#the six boroughs

[johnbrace]

Planning Appeal (DAY 6 (EVE)) Wirral Council refusals of 7 planning appl...

[allthecanadianpolitics]

A Montreal borough and Muslim leader are pushing back against the head of the Parti Québécois (PQ) after he accused a local library of promoting a "religious invasion" by posting a photo of a young girl wearing a hijab for a story time event. The photo in question was used in a Facebook post for an event the Mercier Library held on Oct. 13 called Les P'tits Coeurs Contes, or Little Hearts Tales in English. The promotional poster includes a stock photo of three children, including one girl wearing the religious head scarf in class. In a post on X, formerly Twitter, PQ leader Paul St-Pierre Plamondon said: "Is it normal for a library in my riding to feel the need to advertise a religious sign with a photo of a veiled little girl aged between three and six? Do you really think that this little girl is making a free and informed choice, with full knowledge of the facts, to be subjected to a religious symbol?"

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Tagging: @newsfromstolenland

[heartsongss]

three. we heroes.

masterlist.

a/n: guys im putting up a poll soon for the love interest because its a bit of a Choice and I want ppl to like it so watch out for that gang

One week later, you find yourself catching the train into Gotham. It’s 6:30, and the train is surprisingly packed for the time. You figure that even in Gotham, where rent is permanently cheap, people need to make a living. Insurance, and all that.

You chew on your nail, eyes watching the entrances and exits everytime the bus stops, but no monsters climb on, staring at you hungrily. Just more humans, blissfully unaware of the horrors hidden even further into Gotham’s heart. Would they run in fear, horrified by the odd contortations of monster flesh? Or would they accept it. Gotham is the home of human monsters, after all.

What is an empousai to Bane? What is a hellhound, all angry and drooling blood, to Killer Croc? Nothing. It's just another beast out for their blood.

The bus hitches to a final stop and you get off, near the heart of Gotham. Camp owns an apartment they use as their Gotham home base. You’ll start the Cull here and end it there, too. You wonder when your family will arrive. You know that they found out last night, as you watched through the windows as they climbed into a Camp van.

You were in bed by the time they got home, carefully ignoring the sound of them entering the house. Distantly, you could hear their whispers. Not the full things, only small snippets of conversation that relate to you.

“...(Y/N)...”

“It doesn’t….”

“...Weak!...”

You fell asleep to their thoughtlessly cruel words that night, and you made sure to be out far earlier than they’d be up waiting for you, intent on spending as much time away from them as you can. Hopefully, the Cull will save you from them. Maybe they’ll forget about you all over again, letting you fade into the background again, nothing more than the normal one.

You open the door of the apartment complex, hurrying through the halls and into the elevator. You press the button for the fourth floor, watching blankly as you pass the prior numbers. It’s all so close, now. In just a few hours, you’ll be fighting for your life. All of Gotham will be asleep, ignorant to the real monsters in their home city.

You’ll protect them all.

From block to block, borough to borough, you’ll keep them all safe. The elevator stops, and to step out to walk to the apartment door. You fiddle with your keys, unlocking the door and sliding in. There’s a few dim lights scattered about, illuminating eleven figures.

Katie Gardner, Travis Stoll, June Woods, Clarisse La Rue, Mary Leblanc, Will Solace, Lucy Black, and Jamie.

Your eyes widen at the sight of your friend. You had no idea that he’d be here today! He smiles tiredly at you, doing a two finger salute in a greeting. Smiling at him, you go and sit by his side. Clarisse stands just as you sit, looking out at you all.

“As you know, some of the Justice League will be involved in this year’s culling. We’ve supplied them with Celestial Bronze weapons, and Lady Hekate pulled the mist from their eyes. We’ll be working in groups of six. Three Demigods, three heroes.”

You nod, fiddling with your bracelet. You’ve named it doron, for gift. It was the first thing you ever got from your mother, and your most cherished. It’ll protect you well, tonight. You look to Clarisse, raising your hand.

She points to you, silently telling you to ask your question.

“Who’s working with who?”

“I was getting to that.” She says, deadpan.

You scowl at her, chewing on her lip.

“Katie, June, and I will be with the Flash, Wonder Woman, and Superboy. Travis, Mary, and Lucy will be with Batman, Wondergirl, and Red Hood-” You sigh in relief, “And (Y/N), Will, and Jamie will be with Superman, Impulse, and Nightwing.”

Fuck. Fucking shit. You try not to let the panic show on your face, reaching out to clutch at Jamie’s hand. He squeezes it reassuringly, tapping his foot in a panicked beat.

Clarisse barrels on, uncaring, “We’ll meet at eight today and get everything in place. Ensure they understand we’re doing it our way, never theirs.”

She takes it personally, you can tell. Something must have happened during the discussions. You don’t care much, though, a bit distracted of being on a team with your older brother. Your eyes flick to the clock. It’s seven. One more hour before you’re face to face with your family, walking them through the yearly massacre held in Gotham.

You’re so fucked.

・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・

Wonder Woman is leading them through a recap. Discussing do’s and don’ts, how they differ from baseline humans. She’s particularly focused on Bruce, who’d made the mistake of condemning the demigods who had killed.

He said they were cruel, and that nothing - even winning those wars - warranted so much death on their part. He said they should be jailed.

Clarisse, Dick thinks her name was, was royally pissed. She had turned on him, eyes wild, and spat, “Do you have it in you to lock up your own child?

The room had gone silent. Clarisse, breathing heavily, stared hin down and said, “(Y/N) did the most damage out of all of us. They fought for their survival. For our survival. You want to persecute them for that?”

Bruce hadn’t been able to answer. Mostly because Clarisse had been led out of the room and hadn’t returned. That was when Wonder Woman had taken over, explaining (Y/N)’s ancestry. She admitted that Clarisse would have known more, and she’d try to get her to talk the next day, but she hadn’t been with Wonder Woman this morning, apparently with the demigods in charge of the Cull.

Wonder Woman was still talking, saying, “They’re unconventional. They’re used to fighting with what they have, so they’ll probably make use of their surroundings. Including you.”

Dick nods. Bruce, beside him, grunts. His hands are clenched, tightening in a rhythm. He’s stressed. They all are, really. They hadn’t thought (Y/N) was so… scarred. They hadn’t even noticed! The poor thing must have been so scared. They couldn’t go to their family for help with the monsters following them… They hadn’t even been to camp! What if they were homesick, those summers spent away?

He frowns. Jason bumps his shoulder, looking at him through his helmet. Jason had taken it hard. It was different, but he knew what it was like to fight. He knew what it was like to be so scared, but unable to do anything but face it. It’s horrifying. 

They can fix it. After all this, they can talk to (Y/N) and fix it all. They must be so tired! It’s okay, though. Because they can rest with the family. It’s okay.

Diana’s voice filters through his senses again, “We’ll be meeting them at their safehouse in half an hour. From there, we’ll help with their preparations. They’re setting up some seals to keep monsters in, and preparing the spell to put most humans to sleep. That will happen around… twelve? one? It takes them a while to prepare themselves.”

They approach the Zeta tubes. Diana pauses, looking out at them. Her eyes stop on Dick, Bruce, and Jason. A silent plead to stay calm, a silent message.

They are strong enough.

“You remember your groups? Good. Gods help us all.”

[minefield-of-a-ninja]

*image of Jensen Ackles is used with permission of the photographer Mandi Lea Photogtaphy.

Summary: After a significant career shift and subsequent break-up, Brandy Miller moves to Wayne County, Pennsylvania, to be closer to family. She invests in a small, sight-unseen condo in a “quiet, charming neighborhood with views of the Poconos and neighbors you can count on.” One particular neighbor seems to have a unique interpretation of what that means.

