#south chicago packing

[wanderlustrachelblog]

Beef Tallow: Amazing Benefits for Eczema, Rash, and More! [2024]

Have you heard all the hype about beef tallow but you’re unsure if it’s true or just an unhealthy tub of lard? Speaking from experience – beef tallow is the bomb-diggity! Beef tallow is a little household superhero and offers soooooo many benefits. It can be used for cooking or cosmetic purposes. When shopping around, I suggest purchasing a food grade option.  Similar to coconut oil, the food…

[cleolinda]

So last night at the Democratic National Convention, Kamala Harris pulled off, in my opinion, the most glorious flex in all of American politics. It was petty as fuck and I am here for it:

Harris, in a Show of Force, Holds a Large Rally 80 Miles From Her Convention

Choosing Fiserv Forum in Milwaukee [the smaller venue used for the Republican National Convention] as the venue for Ms. Harris’s rally also served as an intentional rejoinder to Mr. Trump, who has fumed over the size of her crowds since she replaced Mr. Biden on the Democratic ticket. The campaign said about 15,000 people attended the rally in Milwaukee, and the 23,500-person convention hall in Chicago was packed.

Someone on Reddit then linked to the Kamala HQ video of her brief Coming To You Live From My Rival’s Venue acceptance speech for the Democratic nomination. And Redditors pointed out that you could actually see the juxtaposition, and the sold-out crowds could see each other, and it was beautiful.

Posters on r/politics constantly say to any positive discussion, “None of this matters if you don’t vote.” While this is true, the constant doomer nihilism of “None of this matters” pisses me off. I know they’re afraid people will get complacent. They’re afraid people will see, for example, pictures of these massive crowds and think, I don’t have to leave the house. I don’t have to vote. Everyone else will get this. But that’s not what I think when I see news like this. It DOES matter. I was always going to drag my carcass out to my polling station in a blood-red state, whether I have to use a cane or not, whether the Electoral College even gives a shit about my vote or not, but this is exciting. Whenever I see Kamala’s packed, enthusiastic crowds, I think, This is a movement forward and I get to be part of it. We are gonna run up the popular vote as a statement that will make bad-faith actors think twice before meddling, and we are gonna flip some battleground states. We are gonna nail down the electoral votes, and I am going to sit there and watch on TV as they certify the electors in December, and then I am going to sit there and watch them officially count it out like they did on January 6, 2021, and I am going to know that I was part of that.

It’s not about getting complacent. It’s about feeling the agency and possibility that we can actually get this done. It’s about saying, I get to do this, even if it’s just one ballot, one I Voted sticker, one day. We’re gonna get our first female, first South Asian American, and second Black president into that office. The enthusiasm is our running rebuke to that fucking guy, and we’re gonna get the numbers as even Republican politicians turn on him and support Kamala Harris. And any time someone tells you that being hopeful is getting complacent, come back and look at those crowds. Or better yet, get hyped up by Michelle Obama:

Hope is energy, not complacency. We can do this.

[incorrectbatfam]

Hi! You seem like a good person to ask. I'm working on a fic and I heard that Americans in the North are meaner than the South? Is it true? How do I write it?

From a New England perspective:

We're not mean, we have a different standard of courtesy. And this is also an urban vs. rural divide along with North vs. South.

Life in the South moves at a more lax pace. Of course it varies individually and you have big cities like Atlanta or Dallas, but in general, there's more space for towns and populations to spread out. For a number of people, the only interaction they might get all day is when they drive to the bank or grocery store, where the employees are probably also their friends and neighbors. Over there, curtness is rude and uncaring. (I also noticed this in rural areas in the North, like Montana.) In a fic, the grocery store in Smallville might only get 10 customers per day, so the owner will come out and ramble on about all the freak tornadoes they've been getting. Because outward politeness is the norm, people are also more passive-aggressive in order to avoid rocking the boat—we've all heard the "bless your heart" coming from a suburban evangelical.

Up North, especially in the mid-Atlantic and New England states, it's the opposite. We have a ton of people packed into a smaller geographical area and our cities are closer to each other (a lot of people live in New Jersey and work in New York). Life moves faster, so our directness and tendency to keep to ourselves is our way of saying, "I care about you and I know your time/energy is valuable, so I'm not gonna waste it." You'll see it in cities like Chicago too. It's rude to start a conversation with the barista when there are 20 people waiting in line behind you. So if you're writing a story set in Gotham, it's perfectly acceptable for the Batburger cashier to be like "What do you want?" In that same vein, we don't beat around the bush when we're upset. If you're being an ass, I will tell you to fuck right off.

[myownwholewildworld]

wherever you go (a joel miller’s ff) - chapter 6

chapter 5 | series masterlist | main masterlist | chapter 7

pairing: outbreak!2003!joel x f!reader. (it's actually 2004 now)

summary: after months in the wilderness, you finally arrive at chicago. adapting to this new life has its cons, but also its perks. joel's birthday is around the corner, and you have planned for a couple of things you hope he likes...

a/n: hiya! here's chapter six!! it's packed with a bit of everything, especially drama because why not? 🤷 i want to thank you all ― i just realised that the first 3 chapters have hit over 100 notes each! i'm so damn grateful to all of you, honestly. as much as i'm writing for myself, i'm loving how hooked some of you are with this story 😳 also, i'd like to apologise in advance if i have butchered chicago's layout or its history, i did try my best doing some research. as always, thank you all for engaging. i do appreciate any comments, reblogs and/or likes you may want to leave! even asks/requests if you want to! take care lovelies <3 x

warnings: 18+, mdni. mention of Sarah's death. angst. fluff. filthy smut (don't you know me by now?). porn with plot or plot with porn (however you wanna look at it). irresponsible use of contraception (don't do that). consensual somnophilia. dry humping. unprotected piv. masturbation (m and f). creampie. pussy slapping. fisting. squirting. cum play. a bit of assplay. makeup sex. sir kink. “bar” fight. alcohol consumption. blood. stabbing. swear words. mention of past racist events and the precursor to the chicago race riot of 1919. soft!dom!joel. a bit of aftercare. pet names (darlin’, sweetheart). i'm sure i'm forgetting something lol. reader is female, no other description given. reader is mid-late 20s, joel is now 37 (🎉!). no use of y/n.  joel’s and reader’s pov.

w/c: ~6.9k.

tags (let me know if you want to be added/removed from the list pls!): @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @pedrospurplerain @missladym1981 @fancyyoouu @smolbeanzzz

Chicago was definitely not what you had expected at all. Shit had gone down really badly in this place. It took you a week to cross the southwest area, keeping close to Interstate 55 as a reference. The worst you had seen was Chicago Midway International Airport. Airplanes had crashed on the runway, the esplanade was a makeshift cemetery even almost a year after Outbreak Day. Bodies piled on top of each other, fires would break out in the adjacent buildings. The control tower was completely dilapidated. And the grounds were full of clickers.

Tommy, Joel and you made it through the worst neighbourhoods. As you covered more miles, Tommy and Joel realised that this had not been the best idea. But you were already there, so the best option was to move forward. You all had to defend yourselves, and each other. Although the Miller brothers took out many attackers ―humans and infected alike―, you also had your good share of action. You didn’t like it, but you were good at shooting. Your clothes were stained with blood and sweat. You endured, and you survived. That was what mattered.

The whole city was in shambles, divided by two different groups: the government and the rebels. The government held the north side of the Chicago River, from River North Gallery District all the way to Old Town ― basically everything to the east of Interstate 90. The rebels, on the other hand, controlled the south ― all the movable bridges along the whole Wacker Drive, from New Eastside to Chinatown. Anything further south or north, and between Interstates 55 and 90, from Little Village to Naperville, was no man’s land.

You ended up on the rebels’ side randomly. Tommy was not very happy about it, blaming the communists for overpowering the government, but it wasn’t like you had a choice. If you tried to cross any bridge to go northwards, you would be shot at with no warning. From both sides.

It took a while to convince the Rioters ― that was how the rebels called themselves. Two weeks later, on the 20th of August, you were given a place to stay near the Art Institute of Chicago, which was also the operations base. You did try to integrate yourself in this society as you knew it was better to have more friends than foes. The Millers, however, kept to themselves ― Joel more than Tommy, as you had expected. No surprises there.

The flat you were in was in urgent need of repairs but was better than sleeping rough. You and Joel fixed as many things as you both could, while Tommy took cleaning very seriously. It wasn’t much, but it was the place you called home for the last month. The only downside was that it only had two bedrooms, so Joel and you sadly had to share the only double bed available, while Tommy had his own room.

You wouldn’t lie to yourself ― the last four weeks had been pure bliss in a sense. Waking up every day besides Joel had become a delightful habit. He had awakened you many a times either in the middle of the night or in the early morning to give him a hand. Literally. And you had done exactly the same thing when you had needed it. You were sure Tommy was sick and tired of you two, but you didn’t care.

You stretched out, still lying in bed. The morning light had not come through the curtains yet, but it soon would. You rubbed your eyes and then let your arms drop to your sides dramatically. You were not a morning person, but your sleeping schedule was all fucked up. You rolled to your other side in an attempt to get comfortable.

Joel was sleeping on his right side. You had noticed he usually did in the same position. When you had asked him why, he had explained his hearing in his right ear was messed up since his suicide attempt. You wished you could have been faster that day to prevent the gun from going off. Ah, the regrets you both had…

His back was towards you, him facing the door. Despite the repairs you all had done to the flat, it was still not the safest. Every night one of you would make sure all locks were engaged and would bar the front door. A few days ago, someone attempted to break in. Since then, all of you would sleep with a firearm nearby.

Today was Sunday ― 26th of September. Which meant it was Joel’s birthday, as well as the first anniversary of Outbreak Day. The anniversary of Sarah's death would be tomorrow too. You had tried to talk to Joel about today, but he didn’t seem to be interested in celebrating at all, which you completely understood. As much as you wanted to do something, you respected his decision. You had only planned for a couple of low-key things, which you hoped he wouldn’t mind.

He had fallen asleep only with his briefs on, the bedsheet draping around his legs. You couldn’t see, but you were damn sure he had his arms crossed at his chest, always on guard. Your eyes dwelled on his upper body, two perfect dimples on his lower back. His shoulders were broad and toned, his waist smaller. He was not the most muscular guy you had ever seen, but he was perfect the way he was. His calloused hands had shown you multiple times how good he was for you, despite what he thought of himself.

You couldn’t resist, your mouth dry. Your fingertips traced the curve of his neck, then his left shoulder down to his elbow. Your hand caressed his left hip and slipped down to his front, following his V line. Your fingers touched the elastic of his briefs ― and something else.

You gulped down the knot in your throat, your heart beating harder in your chest, when your fingertips brushed over the damp tip of his cock. Joel’s morning wood was so prominent, his glans had slipped out of his underwear and was showing. You wetted your lips as you stroked him carefully. A deep, almost guttural growl flowed from Joel’s chest.

