#thinking about having that many neighbors around

[alchemistc]

The call comes in just after 2 PM, and Tommy's in the air five minutes later. White male, early thirties, took a tumble off the incline at one of the intermediate hiking points near Griffith Park, the engine can't winch him up without exacerbating his injuries.

It's a quick flight. Nothing remarkable at all, until Hurst has been down on the ground for a few minutes too long and then Tommy's captain is on the radio asking him to hand over the controls to his copilot the moment he lands at Presbyterian.

He's pissed about it the entire length of time it takes for the winch to pull up Hurst and their new passenger - time and a half for a 48 hour stretch isn't anything to scoff at.

And then he hears Hurst rattling off information as the door shuts, and he's desperately trying to remind himself that no amount of outside noise has ever distracted him before.

Evan Buckley, 33, moderate concussion, sprained ankle, three broken fingers, possible broken ribs, pulse is steady but BP is trending high.

Happy fucking Thanksgiving.

---

Tommy's phone rings as they're making the handoff at, and he answers more out of habit than anything else. It's Cap again.

"You can either ride shotgun back and be man behind or I can shift your time and a half somewhere else because you've had a family emergency," Hobbes says, and Tommy would love to have a snappy retort but he's still thinking about the way Buck had come out of it enough to tell Hurst his boyfriend - "ex-boyfriend, sorry" - flies for 217 too. Hobbes clears his throat. "Considering your last family emergency was when I forced you to take a holiday off, I know which one I'd choose."

Tommy blinks. They're almost to the doors.

"I'll see you in a few days, Captain," Tommy murmurs and hauls ass towards the retreating medical team wheeling Buck into the hospital.

---

He'd listened while Hurst and her partner - a loan from 136 he still hasn't actually been introduced to - pumped some pain meds to keep Buck from hurting himself more, but it's still a surprise to see how zonked he looks, pupils wide and eyes glassy as he blinks slow blinks up at the ceiling, the doctors, and Tommy.

Buck tries to tip his head sideways when he catches sight of him, and pulls a face when the C collar impedes the movement. A hand snags out, catches on the seam of Tommy's flight suit, and Tommy can't quite help himself. He reaches out and holds the hand in place.

It's easy to keep pace with the orderly as they leave the elevator, and Tommy knows exactly how many doors he's allowed through before he's got to make his way to the waiting room and figure out where the fuck to go from there.

Buck's face is scraped up good on one side, and the hand not in Tommy's is splinted too much for him to catch the full damage. There's more blood than Tommy can consciously account for in the moment, although most of it looks to be drying. The hand in his squeezes. "S-someone should ca-." He winces. Seems to lose his train of thought. Rolls back around to it right before the final set of doors. "You'll call Tommy?" he asks, a desperation on his face that does something ruinous to Tommy's gut, but the orderly has already slowed down and now she's looking a little like she'll shove Tommy off if he doesn't let go of her patient.

Tommy nods. Squeezes. "I'll call Tommy."

Buck's smile is lopsided and loopy as Tommy lets go of his hand.

"Good," he murmurs, and the doors swing wide and then shut behind him, and Tommy spends a solid five minutes staring at the spot where the red striping in the tile at his feet doesn't quite match up to its neighboring tiles.

---

He's a coward, so he calls Eddie first and puts his foot in it immediately.

"Why was Buck alone on a hike on Thanksgiving?" he asks, before Eddie's even finished his greeting, and he's glad he's stepped outside to make this call. He's not moderating his volume at all.

Eddie pauses. Seems to reboot. "Wait, what?"

Tommy recounts what he knows, which isn't a whole hell of a lot, if he's being honest. "So. When can I expect the cavalry?"

Eddie's silent for a beat too long. "I'm in Texas, Tommy. Is he - is it serious? How bad -?"

"He was conscious. Slightly more than superficial injuries. He'll - recover."

He'll be fine doesn't have the right ring to it, when he's just watched the man wheeled away without even recognizing Tommy.

"He went on a hike? What kind of idiot -?" Eddie asks, and then he's silent for a beat too long. "Tommy, don't take this the wrong way, but if there's even a small part of you telling you to make a break for it, do it now before he has a chance to get his hopes up."

Tommy feels it like the knife it's meant to be. It'd be shutting the door, really - in the short term, he'll remember asking someone to let Tommy know, and he'll assume Tommy didn't show. In the long term he'll remember exactly who he'd spoken to and he'll be pissed enough to make it a clean break.

It hasn't even been a month, and Tommy's out of distractions. No work, no house to clean and reorganize, no engines to tinker with, a phone on half battery.

"I need to call Maddie," he says, and he can hear the echo as Eddie shifts to speaker.

"No need. She's on her way. With like, half the station, apparently." He rattles off what must be a text from the group chat.

Tommy shoves down that familiar ache while Eddie sounds off everyone who is currently in the process of abandoning their holiday dinners to come sit in uncomfortable waiting room chairs and twiddle their thumbs. He should leave. Cut the loose threads, take an Uber home, convince his captain he doesn't need Friday off.

He's silent long enough that Eddie feels the need to check and make sure he's still there. There's an ambulance swinging into the bay thirty feet from where Tommy stands.

"You screwed up," Eddie says, and Tommy grimaces, swallows, ignores the thrum of anxiety pooling in his gut. "Showing up for him now would go a long way towards making a reconciliation viable. If that's something you want."

Tommy doesn't know what the fuck he wants, anymore. He's never allowed himself to have it long enough for it to settle. But he knows how it'd felt to know the first person on Evan's mind in the midst of his pain medication haze was Tommy.

Tommy pulls up the first delivery service app he sees and wonders how big a tip he should give for ordering a dozen coffees an hour before closing time on a national holiday. "You know what everyone's usual coffee order is?"

Eddie adds him to a group chat that's going to drain the rest of his battery before Evan's out of surgery.

>>>Part Two

[zepskies]

Lost in Translation

Pairing: Soldier Boy (Ben) x Female POC!Reader

Summary: Living with this man isn’t easy, and you’ve absolutely had it with him. Supe or not, you’re one step shy of kicking him out. Will he try to make it up to you? 

AN: So after getting requests for a Soldier Boy x POC!Reader, I’ve had a short series in development called Unravel Me. I’m a bit stalled on the outline right now, so I thought this could be a fun way to introduce their relationship and see if you guys think I should continue with the prequel, kind of like how I did with Checkerboard and the Break Me Down-verse.

This story would take place after Unravel Me, after a fair bit of character development lol. It also fulfills a bingo square for @jacklesversebingo!

Prompt: “Whatever you’re going to ask, the answer is No!���

Song Inspo: “Damage” by H.E.R.

Word Count: 3.4K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, bit of dirty talk, fingering, edging, some angst, fluff and feels. The reader is a mixed race POC (Afro Latina), with textured hair. 

The apartment was quiet, but not peaceful.

You were in the kitchen washing the Mt. Everest of dishes piled in the sink, partly because someone hadn’t rinsed off his own plate of carne guisada.

Ben had asked for beef for dinner yesterday, and you’d graciously delivered with your grandmother’s recipe for the stew. It was filled with chunks of tender, fall-off-your-fork beef, garlic, onions, carrots, and more—all marinated to perfection, if you said so yourself. You even added in some little yellow potatoes, both for taste and texture.

Apparently, he couldn’t be bothered to put those meaty man muscles to good use, aside from shoveling three helpings into his mouth.

A bottomless pit and a freakin’ man-child, I swear to God, you inwardly groused as you scrubbed the ceramic a bit too hard with the rough side of the sponge. No matter how many times you asked, nicely, it seemed your boyfriend couldn’t manage to pull his weight around here.

Okay, you knew his job could be demanding, but so was yours.

What the hell is this, Maid in Manhattan? Newsflash: I’ve got shit to do too! 

“And I cooked!” you muttered in indignation. That reminder propelled you to scrub a bit harder. The least he could do was clean the kitchen. Or take out the trash. Or toss the laundry into the washing machine once in a while. Like you really wanted to handle his dirty boxers all the damn time.