Characters: Brandy Miller x Soldier Boy, Serge Bernard, Kimiko Miyashiro (mentioned), Maggie Shaw, Annie January, Hughie Campbell, MM (mentioned), John James Davis (AKA Homelander but just as SB’s 21yo son), Butcher (mentioned)

Warnings/tags in this chapter: 18+ ONLY, sexual tension, sexual objectification, rough and degrading sex dream, alcohol, Soldier Boy is a terrible father, explicit sexual content

Words in this chapter: 3,500

Author’s notes: Soldier Boy will be referred to by many names in this fic. The full name I’ve given him is Benjamin James Davis III.

Thank you to @brrose-apothecary @stusbunker and @talltalesandbedtimestories for pre-reads and green lights!

This fills my #Inconsiderate Neighbor square for @jacklesversebingo

SPOTIFY PLAYLIST - key tracks for this chapter: "Smooth Sailing" by QOTSA and "A Mistake" by Fiona Apple

CHAPTER ONE

The last five years have been wild. A global pandemic impacted our life choices and decisions more than any other event in the previous 50 years. Career shifts, resettling in vastly different communities, honest declarations of who we are as people and who we love — these things I’ve witnessed first-hand.

I was an executive for a nationally renowned advertising agency. My partner of six years was a successful stock trader. About three weeks into our second lockdown, I realized I couldn’t stand the guy. I went through every reason why I’d have stayed for so long if he was so horrible. I wondered if he hated me too. Then one day, he told me.

“Brandy, I can’t do this anymore.”

He didn’t hate me; he just didn’t love me. He wasn’t horrible; he just wasn’t for me. 

Working remotely gave me a similarly renewed perspective on my career choice. I worked 12 hours a day from my home office overlooking Central Park, drank a bottle of wine to go to sleep, then got up the next morning to do it all over again. Meanwhile, everyone in America was tightening their purse strings on ad spend.

Now, I’m in the Honesdale borough of Wayne County, Pennsylvania, working as a freelance document review specialist. I’m single, own my two-bedroom condo outright, and spend Sundays with my sister Amber and her two teenagers over in Damascus. 

These changes introduced me to a set of concepts that I had previously denied. I thought I was happy, successful, content. 

But I’m told that a constant desire for more hinders contentment. Comparison is the thief of joy, as they say. A sense of entitlement will always bite you in the ass. A lack of gratitude prevents you from appreciating what you already have and fosters a need for something beyond.

As it happens, I have a prospective client meeting in Scranton this afternoon, and my brand-new Jeep won’t start. I guess they don’t make them like they used to. 

“Brandy, mon amie, where are you?” my friend Serge answers my call with worry in his voice.

“My truck won’t start,” I whine.

Last month, I complained to Serge and his partner-in-all-things Kimiko that government work was beginning to bore me. I like new things, which is a bummer, considering desire hinders contentment. Kimiko offered to introduce me to her brother, who works with one of the largest healthcare companies in the country. 

“Oh, cher...” Serge laments in sympathy.

“I know, I know. And this fucking podunk town’s got like two cabs and one Lyft serving the entire county.”

I roll my neck and eyes in frustration, and in my periphery, I glimpse a man inside a single garage stall working on a motorcycle. I’ve never seen him before, but judging by the military-themed tattoos, evident dexterity with the tools he’s wielding, and his proportions, he’s the ‘asshole military contractor’ my next-door neighbor, Maggie, told me about when I moved in. 

Serge frets in Frenglish on the other end of the line before returning to the point. “On se’n occupe. We will handle it.”

I watch my newly discovered neighbor deftly flex and twist and wonder if he’s as adept with other motor vehicles. “Please tell Kimiko I’m sorry and understand if this opportunity’s off the table now.”

My words are meant for Serge, but the man not 10 yards away sends me a subtle, knowing look. There’s an enduring facet of competence and perception in every flick of his eyes and wrist, every shrug of his thick, broad shoulders, and the taunting slant of his jaw. He knows I’m watching him and knows I’m in a bind. 

He pities me.

I tell Serge that I’ll let him know how things go with the car before ending the call then tentatively head toward my neighbor’s garage stall.

“Hey there, I’m Brandy.” I thumb over my shoulder, indicating the general area of my condo. “Are you BJ?”

He smirks at his greasy wrench before answering, “BJ, Soldier Boy, Captain,” then pauses as he drags his eyes from his task to pin me in place. “Take your pick, sweetheart.”

He looks me down and up, slow and heavy, licking his lips. His demeanor would be comical at best and frightening at worst if I weren’t so stunned by the sheer audacity. As he unfolds from a squat, his muscles shift and grind under his sweat-slicked skin. He wipes his filthy hands on a filthier rag and saunters toward me. I have never in my life been so blatantly objectified right to my face.

“Need a ride?” he asks, meeting my eyes again. The rounded toes of his grungy work boots tap the points of my Jimmy Choos.

“I-” I attempt to speak but don’t know what to say. I should be outraged. I should tell him he can’t just look at people like that. He can’t just invade my space.

He tilts his head, and his eyes drop to my chest. “You're all flushed, Brandy. Feeling okay?” He drops his rag to the concrete before ghosting a finger along my collarbone.

Air returns to my lungs and the flush in my chest rises up my throat to my face. I smack his hand away and take a step back. “What the fuck?! Do you always harass and assault women half your size, or is it just me?”

Centuries of gaslighting threaten to drown me from one single look. And then he speaks. “My bad. Didn’t know you were a prude.”

He raises his hands in feigned surrender before returning to his bike.

“I’m a prude because I don’t like being evaluated like a pig going to slaughter?”

He rolls his eyes and sighs. “Listen—no harm, no foul, alright? I thought you were game; you’re not, no big deal.”

“Man, I came over here as a neighbor to introduce myself. You clearly heard part of my call and know my car isn’t starting. I thought, since you’re in here working on a motorcycle, you might also know something about cars.”

He nods. “Got it. Is that where we’re at right now? You want me to take a look at your car?”

“Jesus- what?! Are you for real?”

“No? Okay, then.” He turns his back, and I stare at him for a moment.

Thoughts swirl through my mind. Where is your spine, Brandy? Show him what you’re made of. This isn’t over until you say it is.

A slave to my guts and ego, I’m determined to re-engage. “Yes.” 

He slowly faces me again, eyebrows raised and head tilted in question. “Yes?”

“Yes. I’d appreciate it if you’d take a look at my Jeep.”

His expression shifts—softens, some might say, but his eyes remain hard and cold. “‘Course. What kinda neighbor would I be if I didn’t?”

He strides toward my two-car stall across from his, and I follow with no other excuse than my competitive spirit and morbid fascination with opposition. 

“You pay extra for two stalls?” he asks, glancing at the gym area I’ve set up beside my Jeep before rounding its hood.

From what I’ve gathered in this brief and bracing interaction, Captain BJ Soldier Boy isn’t a small-talk kind of person, but I’m not sure yet why he’s asking a simple question like that. I decide to answer as simply.

“Yeah.”

He nods and gestures to the driver’s seat. “Pop the hood.”

I watch through my windshield and the slant of space between the hood and my dash as he quickly pokes and prods at things I know nothing about. Less than two minutes later, he drops the hood shut and walks around to the open driver’s side door.  

“Try it now.” He’s rubbing his hands together and his brow is slightly furrowed like he wishes he hadn’t tossed that rag aside in his garage.

I turn the key in the ignition, and it starts with no issue. 