You got closer to him in bed, your nipples grazing the skin on his back even through your pyjamas. It probably wasn’t the best time ― you knew he was tired, but you wanted him so badly. Liquid fire was pooling in your furrow, knowing his erection was right there for you to play with.

Your internal battle didn’t last long.

You pulled down his briefs to free his warm dick. You didn’t need to look to know his shaft was resting against his happy trail, the head touching his belly button. With no hesitation, you wrapped your fingers around his cock, squeezing him delicately. Then you slid your hand down his meaty column, holding him firmly, in a very slow but strong pump.

He groaned, still asleep as far as you could tell, as you started pumping him ― more heat and excitement gathering in your pussy. You dunked your fingers in your panties, touching yourself. You were already wet, the mere thought of making him yours was enough. You kissed his left shoulder at the same time he uncrossed his arms ― his left hand over yours, feeling the rhythm you were imparting on him.

He was awake.

Joel didn’t remember what he was dreaming about, but he was sure it wasn’t this. When he looked down and saw your tiny hand trying to muffle his cock, he closed his eyes with a sigh. That felt damn good. He was knackered after last night’s patrolling shift, but this was exactly what he needed to decompress.

He turned around, his back flat against the uncomfortable mattress. His eyes were pinned on yours, your sweet hand upping the speed. You leaned towards him and invaded his mouth with your devilish tongue. Joel moaned in the middle of the kiss ― his brain completely switched off. He could not think straight when you were handling him like that.

Quickly letting go of his erection and mouth, you got rid of your pyjama shorts and your underwear. Then you doubled down your efforts with the handjob ― his throbbing cock was calling for you. You could see a few drops of precum sliding off his veiny shaft, which you swiftly gathered with your thumb to rub them against his leaking slit. You felt his dick pulsating hard for you ― your cunt palpitating at exactly the same time, anticipating. Your bodies were fully synchronised.

You then climbed on top of him, his balls welcoming the touch from your puffy lips. You rolled your hips against his, looking for that friction you so much loved, and took a deep breath before taking off the top of your pyjamas, throwing it to one side. You bended down, your mouth looking for his, so thirsty.

“Good morning, handsome”, you whispered as a greeting.

“Mhmmm”, was the only thing he managed to hum, sleepy.

You smiled and broke off the contact, straightening your back. His rough hands slid from your knees, across your thighs, to your butt. He clasped your ass cheeks with assertiveness. With no more words than those, you took his steely cock in your hand and lifted your hips. You glided his glans over your damp fold a few times, your cunt beseeching to be stuffed.

You guided his tip to kiss your entrance and descended on his dick slowly, very slowly, the palms of your hands flat against his lower abdomen to steady yourself. You closed your eyes, head tilted backwards, and whined loudly. Each inch was a blessing. Once his cock was entirely inside of you, you peeked back down at him and did a circular motion with your hips. His eyes were so intense you couldn’t look away while you started riding him.

Joel closed his eyes unwillingly when the muscles in his lower belly cramped. He didn’t want to miss a single second of this, so forced himself to open them again ― he loved seeing how the pleasure transformed your beautiful features. Your half-lidded eyes, your lips parted, a river of pearly sweat coming down in between your bosom. Your perfectly round breasts bouncing in front of him. He was a lucky bastard.

He liberated your ass, his hands drifting to your bust, holding your tits. While he kneaded that tender flesh and coddled your nipples, you covered his hands with yours. You were still jumping on top of him, albeit more erratically, as you felt an orgasm hit you with full force. You mewled as your needy pussy discharged the seed of your pleasure all over him, hugging his hard erection, strangling his cock, encouraging him to come with you.

Joel was so damn close to coming, his nuts contracted with equal parts of pain and lust. He could feel your gush soaking his dick. He was about to lose his goddamn mind ― he needed to stop. His hands abandoned your breasts to place them on your butt to help you lift it up, so you would release his cock before it was too late.

“No, it’s okay. Fill me up, please, sir”, you wailed, your palms against his chest, your hips grinding against his.

Joel glimpsed at you with doubt. It was like you could read his mind, because you knew what he was thinking. You smiled softly, your wet pussy palpitating around his cock. You forced your inner walls to contract against him as you leaned forward to kiss him.

“I’ve got the morning after pill. Please, please, Joel, come inside, I beg you. Trust me”, you wept, laying down on top of him.

He thought himself mad for believing you, but he did. Because he was mad for you, regardless of what he tried to convince himself of. He lifted your butt up off his lap with his hands ― with the help of his legs, the heels of his feet against the bedsheets, he thrusted into you like a madman while you remained still on top of him. Drilling your weeping cunt, as hard and fast as he could. He just wanted to know how it felt just once; he wanted you to milk him dry.

Joel fucked you like there was no tomorrow, the room echoing with the squishy sounds and the impact of flesh on flesh. He was fucking you so hard that you came again at the same time he spilled his spent in you ― Joel groaned like you never heard him before. The slick warmth you felt inside made you smile, your face buried in the curve of his neck, your nipples brushing his. With his pulsing dick still inside of you, you bit the skin on his neck, leaving a mark behind.

“Happy birthday, sir”, you whispered in his ear.

That was your gift to him. And to yourself, because you had wanted this from the very first time he impaled you in the forest. You had had to trade a few bits for the morning after pill, but it was worth every single one of them. You felt your cave so clogged with him and his cum, you thought you had descended to hell.

You both stilled, catching your breaths. His dick was still twitching, housed by your greedy, soaked cunt.

A minute later, he sat up on the bed, bit your mouth and lifted your butt up, his cock becoming free. He quickly laid you down in fetal position ― resting on your righthand side, back slightly curved, head bowed, your knees bent touching your breasts. He placed a hand on your left hip and tilted your pelvis a bit forward, so he could inspect your heart-shaped ass and your puffy, reddened pussy framed by your inner thighs.

Just in time to see his cum gushing out of your hole, dripping across your perineum and then going downwards, skidding through your butt cheek. One of his digits caught the semen before it hit the bedsheets, retraced its steps back and shoved the cum back inside of you with the push of his finger.

“You can’t waste my gift to you, baby, it’d be so fucking rude of you”, he purred in your ear, his voice coarse and warm at the same time.

He laid on his side behind you, moving his index in a circular motion, looking for your g-spot and finding it. He stroked it dextrously, sliding it in and out slowly. You closed your eyes, and fisted the bedsheet in your hand, trying to hold onto something. Your mouth shaped a perfect ‘O’ when he bottomed out, quickly adding a second finger. And a third. Then a fourth.

It didn’t take long for your pussy to adjust to such delightful intrusion ― your inner walls felt like clay, reshaping around him. Joel could feel you relax around his fingers and took the chance, introducing his thumb in your pussy too. Now his entire hand was buried in your fluttering cunt, down to his wrist. He remained still for a hot minute while your muscles loosened up to house him.

Then he slowly started to pump his fist inside of you, back and forth, building up a steady pace. Joel bit your shoulder and then kissed it ― his tongue tasting the saltiness of your sweat.

By that point you couldn’t stop moaning very loudly ― the whole building was probably listening to your whoring screams as Joel fisted you relentlessly with his whole hand. Each push propelling his cum further inside of you as if he wanted it to take. He was thrusting you so harsh, your entire body was rocking back and forth on the bed. He was fucking you senseless just with his hand ― and you were loving every single second of it.

Your sticky cunt couldn’t take it for much longer ― it was wet, pulsating, contracting, overstimulated, yearning… Your pussy literally was his, and only his. The orgasm had been building up for so long now that when you let it go, weeping at the top of your lungs, it hit you like a motherfucking truck. Your whole body went into shock while you squirted ― you were shaking due to the force of your own release. For fuck’s sake, you could barely breathe.

You whimpered again when he removed his hand and rubbed your wetness all over your delicate folds. Before you could form a coherent thought, he spanked you on your crotch so firmly it tingled ― you almost died and went to heaven right there and then, biting into the pillow underneath your head. He kept on slapping your quivering cunt until your sensitive clit twitched one last time with devastating pleasure, contracting your uterus so the last trickle of cum oozed out of you. He caught it with his thumb and brushed it gently against your asshole, caressing the tight ring, until you fully relaxed.

You sighed, unable to move. You even felt dizzy. Your limbs felt so limp you didn’t think you could sit up, so you just stayed there, melting against the bedsheets. You hadn’t realised your eyes had welled up until a few tears ran down your cheeks. Tears of complete, utter joy ― there was no other way of describing it.

You were so damn grateful for this man, you swore to yourself you would never let him go. You had been with others, but none of your sexual partners had been so fucking attentive. Joel would always make sure you were completely satisfied, without fail. And that said a lot about him.

You rolled onto your back to look at him, wiping away the tears with a satisfied smile and dreamy eyes. He was still lying down on his side, his elbow against the bed, his head resting on the palm of his hand. He returned your smile ― such gesture transforming his rugged face. So gorgeous it tugged at your heart.

“Y’know, it was supposed to be all the way around today ― me fucking you until you begged”, you confessed, although it was not a complaint.

He grinned, his hand possessively cupping your mound. You parted your legs slightly so he could massage your sensitive furrow. It felt so calming after all that pussy-slapping he gifted you with.

“As redundant as it sounds, plans rarely go according to plan, sweetheart”.

Understatement of the fucking year, you thought.

You just laughed while his hand was still kneading your sticky flaps. Joel kissed your forehead before he took out his hand from in between your legs, your damp, intimate skin being swept by the cold air.

“The morning after pill?”, he asked a minute later.

“I got it from Kelsey, it’s in date. Don’t panic, it’s okay. I have three days to take it. Which made me think… I don’t need to do it straight away, right?”, you glanced up at him, a wide smile on your lips.

“Mhmm, I mean, it would be a waste otherwise, I guess”, he replied, tucking a stray hairlock behind your ear. “But I need a minute here, darlin’. You work miracles, but even I have limits. Wait up”, he mumbled grumpily as he palmed his left wrist, and then got out of bed while he tucked away his member back in his briefs.

Joel headed towards the en-suite bathroom. He came back out only a few seconds later ― you could see panic in his eyes. You sat back up on the mattress quickly.

“What is it, Joel?”, you asked with worry, kneeling on the bed.

“My wristwatch, I can’t find it. I am sure I left it by the sink before I came to bed last night. I can’t lose it. I can’t”, he was now frantically searching his bedside table, panic growing in his tone.

You bit down your lip, because you knew where it was. In the drawer of your nightstand. You had taken it in the middle of the night because your second present was getting it repaired for him today.

“I have it”, you whispered, shrugging with an apologetic smile.

“What? Why?”, he approached you, extending his hand towards you, his tone so serious. “Give it back now”, he almost growled at you.

His reaction took you completely off guard. Why was he so possessive over a broken watch? Trying to understand the sudden change in Joel, you opened the drawer and took it out.