Did he have no shame? Couldn’t he do anything for you without you having to ask him three million times?

Es que él es bruto, mija, as your Dominican grandma would say about your grandpa, often while swiping a tired hand over her long braids. Es como un animal con ropa.

Just then, you heard his heavy steps creaking on the wood floors in your bedroom. Today was his day off, so he was probably taking his sweet time rolling his ass out of bed.

Meanwhile, you were hustling to get the place at least decently clean before you got yourself together for work. The thought made you simmer as you continued to place dishes on the counter rack. Each one clacking to rest was satisfying, but it also ticked up your internal dial to a fine boil. 

You heard him bang the bathroom door open and cringed internally, your teeth grinding. You’d reminded him three times already about the neighbors and the noise.

Sabes que, supe or not, I’m about to— 

“Morning, sweetheart.”

Ben’s voice washed over you, deep and still a little rough with sleep as he stepped into the kitchen. His old man loafers slid against the floor with every step when he approached you from behind, and his heavy hands found a familiar resting place on the curve of your waist.

He swiped your slightly wild curls to the side and pressed a tantalizing kiss into your neck. His voice, his touch, the brief scrape of his beard; it all caused a small shiver of delight up your spine.

“Hmm, you smell good. Good enough to eat.” And he teased you with the graze of his teeth, biting gently enough where your neck met your shoulder. You flinched with half a huff, trying not to smile. 

Just like that, it took the edge off your irritation…a little. You opened your mouth to reply, but before you could…

“Hey,” he said, “since you’re already up and about in here, how about some breakf—”

Your spine tightened once again.

“Whatever you’re going to ask, the answer is No!” you snapped. You moved out of his arms to grab a hand towel to dry your hands with. They were all pruny from washing dishes.

“I’m already running late. Why? Because this place is a fucking mess, and the only one who seems to care is me!” you exclaimed. First, you gestured to the dishes now drying on the rack. “Hmm?”

You then opened up the lid to the full-to-bursting trashcan. “What do you call that, huh? You said you’d take this out last night. After I asked you twice. What, was I not speaking English? Did something get lost in translation, or are you already losing your hearing? Just let me know, ‘cause I can sure as hell crank up the volume for you!”

Ben raised a brow. You read his thoughts in his surly frown. You have some fucking audacity, talking to him like that, but it’s still early. He hasn’t even had his coffee, for Christ’s sake.

If he was more awake, no doubt he’d be barking back at you. Instead, he heaved a sigh, drew closer to you and shut the trashcan lid. At least there was one lid he knew how to close.

“All right, it’s just a little mess. No need to get fucking hysterical,” he said, trying to grasp your arm to placate you. You shrugged out of his hold and crossed your arms in anger.

“Ben, it’s not just a little mess. And what is this, 1945? I’m not hysterical!”

His lips twitched at a smirk, making you even angrier. But he’d caught enough smoke from you in the past to know he didn’t want it at 8:00 in the morning. He grasped your arms and rubbed them up and down, trying to sooth you.

“Okay, okay. It’s a little early for all this Latina temper, don’tcha think?” he said, pressing a kiss to your forehead. Your gaze snapped up at him with a glare.

Oooh, this man. He knew how to get you mad fucking tight.

Not in a good way.

Instead of exploding like Mount Fuji, you kept it all under your skin. You turned away from him and aimed to continue getting ready for work, but first, you took out a Greek yogurt from the fridge and wholly ignored him taking up space in the kitchen. You wouldn’t answer him when he called your name. In fact, you were going to give him the most frigid of cold shoulders—so cold he’d get hyperthermia through that invulnerable skin.

He waylaid your plans when he grabbed your hand, swinging you back into his arms. You gasped at the suddenness of it, looking up into his cocky, charming smile. You couldn’t stare too long at his green eyes, or the rest of his handsome, bearded face. Not when he knew exactly how to use it against you.

“Don’t think that’s gonna get you out of this,” you warned him. You set your yogurt on the kitchen counter and pushed at his chest, but it was no more effective than pushing at a mountain and expecting it to move.

His hands spanned your waist, his fingers beginning to press into your soft sides. He bowed his head, brushing his lips against your neck and the shell of your ear when he said, “Out of what, baby doll? Looks to me like we can still have a good morning.”

His voice once against trilled heat and tingles through your body, but you managed to lean back, holding the pads of your fingers to his lips.

“Hey, I’m not playing around here. If we’re gonna do this,” you pointed between him and yourself, “then let me make one thing really clear. I’m not la sirvienta around here, okay? I’m not your fucking maid. I’m your girl. Your partner. And since you live here now, I’m gonna need you to do your part.”

Ben almost rolled his eyes, but you grasped his chin. He frowned at you with furrowed brows. There was a time where he would've been inclined to grab your wrist and try to intimidate you with his temper. You saw it lying in wait behind his pursed lips and irritated stare, but you weren't afraid of him. Not anymore.

“Listen to me. I get that you haven’t lived like us commoners for most of your life, but this stuff is important,” you said. You took a deep breath, and you counted to three. You met him with a calmer gaze. “Ben, I love you.”

You let go of his chin and lowered your hand, letting it splay over his chest. He softened, ever so slightly, even though his frown remained.

“I love you,” you repeated, “but I don’t need a man-child.”

"Excuse me?" he did snap this time, his hold loosening from around your waist. "The fuck did you just say?"

You narrowed your eyes right back at him.

"You heard me," you said. "I want a man. A man who's going to be my rock when I need him. Can you do that for me, like I do for you? Are you gonna be my man, or do I need to claim you as a dependent on my taxes?"

His expression sharpened again at your thinly veiled accusation…but the longer he looked into your eyes, no longer angry, but earnest and imploring, the more he actually listened to what you were saying. His jaw worked for a moment in annoyance. You subtly softened him with your hands soothing up and down his arms, a slow back and forth over solid, warm muscle.

Eventually, he was able to curb his instinct to bark a callous reply. He nodded, expelling a breath through his nose.

“Fine,” he said.

Your brows rose. “Fine?”

“Yeah,” he said flatly.

You knew it was the closest you were going to get to an agreement, as well as an apology. You were still working on that last one, but dating this man was a work in progress, for both of you. With a sigh, you patted his arms that were slowly wrapping back around you.

“Okay, I’m really running late now,” you said.

“You should probably get a move on then,” Ben said.

Still, he didn’t release you. He stared down at you with an amused smile while you struggled against his hold. You uttered a laugh.

“Babe, I need to get to work.” You leaned over and spied the oven clock. “Oh, shit! it’s almost 8:30! If I’m not there by 9:00—”

“You sure you want to go now? Tense, body all tight,” he said, his voice deep with sensuous suggestion.

His lips neared yours, but he didn’t kiss you. Not yet. His lips veered away to brush against your cheek. He inhaled deeply as he moved, taking in the floral scent of your soap, mixed with the army of products you styled your hair with, and the faint imprint of your perfume from the night before. He skimmed down your neck and along the shell of your ear.

“Wouldn’t you rather I fuck all that tension right out of you?” he offered. “Leave you nice and warm and satisfied, have that pretty pussy coming hard on my cock.”

You let out a shaky breath, closing your eyes as his filthy mouth and the timbre of his voice struck a chord through your body, tinging warm arousal between your legs. Your fingers tightened on his strong arms, digging into the fabric of his loose robe. Ben took that as a wordless confirmation. He bent at the knees and grabbed you up by your plush thighs. You wrapped your arms around his neck on instinct, with a small gasp.

But you recovered quickly. Taking his face into your hands, you met his lips roughly with yours in a devouring kiss. He set you down on the kitchen counter hard enough to make the clean dishes rattle. His hands were just as claiming as his mouth, squeezing your hips and thighs as he spread them open to make more room for himself.

While your tongue dueled with his, you shoved the robe off his shoulders, followed by his sleep shirt pooling to the floor. His hand slid under your top as well, and almost ripped it at the hem in his haste to get it up and over your head.

