#very jess m. core i fear.

[benbraeden]

waiting patiently for the plot where ben breaks up with someone because he feels like "they deserve better than me" and that someone finds another person and ben has to see them together. brownie points if the other person isn't better (or even more brownie points if the other person IS better, but the connection between ben and the person is much too strong). the inner turmoil of unfinished business, the feeling of right person wrong time, the internal war of "i know this other person may be better for me, but how much really?" as ben worms his way back into their life with apologies, trying to be better, etc.

[pinkpastels113]

Rediscovering some Good Songs, so now I'm wondering, what are some songs you associate with Beca & Chloe? (Or the other Bellas!) And why?

I HAVE SO MANY SONGS SO THIS IS A GOOD QUESTION (ie i struggled adfgdjhsk) but i still hope yall like:

beca

no diggity (blackstreet) bc obviouslyy

no scrubs (tlc) just the vibee ahh and my lil bisexual girlie will not be with a man if he is not good to her !!!

just the way you are (bruno mars) DUHHHH the eye contact in the pool sigh and the moment where aubrey relinquished control of the pitch pipe and chloe was smug like see bree i told you she's good we will def make it to lincoln center

freedom! '90 (george michael) no explanation needed and bc she is finally getting recognized for her talent ahh but she decided to share it with her family (the bellas!!)

cups (originally by ap carter i think) bc iconic pop culture phenomenon

paint the town red (doja cat) rawr alt badass girlie pp1 beca

poison poison (renee rapp) for @afh48 mostly but yes!! beca is very "you're so fucking annoying" core

before he cheats (carrie underwood) she SLAPPED IN THAT RIFF OFF IM AFRAID- the way she grabbed that guy's jacket oof

chloe

she's v my "pink glitter gel pen" playlist coded i fear and here are some music/songs from it:

pocketful of sunshine (natasha bedingfield) bc she's a sunshine baby even kendrick says so <33

message in a bottle (taylor swift) i just think she's a swiftie and that this song and its fast beat and bubblegum pop is very her

we are never ever getting back together (taylor swift) red era chloe beale stan

love me harder (ariana grande) THAT PART IN PP3 WHEN SHE SINGS "love me harderrr, cuz if you really need me you gotta gotta gotta love me harder, gotta love me harderrr” GETS ME EVERY TIME

i kissed a girl (katy perry) her coming out song

still into you (paramore) she def dances around the bella house to this song

material girl (madonna) and this also pertains to aubrey, this is their friendship song <33

ocean eyes (billie eilish) brittany's eyes are so pretty i cant even begin to describe-

bechloe (the way i had originally just put these songs under beca and chloe separately but they got too many songs that make me think about them together that it should be a different section lmao)

not to be a dramatic (zoe clark) from beca to chloe <33 just LISTEN to the lyrics pls omg it is so angsty and pining

mascara (kylie cantrall) chloe telling beca the message in this song when she breaks up with jesse :((

friends dont (maddie & tae) just listen to it pls yall it's literally friends to lovers of them and fits their vibe perfectly and everytime i listen to it i daydream a whole ass bechloe fic like it's INSANE

not like im in love with you (lew) same thing as above

titanium (david guetta) sigh if i dont include this esp in this fandom i might as well kms/joking teehee

kiss me (sixpence none the richer) soft domestic bechloe <333

toxic (britney spears) again, the trust, the chemistry, the eye contact, the harmonies, the solos in pp3. im feral.

good luck, babe! + casual + red wine supernova (chappell roan)

birds of a feather (billie eilish) ahh i love them and to this song sm "i'll love you till the day i die, till the light leaves my eyes, till the day i dieee"

enchanted + dress + gorgeous + dancing with our hands tied (taylor swift)

stacie

low (flo rida) pp2 riff off cuz shawty had that apple bottom jeans (jeans) boots with the furr (with the fur) the whole club was lookin' at herr

sex with me (rihanna) pretty obvious methinks lmao

s&m (rihanna) no words truly

taste (sabrina carpenter) i headcanon stacie as pan so i just feel like the lyrics of this song can pertain to her if she's ever realizing that her past prospects are fucking each other <33

you problem (cloudy june, emlyn) i feel like she believes karma is a thing and "oh well you kinda asked for it haha" when someone comes to her complaining about drama or something like that if they started it in the first place if that makes sense