“I just wanted to get it fixed for you, as a gift”, you didn’t understand what was happening.

“You have not fixed it, have you?! Because if you have―”, he snatched it off your hand, inspecting it.

You frowned ― his attitude towards you was completely off. What the hell was going on?

“Don’t you dare touch my fucking things, is that clear?”, he snapped.

You looked at him blankly, speechless. Then your own temperament started to shimmer under the surface.

“Wow, wow, wow ― Calm the fuck down, Joel. It’s just a broken, useless watch―”, you stopped yourself because of his perplexed look.

“Shut up. It’s not just any watch. You don’t fucking understand”, he yapped.

“I would try and understand if you just fucking explained it to me?!”, you shouted at him while you got dressed. “What is your fucking problem, Joel? What’s up with that watch? I don’t read minds!”.

“Forget it”, he grumbled, strapping the watch to his wrist before putting his trousers on and grabbing a T-shirt, heading towards the door.

“That’s it? You just up and leave?”, you repressed the urge of throwing a pillow to his head.

“I’ve got stuff to do”, he muttered.

A few seconds later, you heard him opening the front door. Then he slammed it shut.

It was around lunchtime now and you had not seen Joel since this catastrophic morning. While you had the impression that Joel’s reaction was due to something he would not speak about, he had no fucking right to treat you that way. You were just trying to do something nice for him, that was all.

You walked through the main hallway of the Art Institute of Chicago. It was rammed with people running around ― some armed, some not. You didn’t think that humanity would prevail in big groups in such circumstances, but it did.

The Rioters had established some sort of order. People had tasks to do, everyone working together to build up a community. Chores were allocated according to people’s skills. Joel had been put on patrolling shifts, Tommy was helping with carpentry and other building jobs, and you were in the hunting group. As much as you hated pulling the trigger, you were a very good shot. All thanks to your good old Texan father.

You were on your way to check with the group if there were any plans of going out today when you got interrupted.

“Hey”, someone tapped you on the shoulder.

“What’s up, Joyce?”, you looked at the older woman when you turned around.

Joyce was around fifty five years of age, maybe more, and was the kindest soul you had ever met. She had welcomed you to Chicago like a mother a daughter. Joyce showed you around, explained how the Rioters worked and guided you in the right direction. Because as good as everything looked, there was still darkness lurking around.

She was also the best cook ever. Like, no jokes, she could transform a tasteless rabbit in the most flavourful stew your tastebuds had ever been in contact with.

“I just finished cooking, do you want some stew?”, she asked with a warm smile.

Your stomach growled at the mere idea.

“Fuck yeah”, you replied ― your duties could wait, surely.

“Watch your language, kiddo”, Joyce reprimanded you.

“Sorry, sorry”, all that time you spent with Joel was showing.

You followed her to the canteen and patiently waited for Joyce to pour some stew in a bowl. You then went with her to a table where more people were sat down. You didn’t know any of them, so Joyce introduced you. You were damn sure you weren’t going to remember one single name by the time you walked out the door.

“So, you’ve never heard the story of Eugene Williams?”, one of the men asked rhetorically to a younger fellow across the table, who shook his head in reply. “He was a black kid in 1919, when racial segregation was still in place here in Chicago. The summer of 1919 was so hot the kid wandered off to the white side of Chicago beach without realising. A man threw stones at him until the kid drowned and died. That was what ignited the Chicago Race Riot of 1919 ― and why we, the resistance, go by the Rioters”.

You listened to every word while you ate your meal. After hearing that explanation, many things made sense. Although they named themselves the Rioters, there were no riots in the streets ― actually, people seemed happy here, given the circumstances.

“That’s right, Walter, younger people need to learn about the past, so those mistakes are never repeated again”, said Joyce.

The conversation then moved on to present times, the people talking about the continuous fight against the so-called government.

Joel got the afternoon patrolling shift that day, which he thought was a killer, considering he did the night shift last night. But it was good in a sense ― it would keep his mind occupied. You had angered him so much this morning, it had set his mood for the rest of the day. The thought of you erasing that memory had maddened him so bad, he had to walk out before he said something he would later regret.

That watch was the only anchor chaining him to what little remained of his humanity. A gentle reminder of what could have been but wasn’t. Every day he wondered how Sarah would be doing in this new world. And most days, he was just somewhat grateful she wasn’t here to see what had become of civilisation. The unspeakable horrors she would have witnessed and suffered but didn’t ― it was very little consolation to a father, but it was better than nothing.

He absentmindedly touched the watch on his wrist, ensuring it was properly fastened.

Joel was stationed with other people in front of Bataan-Corregidor Memorial Bridge. In those long, never-ending hours, there was no activity on the other side of the bridge, but they had to remain vigilant nonetheless. By the time the next group showed up, it was already half eight in the evening.

Joel headed towards the headquarters to sign off and go home. He was already on edge, thinking about what he would say to you to appease you. Because he was damn sure you would be waiting for him, ready to pick up the fight where you both left it. As Joel walked past the canteen, he heard a familiar voice.

Tommy was on his feet, yelling at a man, his accusatory index pointing to the guy. Joel rolled the eyes to the back of his head ― he was sure his brother was so drunk he would probably not remember any of this the next day. Joel shook his head with disappointment ― some things would never change, not even when the world had gone to shit.

He planned to ignore the situation and get back home to you, when a fight started. Joel groaned in despair, debating what to do. But a man chose for him ― he saw how a bloke approached Tommy from behind, knife on hand, and he knew he had to do something. Joel quickly closed the distance in stride and grabbed the man from the neck of his shirt, pulling him backwards until the dude stumbled with his own feet.

Madness broke out, the whole canteen becoming a battling ground. People were fighting each other over absolutely nothing, throwing punches in the air.

“Tommy!”, he shouted angrily, while the younger Miller turned around and simply smiled.

That fucking pissed him off big time.

“Are you fucking out of your mind? How much have you been drinking?!”, Joel wanted to punch his brother so bad, he really had to control himself.

“Not enough”, he babbled.

As Joel approached his brother, ready to fight him if necessary, the man he had pushed away from Tommy tapped his shoulder. When Joel turned around, the dude punched him in the face and then stabbed him in the lower stomach.

Joel froze for a second, his back slightly curved, his brain coming to terms with what just had happened. He looked down while his hand gripped the handle of the knife. He knew not to remove it because it was the blade what prevented him from bleeding out. Then Joel glanced back up at the same guy and, without thinking, he removed the knife from his flesh and sticked it on the man’s shoulder with a growl.

Joel’s wound started to bleed like a pig in a slaughterhouse. Not that he noticed anyway, because hell literally broke loose.

It wasn’t late late, only ten in the evening, but none of the brothers was around when you returned home, which was weird. You could understand if Joel was avoiding you, but Tommy? You frowned as you called for them, shutting the main door behind you. Nothing, no reply at all.

Before you could walk to the living room to see if there was a note or something, someone knocked on the door.

You looked through the peephole. Joyce was standing outside, worry wrinkling her aged face. You opened the door.

“What’s the matter, Joyce?”

“It’s Joel, he’s in the infirmary”, she whispered while placing a soft hand on your forearm.

You just stared at her, bewildered.

“Huh? The where?”, you repeated, while her words started to sink in, your stomach contracting with fear.

“Come with me, kiddo”, Joyce took your hand, guiding you through the apartment building.

The next time you blinked, you were in an outbuilding outside the headquarters. Joyce palmed your hand with hers, in a calming gesture, while she took you to the far end of the shelter. The old lady planted you in front of Joel’s bed, and let go of you with a “take care”.

You stood there for a long minute, still trying to grasp what the hell had happened. He was asleep, his head slightly tilted away from you ― or so you hoped he was. Joel had no shirt on, a bloody bandage covering the right side of his abdomen. You got closer, your heart pounding in your throat.

“He’s fine, it’s just a scratch”, you looked up, befuddled.

Tommy was sitting in a plastic chair on the other side of the bed. He was crouching forwards, his elbow against his knee, head pressing against the palm of his hand. Tommy then smiled, which completely perplexed you.

You were about to reply, but suddenly Joel did instead.

“Fuck off, Tommy. Get your ass somewhere else”, he gritted his teeth.

You hadn’t noticed it yet, but you had been holding your breath, because suddenly you felt a stone being lifted off your chest. You glanced at the younger Miller, who had gotten up with a smile. When he walked past you to go outside, you smelled it. The stench of alcohol made you wrinkle your nose unconsciously.

Joel wrapped his fingers around your wrist to get your attention, so you turned around to look at him, so confused you couldn’t even form a sentence. Joel had already adjusted the pillow on his back so he could be somewhat sat up.

“It’s alright, no need to cry”, he said raising one of his hands to sweep away your tears.

You had not realised you were crying. Giving it a second thought, you probably had been since you left home. You pursed your lips and nodded, quietening your sobs.

“What…?”, you muttered, resting your cheek against his palm before placing a kiss on it.

“Tommy got into a fight in the canteen. He’s so drunk he probably won’t remember a thing tomorrow. A man tried to stab him, and I got in the way ― that’s all, sweetheart. No serious damage, just some stitches”, he tried to calm you.

You wished Tommy was still in the room, because you would have loved to slap the shit out of him for being so irresponsible. What the hell was he thinking? Joel was hurt because of him, and he had just left smiling as if it wasn’t so serious.

“Just leave him be, it’s worthless trying to speak to him in such a state”, something in Joel’s voice told you this wasn’t the first time he had been in this situation.

“Are you sure you’re fine? Joel, please, don’t lie to me―”, you mustered, trying to keep your tears in check, as you caressed his cheek.

He heavily sighed as he scooted over to one end of the tiny bed, leaving enough space for you to join him. You got on the gurney quickly, nestling against him, your arm across his chest in a half embrace. His body heat calmed your nerves a bit, although your hands were still shaking.

“I’m fine, I’m not lying. They won’t let me leave yet though, the nurse said I need to stay here for a couple of hours, until she’s certain the bleeding has stopped”, he explained, his fingertips tracing the shape of your right shoulder.

“I’m not going anywhere”, you said with a small voice, your left cheek against his chest.

Joel didn’t fight you on that, so you stayed by his side. His left hand was resting just below your face, his broken watch strapped around his wrist. You bowed your head a bit and kissed his knuckles.

“I’m sorry about this morning, I thought fixing your watch was a nice thing to do, considering it’s been broken since I met you”, you tried to explain yourself, but Joel hushed you by cupping your chin so your eyes would meet his.

“You have nothing to be sorry about. I know you meant well. It’s just…”, you heard him gulp down, as if the next words were extremely painful to say out loud. “Sarah fixed this watch for me on my last birthday. It’s been stuck at 2.40 AM since… since we both got shot. One of the bullets broke it”, he recounted in a husked voice, his brown eyes focused on the timeless sphere.