“Ow, ah-ow!” You giggled when the collar got caught on your hair. Ben’s breathy chuckle reached your ears. He was gentler in how he helped get the shirt off the rest of the way. Your mane of hair fell into your face, and you huffed.

Ben did you the favor of brushing the thick curls away from your eyes, tugging several strands behind your ears, even though most of them didn’t obey him. He framed your face with his big hands, and his thumbs swept along your skin, the rich complexion shining in the morning light filtering through the kitchen window.

There was more care in his touch now, his strength tempered just for you. Fond amusement colored his features. For as much shit as you gave him, you still gave him more of yourself; more of your trust, your patience...and all the rest of it. You gave him more than anyone that had come before you, and deep inside, he doubted anyone that might come after you.

You smiled up at him, a little wryly. You leaned up and met him for a gentler kiss. Your eyes fell closed at the feeling of him, and the spicy hint of his aftershave. It was a scent that often clung to his pillows. When he was gone on a mission for days on end, you wouldn’t admit to clinging to one of them to help you sleep, and make you feel safe. 

“Mmm, you smell good,” you whispered. And it was true. He smelled like mint and spicy aftershave. You plied his lips with deeper kisses, licking into his mouth with a sensuous tongue, before you stole his words. “Good enough to eat.”

He uttered a groan deep in his throat. It satisfied you, enhancing the warm flood between your legs.  

Fuck it. You were calling in sick today.

You drew him back into the pull of you, winding your arms around his neck and your fingers in his hair. It was getting long again, but you liked it. You liked something to hold onto, just as much as he did. Your nails brushed against his scalp, down the back of his neck, earning a hum of pleasure from him. You wound your legs tightly around his hips and invited the press of his hard cock against your throbbing core, even through your panties and pajama pants. A faltering groan caught in his chest.

“Needier that I thought this morning,” he remarked. His warm hands drifted down to cup your breasts, his thumbs brushing over dark, pebbled nipples. You sighed into his mouth in response.

You heard the cocky grin in his voice, but for once, you didn’t care. You did need him. You wanted him to fuck the stress and chaos out of you.

…Well, he’d caused most of it, but still. He was gonna damn well fix it.

And he aimed to do just that, with his hands sliding farther down your body with purpose, grabbing the waistband of your pajama pants and roughly sliding them down, along with your panties. Your bare ass felt cold against the tile counter, but you didn’t have too much time to think about it with Ben’s thick fingers probing between the wet, glistening folds of your pussy. He soon found what he was searching for, circling firmly over your clit.

Your hips raised off the counter as you whimpered against his lips and ground yourself against his hand. You broke from his kiss to bury your face in his neck. Ben’s free hand grasped your hip and pulled you right to the edge of the counter.

There he held you down, his brows furrowing in concentration. His fingers sought your entrance and slipped inside you with ease. By now, he knew what angles would have you squirming, writhing, your body arching into him, while your inner walls clenched around his hand.

“Fuck. That’s right, baby doll. I’ve gotcha,” he said roughly, continuing to fuck your pussy with his fingers. His thumb rubbed against your clit between strokes.

The coil in your lower belly began to tighten, the delicious throbbing deep inside beginning to make your thighs shake. But just as you felt yourself tipping over the edge, Ben withdrew his fingers from your sopping channel.

You struggled to catch your breath in shock. Your head raised from Ben’s shoulder to glare at him. When your mouth opened to deliver an indignant protest, he silenced you with his mouth claiming yours. Your nails bit into his shoulder in retaliation, even though you knew it wouldn’t hurt him in the slightest. In fact, it only curved his lips into a smirk against yours.

You slapped him on the shoulder, immensely frustrated, but also laughing. “You’re such an assh—”

Before you could even finish cursing him, he gathered you up again and lifted you off the counter. He walked you over to the couch in the living room. He would’ve loved nothing better than to lay you out across the two-seater table in the kitchen, but he thought the shitty old wood might just give out under the strain of him fucking you. So the living room was a close second, and in this tiny-ass apartment, it was barely a few feet more to walk.

He laid you out underneath him on couch, and it groaned and squeaked under both of your weight. You squeaked too, if for a different reason. It had Ben smirking down at you. He freed himself from the confines of his pajama pants and coated his rock-hard arousal with the leftover wetness coating his hand.

“I approve of the scene change,” you said breathlessly, once again stroking his arms. Your fingers slipped over every dip and plain of muscle.  

“Didn’t think you wanted to be fucked on some cold tile,” he said, even if the sentiment behind his words warmed you. You were pretty sure he didn’t used to care about that. At least, before he met you.

He grabbed your hips, lined himself up to your entrance, and his cock breached you smoothly, pushing into you until his hips fit snugly against yours.

“Oh, fuck,” you choked out, your thighs squeezing around his frame.

“Feel good, sweetheart? All fuckin' filled up,” Ben teased, a bit breathless himself. You were a tight fucking fit. He slid out of you experimentally, drawing a moan from your lips. You nodded.

“Yeah, baby. So good,” you freely admitted, panting all the while.

Ben’s hot gaze drew over you as he continued moving hard and fast inside you. He took in your every bare curve, the way hot breaths and sexy moans fell from your lips with every thrust, the way your hair fanned out underneath you and hung off the side of the sofa cushion, the way your hands still explored him and touched him, demanding, but still loving.

For that, it was all the more tantalizing against his skin, warming even the darkest places he tried not to show you.

And every drag of his cock inside you stretched your inner walls in the most delicious of ways. It wasn’t just that he was able to fill you to the fucking brim. He also just knew his way around a woman’s body. He knew you, and he knew exactly how to make you come undone. Even quick and dirty on your couch, he made you feel brand new. 

He was right, damn him.

The coil deep inside you snapped. Pleasure crested through you and made your inner walls squeeze him tight, fluttering and pulsing with warmth. You came hard on his cock, hard enough to milk his release shortly after for all he was worth.

His forearms fell to the cushion on either side of your head. You were basically being smothered, but for the moment you didn’t mind. You just held his sweat-slick body against yours while you both caught your breath, each of your heartbeats falling back into a steady rhythm.

He was always so damn warm. It was nice, considering how cold it was this winter, but the thought always made you a bit sad. It reminded you of the power housed in his chest, and every memory he caged there as well.

You laid a gentle kiss on his shoulder. In return, his lips found the side of your head and hesitated there.

“You’re not going to work,” he said. It was more an observation than anything else.

You laughed breathlessly and shook your head. “Nope.”

He nodded. “Let’s go out for breakfast.”

You could get behind that. Your kitchen was finally clean, which meant your kitchen was closed until further notice.

“Shower first,” you stipulated.

You felt Ben’s smile grow against your dewy skin. “All right.”

You sighed, and he guided you to your feet along with him. You had a feeling “breakfast” was going to be lunch by the time you and Ben finally escaped this apartment.      

AN: Lol hope you had fun with this one! Let me know if you'd like to see more of these two! 💚💚

Spanish Translations:

Es que él es bruto, mija. Es como un animal con ropa.

It’s that he’s stupid, my daughter. He's like an animal with clothes.

However, “bruto” can also mean brutish, crude, and/or like a beast, so it fits in more than one way. 😂

Sabes que, …

You know what, …

La sirvienta

The servant (or maid) (female)

Join Patreon 🌟 Get early access to new stories, bonus content, and first looks at upcoming stories, send me requests, and more!