My morning started with limited knowledge of this man and the inner workings of my Jeep. I had a single goal in mind to expand my client portfolio. I did not grow my business, I have not learned anything new about my vehicle, and my introduction to my neighbor has provided me with very little satisfaction. 

“Coupla loose terminals. It happens with new cars. Gotta break ‘em in.”

I flick my eyes to meet his. He holds my gaze, licks his bottom lip back between his teeth, then backs away before strolling away. 

+

“He’s the fucking poster boy for misogyny.”

Maggie nods as she tops off my glass of wine. “Yeah, calling him an asshole is an insult to assholes, honestly.”

“I felt like I was transported back to the 1950s or something. He’s a caricature of misogyny.”

“The embodiment,” Maggie replies, settling back into her sofa and sipping her wine.

“Does he think that works on women? Like, are there women in his sphere who respond favorably to his behavior? He can’t be rewarded by it. Maybe he’s conducting a social experiment.”

Maggie laughs. “You’re giving him way too much credit.”

“Then why?”

Maggie stares at me for a beat. “The question is, why do you care?”

I’ve thought of nothing else since he left me in my garage yesterday morning. I felt defeated by him. Used, somehow. Inconsequential in the end.

“I hate how he made me feel.”

Maggie remains silent and intent. She’s a great listener, and she never judges.

“I had a dream about him last night.”

She nods. “And how did that make you feel?”

I shake my head and draw a deep breath. It made me feel hot and wild. I was angry and hungry for him. Or for redemption, revenge, or victory. 

“It makes no sense. We interacted for like 10 minutes and I haven’t seen him since. That’s why I care. I can’t get him out of my head. I keep thinking of what I should’ve said or done instead of standing there like a deer in headlights.”

“Don’t let your pride rule you with him. He has no morals, no decency. You won’t win.” 

“You think I’m trying to win something.” 

She’s right. Maggie and I are a lot alike, but she’s smarter and more cautious than I am. Somewhere along the line, she learned a lesson I have yet to let sink in. She learned to resist a challenge and walk away. 

“Aren’t you?”

I shrug. “Maybe.”

“Let’s change the subject,” Maggie suggests. “Did you get that meeting rescheduled, or is it dead?”

I fill her in on my chat with Kimiko. Kimiko’s brother Kenji was gracious enough to reschedule for next week, and I decided it best to go up the night before and spend the night with her and Serge in case I have any other car problems. 

Maggie opens a second bottle of wine and we proceed with our binge of Dead To Me on Netflix. 

+

I’m face down on my weight bench, straddling the padded seat with his fist in my hair and his cock hammering me from behind. He’s saying things to me, violent, hateful words, calling me names.

My wrists are bound, I’m blindfolded, and I am so wet. So wet from his rough hands, the way he slaps my ass and hips and pulls my hair. His voice is deep and rich, and it dominates the atmosphere and my mind. 

He’s had me so many times already, and he wants more. He wants to devour me. He can’t get enough of me.

And I never want him to stop. He treats me like a whore, tells me I’m his whore, and I can’t stop soaking his cock and slicking up the bench. 

“You fucking love my cock.”

“Yes, yes, yes, fuck me.”

I wake up in a sweat after a third night dreaming of him. I feel fractured and unlike myself. I’ve never wanted the kinds of things I’m dreaming about him. I’ve never wanted a man to degrade me or tie me up. 

And this man is a pig of a man. 

But I can’t get him out of my head.

I’m aching and breathless. My sheets are soaked from sweat and my pussy. I reach into my nightstand for my vibrator to soothe the twitching between my legs and rid him from my mind. I think about all the things that usually get me off, but he just keeps coming back around with big, rough hands and dirty words, and teeth that score my tender flesh.

I come silently, arching into my mattress, imagining his hands around my wrists and his cock driving into me hard.

+

When I told the newlyweds who live across the hall from my nemesis that I’d never been to our neighborhood bar, they invited me to join them for burgers and beers. 

“I know it doesn’t look like much, but Butcher’s is an institution. I literally grew up in this bar,” Annie tells me as her husband Hughie distributes sticky menus and napkin roll-ups. 

“I’ll get a pitcher,” Hughie says and heads to the bar.

“I like it. Thanks for bringing me.”

I glance around the space, taking in old pictures and carved sentiments in the wooden beams. It still smells faintly of cigarette smoke after decades of No Smoking laws have been enforced. It reminds me of my favorite New York dive bar.

“Well, I’m glad. I’m sure it can’t be easy to transplant to a place like Honesdale where everybody knows everybody.”

“You know, it hasn’t been too bad. Between you two and Maggie, I’m meeting all the neighbors and learning the ropes like a real local.”

I don’t mention the man who’s rapidly infiltrated every dark corner of my brain since we’re having such a nice time. I don’t want to spoil it, but you don’t always get what you want.

“Ugh, BJ,” Annie gripes, reaching for a menu even though she surely has it memorized. “He is so gross.”

I hazard a glance in the direction of her glare to see the bane of my existence waltzing toward the bar. 

“He better not fuck with Hughie,” Annie says, narrowing her eyes as he brushes shoulders with her groom. 

Hughie gracefully ignores the man’s obvious intention to needle him, gathers three chilled pint glasses and our pitcher, and rounds the crowd away from Captain Creep to return to the table.

“Who’s the kid?” I ask, finally noticing a quiet young man with BJ at the bar.

“That’s his son John. That kid’s been through the wringer.”

John’s smaller than his dad. He’s almost delicate-looking with a thick swath of blonde hair and deep blue eyes. He doesn’t have the swagger of the man next to him, and he seems to wish he were anywhere but here.

“MM, my man, it’s my boy’s 21st birthday! Get him a whiskey and a round for the house on me.”

“Hey.” Hughie settles the pint glasses on the table before filling each one, serving Annie and me first, then sitting down to pour his own. “John’s 21st. This oughtta be an interesting night.”

Annie tells me about watching John when he was a baby, that he was sweet and gentle, quiet but curious, and his dad taunted him for it.

“He called his 6-year-old son a pussy.” She shakes her head. “Who does that?”

John slides into a barstool and idly sips his whiskey. A few of the older patrons wish him Happy Birthday, and MM makes a point to keep his water glass and popcorn bowl full while John’s dad struts around, flirting with every woman and slapping the backs of every man. 

It’s odd to see people react to him positively. Men, no matter their age, appear to admire him, and every woman he smiles at blushes and giggles. 

“Should we order?" Hughie asks. "Butcher’s in the back tonight.”

I decide on the "Terror," a half-pound beef burger with taleggio, prosciutto, and peperoncini, medium-rare. Annie recommends the cheesy house fries with special sauce as a shared dish, and within 20 minutes, we have our food and a second pitcher.

A soft buzz from light American beer warms and loosens me up. In this state, I’m less critical of my thoughts about the man who’s starred in my most desperate and debased dreams this past week. 

He looks good. He’s agile and powerful, which is a spectacular combination. People laugh at his jokes. They gravitate toward him. They think he’s charming and handsome, and from the background of Annie’s stories, I learn that he’s not only a merc but a war hero. 

It’s nice to feel something other than the overwhelming angst and shame I’ve felt all week. He affects people; it’s okay. I’m not an outlier. I just have to ride this out.

We finish our food, and I excuse myself to the restroom. There’s a vanilla candle burning on a table beside a well-loved armchair, a basket with single-size toiletries, pads and tampons, condoms, hand soap, and lotion. Definite homey vibe.

As I step through the door back into the hallway, I’m jolted from my chill by a deep voice.

“Look at you all caszh and relaxed.” 