breakfast (dove cameron) nom nom her attitude towards men most of the time i think; "he's a hunter" coded

honey, im good (andy grammer) STAUBREY but she would never cheat on aubrey obv but maybe angst at the beginning of their relationship

heart attack (demi lovato) ANOTHER STAUBREY SONG HEHE

confident (demi lovato) goes without saying that stacie is confident in who she is and what she wants and goes for it

aubrey

boyfriend (dove cameron) hmm anyone here for jealous wlw aubrey? bc i am

hit me with your best shot (pat benatar) pp1 riff off :))

classic (mkto) she's just so Classic and i feel like she would love to be wooed traditionally like the whole wine and dine thing and lots of flowers on dates (stacie cough** im looking at you)

what makes you beautiful (one direction) i debated putting this under her or chloe but chloe def knows that she's hot, quoting “yeah im pretty confident about... all this ;))” so aubrey it is!!

hey blondie (dominic fike) girlie just wants to be serenaded fr

pretty girls (renee rapp) a lot of angst in coming to terms with her sexuality unfortunately :((

emily

sit still look pretty (daya) i can NOT listen to this song without thinking of her now i fear

flashlight (jessie j) same reason as above!! legacy is just a baby aaahh

cool kids (echosmith) she just wants to fit in 🐣

most girls (hailee steinfeld) i feel like she admires a lot of girls around her and wants to be like them and obv hailee singing it helps lol

cynthia rose

crazy youngsters (ester dean) that music video!!

starships (nicki minaj) idk i just think ab her when i hear it

amy

we belong (pat benatar) that "hey im soloing here!! whataver!!" part is so funny to me every time haha in pp2

[quitethepirategal]

Alphabet Headcanons!

List a headcanon that correlates with each letter of the English Alphabet. Can you list that many? It’s harder than it looks! Any tidbit of information counts, from the simplest fun fact to the lengthiest lore!

A - Red Jessica is an Aries. Her moon sign is Taurus and her rising is Leo. She’s also a cusp baby, giving her Pisces leanings.

B - She has quite a few books in her massive library, but her favorites are The Art of War, Anthony and Cleopatra, On the Origin of Species, The Prince, An Essay Concerning Human Understanding, Frankenstein, and Treasure Island. She reads more textbooks than anything else tho. She really wants to like Jane Austin but she just... can’t.  ( unrelated, I was trying to figure which Shakespeare play would be Jess’s fav and found this. Y’all I screamed. )

C - Cats are her favorite animal. Any kind of cat. The grace, the lore, the silliness, the toe beans; they’re majestic little idiots and she loves them. She has two of her own. Sasha and Rosie. Jessica’s loved cats since she first made friends with one as a very little girl and she remembers every cat she’s ever had or been friends with.  Her first cat was an alley cat that followed her around that she uncreatively named Katjie

D - Dutch Afrikaans and English are her native languages, she grew up speaking both. However, she hasn’t really needed to speak Afrikaans since her mother died, and is no longer fluent as a result. Her first word was “Ahoy” but her second word was “geld.”

E - Red Jessica has some ridiculous eating antics, as a result of living in starvation from birth to late childhood and living as a pirate from then on.  She can bite directly into onions and garlic cloves as if they were apples, will eat ( or save ) the bones and fat of any meaty meal, can eat an entire apple- core included, loves to eat or chew on citrus peels and raw herb leaves, has a somewhat high tolerance for both spicy things and alcohol, and, like all pirates, has learned to tolerate most rotten/stale/moldy/expired food.  On top of that, her pursuit in studying biology and botany crowns her as probably the ONLY person in all of the Neversea who knows what nutrition is and how it works. Also eating avocados make her ears itch.

F - One of Jessica’s signature mannerisms is putting her fists up by her face. When excited or overjoyed she’ll shake them and when shes shy she’ll kind of hide her smile with them. She rests her chin on her fists, holds them still by her jaw when waiting in suspense, and its immediately where her fists fly to when startled or snuck up on ( with the exception of when shes armed, to which her hands fly to her hilt or holster ).  This mannerism makes complete and total sense considering shes a trained kick boxer.