Jacklesverse Bingo 2024 Masterlist

Soldier Boy Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Soldier Boy Tag List

@spnwoman @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @adoringanakin @rizlowwritessortof @chernayawidow

@midnightmadwoman @deans-spinster-witch @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78

@deansbbyx @sarahgracej @this-is-me19 @kazsrm67 @jacklesbrainworms

@waynes-multiverse @my-stories-vault @syrma-sensei @alwaystiredandconfused @globetrotter28

@mrsjenniferwinchester @charmed-asylum @waywardxwords @k-slla @deanbrainrotwritings

@jackles010378 @deans-daydream @deanwinchestersgirl87 @rachiem4-blog @just-levyy

@leigh70 @kmc1989 @ghostslillady @siampie @jessjad

@beautyvaliant @mimaria420 @kaleldobrev @pieandmonsters @twinkleinadiamondsky

@stoneyggirl2 @sl33pylilbunny @spnfamily-j2 @mostlymarvelgirl @artemys-ackles

@chevroletdean @winchestergirl2 @a-lil-pr1ncess @winchester-whiskey @spnbabe67

@cheynovak @megara0224 @yoongi-holland @illicithallways @perpetualabsurdity

@deansimpala @impala-dreamer @jc-winchester @k4marina @atenea585

@kayleighwinchester @samslvrgirl @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @star-yawnznn @number1whorehome

@g0ldfishd00dles @10ava01 @sixxteenbullets @tayl0rfanatic @everything-is-all-clear

@suckitands33 @cookiechipdough @trashmoutth @riteofpassage77 @mxltifxnd0m

@bleuatlas @luci-in-trenchcoats @valerinapetrova @spnaquakindgdom @podiumackles

@ladykitana90

@lamentationsofalonelypotato (I believe you said you would like to be tagged in this one. If not, I'm sorry, friend. Please disregard! 💚)

[sturgeonposting]

I wanted to say I appreciate you :) The world needs more sturgeon appreciators. Sturgeons should be popular fish!!! Pretty much no one who wasn't already in my immediate vicinity and drowned in fish facts knows about sturgeons, or just kind of barely knows that a fish called "sturgeon" exists. I don't think that's right. Atlantic sturgeon used to be a native fish in my country, not even a hundred years ago. So quickly we've forgotten those who used to roam here.

Ah, anyway, it's nice that there's many people here who like sturgeons, as your army is already several thousand strong :D

Dearest ranch

Your love for sturgeons affirms my own

It is a tragedy to see the habitats of these ancient fish shrink year by year. I take comfort in knowing that the atlantic sturgeon will never be forgotten by your shores so long as you continue to walk them.

Love grows as it spreads here on sturgeonposting. I would encourage anyone reading this to look up what sturgeon species are native to your area, if any. You may find out that some old friends have gone missing from your waters as well. And if you’re lucky, your sturgeon neighbors may still be around to receive you. These are ancient, beautiful fish. They were here long before us. We owe it to them to remember their names, at least.

A. oxyrinchus

[the-real-daddy-van-der-bellen]

this post is probably very doomerist, skip if you're having a nice day

but I was just taking a walk along the local mid-size river in my town, the river bed there is fairly deep, i am bad at estimating that kind of stuff, but probably five or six meters in height, fairly steep. And up to the very top, there was still debris caught in the trees, from the flood two months ago. So the water was at least up that high, maybe more, but the path was cleared now so I can't tell. I just know that is was a scary, devastating amount of water but we all know that.

and i know some people just say, floods happen, floods have always happened, 10 years ago, 50 years ago, hundreds of years ago. that is true of course, but i think it would be ridicuous to pretend that this big flood has nothing to do with climate change. maybe it would have happened regardless, but from what I know, climate scientists agree that the severity was due to factors that are due to the climate crisis.

It has been over two months. The dehumidifyer in my apartment building is still running, non-stop, 24/7, day and night. I don't even want to know how much electricity that thing eats up. Which might seem petty, considering my ground floor neighbors had to move out and it will still be months until they can move back in. but i am not worried so much about the electricity bill. i am worried because electricity does not just appear from thin air.

The damage is economically devastating for many people, but I can't stop thinking about how many resources all the rebuilding takes. Electricity from the dehumidifyers. New furniture means a lot of wood and plastics. Not too long ago I walked past a gigantic pile of fridges that broke in the flood. So much electronic waste, so many resources required to replace broken things. How many houses were damaged bad enough that they need to be completely rebuilt? Even concrete is a finite resource.

When we talk about feedback loops regarding the climate crisis, we're usually thinking about the polar icecaps melting, which causes the earth to warm up even more. but I've been thinking about how natural catastrophes like floods and the rebuilding afterwards is also kind of a feedback loop, isn't it? It takes a ton of electricity for example to have dehumidifyers running for weeks nonstop, electricity that still comes, at least partially, from burning fossile fuels, which will in turn cause more carbon emissions. more climate change, more devastation, more rebuilding, and on and on and on.

I also think that we are now at a point in the climate crisis where we need to be realistic and need to expect disasters like the flood to happen more often. It's scary. And the worst is, as an individual, there is not much you can do about it.

Don't build a house near a river, yeah, sure. My apartment complex is nowhere near a risk zone. No one, absolutely no one, would have ever expected this here. Because we weren't hit by rising groundwater. It was the surface water running down the nearby hills and pooling around the houses. There are no measures that the muncipality or anyone could have taken to prevent that. You'd have to build a giant wall around the entire town or something, but that would obviously be ridiculous. It's a new apartment complex, the first half was finished only two years ago, the second half barely more than six months before the flooding. I saw the new groundfloor neighbors build garden beds and plant flowers over the summer and now they had to move out again because the entire ground floor is just ruined. They tore out the walls and the flooring and it will still be months until these apartments can be lived in again.

I know people living in the area where the groundwater rose dramatically and took a long time to go down again. At least one couple still had pools of water in their basement six weeks after the flood. You can't do anything about that. You can't pump the water out before the groundwater sinks, it will just come back and possibly destabilize your entire house.

Is that not insane? Is it not absolutely nuts that we are all just supposed to go on with our lives, knowing that we can expect events like this to happen several more times over our livetimes? A flood like this is supposed to be something anyone living only ever sees once in their live, and their children never experience like it, probably not their grandchildren, either.

My aunt and uncle, who admittedly live in a high-risk zone were hit with a similarily devastating flood only 15 years ago.

Makes you wonder when the next time will be.

It's terrifying, especially since there are still so many people in power, in austria and all over the world, who COULD do something, who could have started doing something 50 years ago but didn't.

But people in power will just move to their second or third home if their first home should ever be affected by a natural disaster. And the 100.000 or more Euros it takes to repair and rebuild may be devastating to the average household but for them it is pocket change.

And at this point, we can only scramble to try and fight the symptoms, because keeping the disease in check seems pretty much impossible. Airconditioning in the summer (again more electricity consumption), build flood protection (more resources needed), but also you now need irrigation systems for agriculture because instead of a flood, a drought could hit you just as likely. None of these things are bad, we need to find ways to live with the climate crisis, because at this point it can't be prevented, it is happening and has been happening for decades. But so many things we have to do because of the climate crisis feed right back into it and will make it even worse.

[cuntressgoingdigital]

RUNAWAY | abby anderson x reader

free palestine! click this link for more info

synopsis: you and abby are in a mutually destructive situationship. after everything you put each other through, you both always find you way back to one another.

notes: gonna be sooo honest, this isn't going to be everyone's cup of tea and that's okay! heed the content warnings. this is a super angsty catharsis piece.

cw: 18+ content MDNI, reader referred to as a girl, alcohol ment., top! abby, mutually toxic relationship, no happy ending, honestly neither of y'all are good people

word count: 1k

all you could do was sigh when you read the text that popped up on your phone. 

can i see you tn?

it was 2AM, you and your friends were on the way back home from the club. you had texted abby hours ago. you always did this after drinking. not because your judgment was impaired, instead you wanted to be able to blame your actions on the alcohol. you would’ve texted her completely sober. you often did. 

“what are you staring at on your phone?” your friend tried to snap you out of it, but nothing would stop you. your friends learned to stop trying.

the text interaction was instigated by you, around 8PM, after one sip of a cocktail your friend had made for you. 

fuck you abby

who is this new girl? 

what happened to all the shit you said last week?

she had posted a picture with some pretty redhead on her arm, her face buried in the crook of abby’s neck. she always did this. she knew it would make you mad.

and you always took the bait. 

now it was 3AM, your friends had left you for the night, and abby was knocking on your door. you had sobered up in the last hour or so. your mind was clear. all of your actions were your own. 

immediately abby leaned in for an embrace, prompting you to practically leap back. 