Then it hit you. That was Sarah’s time of death. And, unknowingly, you almost ruined the last memento Joel possessed of his daughter. His most precious treasure. You felt sick to your stomach at the mere idea of being responsible for such a thing. Had you known, you would have never even considered doing what you had planned.

“Gosh, Joel, I’m sorry. I swear to you I didn’t know”, you breathed out desperately.

“I know, baby. I should have told you that instead of getting angry and for that I apologise, but I just couldn’t…”, he clenched his jaw, and you tried to soften his expression with the touch of your fingers.

“Don’t apologise, please”, you kissed his bearded jaw and remained in comfortable silence for the next two hours, until Joel was finally discharged.

The next day you both stayed home. Tommy had tried to apologise when he came back to his senses, but Joel was having none of it. The younger Miller eventually understood that his brother just needed space until he decided to forgive him and gave up in his efforts. You were alone with Joel all day, making sure he was okay and helping him clean the wound. Those stitches were going to leave a nasty scar on him, but it was better than the alternative. It was healing well, no signs of infection, for which you were so pleased ― probably more than him. You almost had to tie him to the bed so he would stop fidgeting around ― Joel was going to get the wound open again if he didn’t remain still for a bit.

You knew Joel was just trying to keep his brain busy because this day marked a year since Sarah was wrongly snatched from his life. That was why he was so taciturn and quiet today, and you let him be for the most part.

When he sat down on the couch in the afternoon, you just nestled against his body, in silence, his arm affectionately enveloping you.

Nighttime came around soon enough, and you both got into bed. Joel spooned you as soon as he laid down behind you, his right arm hugging you, his chest against your back. You soon fell asleep in his warm embrace, feeling protected and content.

Joel woke up a few hours later, one of his recurrent nightmares haunting him. He grumbled in displeasure and got out of bed to change the dressing over the wound. He did so efficiently and returned to bed, slipping under the bedsheets quietly.

Another hour went by, and he was still awake, his eyes on the ceiling.

He rolled onto his left side and saw you sleeping peacefully, in the exact same position you fell asleep. You had not moved one inch. Joel smiled softly as he got closer to you, sliding his arm around your waist and dragging you over to him, looking for your soothing warmth.

Unconsciously, you wiggled your hips to bury your butt in his bulge, and Joel contained a pitiful moan. Your perfectly round ass was innocently embedded in his groin. Now he was sure as hell he was not going to be able to fall back asleep. Irremediably, he pressed his manhood against your buttocks again, looking for that friction.

Joel felt his cock tense up, an erection taking hold. He freed his manhood, slowly pumping himself ― his leaky tip brushing your asscheek until a wet patch adorned your panties. Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t resist. You were all curled up, drooling on the pillow, faintly snoring, your knees slightly bent. He cut the distance between you and shoved his dick in your thigh gap, his shaft rubbing against your pussy covered by your underwear.

Sweat gathered on his brow as he rocked his pelvis back and forth, your thighs sweetly compressing his cock ― the tip feeling cold when it overhung on the other side. Joel kissed your shoulder, his hand gently placed on your hip to steady himself.

“C’mon, baby, wake up”, he husked near your ear, gently nibbling your earlobe.

You hummed, half awake. You felt your body being rocked, your eyes fluttering open and looking downwards. Through half-lidded eyes, you saw Joel’s glans sticking out through your thigh nook, then disappearing from sight to reappear again. You smiled pleasantly, shutting your eyes, as you felt your needy cunt melt for him. You pursed your lips with delight.

“Can I have my birthday present again, sweetheart?”, he whispered in a constrained tone.

You nodded, scatterbrained.

You were drenching your underwear so bad, there was a visible damp, darken spot right in the middle. Joel pulled back from in between your legs and pushed the bridge of your panties to one side. He lodged his cock in between your puffy lips, sliding it through your entire slit a couple of times to douse himself with your fluids.

“You’re soaking wet, baby”, he muttered as you let out a soft moan when Joel pressed his tip against your dripping hole, your flesh parting as the Red Sea.

Then Joel slowly pushed his hard cock in inch by inch down to his balls. His right arm hugged you, poising you in place and sneaking his hand under your pyjama top to hold one of your full breasts. He stilled for a second, feeling your cunt sheathing him like a warm glove. He thrusted once, twice, thrice. You lost count after that, Joel plunging into you from behind, gaining erratic speed. You grasped the bedsheet in your fist, your spit pooling on the pillowcase.

You placed a hand on your mound and a few seconds later, you slipped it under your panties. With the palm against your clit to cause some grinding, you could feel Joel coming in and out of you in between your index and middle fingers. Your gushing cunt started palpitating around his slick cock, your inner walls squeezing him hard as you came, mewling like a kitten in heat.

Joel quickly followed you, his cum filling you up, breathing roughly behind you. You tilted your head towards your right to look at him over your shoulder. He kissed you, first gently, then more demanding, while his dick was still throbbing with the last wave of his release. Joel pinched your nipple before freeing your mouth.

“There you go, sweetheart, so you don’t forget who you and your tight pussy belong to”, he groaned as he pulled out of you.

“Thank you, sir”, you said gratefully.

Joel put your underwear back in place and pressed the palm of his hand against your wet panties, his cum trickling out with yours and swamping the piece of clothing even more, saturating it, almost as if you had pissed yourself.

“Go back to sleep, darlin’”, he kissed the nape of your neck, his hand still lodged in your thigh gap, hard pressed against your satisfied, clothed pussy. You loved how possessive he was of you, literally claiming your cunt for himself at every chance he got.

With a pleased sigh, you tucked your hands under your head and fell back asleep within seconds.

The earth was round again.

[gallacrafts]

Theme 39: I wouldn't mind a kid or two

Because the end of the year tends to be about looking back at the last 12 months and the past in general, we thought we would use November to look to the future instead!

Where do you think Mickey and Ian will be in 5 years? 15 years? Or even 25 years from now? And who’ll be in their lives?

Do you see them having children of their own? Or will they simply continue to be the coolest uncles ever?? Do you see them with a whole bunch of dogs? Cats? Lizards?! Are they still living on the West Side or have they drifted back South? Or packed up their bags and moved out of Chicago entirely? Are we finally going to have flying cars?? Are Ian and Mickey going to be living on Mars???

Put those timey-wimey thinking hats on and create your Gallacraft to suit any future you can dream up for our boys. There is no limit!

And then of course post them in the future! Well... by then, the future will be the present... and shortly thereafter the past... hmmm. Oh no! Bamboozled! What shall we do??

Let's do the Time Warp again!!

Posting will be on the 17th November. Make sure you at @gallacrafts and tag #gallacrafts #theme 39 #I wouldn't mind a kid or two #gallavich future #time warp

[skxllz]

“ 𝐚𝐝𝐦𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧’ 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐲 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠. ”

lip gallagher x fem! reader

warnings; swearing. “creep” scene in the beginning. suggestive joking between minors. shameless humor and descriptive writing?

side note; I usually would write for 18+ characters, like... lip in the other seasons, but I find season 1-2 lip so cute (this is season 2, he's 17). plus I feel like the feel of the atmosphere from the earlier seasons match up with the tiny plot I had in mind?? idk. but like, enjoy my shitty writing 😗✌️🏻

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It was chilly in the midst of october. the cool air was turning rather crisp and shiver-y to the feel. while you despised the feel of jeans snuggly fit against you, hot or cold weather, you figured today was a day as good as any to wear ‘em. it was going to rain soon, your other clothes were dirty in a growing pile on the swivel chair in your bedroom - and it was either jeans or pajama pants. although pj's weren't a bad choose, you rather not get soaked in that type of material. if just felt icky.

so friggin’ jeans were the go to in this bitter weather.

you wished summer would've stuck around a while longer, that way you could hang out in the sun in nothing but bikini bottoms, a ratty t and bare feet; but alas, the season only lasted like... three months. four tops, if you counted may. It was a bitch.

and so, due to your luck and the earth going down hill autumn came way too fast. it was actually your favorite season, you just preferred the warmth of the sun over the jittery winds that blew during this time of year. fuck temperature drops.

as of right now, with jeans riding up your ass from the fucking tightness - god it was annoying -, you were walking your behind to the high school that was about a mile away from your house. you lived between the southside and westside, which was both a blessing and curse - a blessing, since it was... a bit more relaxed than the southside, but a curse because you had to deal with the damn calvary of chicago. west and south did not get along, and the punches packed between could be brutally irritating.

so honestly, it was no surprise you got catcalled by some creepy fuck along the way past the bus stop. you ended up curling in your lips and flipping him off over your shoulder, but no queso dude. he still tried to bother you.

“ hey- that's not nice, little lady! ” the stranger cackled, only for his steps to fall in line behind yours. you could feel your teeth edging to grit together, but resisted; knowing you had to keep your cool in this situation.

“ bro, it's- ” you spared a glance at your flip’, squinting at the digital time that could barely be seen,“ — 7:24 in the am. go bother someone else. ”

the man cackled - only to place a rather chapped hand on your shoulder. you instantly made a face of disgust. “ but i- ”

“ didn't she tell you to fuck off, dickhead? ” a new voice entered the conversation. you recognized the owner as you turned your head; no other than phillip gallgher himself.

he had reeled the man back by his shoulder and got right in his face, shoulders squared and fists on edge by his sides. you could tell by the curling motion of his whitening fingers that lip was ready to throw down with this jackass.

the guy looked dumbfounded as he stared at lip - his eyes wide, jaw slack, exposing his chipped teeth. “ i- ” he stuttered - but, then his eyes instantly narrowed and he sized lip up with a squinted gaze. “ who the hell are you, man? get out of my face! ”

that wasn't the response lip was looking for, because before you could even blink, he threw his fist towards the guy in a swift motion; knuckles connecting right to the strangers jaw and knocking him on his ass. you inwardly winced from the gasping cough the guy let out, as he grabbed as his face immediately to cradle it.

“ fucking pig... ” lip muttered, before his frosty eyes turned onto you. he looked angered still, but the emotion began diminishing after you two locked gazes.

lip approached you, only to grab your arm and tug you along with him. “ come on, you're walking with me. ”

“ when the hell did I agree to ditch? ” your voice, filled with annoyance, bounced off the aluminum roof of the pavilion lip led the two of you under. it was one of those public ones that belonged to a church - but could actually care less for whoever used it. both of you ended up walking over to one of the few rickety picnic tables that sat benched out from one another, only to take seats on the table-top surface itself; you, criss-cross-apple-sauce, and lip sitting in a lazy man spread with one of his hands tucked into the pocket of his coat.

his eyes flickered up to glance at you, acknowledging your statement to him before they shifting back to the lighter he began flicking, “ th’minute you left with me. ” he mumbled over the roll of his cigarette.

