve to ask, and he really, really doesn’t want to.

(But it’s worth a shot. Anything helps in an airport terminal at one in the morning.)

He should have taken his manager up on the offer to have a car waiting for him at the airport, but Eddie is stupid and stubborn and still hates the idea of people waiting on him, even after all these years.

By the time he gets the courage to stand back up and take a singular step toward the payphone, his flight is boarding. He casts one last look at the payphone, shakes his head, and joins the crowd of other people desperate enough to fly at this hour.

The girl across the aisle, once they’re boarded, clearly recognizes him. But she’s in Rugrats pajama pants, and Eddie hasn’t washed his hair in three days. She gives him a nod instead of asking for a photo, and Eddie thinks that maybe some things still can work out.

read the rest on ao3!

[sinfulpomegranate]

Still devastated by this election, but we're moving on to fucking rage instead of sadness. Here's something I wrote:

In 2016, we were told to stop being hysterical. We were told it wouldn’t be that bad. We were told the candidates were essentially the same.

In 2016, we were told Roe v. Wade was safe. We were told not to worry about the Supreme Court. We were told the system of checks and balances would protect us.

In 2016, we were told to calm down. We were told no one had an interest in overturning marriage equality. We were told to give him a chance.

Eight years later, and we’re worse off than where we started. We’re being told to stop being hysterical. We’re being told we’re overreacting. We’re being told it won’t be that bad.

But it was that bad. Ultra-conservative judges sit, not only on benches all over the country, but on the highest court in the nation. Roe v. Wade was overturned and women are dying in parking lots, being turned away from emergency rooms. A Supreme Court judge called into question the right to privacy and the legal precedent that has upheld marriage equality, interracial marriage, and the ability of queer people to have sex in the privacy of their own homes. Climate change is even more out of control. As I write this, November 6, 2024, it is 77 degrees in Boston. Trans people have come under attack across the country, their right to even use a public restroom being called into question. More and more children are being shot in their own schools. There are numerous listeria and E. coli outbreaks across the food industry due to relaxed regulations.

The propositions and policies supported by Donald Trump and JD Vance are out in the open - dismantle the Department of Education, track pregnant womens’ movements, deport immigrants, punish journalists who are critical of the Trump administration, get rid of government agency rules and regulations. These are not hysterical assumptions of what may happen - they are the real policies spoken openly by the GOP.

The checks and balances we previously relied on to challenge those policies are no longer in place. Republicans - more and more right-wing - have control of Congress. Right-wing judges sit on courts across the country. The Supreme Court has a conservative majority, with more conservative judges to come. These policies will not be overturned or blocked.

If you voted for Donald Trump, or frankly, any MAGA Republican, I loathe you. I’m done trying to reach across the aisle. I hope your life crumbles around you, and you are powerless to do anything but watch.

If you didn’t vote, for some holier-than-thou, faux conscientious, both-sides-are-bad reasons, I loathe you. You cannot pat yourself on the back for not voting for Kamala. She was the only viable presidential candidate calling for a ceasefire in Gaza. Do you think helping Trump get elected helps the Palestinian people? Do you think helping Trump get elected helps any trans person in this country? Do you think helping get Trump elected makes women or Black people or immigrants or Muslims feel safe? You played a large hand in this result, and you should feel deeply ashamed.

I am sick of the calls to action. We have been calling to action since 2016 (and before). This is the way our country wants to be: millions not caring about or actively hating women, POC, queers, immigrants, and anyone unlike themselves, and millions more not caring enough to vote. I am done. I hope the MAGA voters and non-voters alike spend the next four years suffering, in ways small and large. I voted for the people around this country who I knew would suffer the most under another Trump administration, and if it were not for those people, I would actively wish for this country to turn out the way Republicans want: a fascist, overbearing, invasive police state.

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Mike Luckovich

* * * *

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

NOV 20, 2023

Yesterday, David Roberts of the energy and politics newsletter Volts noted that a Washington Post article illustrated how right-wing extremism is accomplishing its goal of destroying faith in democracy. Examining how “in a swing Wisconsin county, everyone is tired of politics,” the article revealed how right-wing extremism has sucked up so much media oxygen that people have tuned out, making them unaware that Biden and the Democrats are doing their best to deliver precisely what those in the article claim to want: compromise, access to abortion, affordable health care, and gun safety. 

One person interviewed said, “I can’t really speak to anything [Biden] has done because I’ve tuned it out, like a lot of people have. We’re so tired of the us-against-them politics.” Roberts points out that “both sides” are not extremists, but many Americans have no idea that the Democrats are actually trying to govern, including by reaching across the aisle. Roberts notes that the media focus on the right wing enables the right wing to define our politics. That, in turn, serves the radical right by destroying Americans’ faith in our democratic government. 

Former Republican National Committee chair Michael Steele echoed that observation this morning when he wrote, “We need to stop the false equivalency BS between Biden and Trump. Only one acts with the intention to do real harm.”

Indeed, as David Kurtz of Talking Points Memo puts it, “the gathering storm of Trump 2.0 is upon us,” and Trump and his people are telling us exactly what a second Trump term would look like. Yesterday, Trump echoed his “vermin” post of the other day, saying: “2024 is our final battle. With you at my side, we will demolish the Deep State, we will expel the warmongers from our government, we will drive out the globalists, we will cast out the Communists, Marxists, and Fascists, we will throw off the sick political class that hates our Country, we will rout the Fake News Media, we will evict Joe Biden from the White House, and we will FINISH THE JOB ONCE AND FOR ALL!”   

Trump’s open swing toward authoritarianism should be disqualifying even for Republicans—can you imagine Ronald Reagan talking this way?—but MAGA Republicans are lining up behind him. Last week the Texas legislature passed a bill to seize immigration authority from the federal government in what is a clear violation of the U.S. Constitution, and yesterday, Texas governor Greg Abbott announced that he was “proud to endorse” Trump for president because of his proposed border policies (which include the deportation of 10 million people).