“who the fuck is she?” there was an undeniable venom in your voice. you didn’t have time for pleasantries. 

abby moved past you, crossing the threshold into your apartment. “she’s one of manny’s exes. we’re still cool so me and nora had dinner with her. that’s it.” 

cue the inevitable repetitive screaming match that you two would end up in once every few weeks. the walls were thin and you knew your neighbors could hear. luckily, they minded their business. 

“abby it’s like you don’t give a fuck about my feelings! all week you're texting me ‘i miss you’, ‘you’re the only person who’s ever made me feel this way’. what happened to that?”

you couldn’t ever stay mad at her. you used the same playbook she did. after a couple weeks of not talking, a post on social media would lure her back in. an “accidental”

i had so much fun with you last night <3

that was immediately unsent. it was a song and dance that both of you were perpetually stuck in. after this long, it felt like you couldn’t leave the dancefloor now. 

for the record, abby wasn’t lying. it was just dinner. nothing else. it was clear the girl wanted her. hugging her for just a moment too long, getting a little too handsy when they went to the club together, the frequent requests for one on one hangouts. 

abby wasn’t anywhere near interested. 

she didn’t want any of the girls she would entertain for a week, sometimes a month (never longer). she couldn’t fuck them without thinking of you. without missing you. one too many times when a girl was between her legs she had accidentally uttered your name. 

that’s why every argument resulted in the pure bliss of hate filled make up sex. whoever was on the receiving end of the accusations would placate the other with ‘they dont mean anything’, ‘i just miss you so fucking much’, ‘i wanna be with you’. 

that night when you’re face down in the mattress, back arched, her strap buried impossibly deep inside you, you forget everything. the reasons you hate her. why you would never work. she takes you by the chin and pulls you up, back flush against her chest, fucking up into you while she whispered in your ear.

“fuck, you look so good like that. my pretty girl.”

you would always be her’s.

“such a fucking slut. only running back to me when you need to be fucked back into your place, yeah?” she hoped that wasn’t true. she wants to hear you say that it isn’t true.

“i love you, abby.” was all you could manage to say between thrusts.

abby starts thrusting with a fervor. her hands were gripping your hips so tight you feared they might bruise. she knows your body so well that she can tell when you’re about to cum. you’d dig your nails into her arms, gasping for air, whimpering her name. 

“i love you too, baby girl.” 

that was all it took for the floodgates to open. 

neither of you had lied. you both loved each other more than anything in the world. you said it during arguments, over dinner, at the end of a phone call, and most often during sex. 

if it came down to it, you would die for one another. 

the orgasm was so intense it brought tears to your eyes. abby could fuck you for hours, and she often did, especially when you were mad at her. tonight was one of those nights. by the time the sun had fully risen in the sky you were both sweaty, sore, and exhausted. 

you spent the next few weeks together. she had a key to your apartment that you hadn’t taken back after any of your fallouts. after work, you would find her at home, making your favorites for dinner. she came and went as she pleased, but you knew she’d be back. such was the nature of your relationship. 

when it’s good, it’s amazing. when it’s bad, it’s miserable. the good never lasted long. your record best was a little more than two months. then, one of you would get antsy, terrified of the ‘what are we?’ conversation. 

after being away from each other, the monotony of peace set in. one of you would find a way to snake back in. 

you were mutually destroying each other. you knew that. abby knew that. a happy ending wasn’t likely for either of you. 

but, that was okay. 

she was familiar. this was easier. you had to leave or live with it. 

and here you were, laying in her arms, pressing kisses against her chest and collarbones, while she whispered sweet nothings in your ear. 

[orions-choker]

Gf pLEASE wirte something with I don't care who, and theyre your knight in like medieval timeline, and you maybe the princess??? Pleade something with medieval nobody wants to do it🥺🥺😔😔

(A/N: Woah so I got way too excited for this and accidentally maaaay have decided to start a series instead woopsies, I hope this ends up being what you wanted )

Frustrated by royal duties and the incoming of a harsh winter, a young princess finds herself in the company of a young knight James who has returned home after a long fought brutal battle. With the victory imminent for her kingdom, her father begins looking to set up political alliances with neighboring, using anything as pawn in his cruel game, including the sacrifice of his daughters happiness. Bound by an obligation to her status and yearning for for freedom she finds comfort within James.

Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Historical Fantasy, Princes & Princesses, Forbidden Love, Arranged Marriage, Other Additional Tags to Be Added

Chapter One:

“It’s far too cold to be romping about in the snow.” Came the petulant whisper of a young woman, her face reddened by the biting winds. Her arms crossed around her body in a futile attempt to stay warm, the fur lining of her chemise beneath her silks did little to stave off the cold. Even the hem of her dress was dampening from the cold snow.

As quickly as her arms had wrapped around herself she was smacked. Her body stiffening as her posture corrected and she returned her hands folded neatly in front of her. “Your highness, I implore you to remember your manners.” The spindly old woman beside her reprimanded her quickly, her wrinkled face never betraying so much as a hint of annoyance but she could hear it in her voice. “His Majesty the King will be present shortly.”

The young woman's face screwed up in annoyance. “You can just say my father you know,” She leaned over into the old woman's ear. “You don’t have to be so proper around me Mistress Andriet.” She was promptly prodded back into position and she let out a huff. Her governess was never one for warmth or fun. She didn’t think she had truthfully ever seen the old woman smile once for the many years she had been in her care.

“My Lady Y/N” The Governess chastised her, that was the closest to informality she would receive. “Have I taught you nothing in nineteen summers? You would do well to address His Majesty as such, ignoring familial relations.” Her long spindly fingers pinched Y/N’s waist in reprimand, though she could hardly feel it through her thick winter layers. “I wonder not why you haven’t been married off yet with behavior such as yours.”

It took great restraint to not roll her eyes. Call her own father by such a pompous title? She scoffed at the very idea. “I take offense to that, I am not married by my own choice.” She mumbled under her breath. “Why is it so important that we be out in the dead of winter to welcome in the return of some knights?” She asked quietly. Her eyes gazed around the courts, filled with people and palace personnel that she could not remember the names of. What kind of celebration is this? How could these people be so joyous in this weather?

Her governess let out a sigh, unimpressed by her lack of attention. Sure Y/N had been briefed on the day's agenda when she was awoken this morning, but how could they seriously expect her to remember such details when she was hardly awake? “This is that last cavalry that survived and secured His Majesty’s victory over Kingdom Castlegar, Secured your victory, that is cause for celebration don’t you think?” The old woman pulled on a tight smile at the sound of her Fathers arrival, accompanied by the loud declaration of his title from his squires.

Quickly Y/N dropped into a curtsey, her ankles crossing over one another as she tilted her head, her fur lined veil falling in front of her face. Her governess did the same beside her, dropping even lower than herself however. Y/N knew that had to be hard on her old bones, her father was a reasonable man; mostly he wouldn't care if the Governess had to forgo the depth in which she bowed. However the old woman was as stubborn as she was respectful.

As Y/N rose she felt the heavy and warm hand of her father on her shoulder. The smallest hint of affection on his face as she met his gaze once more. “Princess Y/N” He greeted her warmly. She bit back a sigh. She was never one to understand the need for formality. He was the king was he not, who would oppose him from being openly caring for her. Of course the rare private moments she got with her father were different. At the very least he allowed her to stand near him when she was expected to attend royal services such as these. Usually one of her brothers took the mantle however they were all abroad on diplomatic ventures.

She smiled politely back at him. “Father,” She greeted him back, not missing the way he sighed at her lack of care for his title in front of his court, but he didn’t reprimand her, he never did. She turned and faced the entrance of the courtyard as she heard the heavy hooves of galloping steeds. Distant cheers from city folk as the precession made its way through the streets approaching the palace. However the sight that greeted them was less than a happy one.

Far less mounted steeds entered the courtyard, she counted only twenty. This was it? The last cavalry, usually there were at the very least three hundred men deployed. Half these men were hardly in good condition either, doubled over on their horses, blood staining the the fabric of the tunic beneath the heavy plated armor. Yet still they were received with cheers as if every single man had returned. She felt sick. Blood dripped down onto the fresh snow, staining it a sparkling red that stood out against the dull winter backdrop.