He’s propped between the men’s and women’s, so close I brush his arm when I whirl around to connect the voice with a face.

“Jesus, you scared me.”

“Hmm.” He pushes off the wall and turns into me, backing me against the closed door.

“There’s that flush,” he murmurs. He does that thing with his finger again that made me smack his hand away earlier this week. This time, I let him.

“Is it because I scared you,” he pauses and catches my eye. “Or something else?”

I close my eyes and let my head fall back to the door, feeling the heat and buzz of a potentially malicious yet certainly pleasurable outcome. He slides a knee between my thighs and skims a heavy hand over my hip, nuzzling against my throat with a low chuckle.

My breath catches in my chest under the hand he has pressed there, holding me in place, keeping me where he wants me. Ire swirls and rises from my gut, and I grip his t-shirt in my fists to yank him into the restroom.

“There she is.” He stumbles backward with a grin as I throw the lock.

“Shut up.” I push him to sit in the chair before climbing astride him and diving in.

His lips are plush and demanding, his beard is soft, and his mouth is superheated and whiskey-wet. He’s hard and hot everywhere I touch as I tug at the button and zipper of his jeans. His hands roam over denim and my cotton t-shirt. He nips at my lips and toys with the button of my jeans.

“Fuck,” I growl, pushing out of his lap to get my pants down.

Before I know it, he’s spun me around, and he’s shimmying my jeans and underwear over my hips and down my thighs. He slumps into the chair and fits a condom over his length, then juts his hips forward to give me a place to rest. One long arm wraps my middle, and he slips two fingers over my wet slit. The wide pads of his fingertips swirl around my clit, and I brace my hands on the arms of the chair. Then he’s teasing me with his hard cock, rutting underneath, making me squirm. 

When he finally pushes inside, I shout and groan from the stretch and insane rhythm he’s keeping on my clit. I go off—ride him, pumping my thighs and elbows, using his arm around my middle for leverage. 

In less than a minute, I’m coming. One second later, he’s on his feet with me on my knees in the chair. He forces me to bend and hold onto the back, grips my bare hips, and pushes inside me again. He’s muttering, grunting, and, god, he’s hitting that spot with every thrust. 

“Come on, Brandy,” he gasps. “Lemme feel that tight little cunt come again. Make me come.”

I reach down between my legs and press over my mound, relishing his measured thrusts. I’m booze and fuck drunk, and my ears are ringing. His hands tighten on my hips, and we both come, swearing and howling.

Chapter Two

What did you think? Reblog to share if you liked it! And let me know your thoughts. xox

More Soldier Boy | MJ's Master List

[thesunpersists]

The Yellow Line

“Is this my punishment for being annoying, Katniss? ‘Cause I actually don't mind pillow fights with gorgeous half-naked women.” He grabs her wrists and pulls her closer. “I won't let it go because I want us to have this all the time. We won’t need to worry about the last bus, the weather, or someone hearing us... It'll be just you and me."

-

Two households, both alike in lack of privacy. Will Katniss and Peeta manage to get away and have a place of their own? Maybe somewhere on the yellow line?

Set six months after Katniss with a K and Codename: B³.

Read on ao3!

This is for  @browneyeddevil who left a lovely comment on Codename: B³ and requested I write something about the last part of the story, which goes:

“One of these days,” she thinks to herself, “you will spend the night in his bed in the twelfth borough. Then your displacement will not be zero.”

This got me thinking just how quickly that distance between their houses would become a source of annoyance and I wrote this short piece about how they would come to live together. Thank you, @browneyeddevil for the inspiration and the encouraging comments! ❤️

[gwynzynoodles]

Hey to my fellow New York or tristate area PJO fans, did anyone also wonder why Sally just didn’t move to the other boroughs? Like they were canonically poor and Manhattan is EXPENSIVE, for the apartment they had in the show or movie (we don’t talk about the movie) they could get a home in the other boroughs with two extra rooms for the same price. If you’re using the explanation of “oh Percy was kicked out of six schools” I know people who have done things similar to Percy and they still got into schools. He’ll be fine.

(Please tell me if there’s a canon explanation as to why and I just forgot, was it because of Grover? Well it can’t cause what about before Grover???)

[bullet-prooflove]

"It’s time to say the things he truly feels" with Scola? I'm scared but we'll have to face it one day or another

Tagging: @kmc1989 @trublu2u @burningpeachpuppy @district447 @stelacole

Companion piece to:

Little Changes - Stuart notices when you start to make little changes.

The Last Time - You and Stuart face a problem regarding your wish to start a family.

Fresh - You decide you need to start fresh.

Seduction (NSFW) - You decide to seduce Stuart.

Jack - Stuart discovers that he fathered a child with Nina.

Stuart’s marriage ends not with a shouting match or raised voices but with a simple declaration.

“I can’t do this.”

The words roll off your lips as you stare down at a picture of your husband’s son, the one he didn’t father with you. You don’t understand in that moment how fate can be so cruel, how it can take away your ability to have children and then give him one of his own.

“I have to.” Stuart tells you, his voice raising just a little. “Sasha, he’s my son. I can’t just leave him out there to fend for himself.”

“I know.” You say as you push the photograph back towards him. “I don’t expect you to.”

He understands then in that moment that it’s over. You can’t cope with this upheaval in your life, not after everything you’ve already been through.

“I’ll pack a bag.” You say despondently as you raise to your feet. “I’ll have my stuff out by the time you come back from L.A with Jack.”

He understands what you’re giving him in that moment, a fresh start with his son. A life with just the two of them. He doesn’t follow you out the room or try to stop you. He doesn’t see the point. You buried your dreams of having a family, for you there is no going back.

You don’t say goodbye when you walk about the door, you simply leave, closing it softly behind you.

You stay true to your word, when he gets back from L.A with Jack, there isn’t a trace of you in the house. It’s as if you never existed. The only difference is the room you had planned to use as a nursery. You’d repainted it after you discovered you couldn’t have children, planned to use it as a home office. Instead there’s now a child’s bed in it, along with furnishings, some clothes, toys and books. It’s your final gift to him he realises. The thing he was worried about the most was Jack not having his own room for the first few weeks but you’ve already taken care of that.

He tries to call you that night when he gets Jack squared away but your phone goes straight to voicemail.

It’s  a week later that he decides to call you at work, you aren’t picking up the phone, you’re not answering his texts. He’s worried about what this has done to you, that you’ll be drowning your sorrows in some shitty bar in a different borough.

“I’m sorry Stuart.” He’s told when he gets through to your supervisor. “They offered her a assignment in Europe over the next year, she left for Budapest this morning.”

He doesn’t hear from you at all after that, not until the divorce papers turn up in the mail six months later, already etched with your signature.

You want to be free of the burden of it all, he thinks.

He signs them and sends them back to your lawyer the next day.

His life changes as it does when you have a child. He makes the move to White Collar, a safer job with regular hours so he can spend his evenings with Jack. He’s loving, attentive, a good father. His son becomes his entire world and there isn’t much space for anything else.

It’s two years later that he lays eyes on you for the first time. He’s attending a law enforcement conference in the exhibition centre, when you step out onto the stage to cover a talk for a speaker whose taken ill. For a moment he’s stunned, he doesn’t know what to do, but then the session starts and it’s impossible for him to leave without causing a fuss so he sits back to watch instead.  

You’re captivating. Engaging, funny, dynamic, everything he remembers and more. This is what it’s like, he recalls, to get swept away in you. You make it so God damn easy. He heads to the bar when the talks over because he needs something to take the edge off and that’s where finds you, sitting alone, sipping from a wineglass, your gaze focused on the TV fixed into the wall.