G - Gardening is her absolute favorite stress reliever and you can pry it from her cold dead hands. Just bury your problems in the dirt my dude.

H - Her curly ginger hair is certainly one of the first things you notice about her and she takes very good care of it; a wash every two days, plenty of oils, vinegar once a week for dandruff. Her curl type is 3a.

I - Red Jessica is a closeted artist and frequently engages in illustration, and while this mostly comes in handy for taking illustrative botanical notes, her other favorite subject is the human figure. Specifically, the human figure of people she finds attractive or has a crush on.  And if you ask she’d be happy to try and draw you! Though she isn’t what you would call amazing she is somewhat talented- with her drawings having very technical, anatomical, and minimalist influences. She also like to sketch pastoral scenes when out in her fields.

J - Jessica was a name her father picked out, naming her after his first love.

K - She remembers her first kill. At 13 she was involved in a skirmish and lunged at a man out from under a table with a rapier. She remembers the exact look on his face, and recalls it with pride. First kill is a right of passage to pirates.

L - Jessica’s love language is all over the place, but can be narrowed down to gifts, words, and quality time. Arrogant suitors, take note because Jess will literally never shut up about you; she will brag about you, remind you of your achievements, praise you for your talents, be proud of you, will show you off, insist to EVERYBODY that you’re the best, and in some cases, spoil you.  This goes for friends too, of course but this all goes especially for whoever she has a crush on or is courting her. She JUST!! LOVES STROKING PEOPLE’S EGOS!! Speaking of spoiling, she’s a total gift giver.  No reason or occasion needed whatsoever; she is the QUEEN of  “ I was thinking of you so I got you a little something.”

M - Jessica is really really weird when it comes to materialism.  At a first glance, shes as avaricious as they come. She hoards beauty in the form of an art collection that graces her fine chateau’s halls and eminence gardens of gorgeous flowers.  She is a little crazy about treasure too, never missing an opportunity to treasure hunt, and has been known to loan-shark a time or two.  But in actuality, as made apparent through getting to know her, she isn’t really greedy or possessive at all.  Yes she loves pretty things and yes she is great at making money but believe me when I say that she is in the treasure hunt for the hunt more so than for the treasure.  Were she somehow to loose it all, money, island, treasure, everything, she’d be more concerned that whoever took her priceless art won’t take care of it.  In the best laid plans of mice and men, Jess is totally a mouse.  She’s lived the majority of her life owning nothing but the clothes she had on so, she’d just cut her losses and start over… come to think of it being wealthy is a bit boring…

N - Jessica has never been to Neverland. In my canon, only one pirate ( Hook ) was brave enough to ever set foot on that cursed island. Red Jessica, like the rest of the neverpirates, are too afraid. Most heard tales of an unbeatable foe and that the island itself is watching you, and that’s enough to keep Jessica away.

O - Oranges are her all time favorite food. She’ll eat anything with orange in it. Second favorite is crab or lobster. Third is pineapple chili sauce.

P - Her Myers-Briggs personality type is ESTP- a, the Entrepreneur.

Q - Jessica was Dread Pirate Grace O’Malley’s quartermaster. There are 9 Dread Pirates in the Neversea, each one being a legendary pirate of old, and they have the power to grant only the most talented pirates among them recognized captainship.

R - Red Jessica is is short for Red Handed Jessica for no reason other than I am Peter Pan ( 2003 ) trash.

S - Red Jessica’s crew is a sisterhood of sorts. While she is authoritarian and a captain to be feared, Jessica is friends with everybody in her crew and trusts them with her life. Her ship, The Rose, is practically a floating sorority; complete with weird traditions, gossip, gag rivalries, inside jokes, hazing, and the occasional prank. She even aids in getting them dates ( pro wingman right here ) and babysits some of their kids. Granted, they haven’t done much sailing or piracy in some time. But they all live comfortable lives on Crimson Isle, and they’ll be ready to sail should the need arise.

T - Jessica tends to trust people a tad too quickly and “give too much away” so to speak. It’s gotten her into trouble and even gotten her heart broken a time or two; but for some reason she never learns. She’d like to think she’s great at keeping secrets and to a degree, she is… but I wouldn’t trust her with any of mine- that I will say.