“ huh? ” you raised a brow in question.

lip took his cigarette between his fingers once he sparked it up, blowing smoke out from between his lips as his gaze locked onto your figure again. “ I said, you agreed to ditch the minute you left with me. ”

those blue eyes of his seemed to be studying your expression, but you either didn't mind or just didn't seem to notice - given, of course, that you were looking out at the empty road; simply watching the cars pass by. “ technically, you forced me out here with you. ” you snarked back knowingly, finally turning your head to give the gallagher a smug smile.

he managed a half-assed smirk. “ is that necessarily a bad thing? I did save you from that fucking creep - he was ready to grab your ass. ”

your nose scrunched up and wrinkled in distaste. “ oh, yeah... thanks for that. ”

looking away, you coughed into your fist. “ but I could've handled myself, ya’ know. ”

the brunette-blonde rolled his eyes, taking another inhale of his camel light. “ sure. ”

you scoffed, looking at lip with pinched brows. “ right - and you only came to my rescue because you thought you'd get some pussy, right? ”

lip, who was now looking out at the road now himself, cracked a grin and said nothing. you shook your head in disgust, only to curl your lips in from angered disbelief and shove him.

“ hey! ” the gallgher boy laughed, putting his hands up in mock surrender once he stumbled from the bench, “ I didn't even say anything! watch it. ”

“ I saw that look, gallagher. ” your eyes rolled before pinning ahead once more. “ you're a real dick, ya’ know? ”

“ I know. ”

your half-lidded gaze moved onto him, mirroring annoyance. lip was wearing a cocky grin - the one he always seemed to have on whenever he pissed off someone. he truly was an ass.

“ fuck you. ” you spat, sticking out your tongue childishly. lip's brow raised in response while he tucked his bic away.

“ when? ”

“ never. ”

he shook his head, smile never fading. though, he didn't say anything else; choosing to sit beside you once more. you didn't say anything either, but you were eyeing him from your perennial vision to make sure he didn't try anything.

the both of you sat in silence for what seemed like eternity, but it was really only ten minutes or so. lip had decided to gaggle around, tapping a beat with his foot for no apparent reason other than to rid the silence away. he wasn't used to sitting in a quiet setting for too. although it could be nice, it just wasn't.

“ so, ” lip spoke while snuffing his butt out into the wooden table. “ what're you doing? ” his eyes moved onto you, only to see you looking out into the road again.

“ admirin’ the early morning. ” your voice came out soft - way softer than the tone you had spoken to him with before.

lip just... stared at you. It wasn't creepy, nor weird, he was just admiring you for a moment. taking note on how your baby hairs curled around the base of your ear, and how your lips parted just enough to let out a small puff of air once in a while.

It was cute.

you were cute.

“ why? ” he questioned finally, tearing his gaze off of you and pointing it to the ground.

a gentle smile tug at the corners of your mouth. “ because, ” you chuckled lightly, “ it's always nice out at this time. just- the hour of the day, the fog and rain around us. you never took any time to take this in? ”

why would he? “ no. ” lip spoke with a scoff, almost like what you were saying was a joke. he never had time to do that shit.

“ you should, ” you didn't sound bothered that he took your words with a grain of salt. he was lip gallagher after all. you didn't know him that well, so you couldn't fully judge him, but everyone knew how the gallgher's were like. “ it's therapeutic to appreciate the little things. ”

in lip's mind, he knew you weren't necessarily wrong - but at the same time, he didn't have time to just sit back and relax. a lot of people in the world didn't, because they had shit going on and things to do. right now, he shouldn't even be where he was; he should be in calc. in school. both of you should be, but he figured a day off wouldn't hurt.

but now that he thinks it over... it's probably hurting his grades right now, and he can only imagine how bad fiona is gonna’ chew his ear off for missing.

the thought made him internally swear, unintentionally balling up the fist that sat downright on his knee. his bottom lip had even curled in and he didn't take notice.

“ hey- ” that was until your voice called out to him.

he blinked- once, twice, in a manner that brought him back to earth.

lip looked at you - then down at your hand, that had moved over top of his from concern. why were you concerned?

“ you okay? ” your words made lip lift his head and inhale, “ you seemed mad, for a moment. ”

“ yeah, ” he nodded his head, wiping at his nose with his other hand out of habit. “ ‘m fine. just thinkin’ about some shit. ”

you stared at him for a moment - it's like you were contemplating his words, which you were - before nodding slowly. “ okay. ”

you paused. “ wanna’ go get something to drink? the stores should be open by now, it's past eight. ”

lip stared at you for a moment.

“ I don't have any money, ” he said finally, after a minute of hesitation. It was embarrassing to admit that - being a kid form that southside and all, just struggling to get by.

a sideways smile pulled at your mouth. “ don't worry about it. I got you. ”

lip swallowed at the words that rolled off your tongue as if it was nothing. he surely wasn't used to kindness. I mean - steve came into their lives, sure, but lip always seen him as sketchy. there's not really someone who exists that's so willingly nice unless they get something in return.

“ what's in it for you? ” he was was now defensive, and you noticed.

so, you did reverse psychology.

“ okay- ” you shrugged, and got up from your spot on the picnic table. “ since you wanna’ be like that, don't come. but the offer still stands. ”

It wasn't like you were a bitch, you just knew how boys like lip were. always thought a single sliver of kindness was dropped onto the table just to fuck them over ten fold. but, you didn't have those intentions. lip helped you out, so why not help him out?

maybe it wasn't with a blowie like that karen chick would offer him, but it was still something.

“ hey! ” you heard lip call after you, after you had walked off. you were half way down the road when you turned around, only to see him jogging after you.

“ uh- ” he breathed out awkwardly once he came to a stop in front of you. his hand raised to scratch at the back of his head. “ listen- I could actually use that drink... I'm pretty thirsty. ”

you smirked at him, “ I knew that. ” your head tilted in the direction of the gas station. “ so come on, I don't feel like standing around all day. ”

lip looked dumbfounded, but you didn't stay to watch how his mouth dropped open to catch flies. instead, you walked off once again; hands in pockets and a certain beverage in mind.

... okay. maybe appreciating the little things in life wasn't so bad. that was lip's last thought before he ran after you.

he was getting that cola he had in mind.

[jessij1997]

Thanks @starry-nights-17 for this song-prompt: Crash Into Me by Dave Matthews Band.

I'll continue my @galladrabbles series with the line '... show the world to me'.

The Apocalypse pt.12

catch up here

--then we'll find a pharmacy before we leave Chicago.

Mickey reached out for the pill bottle.

--first find a pharmacy and a safe place to sleep. Then walk south on the highway tomorrow.

--show the world to me, redhead.

The door to the pharmacy was broken, the interior looted. Mickey's heart was pounding, knife in hand, back to back, they walked slowly through the aisles, packing up everything that could be useful.

Ian's pills weren't there.

They turned toward the exit. Slurping limbs broke the silence.

This time it was Mickey who rushed forward, overpowered the zombie, and redeemed him.

[beardedmrbean]

CHICAGO — A revolting surprise greeted Democratic convention-goers Wednesday when maggots were found during a hotel breakfast service — and the FBI is now investigating the apparent activist stunt. 

At around 6:45 a.m. hotel guests discovered the nauseating protein-packed topping  — requiring at least one person to be assessed by first responders.

“We can confirm that a group of individuals caused a disruption at a DNC-related breakfast event at our hotel this morning,” Fairmont Chicago hotel spokesperson Haley Robles told WGN-TV.

“Our team acted immediately to clean and sanitize the area, ensuring that the event could continue without further incident.”

An FBI van was spotted by the local outlet outside the hotel, which is hosting state delegates from Indiana, Minnesota, Ohio, Missouri and South Dakota, the local channel reported.

Although it was not immediately clear who was responsible, maggots were released last month at the Watergate Hotel in Washington in protest of the visiting delegation of Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu.

Maggots consume dead flesh after flies lay eggs — and may have been deployed to call attention to the thousands of reported civilian casualties in the Gaza Strip as Israel responds to Hamas’ Oct. 7 surprise attack that killed about 1,200 people.

Protesters opposed to the Israeli invasion of Gaza have been protesting outside the Democratic convention.

A Chicago city spokesperson said: “Multiple unknown female offenders are alleged to have entered [the hotel] and began placing unknown objects onto tables containing food. The offenders are believed to have then left the area. One victim was treated and released on-scene. Along with CPD, FBI-Chicago is assisting in the investigation. No further information is available at this time.”

The FBI referred The Post to that statement.

Treasury Secretary Pete Buttigieg held an event Wednesday morning at the same hotel. His office did not immediately respond to a request for comment about whether he was impacted by the incident. 

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

August 20, 2024

Heather Cox Richardson

Aug 21, 2024

At Chicago’s United Center today, the delegates at the Democratic National Convention reaffirmed last week’s online nomination of Kamala Harris for president. The ceremonial roll-call vote featured all the usual good natured boasting from the delegates about their own state’s virtues, a process that reinforces the incredible diversity and history of both this land and its people. The managers reserved the final slots for Minnesota and California—the home states of Democratic vice presidential candidate Tim Walz and presidential candidate Kamala Harris, respectively—to put the ticket over the top. 

When the votes had been counted, Harris joined the crowd virtually from a rally she and Walz were holding at the Fiserv Forum in Milwaukee, Wisconsin. Last month the Republicans held their own national convention in that venue, and for Harris to accept her nomination in the same place was an acknowledgement of how important Wisconsin will be in this election. But it also meant that Trump, who is obsessed with crowd sizes, would have to see not one but two packed sports arenas of supporters cheer wildly for her nomination. 

He also had to contend with former loyalists and supporters joining the Democratic convention. His former press secretary, Stephanie Grisham, told the Democratic convention tonight that when the cameras are off, “Trump mocks his supporters. He calls them basement dwellers.” Grisham endorsed Harris, saying: “I love my country more than my party. Kamala Harris tells the truth. She respects the American people and she has my vote.”

Trump spoke glumly to a small crowd today at the Livingston County Sheriff’s Office in Howell, Michigan. 

It was almost exactly twenty years ago, on July 27, 2004, that 43-year-old Illinois state senator Barack Obama, who was, at the time, running for a seat in the U.S. Senate, gave the keynote address to that year’s Democratic National Convention. It was the speech that began his rise to the presidency.

Like the Democrats who spoke last night, Obama talked in 2004 of his childhood and recalled how his parents had “faith in the possibilities of this nation.” And like Biden last night, Obama said that “in no other country on earth, is my story even possible.” The nation’s promise, he said, came from the human equality promised in the Declaration of Independence.

“That is the true genius of America,” Obama said, “a faith in the simple dreams of its people, the insistence on small miracles.” He called for an America “where hard work is rewarded.” “[I]t's not enough for just some of us to prosper,” he said, “[f]or alongside our famous individualism, there's another ingredient in the American saga.”