“Sasha.” He says softly as you tilt your head towards him and those eyes, they have Stuart falling in love all over again. “Will you let me buy you a drink?”

Stuart? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

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[alphynix]

Crystal Palace Field Trip Part 1: Walking With Victorian Monsters

The Crystal Palace Dinosaurs take their name from the original Crystal Palace, a glass-paned exhibition building originally constructed for a World's Fair in Hyde Park in 1851.

In 1854 the structure was relocated 14km (~9 miles) south to the newly-created Crystal Palace Park, and a collection of over 30 life-sized statues of prehistoric animals were commissioned to accompany the reopening – creating a sort of Victorian dinosaur theme park – sculpted by Benjamin Waterhouse Hawkins with consultation from paleontologist Sir Richard Owen.

The Palace building itself burned down completely in 1936, and today only the ruins of its terraces remain in the northeast of the park grounds.

The Crystal Palace building then and now Left image circa 1854 (public domain) Right image circa 2011 by Mark Ahsmann (CC BY-SA 3.0)

Six sphinx statues based on the Great Sphinx of Tanis also survive up among the Palace ruins, flanking some of the terrace staircases. They fell into serious disrepair during the latter half of the 20th century, but in 2017 they all finally got some much-needed preservation work, repairing them and restoring their original Victorian red paint jobs.

———

…But let's get to what we're really here for. Dinosaurs! (…And assorted other prehistoric beasties!)

The "Dinosaur Court" down in the south end of the park still remains to this day, displayed across several islands in a man-made lake. Over the decades they've been through multiple cycles of neglect and renovation, and are currently cared for by the London Borough of Bromley (Crystal Palace Park Trust are due to take over custodial duties in September 2023), with promotion and fundraising assistance from organizations like Historic England and the Friends of the Crystal Palace Dinosaurs charity.

Just about 170 years old now, the Crystal Palace Dinosaurs represent fifteen different types of fossil creatures known to 1850s Victorian science, with only three actual dinosaur species featured. Although often derided for being outdated and very inaccurate by modern standards, they were actually incredibly good efforts at the time, especially taking into account that the field of paleontology was still in its very early days.

They also just have a lot of charm, with toothy grins and surprisingly dynamic poses.

Unfortunately on the day I visited in early August 2023 most of the statues were heavily obscured by plant growth, both on their islands and on the sides of the paths they can usually be viewed from. Since I'd seen images from about a month ago showing things being less overgrown, this was probably just some unlucky timing on my part coinciding with some explosive summer foliage growth.

The first island on the trail features a few Permian and Triassic animals which were only known from fragmentary remains in the 1850s. These "labyrinthodonts" were recognized as having similarities to both amphibians and reptiles, and so were depicted with boxy toothy jaws, warty skin, stumpy tails, and long frog-like back legs.

Today we'd call these particular animals temnospondyl amphibians, specifically Mastodonsaurus, and we know they were actually shaped more like giant salamanders with longer flatter crocodilian-like jaws, smaller legs, and long paddle-like tails.

———

Somewhere in the foliage beyond this specific "labyrinthodont" there was also supposed to be a pair of dicynodonts, but I couldn't see much of them at all and didn't manage to get a remotely visible photograph.

Crystal Palace Dicynodon when much less overgrown Left photo by London looks (CC BY 2.0) Right photo by Loz Pycock (CC BY SA 2.0)

These Dicynodon are depicted as looking like sabre-toothed turtles complete with shells. That was fairly speculative even for the time, but considering only their weird turtle-beaked-and-walrus-tusked skulls were known it was probably the best guess Hawkins and Owen had. Today we know these animals were actually synapsids related to modern mammals, but Victorian understanding considered them to be a type of reptile.

Modern reconstructions of dicynodonts have a slightly different face shape, along with squat pig-like bodies and semi-sprawling limbs. They may have had fur, but currently the only known actual skin impressions from the genus Lystrosaurus show leathery bumpy hairless skin.

———

Next time: the Jurassic and Cretaceous sculptures!

[camsthisky]

okay, 24 with any of the brothers, leo , and draxum please? your writing style is great! but no pressure <3

24. "Help them! Please!"

ao3

Leo is not Baron Draxum’s biggest fan. In fact, if Draxum was involved in any normal situation, Leo would make sure he was at least an entire borough away from the yokai who’d dropped him off of a roof. Preferably an entire city away, if possible.

As it is, this is not a normal situation.

Leo has Mikey cradled in one arm, his other wrapped around Donnie, only keeping his twin standing by his grip on the lip of the battleshell. He’s so beyond stressed right now that when Draxum answers his frantic kicks to the front door, Leo can’t help but blurt out, “Help them. Please.”

To his credit, Draxum is only taken aback for a second—a second far too long in Leo’s opinion, but he knows he probably wouldn’t begrudge anyone else that second of bafflement, and he forces his habitual aggression to the side in favor of focusing on the reason for showing up on the guy’s doorstep.

Mikey’s breath is labored where he curls himself under Leo’s chin, arms slack around Leo’s neck. Donnie is dazed, hardly holding himself up. Leo doesn’t have a free hand and none of their gear is working and it’s all Leo can do not to panic as Draxum recovers from his second-too-long bout of shock and ushers Leo into the apartment. 

Leo drags Donnie over to the couch, lightly pushing his twin onto the couch, where he slumps over onto his side with a groan. Leo’s never been more grateful to hear his brother make a noise. He promises after this he’ll never try to run away from Donatello on a hyperfixation lecture warpath. At least for the next month, or two.

“What happened?” Draxum demands, crouching down next to the couch by Donnie’s head.

Leo grits his teeth, carefully setting his youngest brother onto the orange bean bag chair in the corner of the room, proof that Mikey will always be the kindest of them by miles. The way Mikey’s weight sinks into the bag keeps him sitting somewhat upright. Easier on his shell than laying flat. Not very supportive. It’ll have to do.

“Something—I don’t know—triggered Mikey?” Leo says, undwinding tape to wrap his fingers around his baby brother’s wrist. The scars on his arms are faint now, and Leo avoids them with practiced ease. It’s been over six months since they’d even really been a problem he’d needed to work around.

“Triggered?” Draxum asks, sounding more baffled by the second. Leo’s irritation rises a degree. “Michelangelo did this?”

“Yes? No?” Leo hedges. “I don’t know. I wasn’t exactly right at the center of it, otherwise I’d probably be down for the count, too.”

“Did you see anything?”

“A flash of light. I felt something weird, like static electricity, maybe? Donnie yelled and I ran over in time to watch them both pass out.”

Draxum’s brow furrows. He’s inspecting Donnie, who seems awake enough to realize that Draxum is in front of him. Leo’s purple-banded brother bares his teeth and growls, “If you touch me, I will throw you off the roof.”

“Relax, Don-tron,” Leo says, trying his hardest to inject at least a bit of levity in his voice, even though he knows he fails immensely, too distracted by the way Mikey still isn’t waking up. But it’s the only way Donnie won’t try to fight Draxum, and as much as Leo hates it, Draxum is a genius when it comes to mysticism and the like. They need him.

He also tries to pretend that Donnie’s grudge against Draxum for dropping Leo doesn’t make his heart warm. Not a great time to be sappy, but it’s a stark reminder that no matter what, Don’ll always be on Team Leo against anybody who tries to hurt him.

Still, now isn’t really the time.