Her eyes stayed trained on the red that seeped out across the crisp snow. There were flurries of movement beside her but she felt trained to that very spot. The clanking of heavy armor as the knights were attended to by fresh squires. Her fathers voice delivering a booming speech of victory, the declaration of a banquet held in these men's honor. A banquet? Food was all they could afford these people, what about the hundreds who had died. Y/N’s head was spinning as she was guided back inside by Her Governess and ladies in waiting.

“Did you see that one knight? How beautiful,” One of her handmaidens whispered softly to another as they unrobed her in her chambers. “I know, what a shame that face is wasted on poor folk.” Another gossiped as she slipped off Y/N’s Kirtle. Typically Y/N would engage in gossip with her ladies in waiting but all she could focus on was the blood. It was a stark and unpleasant reminder of the brutality carried out in her fathers name…subsequently her name. Why had they even needed to conquer that neighboring kingdom? Y/N was snapped out of the daze by the rustling of fabrics and a question. “Your Highness, which one, the scarlet velvet, or the golden silk?” One of her attendants asked, displaying before her two options for an evening gown. She blinked, oh yes, this banquet, she had to dress for the banquet. The sight of the red suddenly made her feel sick.

“The gold one, please,” She waved her hand dismissively. She was danced around her chambers by various girls as they dressed her, replacing her thick winter undergarments with something lighter. Her hair being left down in loose tresses the way she always requested. It didn’t mirror the tightly plaited styles that were common at court but she was never one to conform to what was expected of her. However much it grated on her father.

Banquets and feasts were never her favorite royal duty, what joy was there to be derived from sitting amongst gluttonous high ranking officials stuffing their guts full of mead and meats? It was a disgusting display of power and wealth in her opinion. This one however was much sadder. As she was skirted into the room into a chair beside her father she took notice at the disheveled appearances of most of the knights. Her heart ached. They had been cleaned, wounds dressed to, and given armor that was more ceremonial that practical but many of them looked so defeated.

There were of course a few younger man, boasting to each other about how well received their efforts had been, a couple boys who looked no older than fourteen wearing shell shocked expressions from the horrors they had witnessed, older men who had likely been too old to have been in battle in the first place. As she sat down her eyes landed on one in particular though. Her heart did an embarrassing flip in her chest as she drank in the sight of him.

This had to be the man her ladies were gossiping over, she could understand why. With long golden locks that fell almost wildly around his face, sharp piercing blue eyes that seemed trained on the table in front of him. He was quiet and reserved. He could be no older than thirty but no younger than herself. Her mouth felt dry watching him and she quickly picked up her drinking cup to wet her lips. He was possibly the most beautiful man she had ever seen.

She drowned out the sounds of her Fathers boasting beside her, the excited chattering of high lords and the few knights who were in seemingly good spirits. Everything blurred around her as she kept her vision steady trained on the boy seven seats down, she counted. And when his gaze lifted to meet hers, she could have sworn she heard the harps of the heavens playing. Her eyes widened, a flush coming to meet her cheeks. He smiled at her, soft and hesitant but it felt like the floor was crumbling from beneath her.

By all means it was improper for her to do so, but she couldn’t help the way the corners of her lips curled in response. Her eyes flittering away from his own shyly. Her fingers curled into the silks of her dress as she tried to still her fast beating heart. Her head dropped softly, allowing her hair and veil to conceal her blushing face. This was a moment she would think about late at night alone for months to come. She was sure of it.

The banquet came to a tidy close. She hesitated the longest to remove herself from her seat, her father leaving the hall with raucous laughter as he discussed future plans with his high ranking generals like they were old friends. Perhaps they were, though she couldn't imagine a time in which her father ever had time for friends, she didn't even have time for friends. Finally she lifted her head as a soft silence fell over the room, she stood from the table. Then there was a soft clanking of metal from behind her. “Your Highness,” An unfamiliar but soft and raspy voice spoke.

Quickly she turned in surprise only to see a mop of blonde hair bowing low before her. Her cheeks heated up again. “Oh!” She squeaked, quickly covering her mouth with her hand to muffle the less than lady like noise that escaped her. She could have sworn she heard him laugh softly. “My good knight, you startled me.” She quickly composed herself, speaking with a level of formality she wasn't typically accustomed to. Oddly she felt as if she wanted to impress this boy. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” She asked nervously.

At her acknowledgment he lifted himself up again. He was tall, quite literally towering over her in a way that didn't feel threatening, rather it felt comforting actually. He was prettier up close to, even though she could see the faint signs of a poor complexion across his cheeks and jaw, the skin left slightly pockmarked, somehow it added to just how striking he was. “Sir James, Your Highness.” He introduced himself softly. “I just-” In an instant she could see his confidence falter, what good reason did he have for speaking to a princess.

“Call me Y/N,” She said softly and quickly, her hand gently resting against the shiny ceremonious metal plating on his arm. She didn’t know why she did it, why she said that. He was just…enthralling. Quickly she pulled her hand back like she had burned herself, realizing she was bordering the line of completely inappropriate. “I’m sorry I should be leaving.” She whispered before quickly turning, leaving the dining hall.

“Okay…Y/N,” James’s voice echoed softly off the empty walls as she left, his voice calling her name would be ringing in her ears for the rest of the evening.

[kissorkill16]

Making A Plan: A Hello Neighbor Fanfic

By JJ

Summary: The gang is making a plan to take the book back, and Ivan notices something a little strange.

"A massacre?", asked Delroy.

The gang was just walking home from school, and Maritza decided it was finally the right time to tell her friends about the cult and the amusement park.

"Probably a massacre, but we can't say for sure unless we know they're planning to kill.", replied Enzo. "And another thing for certain is that Peterson's book has something to do with their plans."

Ivan looked at Enzo, completely confused. "That book was just filled with a bunch of mumbo jumbo, crow drawings and suspects of who Crowface could be? What could they possibly want with that?"

Maritza shrugged. "I don't know. They just told me they needed the book and the plans to the amusement park, but they didn't tell me what for."

"But who's going to get the book back?", asked Ivan. "Are we going together, or is one of us going?"

Maritza looked down at her shoes, "Well...", she started. "I think since I'm the one who gave it to them, maybe I should be the one to get it back."

Enzo immediately shook his head, "Absolutely not. I don't want those freaks to hurt you if you get caught.", he said. "We're going together."

Just then, Ivan bumped into someone and stumbled backwards. He looked up to see that it was Mrs. Roth.

He nervously giggled, "Many apologies, Mrs. Roth.", he said.

"Oh it's fine, Ivan.", she said.

The kids noticed she was carrying a couple of grocery bags.

"What's all that for?", asked Delroy.

"Nothing much. I was just getting a couple of things for next month when Nicky comes home.", said the woman. She was about to walk away, but then she noticed that Maritza was holding a familiar flier.

She pointed to it. "What's that?", she asked.

Maritza held up the flier, and Mrs. Roth's eyes widened in surprise.

"Wow, no way. I heard that place was reopening.", she said.

"Yeah, you're not the only one, ma'am.", said Delroy. "Everyone in Raven Brooks knows about the reopening of the park."

Mrs. Roth smiled, "It's funny, because I was planning to take Nicky there."

The kids looked up at Mrs. Roth, completely shocked. "W-What?", asked Enzo.

"I was planning a nice family outing at the amusement park to celebrate Nicky's recovery.", said the woman.

Maritza shook her head so fast. "No! Don't do that! That's where the cult meets."

Mrs. Roth turned pale for some reason. "Cult?"

"There's a group of people dressed like crows, and they're planning to use the Golden Apple Amusement Park to start a massacre. It's the same thing they did with Lucy, they sabotaged the ride to cause her death, and they're gonna do the same again!"

Mrs. Roth was a little shocked by Maritza's sudden outburst, and her eyes widened a little more, but she took a breath and her face returned to her normal color.