House speaker Mike Johnson (R-LA) has also endorsed Trump, and on Friday he announced he was ordering the release of more than 40,000 hours of tapes from the January 6, 2021, attack on the U.S. Capitol, answering the demands of far-right congress members who insist the tapes will prove there was no such attack despite the conclusion of the House committee investigating the attack that Trump criminally conspired to overturn the lawful results of the 2020 presidential election and refused to stop his supporters from attacking the Capitol. 

Trump loyalist Senator Mike Lee (R-UT) promptly spread a debunked conspiracy theory that one of the attackers shown in the tapes, Kevin Lyons, was actually a law enforcement officer hiding a badge. Lyons—who was not, in fact, a police officer—was carrying a vape and a photo he stole from then–House speaker Nancy Pelosi’s office and is now serving a 51-month prison sentence. (Former representative Liz Cheney (R-WY) tweeted: “Hey [Mike Lee]—heads up. A nutball conspiracy theorist appears to be posting from your account.”)

Both E.J. Dionne of the Washington Post and Will Bunch of the Philadelphia Inquirer noted yesterday that MAGA Republicans have no policies for addressing inflation or relations with China or gun safety; instead, they have coalesced only around the belief that officials in “the administrative state” thwarted Trump in his first term and that a second term will be about revenge on his enemies and smashing American liberalism. 

MIke Davis, one of the men under consideration for attorney general, told a podcast host in September that he would “unleash hell on Washington, D.C.,” getting rid of career politicians, indicting President Joe Biden “and every other scumball, sleazeball Biden,” and helping pardon those found guilty of crimes associated with the January 6th attack on the U.S. Capitol. “We’re gonna deport a lot of people, 10 million people and growing—anchor babies, their parents, their grandparents,” Davis said. “We’re gonna put kids in cages. It’s gonna be glorious. We’re gonna detain a lot of people in the D.C. gulag and Gitmo.”

In the Washington Post, Josh Dawsey talked to former Trump officials who do not believe Trump should be anywhere near the presidency, and yet they either fear for their safety if they oppose him or despair that nothing they say seems to matter. John F. Kelly, Trump’s longest-serving chief of staff, told Dawsey that it is beyond his comprehension that Trump has the support he does. 

“I came out and told people the awful things he said about wounded soldiers, and it didn’t have half a day’s bounce. You had his attorney general Bill Barr come out, and not a half a day’s bounce. If anything, his numbers go up. It might even move the needle in the wrong direction. I think we’re in a dangerous zone in our country,” Kelly said.  

Part of the attraction of right-wing figures is they offer easy solutions to the complicated issues of the modern world. Argentina has inflation over 140%, and 40% of its people live in poverty. Yesterday, voters elected as president far-right libertarian Javier Milei, who is known as “El Loco” (The Madman). Milei wants to legalize the sale of organs, denies climate change, and wielded a chainsaw on the campaign trail to show he would cut down the state and “exterminate” inflation. Both Trump and Brazil’s Jair Bolsonaro, two far-right former presidents who launched attacks against their own governments, congratulated him. 

In 1959, President Dwight D. Eisenhower took on the question of authoritarianism. Robert J. Biggs, a terminally ill World War II veteran, wrote to Eisenhower, asking him to cut through the confusion of the postwar years. “We wait for someone to speak for us and back him completely if the statement is made in truth,” Biggs wrote. Eisenhower responded at length. While unity was imperative in the military, he said, “in a democracy debate is the breath of life. This is to me what Lincoln meant by government ‘of the people, by the people, and for the people.’” 

Dictators, Eisenhower wrote, “make one contribution to their people which leads them to tend to support such systems—freedom from the necessity of informing themselves and making up their own minds concerning these tremendous complex and difficult questions.” 

Once again, liberal democracy is under attack, but it is notable—to me, anyway, as I watch to see how the public conversation is changing—that more and more people are stepping up to defend it. In the New York Times today, legal scholar Cass Sunstein warned that “[o]n the left, some people insist that liberalism is exhausted and dying, and unable to handle the problems posed by entrenched inequalities, corporate power and environmental degradation. On the right, some people think that liberalism is responsible for the collapse of traditional values, rampant criminality, disrespect for authority and widespread immorality.”

Sunstein went on to defend liberalism in a 34-point description, but his first point was the most important: “Liberals believe in six things,” he wrote: “freedom, human rights, pluralism, security, the rule of law and democracy,” including fact-based debate and accountability of elected officials to the people.

Finally, former First Lady Rosalynn Carter, who was a staunch advocate for the health and empowerment of marginalized people—and who embodied the principles Sunstein listed, though that’s not why I’m mentioning her—died yesterday at 96. “Rosalynn was my equal partner in everything I ever accomplished,” former President Jimmy Carter said in a statement. 

More to the point, perhaps, considering the Carters’ profound humanity, is that when journalist Katie Couric once asked President Carter whether winning a Nobel Peace Prize or being elected president of the United States was the most exciting thing that ever happened to him, Carter answered: “When Rosalynn said she’d marry me—I think that’s the most exciting thing.”

—

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

[storiesbyrhi]

Bones and All - Chapter 2: Cowboy Cook

Eddie Munson/Reader

Warnings: canon typical violence/gore, cuss words, weird parental relationships, updated each chapter

Synopsis: A Bones and All AU. What do you hunger for?

Chapter Summary: Enter: Eddie. 2917 words.

Author’s Note: This fic will be much shorter than others I've written, and have shorter chapters too. I'm halfway through writing chapter 3 and that corresponds to the halfway point of the novel. Just wanted to give ya'll the heads up!

The second time got me wondering who and what you were. I was partly to blame - I never should have let you go to that summer camp. You were only eight-years-old. His name was Luke Vanderwall. They never found his body, just all that blood.