Mikey’s pulse is racing underneath Leo’s fingers, but despite his third check in fifteen minutes—once the moment he’d gotten to both Donnie and Leo, barely saving Donnie from spilling to the ground and regrettably missing his baby brother by inches; once halfway to Draxum’s when Donnie woke up dazed and confused and Mikey didn’t—there doesn’t seem to be anything physically wrong with him. Mikey, for all intents and purposes, should have a clean bill of health.

“How’d we end up here?” Don grumbles, even as he hesitantly lets Draxum check him over, probably taking Leo’s failed attempt at lightening the mood as a cue to cooperate. “Thought we were getting pizza.”

“That was before Mikey decided he was gonna throw a mystic rave, invite only. Congrats on being the only one to make the guest list, Don.”

“You’ll be fine,” Draxum says, interrupting Donnie before he can snap back at Leo. 

(So Leo is stressed. Humor is how he copes. Riling up Donnie is a good distraction from the fear Leo is desperately trying to sidestep at the moment. Sue him.)

“You’re not a doctor,” Donnie tells Draxum matter-of-factly.

“I’m the leading expert in the mystic arts,” Draxum tells him, frowning in a put out way that has Leo wanting to snicker. He would if his baby brother’s pulse wasn’t still pounding away under his skin like his heart is trying to escape his body. “I think I would know if you were affected by your brother’s backlash. The symptoms are temporary. Just a minor shock.”

“Hate to see what a major shock would be,” Leo says under his breath, and then louder, “If Donnie’s fine, can you get over here and help me?”

Draxum stands and crosses over to the bean bag chair. From the corner of his eye, Leo sees Donnie gingerly sit up, tapping at his bracer. Tough luck on that one, bro. Mikey’s rave had wiped out all of their tech and then some.

Draxum settles on Mikey’s other side. He draws a symbol in the air, hands glowing dimly with power as he lays a hand on Mikey’s head. Leo keeps his grip on Mikey’s wrist and watches. 

The next minute is one of the longest in Leo’s whole damn life. Leo counts Mikey’s heartbeats, and Donnie finally moves over to sit next to him when he hits eighty-three. 

The glow fades from Draxum’s hands, and Leo leans forward. 

Draxum runs a hand over his face and sighs. Leo’s practically nonexistent patience snaps.

“Well?!” he demands, only relenting at the soft nudge Donnie sends his way. Donnie’s probably still orienting himself, and still he’s reigning Leo in. So much for Team Leo. Although, both Leo and Donnie have come to an understanding that when it comes to teams, Mikey’s takes precedence over any of theirs.

Mikey will never have to go without his big brothers’ support. Perks of being the babiest brother.

Draxum sighs. “I’m not exactly sure what he was trying to do, but it looks like he’s just exhausted himself. He’s running on empty and most likely strained his body, but it seems like nothing rest can’t fix.”

Leo sags forward, burying his face in the bean bag, a muffled, “Oh thank the pizza supreme in the sky,” making its way out his mouth involuntarily. 

All of the adrenaline leaves Leo in a rush, and after a few quiet moments of regathering the broken pieces of his facade, he shifts just enough that he can see Draxum. 

“Thanks,” he says, quietly, not quite ready to start putting the mask back up. “For, ya know, being here.”

Draxum nods, looking as awkward as Leo feels. “We’re not on the best of terms, but I would never turn you away if you’re in need of help.”

“I know,” Leo says, both grateful and resentful of how true the statement rings. “That’s why I came.”

[elexuscal]

The species assignments for my Temeraire daemon AU!

[Image ID: a 2x 3 gride with green edges. It lists the names of six characters, with their daemon's names and species, and a photograph of those species next to them. They are as follows:

John Granby - Winail - Black-backed woodpecker Tenzing Tharkay - Japatyu - Bearded Vulture Jane Roland - Archibald - European Badger Catherine Harcourt - Phenel - Mason Bee Matthew Berkley - Jux - Common Toad Augustine Little - Borough - European Grey Squirrel. /end ID]

Full list of the image sources below the cut!

Black-backed woodpecker by USFWS Pacific Southwest Region Bearded Vulture by fveronesi1 European Badger by caroline legg Mason Bee by Julie Common Toad by Anne Burgess European Grey Squirrel by Brian Forsythe

Thank you to the photographers!

[wowbright]

Anderson’s Guide to the Birds of North America, Chapter 5: Eye to Eye

Summary: Fourteen scenes from the lives of Blaine Anderson, grad student and avid birder, and Kurt Hummel, clothing designer and Vogue writer, from before their first meeting during the COVID lockdowns of spring of 2020 through falling in love. Written for the Klaine Valentine’s Challenge 2025.

Chapter 5: Eye to Eye (AO3)

There was something familiar about Blaine’s eyes and manner and bold, expressive eyebrows, but Kurt couldn't figure out why. Maybe he’d seen Blaine around the neighborhood, sans binoculars, before COVID changed everything?

The mask certainly wasn’t helping Kurt place Blaine.

But it added a sense of mystery that Kurt was enjoying.

By the time Kurt finished his cheesecake, Blaine had already pointed out robins and chickadees and a little black-and-white bird he called a downy woodpecker.

“I thought woodpeckers had red pompadours,” Kurt said.

“Those are pileated woodpeckers. But there's lots of different kinds. We have six different woodpecker species in the city.”

Kurt was impressed. He hadn’t realized anything beyond pigeons and starlings and house sparrows lived in New York.

“What else have I not noticed?” Kurt asked.

“Well, there's been four-hundred different bird species counted in New York City, and in this borough— Oh my god! Is that a yellow warbler?”

Blaine raised his binoculars up to his face. “It totally is! Male yellow warbler. See? See?” He pointed frantically to a tree that was just leafing out, his voice growing louder as he excitedly barked out directions, “Six o'clock, seven o'clock, not even two feet in, just beneath that half-broken branch." 

Kurt peered at the tree, trying to process Blaine’s undulating river of words.

“Ten feet above where the central trunk splits into two, left side of the V, it's that tiny blotch of sunshine that won't stop moving …”

Kurt saw it. It was the exact same color as a dandelion, as bright as if it held all the energy of the sun's rays. It couldn't have been much bigger than a dandelion, either. It was too small for Kurt to see its shape clearly, but he could tell from the way it flitted about that it was definitely a bird.

“He’s jumped a foot up,” Blaine said, “moving left—”

“I see it! Oh my god! I see it!”

The rush was akin to the time Kurt ran into Patti LuPone on West 43rd.

Kurt jumped through the window, grabbed his opera glasses from the bookshelf, and hopped back out to the fire escape.

“Oh my god! It’s so cute! Am I seeing pink stripes on its chest? How is it that small? Oh! Oh! It’s singing!” Kurt was bubbling over with excitement. He didn't understand how something this nerdy could be this fun. Clearly, he had been cooped up for too long.

Or maybe this was like when he had moved to New York and a whole new world opened up to him. Now there was an additional world to discover that had been there all along, hiding in the trees.

“I didn't think we had nature here,” Kurt said after the warbler flew away.

“Nature is everywhere,” Blaine said. “I've seen more variety in the neighborhoods since lockdown, but there's always something. I mean, humans are part of nature, too, even when we forget it.”

“Are they, now?” Kurt turned his opera glasses on Blaine.

The tiniest hint of pink crept from the top edge of Blaine’s mask toward his eyes. “Is there a hummingbird in my hair?” he asked in a tone Kurt suspected was flirtatious.

“No. I'm just testing how good I am at observing nature. Are your eyes brown?”

“Ye-es,” Blaine answered, a puff of laughter splitting the syllable in two.

“And are your eyelashes real? They look like they're half an inch long and made of black velvet.”

Blaine laughed. “You need to get your opera glasses fixed.”