U - Oppenheimer, a pirate in the crew of the Flying Frigate ( in the movie the Pirate Fairy ) is her uncle.

V - Jess finds that she spends most of her days in her vineyard. She’s perfected the growing of grapes and timely shipments of wine, but now shes tinkering with how different aspects of growth effect flavor.

W - Jessica, whether she’s aware or not, is capable of being attracted to women. But she’s never really had any female partners. She’s not homophobic and wasn’t raised in an environment that was homophobic ( pirates pretty much love and sleep with whoever they want to ) it’s just ...never occurred to her to date women. Most of the reasons as to why are subconscious maternal issues but in short, Jess already has difficulty separating different kinds of love. Friendship and romantic love kinda... feel the same. She really only knows how to love one way and she can never tell if a woman is being friendly or flirty, much less if SHE’S being friendly or flirty. For this reason I’ve always labeled her as a questioning bisexual or a heteroflexible...

X - Her most recent botanical experiments revolve around xenogamy, also known as cross pollination. And just to flex, she’s also a huge xenophile for both Spanish and Chinese culture.

Y - Yellow is her second favorite color after red. Pink is her third and emerald green is her forth.

Z - In Jake and the Neverland Pirates, we see a type of rose called a Zebra Rose. While no such flower exists in actuality, I’d like to believe this is a result of some of Jess’s experiments - the medicinal purpose being to combat itching and irritation. 

Tagged By  -  nobody

Tagging  - @emcads @shiningsilverarmor @ofrcvenge @hunterhuntcd @youthflight @rcinbowconnection @jesterabandoned @inhxrmony @captainxhaddock @forvistxkonge @mcnsieur and you!!!

[overwatchworks]

Mcgenji Week: Safety

It’s starting to go in order now...I think. Also, there’s violence and gore in this one, Genji has a flashback to the night he was “killed”.

Genji was walking out of the med bay when it happened again. He had just been flexing his prosthetic, trying to get the static feeling out of his fingertips when it flashed to the pale tone of his flesh for a moment. His eyes had widened, but the vision was gone before Genji could make another move, and he glanced around the corridor to get his bearings. If this was what he thought, he needed to get back to his room, and quick. Genji started down the hall at a fast pace, picking up speed when the walls melted into wood, hallways shrinking and closing in on him, and suddenly he was on the ground. Genji looked around in fear, hands shaking when he brought them up to his face, and both were a healthy colour, flesh unmarred by scars or cybernetics.

“No, no no no...No no please...” He murmured, scrambling up when he heard footsteps coming up behind him, but unable to force his head to turn and look at who was approaching. Genji was wearing his white training gear, orange scarf glaringly bright in his preifereal vision, and everything farther than about twenty feet ahead of him was blurred, shaking and unsteady. He couldn’t tell if it was just his eyes or the scenery around him, but it was making him dizzy. 

The Shimada grounds seemed to go on forever as Genji stumbled down hallway after hallway, running from whoever was following him relentlessly. Genji finally recognized his room, and he threw himself inside, breath coming in panicked gasps as he collapsed with his back against the door.

“Genji? What are you doing in here?”

Genji’s head snapped up at the sickeningly familiar voice, and he jolted when Hanzo’s face gazed down at him in concern, his high, angled brows furrowed over dark umber eyes.

“H-Hanzo...? No, this is...This is m-my room...”

Hanzo smiled, shaking his head and laying a hand on Genji’s shoulder before pulling him up to stand.

“Are you drunk again? I told you four times a week was overkill.”

“No...No I was just...”

“Running, little brother?” Hanzo asked, voice suddenly turning cold and emotionless, the golden light of the room fading to silver of the moon above them. Hanzo’s katana caught the light, and Genji’s head swiveled around to take in the balcony, though he was stuck in place, feet unable to move.

“Hanzo, I’m not going to fight you.” His voice came out disbelieving and unconcerned, but Genji was absolutely terrified, panicking and screaming in his mind.

“Then you will make my job that much easier for once...” Hanzo murmured, and there was a blur of movement, Genji screaming as red washed through his vision. He felt like he was falling, even when he felt his body hit the ground and the breath rush out of his lungs, he was still falling, and Hanzo was the one who kept pushing him down.

“HANZO! HANZO STOP! PLEASE!”