I watched you after, looked for a sign of guilt or sadness or anything at all. But there was nothing. I never hated you though. Maybe never loved you like a parent should. 

In the car home you were mad at me. I had told you to always tell the truth, and running from that camp was dishonest in your eyes. I told you that nobody would believe us even if we told. Like how sometimes people confess to murders they ain’t done.

But someday you will answer for it. For all of it. Someday, someone will believe you.

Another long greyhound trip and you ended up in a tiny town that was hard to find on the folded map you kept in your backpack. The woman working behind the counter at the bus station eyed you with the type of suspicion that made you nervous. Did she know? Was she an eater too? No… No, she smelt like meat pie.

The conversation was short, abrupt even. When you were vague about exactly where you needed to end up, she quipped, “If you don’t know where you’re going, how do you expect me to help you?”

She picked up a file and began to shape her left index finger’s nail. You imagined grabbing the file and shoving it up her nose. Instead, you left the station and crossed the road to a small market.

Your diet of vending machine meals was making you ill, but you had almost no money. Since you couldn’t shoplift a bus ticket, you resorted to walking the aisles of the market, deciding what you could shove into your jacket without anybody noticing you.

As you thought I need a distraction, a rare moment of luck waltzed into the market with all the drunken bravado of a young White Republican. He was in your periphery until he wasn’t; he turned into your aisle at the same time as a young mother, pushing her baby in a shopping cart. They were at opposite ends, but the distance didn’t matter.

“What’choo lookin’ at?” he yelled at her. His slurred speech and cowboy hat should have been funny, but his lack of inhibition was threatening.

The mother said nothing, clenching her hands around the cart more tightly. She was frozen in place, scared to make a wrong move.

“Think you’re too fuckin’ good to talk ta me?” the cowboy shouted. “You fuckin’ bitch-”

“Hey!” Someone new appeared behind the mother; he moved to stand in front of her, staring the cowboy down. The mother took her cue and left, leaving only you, crouched down low holding a can of corn kernels in your hand.

He was wearing dirty Reeboks and ripped jeans. His Metallica t-shirt had holes in it but was mostly covered by a light floral button up that he wore open anyway. It seemed at odds with the rest of his outfit. As he stared down the cowboy, he dropped his heavy-looking duffle bag.

“You can’t talk to a lady like that. You’re out of control, pal,”

“Pal?!” the cowboy scoffed. “I ain’t your pal!”

Even from where you were, you could see the spit fly from the cowboy’s mouth as a spoke. He looked more than just drunk. Rabid.

The new guy glanced down at you briefly, a neutral expression on his face as he inhaled. A look flashed across his face for only a second before he was watching the cowboy come towards him.

“You listen here, you pretty-boy-sona-bitch,” he warned, attempting to reach out for the guy’s shirt, but missing.

“You enjoy hassling people? This what you do in your leisure time?” the guy teased, ducking another attempt to grab him.

“You wanna take this outside then? Huh? See who’s fuckin’…” but the cowboy didn’t know what he was talking about.

“Yeah, pal. Let’s take this outside, buddy,” the guy replied, jumping from foot to foot and leading the cowboy out of the market and out of the way of everyone in there.

As their voices grew quieter, the market returned to its usual atmosphere. You hid a can of chickpeas, a banana, and a chocolate bar in your jacket and made for the exit. Somehow, it felt worse than leaving Luke’s tent, or Dmitri’s bedroom, or Kevin’s treehouse, or Marcus’ basement…

Hiding near a stack of flattened boxes behind the mart, you tried to eat the banana as slowly as possible. Who knew when you were to get fruit again? The mart backed onto a road that serviced all the buildings along the main street. On the other side of it was mostly parking lots and half-built structures.

You were distracted by the darkness in one of the half buildings and didn’t hear the boy approach. As he threw a full bag into the trash, you squeaked then scrambled to hide the stolen food.

“Not gonna dob on you,” he said. You’d seen him in the mart, working the produce section putting apples out in a pyramid display. He waited as you continued to eat your banana, saying nothing. “I’m Andy,” he offered. “I… ah, I think the owners can afford a couple cans of food,”

“One can,” you corrected.

“Sorry. One can…” He looked over his shoulder then back at you. “So, ah, look, I don’t know what your situation is, but if you need some help-”

“I don’t,” you cut him off. Shoving the chickpeas and chocolate into your backpack, you stood up and looked at the boy.

He smelled like peanut butter and jelly sandwich, orange juice, and cheap deodorant. He was at least your age, maybe older. He was trying to be kind. Well, he thought he was trying to be kind. You knew what he really wanted.

The boys who wanted to be your friend were like you in the sense that they were always something odd about them that the cool kids hated. They were pushed to the margins of the lunchroom and social hierarchy. They saw an ally in you, so after being the new girl for a month or two, one of those boys would find a reason to talk to you.

Sometimes it took a week, sometimes months, but at some point down the road they would invite you over after school – to study for a history test or to plan something exciting for the science fair. Too young, you learned the word for this: pretext, a reason that’s really an excuse. You would arrive to find his parents out, and you would follow him up to his room.

That’s how it happened most of the time.

Dmitri.

Kevin.

Marcus.

Noble.

CJ.

Jamie.

“I was just gonna say I could shout you dinner… Or you could just take the cash if you don’t want to hang.”

Pretext.

Betraying you, your stomach audibly growled. The banana had woken it up and now it knew it was starving.

Andy watched you, weighing up something in his mind. “You look like you’d be interesting to talk to,” he said like it was a compliment. It had probably worked for him in the past.

You looked away from him, focused again on the half-built structure. Sitting in one of the cutouts that you supposed were for windows, was a cowboy hat. From the darkness, a hand reached out and grabbed it.

“I don’t need your help,” you stated, not looking back at Andy.