Kurt lowered the opera glasses. “And presumably you have a nose and mouth under that mask?”

Blaine's eyes widened. “Oh! I forgot I had it on. When it’s colder, it starts fogging up my binoculars, but today it's been warm enough … I’m babbling.”

“Babble as much as you want. It's nice to have an in-person conversation with someone who isn't my roommate. Besides,” Kurt paused, gathering up his courage, “you have a lovely voice.”

Blaine ducked his head bashfully. His eyes smiled. “You do, too.”

Kurt couldn't take his gaze off Blaine. And Blaine wasn't taking his gaze off Kurt. Even though they were stories apart, Kurt felt like they were standing right next to each other, eye to eye.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so alive.

Blaine was the first to break their gaze. He scanned up and down the empty block. “Very gauche of me to be hiding my face this whole time when I can see yours.” He pulled his mask off and tucked it into his pocket.

Kurt’s heart whooshed. Blaine Anderson was absolutely beautiful. And Kurt had definitely seen him before—though he still didn't know from where. “You look familiar.”

 “You might recognize me from Cream Palace? I've seen you there before. I would have mentioned it, but I didn't think you'd ever noticed me.”

“Oh!” Kurt’s heart sank. Now he remembered. It had been a few weeks before the lockdown, when his old college friend Chandler had dragged him out of his mid-winter slump for a night on the town. Kurt had been hit on by so many guys that night—which had been flattering and an ego boost—but the only one who drew his eye had spent the whole time dancing in the corner with a lanky twink whose face reminded Kurt of a meerkat’s. “I noticed. You were there with your boyfriend.”

“Sebastian?” Blaine chuckled. “No. Definitely not my boyfriend. He was supposed to be my wingman.”

“Supposed to be? He didn't help you find anyone?”

“He did his best. He wouldn't leave me alone about this cute guy I kept eyeing. He kept telling me to go dance with the guy even though he was way out of my league.”

“How could anyone be out of your league, Blaine Anderson?”

Blaine did that bashful chin tuck again. “This particular stranger was very handsome. And there was a whole line of guys already trying to get close to him.”

“So you didn't dance with him?”

“By the time I worked up the courage, the guy had left.”

“That's disappointing,” Kurt said, trying ignore the fluttery feeling in his stomach in case he was reading the conversation wrong. “Did you get a chance to see him again before COVID?”

“No. But funny thing. I ran into him today.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. We did some birding together. I think it was his first time. He didn't have binoculars, so he had to use opera glasses. I'm not sure how much the opera glasses helped, though. He can't tell the difference between eyelashes and velvet when he's looking through them.”

“It was his first time,” Kurt said breathlessly. Is this how Juliette had felt, being wooed from her balcony? “And he'd be open to doing it again.”

[beardedmrbean]

An 11-year-old Texas girl who killed herself after being bullied about her family’s immigration status told friends she was inappropriately touched by a family member, according to shocking findings by her Texas school district.

Jocelyn Rojo Carranza was found unresponsive in her family’s Gainesville home on Feb. 3 and died in the hospital after five days of intensive care.

The little girl’s mother, Marbella Carranza, claimed her daughter was bullied by students at Gainesville Intermediate School. She said they mocked her because of the family’s immigration status and threatened to call Immigration and Customs Enforcement.

The Gainesville Independent School District launched an investigation and confirmed that a student on Carranza’s bus made comments about ICE and deportation to a group of Hispanic students and that the girl was in earshot, according to the findings.

Carranza reported the incident to her principal on Jan. 30 after the topic of ICE came up again in class, the district said. The district found that it was not the only time such an incident occurred and said the student was disciplined.

After Carranza’s hospitalization the following week, students came forward to school officials and said that the girl and one of her brothers were the victims of bullying, which spurred the investigation.

Kids also told administrators about Carranza’s disturbing claims of abuse, which she asked them to keep a secret.

“It was reported by multiple students that [Carranza] told them that she had been inappropriately touched by a family member and wished to keep this a secret to avoid getting them in trouble,” Superintendent DesMontes Stewart said in the report.

The district reported the claims to Child Protective Services, and said it is investigating.

The district also found that the girl had previously expressed thoughts of self-harm to her cousin, who allegedly informed Carranza’s mother, and that she told a counselor in October about getting in trouble at home and being called names by her siblings.

The district said it would have provided resources if it knew about Carranza’s wanting to harm herself and said she participated in a social-emotional learning group, which her mother granted permission for her to attend.

Her mom, however, has maintained that she was kept in the dark about her young daughter seeking counseling.

“Nothing about that is true,” Carranza’s mother told NBC affiliate KXAS-TV regarding the district’s findings, including the abuse.

“I talk with my daughter about that, always … Nobody can touch your body. Nobody,” she told the outlet, adding that she has hired a lawyer and was waiting to respond to the district.

“GISD has remained fully supportive of the family throughout this difficult time,” Stewart, the superintendent, said in a statement.

“The district’s schools, PTO groups, and staff donations have contributed thousands of dollars, as well as gift cards and food to support the family’s needs,” he added. “Additionally, I personally met with the mother and a family member to address any questions they had regarding the investigation.”

Carranza’s funeral was held on Feb. 19.

She was survived by her parents and six siblings and was remembered by her love of singing and dancing, according to an obituary.

If you are struggling with suicidal thoughts or are experiencing a mental health crisis and live in New York City, you can call 1-888-NYC-WELL for free and confidential crisis counseling. If you live outside the five boroughs, you can dial the 24/7 National Suicide Prevention hotline at 988 or go to SuicidePreventionLifeline.org.

[disturbingstar]

The Conjuring universe

The Conjuring (2013)

In 1970, paranormal investigators and demonologists Lorraine and Ed Warren are summoned to the home of Carolyn and Roger Perron. The Perrons and their five daughters have recently moved into a secluded farmhouse, where a supernatural presence has made itself known. Though the manifestations are relatively benign at first, events soon escalate in horrifying fashion, especially after the Warrens discover the house's macabre history.

The Conjuring 2 (2016)

In 1977, paranormal investigators Ed and Lorraine Warren come out of a self-imposed sabbatical to travel to Enfield, a borough in north London. There, they meet Peggy Hodgson, an overwhelmed single mother of four who tells the couple that something evil is in her home. Ed and Lorraine believe her story when the youngest daughter starts to show signs of demonic possession. As the Warrens try to help the besieged girl, they become the next targets of the malicious spirit.

The Conjuring: The Devil Made Me Do It (2021)

Paranormal investigators Ed and Lorraine Warren take on one of the most sensational cases of their careers after a cop stumbles upon a dazed and bloodied young man walking down the road. Accused of murder, the suspect claims demonic possession as his defense, forcing the Warrens into a supernatural inquiry unlike anything they've ever seen before.

Annabelle (2014)

John Form thinks he's found the perfect gift for his expectant wife, Mia: a vintage doll in a beautiful white dress. However, the couple's delight doesn't last long: One terrible night, devil worshippers invade their home and launch a violent attack against the couple. When the cultists try to summon a demon, they smear a bloody rune on the nursery wall and drip blood on Mia's doll, thereby turning the former object of beauty into a conduit for ultimate evil.

Annabelle: Creation (2017)

Former toy maker Sam Mullins and his wife, Esther, are happy to welcome a nun and six orphaned girls into their California farmhouse. Years earlier, the couple's 7-year-old daughter Annabelle died in a tragic car accident. Terror soon strikes when one child sneaks into a forbidden room and finds a seemingly innocent doll that appears to have a life of its own.