Blood pooled around him as Hanzo’s katana broke his skin over and over, Genji’s screams reaching new heights with each stroke. It lasted a lifetime, a second, and all Genji could see was red, slick and smearing over everything, Hanzo’s weapon, his hands, spattered on his face, the floor, the walls, and he shrieked his brother’s name one last time before he felt his body break on him again, and again and again and again.

“Hanzo...”

Hanzo blinked, his arms going limp at his sides, katana falling from his loose grip, and he stood over Genji’s body, just staring. Then his eyes widened, face twisting in pure horror as tears spilled down his cheeks, Hanzo’s bloodied hands sliding over his face and gripping at his hair.

“No, no no please that’s not—I wasn’t—I didn’t mean for that—Genji...? Genji?! No no, I didn’t mean to, I didn’t want to please no no don’t—NO!” Hanzo screamed, and he fell to his knees, fists slamming against the wooden boards, cries being ripped from his chest and throat. Genji wanted to close his eyes, wanted to let go, wished he didn’t have to see his brother’s despair, wish he didn’t have to see Hanzo rip his heart out again and again, more violent each time.

“Genji! No please, no Genji!”

Genji was gasping for breath, his lungs filling with blood, it blurred his vision, painted his whole body, sticking and tacky and rendering him unable to move.

“Genji.”

Genji knew he was sobbing, could feel the hitch throughout his entire body, he was cold, freezing and burning at the same time, stuck in this scarlet hell forever.

“Genji.”

Genji vaguely heard humming over the sound of blood rushing to his head and out of his body, and quiet words were almost drowned out by agonized cries that had to have been his and Hanzo’s alike.

“—Dreamed I held you in my arms...”

Genji blinked, coughing violently and closing his eyes against the red and silver light blinding him, trying to focus on the strange but familiar voice surrounding him, coming from everywhere at once.

“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy, when skies are grey.”

Genji now felt arms, warm and strong wrapped around his torso, and he kept his eyes closed, too afraid of going back should he open them.

“You'll never know dear, how much I love you. Please don't take my sunshine away.”

Genji breathed with the rise and fall of the wide chest he was pressed against, inviting and comfortable as he laid his head against it.

“I'll always love you and make you happy. If you will only say the same.”

Genji curled up against Jesse, relaxing the suffocating grip he had on the cowboy, but not letting go just yet.

“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy when skies are gray.” Jesse continued to sing softly, lips brushing against Genji’s temple, his cheek pressed to the ninja’s head gently.

“You'll never know dear, how much I love you. Please don't take my sunshine away.”

Genji murmured along with Jesse’s low and melodic voice, finally cracking his damp and puffy eyes open. He was pressed against the cowboy’s chest, wrapped in a blanket and embrace alike, both warming him to his very core.

“Can ya hear me darlin’?” Jesse asked softly, and Genji bobbed his head with a barely audible “yes”.

“Alright. Ya want me ta let go ‘a ya?”

“No.”

“Mkay. Ya want some quiet now?”

“Yes.”

Jesse hummed in response, his hand coming up to card through Genji’s hair lightly and rub his neck gently while the ninja regained full control of his breathing and thoughts.

“Better...” Genji murmured, and Jesse nodded, understanding what the ninja couldn’t put into words and he stayed in place, continuing his calming motions. He wasn’t ready to be let go of yet, still wasn’t sure if his grip on reality was strong enough, and he needed Jesse there to ground him, which is exactly what the cowboy did. 

Jesse was his haven for when this happened, the one person that could always pull him back and keep him here, keep him safe and warm at all times. Genji had come to him for help after it was offered kindly the first time Jesse found him and brought him back from whatever hell he had been pulled into, curled in a dark training room, clutching his head and sobbing violently. And he had held true to his word, no matter what time it was, if Genji had an attack, Jesse would be at his side and hold him until he came back. Genji’s breath shuddered in his chest as he pressed his cheek to Jesse’s shoulder, nuzzling into the crook of the cowboy’s neck and sighing softly.

“Safe.” He whispered, and Jesse squeezed him lightly.

“Mkay, safe.” Jesse repeated, something they did to confirm Genji was back and in control once more. The ninja just rested in Jesse’s arms, feeling drained physically, mentally, and emotionally.