He huffed, thinking fucking bitch, and went back inside with his throat in-tact. He didn’t know you were contemplating the offer. Maybe a burger and fries would satisfy. Maybe it wouldn’t. Maybe you'd need more.

Across the road you stopped walking when the guy jumped from the window. As his Reeboks landed and he looked up at you, you knew.

It wasn’t that his mouth, jaw, and neck were covered in blood and bits of cowboy. It wasn’t the now-red Metallica shirt or the stolen hat that sat atop his long curly hair. It was the banality in the way he said, “He’s in there, round in the back room, if you want him.”

The guy did not appear worried that anyone would see him looking like a daytime nightmare. He pushed his duffle bag onto his back and pulled a set of keys out of his pocket. You followed along behind him in a bit of a daze.

“When… How… How do you know? I’m like you?” you asked.

Sully had told you the truth – eaters could smell eaters.

He came to stop at an old beat-up Chevrolet van, opening the back without needing to unlock it. He made a small happy sound but didn’t answer your question.

“I’ve… I’ve gone my whole life never meeting another, then two this week. You being the second,”

“Yeah, well, I’m sorta glad not to meet any others,” he replied bluntly.

With his duffle in the back, he took the driver's seat and rolled the window down. He looked out at you like he was confused about why you were still standing there.

“I thought I was the only one… And I’m… I’m sort of new to this. Can you help me? Just for a bit?”

Honestly, you weren’t sure what you meant by help. Maybe you wanted from him what Sully had previously offered. A companion, even in the short term. Someone to tell you all about their horror so yours didn’t seem so prolific. A set of rules to follow. Something. Anything.

“I don’t want to hurt anyone,” you whispered. It was true. Wasn’t it?

“Famous last words…” he muttered. “Fine. Come on. Get it.”

You didn’t have to be told twice.

The inside of the van was trashed. There were beer cans and fast food wrappers everywhere. The ashtray was overflowing and it smelt like sweat and roadkill.

“This isn’t yours,” you stated, immediately regretting it.

“He won’t be needing it anymore,” the guy replied.

“Or the hat,”

“You don’t think I’d make a darn fine rootin-tootin cowboy?” he asked with the smallest of grins.

You laughed. The sound was unfamiliar, like it belonged to another girl from an alternate universe. One that didn’t wear black so the blood didn’t show. One that didn’t know lung tissue melted on the tongue. One that could go on dates with a boy like Andy and be grateful to be told they’re interesting to talk to.

“I’m Y/N,”

“Eddie,”

“You stole his wallet too?”

“No. I stole his money. And this… Barry Cook. 5278 Route 13…” he read.

You drove in silence for a few minutes before Eddie began to play with the radio. When there was nothing but local talk-back and country classics, he turned it off.

“So… Where are you from?” you asked.

Eddie chewed the insides of his cheeks for a second before replying, “Does it matter?”

“Just making conversation…”

“Sorry,” he said with a soft sigh. “I haven’t had one of those in a while. Unless you count Cowboy Cook. Guess I’m a bit rusty.”

Eddie drove by the cowboy’s house to check for signs of life. There were no lights. When he pulled up to the small rundown house, you got out of the van and followed him inside.

It didn’t surprise you to find that the cowboy lived alone. There were stacks of oily pizza boxes and a seemingly endless amount of crushed Pabst Blue Ribbon cans. They were on almost all flat surfaces in the house, leaving rusty stains everywhere. Porn magazines and overdue bills sat on the sofa’s arms and it smelt like a cigarette had been burning for one hundred years straight.

“That’s before they started wearing make-up,” Eddie said, pointing to a poster in the cowboy’s bedroom, which was visible from the living room.

You had never seen the members of KISS without their trademark face paint. It felt wrong. Maybe in the same way it felt wrong to see Eddie covered in blood while he flicked through a crate of records that belonged to a dead man.

“He’s fucking got it! He’s got Lick It Up!” Eddie exclaimed.

He pulled the vinyl from the sleeve and put it on the player. He half expected to find it all scratched up, but maybe these albums were the only thing that Barry Cook cared about. Eddie could understand that. 

As the music began to play, Eddie held an air guitar. “Yeah, yeah… Don’t want to wait till you know me better,” he sang, jumping up onto the bed. “Let’s just be glad for the time together. Life’s such a treat and it’s time you taste it.”

You stood at the threshold of the room, thrown by Eddie’s sudden animation. He’d been reserved and sarcastic up until then.

“There isn’t a reason on earth to waste it. It isn’t a crime to be good to yourself… Lick it up! Lick it up! Oh-oh-ohhhh.”

Eddie pounced off the bed and onto his knees on the floor in one smooth motion. You wondered if he could play the guitar; his showmanship and the way his fingers were twinkling in the air said yes.

Trying not to stare at him too much, you looked around the room. There were other posters too. Centrefolds and Iron Maiden, which made you smile; was Eddie his real name, or had he invented an alias? 

Your attention snapped back to Eddie when he lifted the arm of the record player from the vinyl, plunging the house into silence. He’d caught sight of himself in the mirror. Lick it up! He’d made a promise. Lick it up! He was a monster. Lick it up!

“I’m gonna take a shower,” he suddenly said, leaving the room quicker than you could process.

When Eddie found you in the kitchen after, he was in the same jeans but a different shirt; you didn’t recognise the band. His hair was dripping and he brashly went at it with a towel.  

“He’s from Kentucky,” you said, eyes still on the letter. “He hasn’t been back to see his parents in ten years,”

“You know it’s illegal to open other people’s mail.”

You shot Eddie a look, which he nodded at - there were small pieces of the cowboy's flesh stuck in the shower drain. 

“This is from his mother. His dad has cancer. Postmarked four months ago. Wasn’t even open.”

Eddie began to look through the fridge and cupboards. “I’m not hungry, but how are you? Saw you were a minute away from… you know… the market kid. Must be hungry,”

“You were watching me?”