"You kids and your wild imaginations.", she said. She turned around and began walking away, "It almost kills me."

As she walked away, Ivan couldn't help but notice a black feather sticking out of the sleeve of her jacket. But he pushed it aside and turned back to his friends.

"Nicky's gonna die.", said Delroy.

Enzo put his hands on Maritza's shoulders, trying to calm her down as she grit her teeth and clenched her fists in anger. "We have to warn Nicky. Because right now, as far as we know, he's in more danger than all of us."

The gang nodded and immediately ran down the street.

[kirrafoster]

apartment complexes could be so amazing if it weren’t for capitalism and the manufactured fear and hatred of other humans

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

Not sure if this theory makes any sense at all but I'm starting to believe that there's no time skip between Wally's phone calls and what we see/hear in the show's Media/Merchandise. If we see the Toyland call being made before the Homewarming episode then it would make sense that Wally's expecting Barnaby to come over soon. As well as the Homewarming sketch from the prior update. (I don't know, still kind of brainstorming this perspective)

that theory Does make sense and i've been considering it! the "timeline" is such a nebulous thing right now because we still... don't really know! there are too many variables and too many Maybes for any solid answer.

maybe the reality that the neighbors live in exists outside of time like you say, and like half of me suspects. there's so much reality fuckery already present, but I'm also... unsure of how much merit this holds given what we know / can infer about how time passes in Home. i'm putting this theory on a low shelf to look at but not prioritize

maybe it really has been 50 years, and Barnaby is either still around / Wally is still in contact with him, or Barnaby... isn't there. who knows, maybe Wally was just verbalizing some Wishful Thinking. i mean, Wally is a bit of an unreliable narrator, isn't he? we can't assume that everything he says is entirely accurate or truthful. and i mean, if it's been 50 years it makes sense that Wally would be pushing for connection / to revive WH. who knows how long he's been trying.

hm... i mean. it could be a mix of that and the Outside Of Time theory. who knows, maybe W is receiving calls from different points in the timeline - Wally may have started out just calling, and has just graduated to invading the WH website / getting pushy with the envelopes and media that's been sent to the WHRP. maybe Wally got tired of waiting for W to respond before W was even born. who's to say!

[stuck-in-the-ghost-zone]

WHSIKEY IM NOT ANSWERING YOUR ASK IM SO SORRY

[perilegs]

being homesick and changing as a person so much the place you grew up in isn't your home anymore is such a core part of ati and upon further inspection i think i was projecting a little

[crispyjenkins]

welcome to cj/crispy's bi-yearly ptsd rant about fireworks, you are all safe and valid here and i am mentally giving out juice boxes and animal crackers

[upsidedowngrass]

you ever think about how, on top of the other assorted traumas the main cast had to endure, they now have to deal with the fact that they know what the afterlife is like, and it sucks?

i DO and i think about it a LOT!!!

as is. probably expected. i think abt it the MOST wrt liam. because the way i see it, he does NOT like dying at all and he also KNOWS what it Really looks like. he KNOWS that theres nothing actually there, and all he knows of the waiting room is 1. a radio that is basically a device that is most likely to just get you killed, and 2. if you dont use the radio, you are trapped Forever. thats. not a pleasant way to view what awaits you

i actually think that eventually the waiting room would come to look like Something for liam years later once he gets home, and that it just looking as it truly is to him largely has to do with the immediate traumatic experiences he was going through all the times he saw it (something something, the waiting room showing you what you want or something you miss etc, but him not having anything to go off of because hes not thinking of much and is a bit detached from the stuff he COULD be thinking about, blah blah blah. my ideas on what determines if you see smth ARE a bit rough bc its so vague tho i also tend to think it has smth to do with if you were 'supposed' to die at that moment, like how stones knowledge of stuff clearly favors certain events over others. its hard to explain and i dont wanna derail this post. its not completely relevant) and that, once he Dies dies itll be Okay! but i think the fact that he knows what the waiting room can be at its worst would probably assume that, when he dies, everythings gonna suck for ETERNITY and id. imagine that is a very haunting thought process to have. i think death scares him a LOT because of this (he SAW julien, and i think the idea of that happening to him and no one ever helping , since it was so unlikely for julien to be saved anyway) and its. probably one of many things hes gonna HAVE to work out in therapy or smth . the guy went through TWO situations where he was trapped somewhere for Possibly Forever, the idea of that being what hes doomed to experience For The Rest Of Time is probably Not Pleasant and Not Helped by his other trauma

the other characters i think have a very different view of it, but not necessarily in a 'better' or 'worse' way . but its because all of them DID see soemthing in the room (or in amelias case, likely wasnt there long enough to even know WHAT she was looking at, let alone assess it.). bryce eventually saw it for what it was yeah, but he def KNOWS what it Can be. for bryce, then, i think its also. complicated? because it seems to be a tipping point for him in the series. and i think its because, when things go wrong and theres no Direct Person To Blame, hes like. almost sluggish? idk how to describe it, its almost similaar to how liam responds to things being fucked up, but feels fundamentally different, and hes just kinda There. if i had to guess, that has to do with his preexisting trauma and how he responds to it, but he generally comes across as if hes in shock the Whole time. the fact that he Died, For Real is uncomfortable to him, but it doesnt seem to mean Much wrt what the room is Showing him. i think the fact that its 'not real' is irrelevant, and i think thats ALL him. because its the exact thing he would Want to be real. id imagine its very dreamlike. and most people jsut Go Along with things in their dreams

even when he comes to see the room as it is, it seems to have more with the fact that him and liam had to work together for a WHILE. we dont know how long they tried to get to stones world (other than that they were killed More than 20 times), but its safe to assume they Didnt realize theyd be able to get BACK home (given bryces surprise at teh san francisco note). so when they actually find stones world its like. bryce DOES care abt liam, and has the whole time (with him going up the smokestack being the biggest indicator. 'i want my car keys back,' as many have pointed out is. a reason, but an obvious excuse). the notes ARE saying something, texty JUST found something important. but liam is upset to not have gotten ANYTHING out of dying 20 times, and while bryce was mostly just Going Along before, now it seems like theres an Actual possibility they could stop airy because they just DID, and liam DOESNT notice it??? and i think, then, his primary goal becomes something the room cant replicate, not really (side note, that we dont see what bryce sees because its a Show. and i think many people assume Right when texty brought them back that he saw it was. but i think it Stopped showing the suburbs AS he was talking to liam, hence the surprise! i imagine it was visually similar to when a setting changes in a dream. but thats not important to this post). from here, he doesnt seem more OPTIMISTIC, but it seems like hes more. content? determined? which i imagine has to do with 'thought he was dead Forever, and was in shock' -> 'thought he was dead Forever, but might be able to help the other contestants! which is good!' -> 'hes NOT dead forever. but like. he STILL can help them!' which i think is a weird combo of Good News and a New Goal RIGHT after smth Super Fucked Up

anyway, the conclusion that tangent was supposed to visualize is that. i think the waiting room might be. mostly positive to bryce??? but in the same way someone might think positively of something saving them from smth fucked up. like that isnt to say the bryce likes it but i think its a complex appreciation?? im not sure. he talks a lot abt how he doesnt want to throw everything away Again, and i think the waiting room almost Contradicted everything about that? like. dying SHOULDVE been the end of everything. but it??? wasnt??? it ultimately didnt help anything substantially, but like. he went through All That and came out alive, somehow? endorphins were probably also at play

but then also it DID lead to him dying 20+ times. so its certainly not just positive for him. but i think overall this would make how he feels about the waiting room. pretty complex? and probably confusing for himself. given that he saw it as it was for a relatively short amount of time, and the two didnt take too much time trying to figure out WHAT the room even WAS, i dont think itd be easy to connect everything together. and it wouldnt be unreasonable for him to assume that itd be the suburbs if he ever went back, or that if it WAS that orange and pink place, maybe thats not fully bad? but eeither way, itd certainly be disorienting to think about. i think the idea of it not having been Real would be confusing and maybe a bit upsetting, but he doesnt strike me as caring TOO much if its 'real.' though i think the idea of spending the rest of existence in something Fake would also be. unnerving