Annabelle comes home (2019)

Determined to keep Annabelle from wreaking more havoc, paranormal investigators Ed and Lorraine Warren lock the possessed doll in the artifacts room in their house. But when the doll awakens the room's evil spirits, it soon becomes an unholy night of terror for the couple's 10-year-old daughter, her friends and their young baby sitter.

The Nun (2018)

When a young nun at a cloistered abbey in Romania takes her own life, a priest with a haunted past and a novitiate on the threshold of her final vows are sent by the Vatican to investigate. Together, they uncover the order's unholy secret. Risking not only their lives but their faith and their very souls, they confront a malevolent force in the form of a demonic nun.

The Nun 2 (2023)

In 1956 France, a priest is murdered, and it seems an evil is spreading. Sister Irene once again comes face to face with a demonic force

The Curse of La Llorona (2019)

In 1970s Los Angeles, the legendary ghost La Llorona is stalking the night -- and the children. Ignoring the eerie warning of a troubled mother, a social worker and her own kids are drawn into a frightening supernatural realm. Their only hope of surviving La Llorona's deadly wrath is a disillusioned priest who practices mysticism to keep evil at bay.

[louis--wifey]

So the Texacali children is an au that I didn't do much with, I plan to do more with it I just haven't gotten to it yet. In the mean time I would like to introduce ANOTHER children au 👉👈 As I'm sure most of you know, I am obsessed with Yorkcali! See where this is going?

They have six kids (all named after cities/boroughs ofc) Albany, Sacramento, Buffalo, San Francisco, Brooklyn, and Pasadena.

New York is a girl dad all of his children were born female. And I honestly think that fits him. He looks like he could kill you with a glance but will put on a pink sparkly tutu if one of his girls asked him to.

San Francisco came out as trans when he was thirteen. They were both obviously supportive (Cal is trans and understands more than anyone)

Pasadena came out at nonbinary at sixteen. They use they/them pronouns. They don't mind she/her but prefer they/them.

Buffalo goes by Buffy. Mass calls her Vampire Slayer and she didn't understand until she found out about Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

Albany and Sacramento are identical twins and used to switch places and see how long it would take for their fathers to notice. California noticed right away but didn't say anything and let them believe they won.

Brooklyn is the definition of fuck around and find out. She is also a lesbian biker girl.

[blueiscoool]

35 Bottles From the 18th Century Filled with Cherries Found at George Washington’s Mount Vernon

The story of a six-year-old George Washington chopping down a cherry tree may be a myth, but archeologists excavating Mount Vernon, the home of the United States’ first president, made the very real discovery of 35 glass bottles filled with cherries and berries.

The bottles were found in five storage pits in the mansion’s cellar, with 29 of them intact and containing “perfectly preserved cherries and berries, likely gooseberries or currants,” according to a news release from George Washington’s Mount Vernon on Thursday.

Crews unearthed the 18th-century bottles during the ongoing $40 million revitalization project launched last year at Mount Vernon, Virginia.

The bottles were extracted from the pits and refrigerated, and are expected to undergo scientific analysis, the release states.

The slowly drying bottles, “composed of materials and foodstuffs that are likely 250 years old,” will be sent from Mount Vernon’s archaeology lab to an off-site location for conservation, according to the release.

The latest discovery comes after the recent find of two intact European-manufactured glass bottles, also from the 18th century, filled with liquid, cherries and pits in the same cellar, according to the organization.

“Now we know those bottles were just the beginning of this blockbuster discovery,” Mount Vernon President and CEO Doug Bradburn said in a statement.

Bradburn referred to the discoveries as “an unprecedented find,” adding that “nothing of this scale and significance has ever been excavated in North America.”

“The bottles and contents are a testament to the knowledge and skill of the enslaved people who managed the food preparations from tree to table,” said Jason Boroughs, Mount Vernon principal archaeologist.

The bottles may have been forgotten when Washington left Mount Vernon to take command of the Continental Army, according to Bradburn.

“These artifacts likely haven’t seen the light of day since before the American Revolution,” he said. “It’s so appropriate that these bottles have been unearthed shortly before the 250th anniversary of the United States.”

Bradburn added that the organization’s team is hopeful the cherry pits may be viable for future germination.

Mount Vernon partnered with the US Department of Agriculture’s Agricultural Research Service to analyze the bottles’ contents.

In the early stages of analysis, researchers identified 54 cherry pits and 23 stems, suggesting the bottles were likely full of cherries at one point, according to the release.

“The cherries likely are of a tart variety, which has a more acidic composition that may have aided in preservation,” the release states.

The cherries are likely candidates for DNA extraction, which could help researchers compare them against a database to identify their exact species, according to the release.

By Ashley R. Williams.

[stephensmithuk]

The Hound of the Baskervilles: Mr. Sherlock Holmes

Doyle wrote this on his return from the Second Boer War, where he'd been a volunteer physician at a field hospital.

In 1898, he had written a short story called "The King of the Foxes", having been a fox-hunter for a while. It deals in rather similar themes and is seen as a forebearer to The Hound of the Baskervilles.

Originally serialised in installments in The Strand in 1901, this third of the Sherlock Holmes novels was published in book form in 1902, getting a US release at the same time.

Penang is a state of what is now Malaysia, located on the western coast of the peninsula of that country linked with the rest of Asia. A small and densely-populated state, it consists of Penang Island with the state capital George Town and the mainland, mainly comprising the city of Seberang Perai, today with a population of nearly 950,000. The area was a British colony at the time.

Made from palm cane from Licuala acutifida, the bulbous-headed "Penang lawyer" may be a mispronuncation of the local term pinang liyar or come from the fact it was believed to be used as a method of dealing with disputes, by hitting people with the big end. The Southern and Eastern African knobkerrie is similar in appearance.

One also turns up on "Silver Blaze", where it is considered as a possibility for the weapon used to murder John Straker.

M.R.C.S. stands for Membership of the Royal Colleges of Surgeons, a qualification at post-graduate level for surgeons. Once you get it, you can use the post-nominal letters.

The Charing Cross Hospital was located on Agar Street and was a major medical school. It still is, although it moved location in 1973 to Hammersmith, retaining its name, in a new massive hospital building; it had been decided after the Second World War that it would a good idea to move such a major medical facility out of Central London - it had become cramped in any event. The old site in Agar Street is now Charing Cross Police Station.

House surgeons were recent medical graduates carrying out surgery in a hospital under supervision. The term is still used today, covering a six-month placement in what other places call medical internships.

I believe Medical Officers dealt with general medical issues at the local level, like contagious diseases, sanitation and hospital management.

Parishes are the smallest level of local government administration in England. Historically, civil parishes and ecclesiastical parishes were the same thing, but state and church gradually moved apart, with 1894 seeing the final separation. Many have since disappeared, but about 40% of the English population remain in a civil parish, mostly in rural and urban areas. These range in size from a few hundred people to over 100,000, with Northampton being the largest. They may not be called a Parish Council; a Town Council or even a City Council (eight, including Hereford and Salisbury) are the same thing.

There has been somewhat of a revival of parishes in the 21st century, they can be created via petition and have often been set up to replace boroughs where unitary authorities have merged those with county councils. Milton Keynes is an example, now with ten parishes.

M.R.C.S. holders call themselves "Mr/Ms/Mx/etc." not "Doctor".

A frock coat is a knee-length mens' coat with a skirt-like bottom, popular in this period. It was used as formal day wear, but by 1889 was being replaced by the morning coat in that regard. It ceased being required at the royal court in 1936, but still turns up in some places; like officers of the Household Division. The "Teddy Boys" (and Girls) youth subculture of the 1950s to 1970s also were fans.