“I was…” Eddie turned to look at you. “Respectfully observing?” He opened a new cupboard and pulled out a can of Spaghetti-Os… “Yeah, you’ll do.”

Eddie cooked you dinner then sat opposite you at the table, respectfully observing you some more. He clasped his hands together on the tabletop and rested his chin on them.

“Why are we here anyway?” you asked.

“You have someplace else to be? Hot date at the disco?”

It dawned on you then. “Wait. Please don’t tell me we’re staying here tonight,”

“Nobody’s making you. Free country. You can do what you want,” he said dismissively, sitting up straighter and concealing a smirk. “Look, I know we only just met but I think I deserve a little more credit than you’re giving me… It’s late and we need a place to stay. We’re gone first thing,”

“You’ve done this before,”

“So have you,” he countered.

It wasn’t the same, you thought. Sully had tricked you. Hadn’t he?

“Is this… how you live?” You didn’t mean for it to sound like a judgment call. You waited for Eddie’s cold reaction but it never came.

“Not every night. But, yeah. Sometimes.”

You nodded. For a moment you just looked at each other. He had deep brown eyes that reflected the world back at you. Before you could get lost, you blinked hard and stood up.

“You take the bed,” Eddie said, his voice too gentle.

You didn't deserve the level of kindness you were being shown. But Eddie was like you. If you were bad then he was too? If you were a monster, didn't that mean he was one too? And kindness from a monster isn't kindness at all. 

You nodded and walked away from the kitchen table with every intention not to turn around. But then you did.

“You’ll be here… in the morning?” You felt embarrassed to ask. Did you sound like a child? Or a girl with a crush?

“You think I’d bail on you?”

It certainly wouldn’t be the first time someone had.

“No… It’s more… In my head, you know? Like, did I make you up?”

Eddie didn’t expect the honesty or for you to expose yourself like that. He stood up and shoved his hands into his pockets. “I’ll be here,” he promised, omitting the part where he totally expected you to de-materialize and be revealed as a figment of his own lonely imagination.

You nodded once then disappeared into the bedroom, closing the door behind you.

“Fuck,” Eddie mumbled to himself, sitting back down and pulling your bowl towards him. You’d finished the lot, but he still put your fork in his mouth and sucked on it.

Next Chapter: 3 - The Shire

End Note: To those who have seen the movie and/or read the book: feel free to let me know your favourite details so I can make sure they're in the fic! To those who haven't: get on it; you will not regret!

Fic Taglist: @harrys-tittie @azydrateanatomy @pussy-drunk @mrsdollardog

All Eddie Taglist: @solomons-finest-rum @ruinedbythehobbit @munsonlives @sweetpeapod @depressooo-expressooo-blog @thorfemmes @hawkins-high @corrodedhawkins @grungegrrrl @lilzabob @mymoonisalways-in-scorpio @averagemisfit03 @ches-86 @ilovecupcakesandtea @onehotgreasymechanic @hazydespair @lacrymosa-24 @mel-the-fangirl

[sadie-walker]

Sadie wakes in a cold sweat. Her chest heaves with each sharp intake of breath and her heartbeat thumps painfully in her ears. There’s an overwhelming sense of fear that settles in the pit of her stomach. An aftereffect of her dream. Or nightmare, rather. She tries not to think about it, but bits of it flash through her mind.

She’s in church. She’s walking the length of the aisle between the pews. They’re packed full of people. A mixture of her family, friends, and strangers. Their heads are bowed in prayer. For a moment, she feels peace.

She stumbles from bed. Making her way through the darkness to the bathroom where she flicks the switch to bathe the room in light. Her eyes blink in rapid succession to adjust to the change. Everything is illuminated. She can see from her reflection in the mirror that she’s had a bad night. The bags beneath her eyes are prominent, the unruly state of her hair evidence of the tossing and turning she’s experienced.

She’s at the halfway point now. It takes a moment for her to realize they’ve all turned to look at her. The entire crowd. There’s malice clearly written across their faces. They’re glaring daggers as she walks by and she doesn’t understand why.

Sadie reaches for her sink. She turns on the cold water and splashes it across her face. An attempt to fully awaken, to ignore the remnants of her dream that continue to seep through. “You’re crazy,” she mutters to herself before deciding to get ready for the day. It would be useless to try and sleep again. A wasted effort.

The priest refuses to turn toward her when she reaches him. She taps his shoulder. “Hello?” Her voice sounds pitiful as she tries to gain his attention. It doesn’t work. She tries again. His shoulders are solid. It’s as if he’s made of stone. “I need guidance.” She’s pleading.

She’s dressed now. Seated on the edge of her bed, she zips up her boots. The final piece to her outfit, the completion of her morning routine. Her phone vibrates and she knows what it is without looking. It happens each day at exactly the same time. The family group chat. A Bible verse. Sadie doesn’t know why she’s still included. Whether it’s out of spite or pity or they’ve just forgotten to remove her, she hates it. They don’t talk to her otherwise.

She looks for something. Anything. She sees the statue of Christ on the cross. A symbol of sacrifice. She’s horrified to see his head moving and his gaze focusing solely on her. “You don’t belong here,” he tells her and she tries to argue, but no sound comes out.

Phone in hand, Sadie navigates through the thread until she can find what she’s looking for. She clicks on Leave Conversation. She knows they’ll see it and for a moment she feels regret, but it’s necessary. She can’t continue on this way. Teetering between her old life and the new. There’s no way for her to balance both when she’s clouded in uncertainty. Sadie hopes for reconciliation. Whether it’s with God or her family remains to be seen.

Sadie leaves her apartment. There’s still coffee and breakfast to be had, a classroom full of preschoolers waiting to fill her head with the sounds of Baby Shark, and Five Little Speckled Frogs and Wheels on the Bus. She can focus on that now. She can’t remember the rest of her dream anymore anyway.