He described that ingredient as “[a]belief that we are connected as one people. If there's a child on the south side of Chicago who can't read, that matters to me, even if it's not my child. If there's a senior citizen somewhere who can't pay for her prescription and has to choose between medicine and the rent, that makes my life poorer, even if it's not my grandmother. If there's an Arab American family being rounded up without benefit of an attorney or due process, that threatens my civil liberties. It's that fundamental belief—I am my brother's keeper, I am my sister's keeper—that makes this country work. It's what allows us to pursue our individual dreams, yet still come together as a single American family. ‘E pluribus unum.’ Out of many, one.”

Obama emphasized Americans’ shared values and pushed back against “those who are preparing to divide us, the spin masters and negative ad peddlers who embrace the politics of anything goes.” He reached back into history to prove that “the bedrock of this nation” is “the belief that there are better days ahead.” He called that belief “[t]he audacity of hope.”

Almost exactly twenty years after his 2004 speech, the same man, now a former president who served for eight years, spoke at tonight’s Democratic National Convention. But the past two decades have challenged his vision.

When voters put Obama into the White House in 2008, Republicans set out to make sure they couldn’t govern. Mitch McConnell (R–KY) became Senate minority leader in 2007 and, using the filibuster, stopped most Democratic measures by requiring 60 votes to move anything to a vote. 

In 2010 the Supreme Court handed down the Citizens United v. Federal Election Commission decision, declaring that corporations and other outside groups could spend as much money as they wanted on elections. Citizens United increased Republican seats in legislative bodies, and in the 2010 midterm elections, Republicans packed state legislatures with their own candidates in time to be in charge of redistricting their states after the 2010 census.  Republicans controlled the key states of Florida, Wisconsin, North Carolina, Ohio, and Michigan, as well as other, smaller states, and after the election, they used precise computer models to win previously Democratic House seats.

In the 2012 election, Democrats won the White House decisively, the Senate easily, and a majority of 1.4 million votes for House candidates. Yet Republicans came away with a thirty-three-seat majority in the House of Representatives. And then, with the 2013 Shelby County v. Holder decision, the Supreme Court gutted the Voting Rights Act, making it harder to protect Democratic voters.

As the Republicans skewed the mechanics of government to favor themselves, their candidates no longer had to worry they would lose general elections but did have to worry about losing primaries to more extreme challengers. So they swung farther and farther to the right, demonizing the Democrats until finally those who remain Republicans have given up on democracy altogether. 

Tonight’s speech echoed that of 2004 by saying that America’s “central story” is that “we are all created equal,” and describing Harris and Walz as hardworking people who would use the government to create a fair system. He sounded more concerned today than in 2004 about political divisions, and reminded the crowd: “The vast majority of us do not want to live in a country that’s bitter and divided,” he said. “We want something better. We want to be better. And the joy and the excitement that we’re seeing around this campaign tells us we’re not alone,” he said. 

And then, in his praise for his grandmother, “a little old white lady born in a tiny town called Peru, Kansas,” and his mother-in-law, Marion Robinson, a Black woman from the South Side of Chicago, he brought a new emphasis on ordinary Americans, especially women, who work hard, sacrifice for their children, and value honesty, integrity, kindness, helping others, and hard work. 

They wanted their children to “do things and go places that they would’ve never imagined for themselves.” “Whether you’re a Democrat or a Republican or somewhere in between,” he said, “we have all had people like that in our lives:... good hardworking people who weren’t famous or powerful but who managed in countless ways to leave this country just a little bit better than they found it.” 

If President Obama emphasized tonight that the nation depends on the good will of ordinary people, it was his wife, former first lady Michelle Obama, who spoke with the voice of those people and made it clear that only the American people can preserve democracy.  

In a truly extraordinary speech, perfectly delivered, Mrs. Obama described her mother as someone who lived out the idea of hope for a better future, working for children and the community. “She was glad to do the thankless, unglamorous work that for generations has strengthened the fabric of this nation,” Mrs. Obama said, “the belief that if you do unto others, if you love thy neighbor, if you work and scrape and sacrifice, it will pay off. If not for you, then maybe for your children or your grandchildren.”

Unlike her husband, though, Mrs. Obama called out Trump and his allies, who are trying to destroy that worldview. “No one has a monopoly on what it means to be an American,” she said. “No one.” “[M]ost of us will never be afforded the grace of failing forward,” she said. “We will never benefit from the affirmative action of generational wealth. If we bankrupt a business…or choke in a crisis, we don't get a second, third, or fourth chance. If things don't go our way, we don't have the luxury of whining or cheating others to get further ahead…we don't get to change the rules so we always win. If we see a mountain in front of us, we don’t expect there to be an escalator waiting to take us to the top. No, we put our heads down. We get to work. In America, we do something."

And then Mrs. Obama took up the mantle of her mother, warning that demonizing others and taking away their rights, “only makes us small.” It “demeans and cheapens our politics. It only serves to further discourage good, big-hearted people from wanting to get involved at all. America, our parents taught us better than that.” 

It is “up to us to be the solution that we seek.” she said. She urged people to “be the antidote to the darkness and division.” “[W]hether you’re Democrat, Republican, Independent, or none of the above,” she said, “this is our time to stand up for what we know. In our hearts is right. Not just for our basic freedoms, but for decency and humanity, for basic respect. Dignity and empathy. For the values at the very foundation of this democracy.”

“Don’t just sit around and complain. Do something.”

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

[myocsfanfictions]

South Side Story

Shameless Fanfiction Season 1

Desna Hills has come living in the Southside of Chicago four years before. Taken in by Kev and V, Desna is close friends with the Gallaghers. Let's see how this Southside story unfolds.

MASTERLIST

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Chapter 6

“Desna, the man at that table has been waving for you for five minutes.”

“Thanks Tommy,” Desna said sarcastically, glaring at one of the Alibi regulars as she passed by, with three beers in her hands, “Why don’t you put on an apron and start to serve?” She said as she tell Kevin to get others two beers and a shot of vodka ready, then she move again to make her way towards the table where the guy was waiting.

“And since you are at it, another three beers!” She heard Tommy said.

That day the Alibi was packed with people, she didn’t know where to turn. Desna has been working three hours and still didn’t had a single moment even to go to the bathroom.

“Girly! Give me my beer!” She heard the voice of Frank Gallagher as he entered the Alibi, already drunk.

“I’m sure you’ll find your sit alone,” she said as she walked towards the counter, “Kevin!”

“I’m on it bug,” he said as he was filling other glasses of beer, before getting one ready for Frank.

“Hey sweety, where’s my shot?” Mickey Milkovich shout at her surrounding by his gang as he showed her his empty glass.

“Don’t call me that,” she said as she passed by, grabbing some empty glasses to bring them back at the counter.

“You are doing great,” Kev said happily when he passed behind her squeezing her shoulder.

“Glad to hear,” she answered filling some more glasses to bring to Milkovich.

“Another!” Frank shouted, and Desna gave him one of the shots she had in hand.

“I wanted beer,” he complained.

“It’s alcohol and Kev is taking ice,” she said for the countless time to bring the glasses she had prepared, “Enjoy it while he gets back.”

“Hey, love, my cousin wanted to know if your free later,” Mickey asked eyeing the boy next to him, sharing a laugh.

“I don’t think so,” she stated walking back hearing them laugh again.

“Can I offer you something?” She was ready to snap back when she noticed that who had made the question was Lip. As she saw him, Desna’s body relaxed and from her lips escaped a laugh.

“I can’t drink, sir,” she said smiling at him, “But for you I’d make an exception.”

“Oh yeah?” Lip smirked, but then Tommy called for her once again.

“Three more beers?” She asked as the man pointed at him and his companions, “Right on it!” She said before turning to Lip.

“Are you looking for Frank?” She asked pointing behind her back.

“Why? Is he here?” He answered with a frown, that made her chuckle.

“Desna!” Tommy called again, and she groaned before making her way to the counter, to fill new glasses. She noticed that Lip had gotten closer to the counter as Kev walked out from the back.

“Where were you?” Desna asked, “Couldn’t you find the way back?”

“I was about to give you five minutes of break,” he said and her eyes grew bigger.

“You took the time that it was needed,” she said sweetly.

“That’s what I thought,” he said as Desna smiled, before walking to Lip.

“Are you here for drink?” She asked him.

“Umm… no,” at his answer she took his hand bringing pulling him along side her as she exited from the back of the bar. Finally breathing as the cool air hit her face.

“Busy night, eh?” Lip said giving her a sigarette that she gladly took, quickly lighting it up.

“Everyday is a good day to drink,” she said taking a drag before passing it to him, who brought the sigarette in his mouth, “But it seems that they decide when be a pain in the ass all together.”

Lip laughed as he passed the thing to her once again.

“Why are you here?” She asked taking a drag.

Lip shrugged his shoulders, “Passing by,” he said and Desna nodded her head, blowing out the smoke.

“Are you free this Thursday, in the afternoon?” He asked her.

“There’s the game,” that Thursday Kevin was organizing the bar so to make it possible to see the game with the costumers, “Kev still didn’t ask me to help though, why?” She tilted her head to a side, observing him putting his hands in the front pockets of his jeans.

“Fiona is organizing this thing where we are going to instal the new TV,” he explained, “Steve is coming, and she wants to ask V too.”

She frowned in curiosity “Then why did you want to ask me-”

“Told you, I was passing by,” he shrugged his shoulders. And she found herself nodding her head.

“If Kev doesn't ask for my help, I can make it,” she said throwing the sigarette on the ground and stepping on it with her foot.

“Yeah?” Desna nodded with a smile.

“Okay,” he said, giving a glance at the door before walking towards her. In a moment his lips were on hers and his arms around her waist. She was surprised by the action, but she didn’t complain as she brought her arms around his neck, bringing him close. He slowly pushed towards the wall, until her back hit the wall.

“Not here,” she muttered against his lips, then she noticed his gaze being deep in thought, and she brought her hand on his cheek.

“What is it?” She asked caressing his skin.

“I should…” he said, “I should really bring Karen too.”

“What?” She asked pushing him back, slightly.

“Yeah, no I mean, you’re both my friends, so,” he stuttered, “And-”

“You’re fucking both of us,” she challenged him, as she moved away from him.

“We said no jealousy,” he said, “You two are different,” but that made her laugh bitterly.

“No, I don’t think so,” she said as he shrugged his shoulders.

“What do you mean?” He asked.

Desna shook her head, putting her hands in the back pockets of her jeans, “Listen, do whatever you want, I don’t fucking care.”

“Are you angry now?” He asked making her stop as she was about to get back in.

“I don’t know..” she said sarcastically, “What if next time I bring the other guy that I’m fucking?”

“You’re not fucking anyone else,” he protested.

“Yeah,” Desna said, “Maybe I should.”

“Oh, come on!” Lip said stopping her by the arm, but she snapped it away.

“Why bring it up now?” She asked challenging him, who just scoffed.

“I thought about it, I said it,” he said simply.