charlotte also definitely saw Something. its never clarified WHAT, but the fact that she saw something is Clear. and i think shed probably be affected by it in a more subtle way, because she NEVER saw it as it was. as far as she knows, when she died, she was shown something (and likely someone) that she wanted to go to, so i think shed see it as mostly a positive place. a very desirable place to be!!! but that has little to do w how shed feel abt dying itself. because i think the idea of death not being smth Bad would be comforting, but also the act of dying itself would be the unsettling in itself. that, and the fact that she can be brought back Easily, potentially. which ALSO isnt necessarily negative but also i think would be Weird to think about. that you can be somewhere great forever, for the rest of existence, but at any moment that place could be taken away. Really, its not that much different from the trauma of the plane (though, given her life beforehand, the idea of being taken from someplace definitively Good might be more unique to her having died) but its likely smth that would Still impact her

amelia then is the most complicated to figure out out of the four? bc we dont even know how much she SAW. it likely wasnt MUCH but like. she seems to know she Died, at the very least, and knows how temporary it Can be (however unrealistic that may seem) . as such i think her feelings on the waiting room are probably hazy, and what ideas she DOES have are closer to charlottes. most of what she knows about it would likely be based around what the others tell her. really, for amelia, i think the more haunting aspect is the Dying part. i think it affects her sense of self, and that having been brought back partially Didnt happen. that amelia died, and scenty was respawned. as such, i think the waiting room COULD be a negative concept for her, but only on account of it having been the last thing that the idea of amelia probably ever saw. that, or the first thing the idea of where scenty begins starts. just a extremely brief glimpse into somewhere dreamlike, and then a huge shift in self. i think post canon this feeling of having Died lingers a LOT, and what would haunt her about the afterlife has more to do with the idea of ANOTHER loss of self. which would also have to be smth Worked out in therapy or smth of that nature

basically i think they all would have verrry different thoughts on the waiting room , but even those among them that dont have a completely negative view of it wouldnt necessarily see it positively. and i think itd suck for them . SO bad. but i think someday it would maybe suck a little less!

[hypocritic-trash-baby]

If somehow you haven’t seen by now, while the Super Bowl is being aired, Israel is striking Rafah.

The people of Palestine had been told to go there, they were promised it was safe.

And while this is happening, even though earlier several tags on Palestine were trending, only one or two are now.

I haven’t written any posts personally on Palestine myself. I didn’t feel I had anything to add here aside from reblogging and boosting whatever I can but please. We can’t forget Palestine or its people especially now.

This has gone on too long and gone much much too far MANY times and now is when we need to push harder.

Many of the heads of Western countries are either beating around the bush and wasting time, or outright denying the things the Palestinian people don’t have the privilege to ignore. They don’t have the choice to look away from their pain, or the pain of friends, family, neighbors, their country. And even through all of this they’re still trying their damn hardest just to live. And we all need to listen.

So now, especially if you live in a western country like I do, now we step it up a notch. Now is the time if you haven’t already to read up on Palestinian history. Listen to what the people of Palestine are saying. Hold firm on the boycott like never before. Any and every way you can donate, do it. eSIMs, aid, anything that will reach. Save as much evidence as you can. Videos, articles. Don’t let Zionists pretend all of this never happened.

Even if you think there’s nothing you can do, I’m telling you, keep going. Even if you feel you can only give a little, if we all give a little together it becomes much more.

Hit imperialism where it hurts. In the wallet. Follow the BDS instructions, find protests in your area if you can, boost as much information about Palestine as you can find, call your reps, and do not lose hope. The people of Palestine are not dead. They are holding on even through all this and we all owe it to them to do the same.

A Free Palestine will happen in our lifetimes. But it will be hard fought. So go out there and fight hard! The governments can’t hide from their own people forever. The companies can’t bleed cash forever. The people will win. So push until we do. Do not look away. Free Palestine

[ms-demeanor]

Wait, so you said that you can learn to trust others by building friendships, but how does one go about doing that? Wouldn't someone I don't know be creeped out or annoyed if I suddenly walked up and started talking to them?

Friendships are built of repeated low-stakes interactions and returned bids for attention with slowly increasing intimacy over time.

It takes a long time to make friends as an adult. People will probably think you're weird if you just walk up and start talking to them as though you are already their friend (people think it's weird when I do this, I try not to do this) but people won't think it's weird if you're someone they've seen a few times who says "hey" and then gradually has more conversations (consisting of more words) with them.

I cheat at forming adult friendships by joining groups where people meet regularly. If you're part of a radio club that meets once a week and you just join up to talk about radios, eventually those will be your radio friends.

If there's a hiking meetup near you and you go regularly, you will eventually have hiking friends.

Deeper friendships are formed with people from those kinds of groups when you do things with them outside of the context of the original interaction; if you go camping with your radio friend, that person is probably more friend than acquaintance. If you go to the movies with a hiking friend who likes the same horror movies as you do, that is deepening the friendship.

In, like 2011 Large Bastard decided he wanted more friends to do stuff with so he started a local radio meetup. These people started as strangers who shared an interest. Now they are people who give each other rides after surgery and help each other move and have started businesses together and have gone on many radio-based camping trips and have worked on each other's cars.

Finding a meetup or starting a meetup is genuinely the cheat-code for making friends.

This is also how making friendships at schools works - you're around a group of people very regularly and eventually you get to know them better and you start figuring out who you get along with and you start spending more time with those people.

If you want to do this in the most fast and dramatic way possible, join a band.

In 2020 I wrote something of a primer on how to turn low-stakes interactions with neighbors and acquaintances into more meaningful relationships; check the notes of this post over the next couple days, I'll dig up the link and share it in a reblog.

[libraford]

The word 'rural' is in the public consciousness again and every time people start going in about the 'rural values' 'rural way of life' I remember just how subjective that word is.

I have a friend that lives in LA. He considers Columbus, OH to be 'rural.' A population of over 900k. Thriving arts community, tons of culture festivals, every kind of restaurant you can think of, one of the most annoying college campuses ever, several smaller colleges, lots of queer spaces, comic book conventions, huge concerts... rural.

The town I live in considers itself 'rural.' 38k population. Arts festival every year, a small pride celebration, monthly gallery hop, big Halloween festival. Five ice cream shops, three coffee shops, a couple fancy bars, so many grocery stores. Huge library, conservation and sustainability advocates, queer spaces, a hospital, one private college. Rural.

The town we nearly annexed, but lost the deal considers us 'urban' compared to them. Less than 5k. They have a limited hospital, often send their surgeries here. Downtown has hardware store, bars, craft supply store, a couple grocery stores, pizza places. There's some farmland, but much of the square acreage is golf. Mega churches. The houses here are 500k. Most people drive ATVs. They have a handful of festivals in the summer.

A town I would often get sent to to cover their high school sports- a little over 2k. There's a Subway, a Domino's, Family Dollar. Some bars, some corner stores. Some local crafts. All the students grow up knowing each other, most of them stay there. But they have craft fairs and art galleries, still.

Less rural still than the town I go through to get there, population of around 600. Houses, farmland, post office, general store.

Who would still look down upon the town of about 400 that I would go to sometimes- post office. Gas station. Bar. The school is the only big thing there.

And yet still, I have seen towns with population in the double digits that have a church and a post office.

Even just looking at the numbers doesn't lend accuracy to what 'rural' actually looks like. Because this is what it looks like in ohio, but it's different in West Virginia- where your closest neighbor might be a mile down a hill. Or in Montana, where your town might be planned very tightly and your neighbors are very close, but the nearest grocery store is an hour and a half away. These are places I've been, friends that I've talked to. I've never been to Missouri or Alabama or Louisiana- I'm sure they have a unique experience of being 'rural.'

So my point is that when people talk about 'the rural experience' or 'rural values,' they are talking about millions of people across the entire country who all have lived unique lives- and who may not even agree on what 'rural' is.

Think about who is talking, and who is being talked over, and who isn't even being asked to join the conversation.