[rabbitmagic]

You guys know that this is bullshit right? So he asked for the youth vote saying that he would get rid of student debt, and then he said that there was no plan b to go forward. That there was only one plan and it was this one and this one had to work. In spite of all of his aids telling him it wasn't going to work and that he was going to need to sign an executive order. And you guys can go back and look all of this up, it's all on news reports.

So he spends this entire time telling us that there's no plan b.... All the way up till the supreme court says no which we all knew they were going to including Biden, who at no time expressed that he was not aware that they were going to shoot it down.

Then 24 hours after the ruling he says, oh. Don't worry, we have a plan B but it's just going to take a really long time! But it's super going to work this time. It's just going to take a long time.

Well how long is it going to take? Joe? You think in like four more years? Do we need to re-elect you to do the one thing you actually promise to fucking do?

And experts are currently wondering why Joe thinks this is going to do it, because apparently he and his secretary haven't presented any reasoning for why they think this approach will work when the last approach failed. Telling me that, he doesn't think it's going to work, He just needs our vote again and that's the only card he has to play so he's going to keep playing it and he's going to keep promising right up until he finishes his second term if we reelect him.

The man is an asshole, he never intended to forgive student debt, I know for a fact he doesn't believe in it, which you can see if you go back several years before he was elected and look at everybody else talking about student debt and then he just laughs and rolls his eyes and says oh yeah that'll never happen. All of these things, they're on video, they are things that have been reported on in the news and in the last election cycle and you can all look it up.

Pressure him. Make him afraid that his legacy is going to be nothing and that we aren't going to give him a second chance. If there is any other candidate that comes out for the Democratic party, I want you to be vocal and say hey. Joe, why shouldn't we elect this person? Because clearly you don't do your fucking job. What have you done for any of us? What has he done for any of us?

Because Trump got into office and he fucked everything up, he fucked up so many things that you and I and our grandmothers were all told he couldn't do. A republican always gets into office and does a bunch of shit that we're told that they're not allowed to do and that we shouldn't be worried about, and then they do it anyway, they throw their weight around and they do bullshit that they're not supposed to.

And then the Democrat gets into office and the Democrat says, oh, we can't throw our weight around, we can't do XYZ, we're not like those bad dirty republicans, we have to do things the right way, we need to reach across aisles! No. Clearly we fucking don't. Because the Republicans never do and they seem to get their shit cleared. No problem.

They want to pretend they hate trans people in the lead up to the election, instead of the reality being they just don't give a shit about trans people, so now we've got over 500 new anti-trans bills... Strip people of their rights, and they're going to, and Biden sits on his ass and does nothing. Like he's done nothing for four fucking years. Because it's not going to be popular enough and that's all he cares about.

I want you people to march in the freaking streets, I want you people to stand outside the White House and dare him to gas you like Trump did, and tell him. Hey Mr. President? You have x amount of time left to do anything in this administration, how about you do something? We're here at your doorstep to invite you to do your fucking job.

But we're not going to do that, because we don't march for weak Democratic leadership, we march for cruel Republican leadership, but not weak and ineffective Democrats who we will come up with any excuse for.

I say Joe's all out of excuses.

Source

All hope is not lost

[ploshansky]

i feel like i'm going insane. the same people that taught me growing up not to trust everything i read on the internet are now calling things like tik tok and facebook the last bastion of truth. my dad legitimately thinks that republicans can't do anything wrong because they're "people of God," and that newsmax is unbiased.

all the conspiracies surrounding natural disasters are something i couldn't conceive in my wildest dreams. maybe i was a little too optimistic but i didn't think people had gone that far into the maga cult of personality. i always expect for there to be some tin foil hat freak on the fringes of the internet claiming that the government's behind all of it, but there are people in the government pushing conspiracies.

people's lives are uprooted, and they're probably going to endure the aftershock for the rest of their lives, and so will their kids. their lives have been separated into before and after, and conservatives are treating them like collateral damage in some larger war.

what gets me most about all of this is that there's no outcome in which these people are satisfied. not one. from here on out, if some devastating event is just as bad, God forbid worse than what is/was being reported, it's a controlled attack by the government/the elite/[insert group here] etc. if it's underwhelming, then the news and/or the experts are not only unreliable, then they're also controlled by some higher power for some malicious reason. and as if that's not vile enough, at the end of it all, the victims who will spend months if not YEARS rebuilding and looking for some semblance of normalcy are forgotten. the REAL victim is always trump. "how can i make this about trump."

while i watched people online sobbing because they didn't have the resources to evacuate, guilty that they couldn't do more for their parents, kids, friends, pets, etc. people stuck on evacuation routes, people lucky enough to evacuate worried sick about whether or not they would even have a home to come back to, i also saw people confidently saying that milton was a ploy to destroy mar a largo. it's fucking insane behavior.

i hate to come off as sanctimonious because i feel like there's this weird obsession (especially among gen z) where everyone wants to have a cause, but i'm just so astounded at the lack of humanity. i can't even really say i'm angry, i'm just exhausted and sad. it's one thing to watch psychopaths on twitter promote these absurd ideas instead of being productive, but it's another when i have to watch my own family buy into these fantastical ideas, and defend how i had nothing to do with this stuff because i voted blue or because i'm vaccinated. nothing can ever just be a horrible and unfortunate situation anymore. nobody will ever reach across the aisle ever again. these people will never ever be satisfied.

[siempredelsol]

Chapter 2: The Lost and Unfound...

Sunday.

There are too many leaves upon his grey plaque. Her feet cautiously step towards it as she tries not to trip drunkenly. There is no one to catch her if she does, she came alone. Not that there was anyone to come with her anyway. She stands on the outside of the square below. She’s dirty, but respectful of his space. The grass- cold on her knees as she kneels. Hands pushing the leaves away to reveal his covered last name. Her last name. She wants to cry, but she just smiles.