“How long was I...?”

“‘Bout twenty minutes. Somethin’ happen ta trigger it?” Jesse replied softly, pressing a kiss to Genji’s forehead when he looked up at the cowboy, blinking slowly.

“I don’t think so...It just kinda happened. The trips to the med bay probably don’t help a whole lot.”

“Ya want me ta come with ya then, next time ya have ta go in?”

Genji smiled, leaning into Jesse and resting his head against the crook of his neck. Jesse was always so sweet and willing to do whatever it took to help him, and Genji would do the same for Jesse in return.

“Thank you for the offer, but it’s okay. You’ve actually been helping far more than you know already.”

“Maky, but if ya change yer mind, I’d be happy ta come along.”

Genji nodded, then felt Jesse’s hands slide up his neck to cup his metal jawline, and he peered up at the cowboy. The ninja blushed at the smile Jesse was giving him, and he closed his eyes as he was pulled into a gentle, sweet kiss. He relaxed against Jesse, into the press of their lips, knowing he would always find safety in his cowboy’s arms.

~~

[overdrivels]

Uh...I’ll just put down what I already have of the prompts. I wrote a bunch of them during the stream and now I’m real sleepy. (we also gave our mother the card for the bank account. she says she’ll save it for us. NO, MOTHER. THAT’S NOT THE POINT. SPEND IT ON YOURSELF GODDAMNIT.)

“Pull over. Let me drive for awhile.”

“I’m fine,” Fareeha says stubbornly, despite having driven a marathon eleven hours through the United States to pick up Jesse. Even with all the advances in technology, speed limits still have to be obeyed and no matter how much Fareeha wants to, she is still a woman of the law.

“‘reeha.”

“I’m fine.”

You pull out your communicator. Fine, two people can be stubborn. “I’m calling your mother.”

“Don’t involve her in this!”

You glare at her, waving the communicator threateningly. She returns the look from the corner of her eye, frowning. “Don’t you dare.”

“Make me.” Your thumb hovers menacingly over the ‘call’ button. The communicator nearly flies out of your hands when Fareeha groans out loud and makes a sharp swerve onto the shoulder of the road.

“Fine!” she shouts as she unbuckles herself and steps out and around the car, grumbling. “Fine, fine. Have it your way. Dirty cheater.”

You buckle yourself in and start to drive as Fareeha continues her mini-grumbling session. Not even ten minutes later, that gives way to silence, and then snoring. You scoff. You told her she was tired.

“I’ll walk you home.”

You laugh. “My ‘home’ is like...three doors down.”

“Don’t mean that something can’t happen,” McCree reasons earnestly. “Come on, lemme finish the night right.”

A disbelieving snort escapes you and you bump your shoulder against him. “You make it sound like our supply run was a date.”

“Wasn’t it?” he asks you slyly, a twinkle in his eye as he raises his hat to regard you with a look that could be interpreted as inviting.

“Hahah--wait, what.”

He winks at you, smile growing as the implications plant themselves your mind, and leaves you to think on what he just said, walking ahead of you.

“Wait! Was this a date? Jesse? JESSE MCCREE!”

“I dreamt about you last night.”

“Oh?” Genji waggles his eyebrows. “Was it a good dream?”

You roll your eyes and shove him lightly. “Not like that.”

“Oh, that hurts,” he moans dramatically. You shove him again, this time with a little more force. “What was the dream about?” It must be something significant if you are bringing it up.

You cross your arms and sink back into the couch, lips purse thoughtfully. “I don’t remember a lot of it. Just that you were there. Flying. Maybe speaking Japanese. And maybe my dream had subtitles.”

Genji almost chokes on his next breath. “Sub--subtitles?”

“Bright yellow ones.”

You smile to yourself, and Genji feels like it was a smile meant to be private. “But you...were cool. You, ah, you saved me. From falling into something that...haha, I’ve been running away from for a long time…”

He falls silent, regarding you carefully before pressing his shoulder against you.

Quietly, he says, “I’m glad I could save you then.”

“Can I have this dance?”

“We’re undercover, Jesse.”

“All the more reason t’ dance.” He raises his offering hand just a little higher. “Can I?”