“Bullshit!” She said and he laughed annoyed, pacing as he passed his hand on his mouth, “Why do you always do this?” Desna asked.

“Doing what?” He argued.

“Last time you brought me with you to see your so called friend suck your brother, because, what was it?” She said mockingly, “I don’t have to fear Karen. So, what? It is her turn now?”

“Karen is my fucking best friend, Desna!” He argued with low voice.

“Then what does this makes me?” She yelled at him. And she noticed his jaw clench. They observed each other in silence, they could even hear the voices from the inside of the bar as they kept staring.

“I don’t want things to change between us,” Desna laughed at that.

“You can’t even answer a question,” she said turning her back at him ready to get back in, but then he grabbed by the arm pulling her so that she would face him.

“This,” he answered and she scoffed, “We are this.”

“Not my question,” she answered shaking her head, “Let me fucking go.”

“Why do you have to complicate everything?” He asked angrily, his hand still gripping her arm.

“Why can’t you answer a fucking question?” His jaw clenched again looking at her, “What is this uh? You’ve got a label for her but not for me, Lip?” she said pushing his shoulder with her free hand, his jaw even more clenched. She shoved him again, “She is your best friend, then what am I?!”

His other hand moved blocking her other wrist yanking her closer, “A good fuck,” he hissed. Desna eyes widened, before she pushed him, freeing herself, then her hand moved to slap him across the face.

“Fuck you,” She said coldly. His eyes widened, just before the door of the bar got opened by Kev.

“Bug, I need you help over there,” he said before looking between the two of them, “Are you guys okay?”

“Yeah,” she answered keep looking at Lip, “He was going home,” the boy observed her as he wanted to say something, but Desna turned her back at him, pushing past Kevin to go back to work.

Fucking Lip Gallagher.

A good fuck! She was a fucking good fuck! That’s all he wanted from her? Karen Jackson was his best friend, she was just a good fuck? Then he wouldn’t have mind her doing the same. She enter the hall, grabbing a shot of techila and swallow it whole, before she made her way towards Milkovich table.

“Look who’s here!” Mikey said, but she turned to the boy to his left.

“You wanted to know if I was free after, right?” She asked at the boy, who nodded his head, “Fine, my shift ends at 11.00, hope you’ve got somewhere we can fuck,” she didn’t even gave him time to answer, as she get back swallowing another shot of tequila.

******

Tag List: @th3h0nkz @aunicornmademedoit

If you liked it, please leave a ♥️ and reblog!

[sageglitch]

okay so this is by no means a "final draft" by my standards but i had a class assignment to make an opening credits sequence to a film and i tried to visualize creating one for @mothercain's preacher's daughter album if it was a film. tried the best i could with the videos i could find from youtube and created this shit from scratch so hope you enjoy <3 (also yea i made this a few months ago but i forgot my tumblr login until today so finally i can post on here again)

more info:

i wanted it to have something like a late 90s early 2000s straight to vhs movie, hence all the static and shit, and i wanted to mix together a lot of scenery of old backwater towns i spent a lot of time driving through since ive lived in the south basically my whole life. i didnt have a lot of footage i made that i could use but thankfully there was a guy on youtube who's entire channel is basically driving through these unseen towns so if i can ever remember his channels name i will give credits to him for those clips. i also spent a lot of time in old baptist church's since i was a choir kid, (including an old one in MS that still had the upper levels from slavery/jim crow era), but even the newer ones i went to in texas had this very haunting and forgotten feeling to them even though they were being actively used. as for the sound mixing, i was originally going to have this project be a lot longer so the clips didnt feel as fast and the music would have this really cool doubling effect between Family Tree (Intro) and Family Tree synched up perfectly, but my professor made me trim down the project from about 4-5 minutes to the length it's at now, so i had to unfortunately remove that and re-mix the audio to just Family Tree (Intro) and Strangers.

now, for the meat industry clips. basically, i knew there was no way i would be able to do outright gore, and i particularly didnt want to, as i felt it wouldnt unsettle the audience as much as i would want, and rather would just disgust them. so i decided, with my bundles of knowledge on the meat packing industry from the novel The Jungle, it would serve very well to unsettle the audience and mix together these ideas of a sacrificial lamb being no more than a piece of meat to the ones who sacrifice for the joy of sacrifice and not for the meaning behind it (if that makes sense). these clips were free-use sourced from old ass documentaries i found on youtube about the chicago meat packing industry primarily, and i think it does a good job at adding to the horror side element without being outright gratuitous.

and of course, many of the clips come from ethel's youtube as well, though id imagine you can tell which ones those are. there was a lot of content i found from her youtube, and i later found some older clips that no longer are posted on hayden's channel, but i figured i'd rather stick with the one's she has available as to not draw attention to clips she might not want people seeing.

theres also a few clips from possibly in michigan in there. one, because i love possibly in michigan. two, because it does a lot to add to this older film/vhs ambiance that i tried to recreate (very shittily mind you. i dont know how to use after effects very well).

hope you enjoy <3

[onthepyre]

Hi June! No.1 for the prompt meme if you feel inspired? 💖

hi calli!! thanks for dropping in <3 this is kind of loosely the "dirtiest white boy in america" period but honestly. fuck if i know. it's sad though

send me a number and ill write something angsty

1 - keeping things from the other to spare their feelings

Sometimes Dad had to bail, Mickey knew. When they were little kids, not smart enough to keep their traps shut, he and Mandy got dragged along, lying in the backseat, her head in his lap. Perks of being the youngest two, Mickey guesses. Seeing Indiana before they turned six. By the time Mom was gone, they were told to keep their heads down and wait it out while Dad fucked off to who-knows-where. It sucked, but it sucked less than having him home. It was tolerable.

When the pigs started sniffing around the Alibi, Dad got itchy. They were just around to "ask questions," but the proximity was enough. He had a bag packed in ten minutes, four loaded handguns tucked under dirty underwear and ratty cutoffs. It was damn near a rampage, but Mickey didn't have the sixth sense his siblings did that told them to get the fuck out of dodge. He didn't even realize the depth of shit he was in until Dad pitched a backpack at him and asked what the fuck he was standing around with his thumb up his ass for.

Arguing was useless. If he ran now, Mickey would be dead when Dad inevitably made it back to Chicago. So he took the backpack and stuffed it with a change of clothes and a handful of knives and cash, tucking his busted flip phone into a wad of underwear. In case he needed it, Mickey told himself. So he could contact Mandy if they were gonna be gone long. Not Ian.

That's what he told himself, at least, but when they were halfway to Dad's buddy's cabin in Minnesota and it slipped out that he was wanted for eight counts of trafficking, when Mickey's throat started to burn, he knew.

A nine hour drive meant sitting next to Dad all night. When they finally, finally made it, got out to stretch their legs deep in the woods, it set in. Mickey was very firmly stuck here, at least for the coming days, nobody to keep him company but Dad and the fucking raccoons.

Just about as soon as they set foot in the cabin, Dad was snoring. Mickey wasn't about to take his chances in the same room, only four feet of space between the twin beds. He crept to the bathroom, locked the door, propped a stepstool against it for good measure. He texted Mandy first, short and to the point: sos in mn.

Then there was the problem of Ian. He had, at best, one message to make sure he'd leave him alone. There was no telling how long it would take Mandy to figure out how the fuck to get him out of this three-room shithole, assuming he wasn't cursed to die in it. Mickey couldn't say nothing. Ian would get antsy, go looking for him. Say something he shouldn't. But he couldn't tell him what was actually happening, either, because he couldn't give Ian that false hope. Couldn't let him stay attached, pine, worry, wait for something that wasn't going to come.

He had to let him get over it like a normal heartbreak. Ian could cry for a week and then find some other South Side street rat to fuck instead, a thought that had Mickey gnawing on his bottom lip to distract from the pit in his stomach. Yeah. That was what he had to do.

cant c u anymore, he wrote. dont txt.

Mickey deleted both messages as soon as they went through. He allowed himself ten seconds to let it sink in. Knuckles pressed into his eyes, sitting on the toilet lit bent double, he sniffled once. Then, after a few shuddering breaths, he opened the door, and thank fuck, Dad was still snoring.

[flownwrong]

something like this (due south fic)

F/K + F/K/V, rated T; ~1000 words

Summary: Ten ways Ray Kowalski's day can go.

A/N: For @thegoodthebadandtheart's birthday. Hap birth, friend! You're the real one <3

read on ao3

1. Back before The Great Frasering, my days went something like this: groan my way out of bed, try not to slip in the shower with my eyes not quite opening the whole way, inhale the coffee smell from the coffee mug, inhale the coffee from the coffee mug, Turtle feeding time, pants, shirt, holster, car, work—repeat in reverse, swapping coffee for beer and shower for a jerk-off-and-feel-sorry-for-myself session. Sprinkle in some evenings out with the guys—good collars, or someone's birthday, or impending fatherhood, or retirement—with bar games and shooting the shit, out of which I'm mostly good at that last one.

Work went something like this: come in, argue with anyone who's looking for an argument, try to make sure that doesn't include the witnesses or the Lieu, talk to people, shout at people, slap cuffs on people. On a good day, help people. Or at least try. Sprinkle in staying late in the attempts to keep all the papers in check, which wasn't as hard as you'd think considering back home it was mostly the TV and the Turtle waiting.

2. Then there was one day when work went something like this: Lieu calls me in, says, here's a doozy, wham, bam, I'm outta there, outta my own skin, outta my depth.

3. During The Great Frasering, my days went something like this: get to the station, hang out with Fraser, take a fat pill's worth of trippy shit, argue with Fraser, work with Fraser, hang out with Fraser, get slobbered on by wolf, go to bed, sleep the sleep of the dead—not necessarily in that order. Same on weekends, only without work. Well, not every time. Sprinkle in some letting Stella go, some letting Fraser in, some times my heart would feel so huge with needing him I was sure that was all she wrote.

4. Then there was one day that went something like this: Fraser catches a weirdass fish, gets on the trail of the killer of his mother, wham, bam, I'm outta Vecchio's skin, outta a plane, outta a partner. I'm lucky Fraser didn't get the memo.

5. The adventure went something like this: learn so much new stuff my brain felt three sizes too big for my skull, get why Fraser can't shut up about this place, spend so much time looking up at the sky one night I got a crick in my neck and felt dizzy, kiss Fraser, some more dizzy, try to figure out whether I said I loved him out loud only for him to say it first. Not find any hands, reaching out or otherwise, except for Fraser's hand down my pants, which, I'll be honest, I'll take over Franklin's any day of the week.

6. Then there was one day that went something like this: pack up my shit and go back to Chicago, listen to Fraser snuffle in his sleep on the plane, thank whoever's in charge about two hundred and eighteen times. Come home, curl up together in bed in the puzzle pieces way we worked out, only this time it's my bed, and technically it's the next day, but it's not like I stay up to check the clock.