"Hi, Dad."

He doesn't speak back. Her hands cup her face and she just stares at the words engraved on the stone.

Yeah, she just stares.

Monday.

The food is good. The atmosphere is elegant and posh and so far beyond her, but no one notices how much she truly sticks out. She’s dressed appropriately and there are pins holding her blonde tendrils back. She even manages to get no sauce in it as she brings the fork to her lips to take a bite of the pasta dish that was ordered for her. Dave looks pleased. He hates to be embarrassed.

A foot rubs hers under the table and smiling eyes meet her greens as he sips slowly at his wine. "How did truffles taste for the first time, Selena?" he inquires.

She wipes her mouth and places her napkin back into her lap. She is a fucking lady, tonight. So she smiles and fingers the rim of her glass, foot giving a rub to his. "Delicious."

His eyes are pleased and he refills her glass. "Stay with me tonight?" His voice is low and he doesn't look at her as he asks. His only interest is knowing whether or not she’ll be getting him off tonight.

"Can we get dessert?"

Dave settles the bottle of wine down and reaches for her hand. His gesture is not unlike any other man’s would be for his lover. The table across from ours; there is a couple doing quite the same. His lips press to her knuckles. "Anything you like."

His generosity won't go unnoticed tonight.

Tuesday.

She holds her purse snug to her side as though it has a million dollars in it, not three hundred. She tries to remember all the things she needed and realizes quickly that she should have made a list. Her lips are sore from the constant chewing on it, a nervous quirk about her that she couldn’t help. Chapstick. She needed Chapstick.

She paces the aisle nervously, trying to get in and out of as fast as possible. The owner no doubt still remembers her during her rougher weeks and she’s definitely still not welcomed, but it's the closest store to her motel and she needed things. There is only a small selection of items in the refrigerated section. Cheese, pepperoni, milk and some other random things people will buy at 2am from a convenient store. They'll just have to do. She drops them into her basket and walks toward the end of the aisle, reaching for a case of beer before she heads to the line. There are three people in front of her, and one of them is having an issue with finding their ID. Maybe because they were too young to be purchasing the alcohol that sat on the counter in front of them. These fucking kids. She taps her foot nervously and shifts the heavy basket on her hip. She feels weak and hungry and eyes the display of candy bars, but reaches for nothing. The kid is arguing with the clerk and she can't take it. She needs to go- the money in her purse makes her nervous. Nevermind the beer getting warm and she wanted them cold. 

This kid has no idea how lucky he is that someone- more specifically herself- is about to stop him from ruining his life. 

"Fuck! There are others here, you know!" she screams out loud and it’s like someone else's voice.

The people in front of her – all men – turn around and stare. The kid at the counter is pissed, clearly not liking her interruption. He was already embarrassed and she just made it worse.

"Fuck you, bitch. This is America and I have a right to do whatever the fuck I want."

He's pointing and she’s officially over arguing with the child, but she’s unable to control her mouth from closing. "You also need to be twenty-one to buy alcohol," she raises her basket and looks at the clerk, "I have ID, can I just fucking pay?"

"Hey, I'm next- not you," The guy in front of her argues. "If this guy will ever move."

"Fuck you, Bro! I'll take my time."

Great, now there was mass chaos. She drops her basket and walks out of the store, leaving them to argue. She’ll just grab something off the street vendors to eat. Fuck, she needed the beer. She pauses and debates for a moment, but never looks back. Fuck the beer. Clutching her bag and walking quickly, she continues to make her way back towards the motel.

She knew she should have just invited-  

Someone grabs her from behind and she spins quickly, stumbling her steps a bit while backing away. "Don't fucking touch me! Don't fucking touch me!!"

The figure holds up his hands. "Whoa. Whoa. I was calling for you, but you didn't hear me. Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you." She clutches her bag and takes another step backward. "The kid left," his thumb points back towards the store. "It seemed like you needed these things." A plastic bag is extended to her. Along with the goddamn beers. She looks at it and then him and then it and then him. Her hand snatches it away and she stares at him some more. He is still standing here, but says nothing.

"What do you want?" she asks.

“Excuse me?” he struggles to understand.

"I mean, what do you want?" She moves her body in a way that men understand.

"No, no. I'm not….I'm married," he stammers. “It was twenty bucks.”

She laughs. "You're all married, Sweetheart." He’s shaking his head. His hands shove themselves into his pockets and she can see his discomfort. She eyes him, noticing his clothes are rather nice. His shoes are even shiny. "I just didn't want you to be hungry…or thirsty," he smiles slightly in reference to her choice of refreshment for the night.

This fucking town. Full of goddamn crazies, she swears. She dips her hand into her bag and tugs a twenty from the roll of cash. "Thanks for the curb side delivery, Creep.” She stuffs it into his palm and turns away, heading back towards her motel.

"It was my pleasure," he calls from behind. There is amusement in his tone. So she holds up her hand and gives him the finger as she crosses the street.

In her room, she dumps the contents of her bag on to the bed and quickly opens up one of the beers, chugging and not stopping until she needs the air. The package of cheese is next and she devours three slices before her eyes notice something in the bag she didn’t pick out, only eyed.

A candy bar.

Wednesday.

It's a little foggy outside. She opens one of the packages Dave left her. There are boots and a new coat. A warm-looking, graphite colored cashmere sweater. She holds it to her face and smiles. It’s soft. She places it down on the bed gently and goes to wash up. Making sure her body is clean and smooth before she puts on pantyhose with a black leather skirt. The sweater came next and she’s in love. It hugs her and smells wonderful, she can't stop touching it. She does as his directions tell her and meets him at the train station. She still doesn’t know where they’re going.

Thursday.

She can't find it.

Friday. 