7. After, it was The Great Frasering 2, bigger and better and like nothing I ever hoped for, until—

8. —the day that went something like this: Fraser sneaks off after lunch, which is nothing that pings my radar because he's his own guy, but then he comes home late and miserable and tells me Vecchio's back in town, which, yeah, maybe isn't something I was gonna do a victory lap about, but he looks way worse than I feel, which is ten different kinds of wrong, and then he says he owes me a bare minimum of honesty about his desires, with this face that gives me the idea he maybe isn't talking about me decked out in latex swinging a whip at him kind of desires, which scares the brains out of me because when it comes to the big feely things Fraser hardly ever talks, and I don't know if I will sock him one or curl up on the floor and sob until he tells me and it's so queer I end up laughing.

9. The days after that went something like—like something I don't even—but the important part is Fraser stays right where I want him, where I will always want him, and it turns out that's not the only thing I can want.

10. So, today went something like this: wake up late to an empty bed, inhale the coffee—the good stuff I never ask for but get nonetheless, have a bad hair day, go to work pissed off, piss Fraser off, piss the perp off, watch Fraser piss the perp off, take one in the jaw, give as good as I got, slap cuffs on the perp, sit through his song and dance, finally get rid of him. Endure the party, blow the party early, drive Fraser home. Open the door to Vecchio cooking, see him see me and swear, get the third bag of peas today slapped onto my face, get a beer and watch him chew Fraser out, better than TV. Eat half the whatever Vecchio's cooking right from the pan, listen to Fraser chew me out for bad behavior when all he really cares about is that there's less left for him. Make out with Fraser, pause for dinner, make out with Vecchio, try to stop the wolf from making out with me because I still smell like the good sauce, watch Vecchio make out with Fraser. Say wait, wait, what about the cake, hear Vecchio say what cake, say the one you made, hear the eyeroll as he says if you wanted one, should've made it yourself, say fuck you and get only today, Kowalski. Get herded off into the bedroom by Fraser, get horizontal, get—well, use your imagination.

So maybe this isn't exactly how I envisioned forty, but hey, my definition of a good day? Probably something like this.

[nuwuna]

Dance HCs for the Redacted bois :)

David: Ballet

My man likes rules and ballet has those rules. He was the best at partner work and lifted those girlies into the air with no problem. The pack teases him abt it sometimes but angel loves it. They constantly ask him to teach them variations.

Asher: Classic Jazz/Hip-hop

I think he was enrolled in jazz classes as a kid and really enjoyed it. Later on, he thought hip-hop was really cool so he watched a bunch of videos on it. yes, self-taught hip-hopper ash. he's an absolute beast at clubs and definitely dances to the songs playing at grocery stores.

Milo: BALLROOM PLEASE HE'S LITERALLY PERFECT FOR THIS ARE YOU KIDDING? He loved every aspect of it: the style, the costumes, the competition, EVERYTHING. He was really good at it too, he won like 90% of the competitions we was in. He definitely had a massive rivalry with another person and was petty abt it.

Vincent: Contemporary Ballet

not necessarily ballet but it has a certain artistic element that he enjoys. He took a few classes as a kid and then enrolled in some classes at his college. I just think that he would be really good at it and it's not super traditional.

Sam: Country Western

my guy is from the south what did you expect? anyways he went to a lot of shindigs as a kid and then went to country clubs in college. He's goated at partnering too. he spins his partners around and lifts them into the air with ease. Even tho darlin is made of steel he can still pull crazy stunts.

William: Ballet

He's literally from France and was the reason why Tchaikovsky wrote the Nutcracker. He KNOWS his stuff.

Gavin: Jazz 

Okay a bit different, but I think that he enjoys the more mature jazz/theatre. Like cabaret, chicago, and moulin rouge. he LIVES for that shit. fosse is his idol bro. he occasionally surprises freelancer with a little number lol

Damien: Ballet

my man went far with this like he was GOOD. He was definitely enrolled in a professional company before he went to damn. He was super particular about every move and argued with people during variations. He even got annoyed at the girls he was paired with because they weren't certain moves correctly. The other dancers didn't like him very much, but those russian ballet teachers did, and that's why he got so many good roles in the shows he was in.

Lasko: Musical theatre

okay, hear me out here. he's a show tunes guy. he loves newsies, grease, and hamilton and was for sure a theatre kid before his powers manifested. Like can you imagine how cute that is? he's a little bit embarrassed about it but when freelancer asks him about it he pulls out the old CDs. pls so cute

Huxley: Rhythmic tap

no not theatre tap like he goes hard with the rhythms. you really wouldn't expect it but you can sometimes catch him tapping when he's sitting or waiting in line. he's an absolute beast at it.

Caelum: Lyrical

he loves all of Maddie Ziegler's solos. the likes how much emotion is put into every move and gets very invested in the stories he tells through the movement. he also really likes all the pretty costumes.

anyways this is all just my opinion and I miss dancing a little bit. :P

[myhauntedsalem]

9 Terrifying American Murder Houses

From Amityville Horror to Jeffrey Dahmer’s one-bedroom, these murder houses are home to some truly brutal murders.

9. THE AMITYVILLE HORROR HOUSE 112 OCEAN AVE, AMITYVILLE, NY

When the deal is too good, start asking questions. In 1975, George and Kathy Lutz bought this sprawling Dutch Colonial on the south shore of Long Island at a bargain rate. The reason for the discounted price tag? Just 13 months earlier, previous resident Ronald “Butch” DeFeo slaughtered his parents and four younger siblings while they slept in their beds. It didn’t take long for the weirdness to begin. Demonic voices, oozing walls, cloven hoof prints in the snow. The Lutz family lasted just two months before fleeing 112 Ocean Avenue in the night.

8. THE HEX MURDER HOUSE REHMEYERS HOLLOW RD, SHREWSBURY, PA

In 1928, John Blymire was convinced a reclusive neighbor named Nelson Rehmeyer had put a hex upon him. Believing the only way to break the curse was to track down Rehmeyer’s spell book and set it ablaze, Blymire rallied two buddies for a late-night visit. While the gang never found the book, they did find Rehmeyer whom they murdered and mutilated before setting his body on fire. In 2007, an effort was made to open the Hex House to the public, but the plan was eventually scrapped.

7. MOORE FAMILY AXE MURDER HOUSE 508 E 2ND ST, VILLISCA, IA

On a cool summer night in 1912 someone broke into this peaceful Iowa homestead and bludgeoned all six family members plus two houseguests with an axe. The horrific scene was discovered the following morning by a concerned neighbor. Numerous suspects were named in the case including a traveling minister and State Senator Frank F. Jones. Nevertheless, the murder remains unsolved.

6. KREISCHER MANSION 4500 ARTHUR KILL RD, STATEN ISLAND, NY

German entrepreneur Balthasar Kreischer built this sprawling mansion in 1885 as a symbol of his success in the brick making business. The good times were short-lived. By 1894, his company had crumbled and his youngest son had shot himself in the head. The decaying mansion sat empty for years until its groundskeeper used the property for a mob hit in 2005. Joseph Young strangled and stabbed his target before finally drowning the man in a garden pool. Young then hacked up the body and burned it in the mansion’s incinerator.

5. LIZZIE BORDEN HOUSE 230 2ND ST, FALL RIVER, MA

On August 4, 1892 Andrew Borden was thrashed with a hatchet while he dozed on the couch of his parlor. Andrew’s second wife Abby met an equally grisly end in the upstairs bedroom. While everyone in Fall River suspected daughter Lizzie of the crime, the local judge remained unconvinced. She was tried and acquitted of the murder one year later. Oddly, the home is now a successful bed & breakfast.

4. MANSON FAMILY MURDER HOUSE 10050 CIELO DRIVE, LOS ANGELES, CA

In 1969, members of the Manson Family shocked the nation when they broke into this L.A. estate and slaughtered Sharon Tate along with four other victims. The murderers wrote pig in blood across the front door. Numerous residents have since called 10050 Cielo Drive home including musician Trent Reznor, who recorded THE DOWNWARD SPIRAL there. In 1994, the original structure was razed and replaced with a new mansion, currently occupied by the creator of FULL HOUSE.

3. JEFFREY DAHMER’S APARTMENT 924 NORTH 25TH ST, APT 213, MILWAUKEE, WI

Cannibal killer Jeffrey Dahmer lured numerous victims to his nondescript one-bedroom, where he drugged and dismembered them in a brutal campaign of murder. Severed limbs were packed in the freezer for future consumption; torsos were dumped in a vat of acid. Police finally arrested Dahmer in 1991 after one of his prisoners managed to escape. The entire apartment building was torn down shortly thereafter.

2. JOHN WAYNE GACY’S HOUSE 8213 SUMMERDALE AVE, CHICAGO, IL

It’s always good to know your neighbors especially if you suspect them of murder. John Wayne Gacy buried dozens of bodies in the basement and backyard of his suburban home while neighbors casually went about their day. When Gacy’s wife complained of a putrid smell, Gacy blamed it on dead mice. By the time police nabbed the infamous killer clown and excavated his 8213 Summerdale Ave property, they uncovered 29 bodies.

1. GARDETTE-LAPRETE HOUSE 1240 BURGUNDY ST, NEW ORLEANS, LA

In the late 1830s, plantation owner Jean LePrete leased his French Quarter Greek Revival to a mysterious man from Turkey. The renter, known only as The Sultan had more than a few roommates. He arrived with a massive entourage of eunuchs and concubines. The house quickly became known for its lavish parties, with music and revelry carrying on into the night. One morning, a passerby noticed 1240 Burgundy was eerily quiet. Then he spotted blood seeping out of the door. When authorities entered, they found everyone inside had been murdered and dismembered. As for The Sultan? He was buried alive in the courtyard. To this day, the case remains unsolved.

[hongduongn120]

The Wanderer

So, after arriving in Boston, Flynn quickly decided that he lacked the motivation and funds to settle down and build a business. And so, in true American fashion, he packed up and spent the next 3 years wandering from city to city, sort of like a grand tour but not. His routes took him from New England down to the Gulf of Mexico, through to the Pacific Northwest and the Great Lakes before settling down in St. Louis. The major cities he visited during this 3-year journey include:

- Boston, Massachusetts

- Providence, Rhode Island

- New York City, New York

- Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

- Baltimore, Maryland

- Washington, D.C.

- Richmond, Virginia

- Atlanta, Georgia

- Savannah, Georgia

- Jacksonville, Florida

- Mobile, Alabama

- New Orleans, Louisiana

- Austin, Texas

- El Paso, Texas

- Tucson, Arizona

- Los Angeles, California

- San Francisco, California

- Eugene, Oregon

- Portland, Oregon

- Seattle, Washington

- Helena, Montana

- Billings, Montana

- Rapid City, South Dakota

- Milwaukee, Wisconsin

- Chicago, Illinois

- Springfield, Illinois

- St. Louis, Missouri