The bouncer is pulling him off of her. She’s screaming and cursing and following them out the back door. Barry is usually better behaved. She doesn't know what his problem is tonight. Cal is working it out of him though. His fist hits his cheek, his gut, his jaw. Barry is bloody and slumped against ground and Cal stands over him for a moment, then spits. "You take that shit to Rick’s club; where they don't give a fuck, Asshole. Not at mine.” Her eyes are thankful as he passes her in the doorway.

Saturday.

It was in the zipper of her bag, buried under old receipts. She’s grateful.

Sunday.

Her hands are clearing the leaves again. She doesn't shake as badly this time. The sun is out and it’s warmer. She sits on the grass and traces the letters of his name. The date. Reaching in her bag, thankful to know exactly where to look for it now she pulls out his badge. It shines under the sun, the brightness hurts her eyes and she settles it down onto the plaque, beside the words about him being a loving father and valued protector. "I heard Mom married some dude. He plays football though. A football player, believe that shit?" She laughs, closing her eyes and remembering him sitting there, watching NFL on the television. His chair is old and withered and smells like his police jacket after a day of hard work. Sometimes he just couldn't take it off when he got home. Hell, he could never take it off. That's why she was here.

Motion catches her eye and she looks to her left. A few yards away there is a man, crouched down, holding flowers in his hands. He stands and takes a step back, the flowers in his hand shift and he rubs his face before squatting back down again. They’re tentatively placed and he presses his fingers to his lips, then beside the flowers.

She mimics the gesture and leaves her father with a kiss, along with his badge. She could hear the man on the phone as he walks by her, heading for the exit. He is mumbling something and pulling out his car keys. She eyes his suit from behind as he walks up to where the lights flash when he presses the button on his keys.

A Mercedes. Figures.

She looks back to his suit jacket and silver watch and well-pressed pants. As he opens his car door and climbs in, he leaves one foot on the pavement while reaching for papers in his visor.

He has shiny shoes.

[youmissedone]

“Is someone there?” the young girl whispered, holding her legs close to her chest. She didn’t dare to peek out from the cash register of the K-Mart. It was her only refuge from the harsh, unforgiving apocalypse around her, and while there were initially other survivors, they’d all left her to brave the outside world.

The shuffling of footsteps instantly put her on edge. That never led to anything good… maybe it was more of those zombies. She’d boarded up the windows and used the flashlights available when the power blew, but she never knew what would happen in an apocalyptic situation, especially now that she was on her own. Elizabeth Jane Case took a breath and reached for the pistol she carried at all times, aiming it directly at Carlos.

“If you’re with Umbrella, I-I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you, you bastard! I’m not afraid of you!” The look in her eyes betrayed her. She might’ve said she wasn’t afraid, but the way her hands trembled as she took aim made her true feelings clear enough. “Leave me alone… I don’t need your pity. I can handle myself.”

Still, they were other survivors. The blonde let the pistol clatter to the tile floor. It echoed throughout the store. She lifted her hands in surrender, and her eyes darted between Claire and Carlos. She never gave them a name - she’d always hated Elizabeth Jane, and they could call her what they wanted, so long as they didn’t actively try to hurt her like some of the other survivor groups that had came through and tried to raid the place back when it wasn’t just her.

“Who are you? What do you want from me?”

{K-Mart and Carlos first meeting! My girl is… not having a fun time, ahahaha}

__________

{ Awww, poor K-mart! XD }

Larger stores were pretty good bets for supplies, usually. Smaller ones were picked clean because there wasn’t a lot of ground to cover, but with large stores, people generally didn’t look everywhere. There was always a locker, a desk, a drawer, a closet, or something that someone overlooked, and that’s where the best supplies could sometimes be found. So when the convoy came across a mini mall with a K-mart in it, Carlos heard Claire over the radio as soon as the thought had entered his mind. Yep, she wanted to check it out. He didn’t blame her at all.

They pulled the convoy into the center of the parking lot, paying no mind to the lines painted to demarcating the spaces, because who cared anymore. A lot of rules and laws that civilization had thrived on were all but meaningless now. And although being out in the open, exposed and visible, might have seemed like a detriment, it also meant they could see anything or anyone coming from a long distance away. Once all the vehicles were situated, Carlos began gearing up and getting his rifle ready. He saw Claire approaching as he got out of his vehicle, and when she asked if he wanted to go with her to clear the K-mart, he nodded. “Let’s do it,” he said without hesitation.

When they first entered, it began like any other routine clearing. They started checking every aisle, every corner, making sure there were no undead or anything else harmful. It was of absolute importance to be certain there was nothing dangerous in the building before they sent civilians, including children, in to more thoroughly search for supplies. They didn’t even get a third of the way through clearing the store when they heard noises up by a cash register. On instinct, Carlos lifted his rifle at the ready, but when he heard the girl’s voice and saw her aiming a gun at him, he knew he wanted to try and do whatever he could to help her.

“It’s alright,” he said, remaining calm and moving very slowly as he moved his rifle to the side and let it hang by its strap. Putting up his hands to make himself less of a threat, he tried to talk her down. “We’re not going to hurt you.” He could see how scared she was, but she also had a fair amount of pride to work around, too. He just hoped she wouldn’t do anything stupid. “We’re not with Umbrella,” he said, though he felt a twinge of guilt at that. Not anymore. “We’ve got a convoy of survivors, all we wanna do is help you.” He smiled a little at her feistiness even in the face of being so afraid. “If you want to take care of yourself, that’s fine, but you don’t have to. Let us help you. It’s alright, I promise. I’m Carlos, and this is Claire. We’re not here to hurt you,” he said, trying to humanize the situation a little in the hopes of making her feel more comfortable.

When she dropped the gun, he nodded to her, as if to say she’d made the right decision. “We just wanna help. Are you injured at all? Hungry?” he asked. He started slowly moving a bit closer, not wanting to scare her but wanting her to better see him and understand that he wasn’t there to cause her any harm.