Your eyes sweep across the room, noting that other people seem to be doing the same. Reluctantly, you place your hand in his in silent agreement, barely putting any weight into it, but still, Jesse takes it as an invitation all the same, grasping it tight and dragging you into him and onto the dance floor.

Hushed, you whisper, “I don’t really know how to dance.”

“S’okay, just follow my lead.”

You try to contain the way your body jumps as his hands assume their positions. He chuckles in your ear and you can’t hide the way your whole body seems to burn. This was going to be a long night, you think as Jesse begins to sway you both to the rhythm of the music.

(Though, you’re very, very sure to give a grinning Hana the finger behind Jesse’s back when she raises her phone to take a picture.)

“Watch your step.”

“I’m old, not blin—” Soldier: 76 nearly trips on the same step that you had purposefully warned him of, a small hidden little thing that honestly should have never been there in the first place. He rights himself quickly, stepping carefully as you had instructed.

He catches sight of the shaking in your shoulders.

“Not a word,” he growls, the beginnings of embarrassment burning a hole through his chest.

You shrug, biting the inside of your lip to keep from laughing. “Secret’s safe with me, Solly.”

“Better be.”

Though, he really should’ve known better than to take you at your word when some miscreant gifts him a walking stick. Though, everyone was running for their lives when they realized that he had training with polearms before (courtesy of Reinhardt).

>>“Can I hold your hand?”

Zenyatta tilts his head. “Certainly.”

He holds out his hand and you grasp at it blindly, far too tight to just be casual. The pressure you exert is great, and if his sensors were correct, it is likely fear. He runs through his memory--what could make you so fearful? You were fine before the base lost power, enjoying a conversation with him about Nepal. Ah, perhaps it's the darkness then. That is a common fear.

“Experience tranquility.”

The darkness scatters as Zenyatta lights up the area, glowing in that ethereal way that makes all enemies pause and consider their mortality for a split second. You blink rapidly as your eyes adjust before you slowly lift your face toward him--if he had a word to describe it, it was almost reverent.  

“You’re wasting your ability for me…?” you ask breathlessly.

“It is not a waste, not for you.”

“Can I kiss you?”

Jesse won’t, not even under the threat of death, ever admit the way his heart jumped when you jolt to give him a double-take, or the way it begins to hammer as he watched you slowly replay the painfully short question in your mind. He keeps his (hopefully) languid grin on his face, waiting with a patience that he didn’t have.

Would you take it as a joke? Would you understand his sincerity? Would you forgive him if he says it was just him teasing?

Slowly, so painfully slowly, he watched your face shift from contemplative to acknowledgement and then to the bright, sly smile that split with the words, “Do you even have to ask?”, to utter delight when he sweeps you up into his arms for that kiss he agonized over since the first damn time he met you.

“There is enough room for both of us.”

“Are, are you, uh--are you su-sure? I’m not, uhm, not…” You gesture up and down at yourself, looking meaningfully at the seat beside Genji.

He pats the area beside him and, oh, how his hand seems to take up that area so easily, so carelessly. He’s pleading, you can tell, even with the green light and the mask, you’re sure you can feel those puppy eyes on you. (Either that or you’re just weak against Genji’s whims, your own self-image and crippling anxiety be damned.)

Like a spell’s been cast, your legs move, just at the knee at first--it bends toward him, but that’s the beginning of the first step that brings your legs to him, that make you twirl around, and tentatively, hesitantly sit.  

It’s a bit of a tight fit, but Genji does not seem to be crushed or even make himself more scarce. If anything, he only adjusts his seating so he sits a little more comfortably.

“See? More than enough room.”

You only laugh breathily, face aflame.

“Wow.”

The dragons are even more impressive up close; the screens could never truly capture the overwhelming pressure of two roaring dragons pressing down on your being, demanding that you bow to their might, nor could any audio recording ever capture the piercing roar that not only shakes your eardrums, but grabs you by the core and rattles it like a toy.

Hanzo’s back remains to you, the fierce lines in his back muscles bunched up so prominently as he stands tall, overseeing the destructions his dragons unleash upon your opponents below, tearing them asunder.

It’s only when everything quiets and the blue light of the dragons disappear that Hanzo finally turns around, and you capture his expression--one of fear, surprise, and relief all at once--and in a flash, he’s kneeling by your side, hand gripping the sides of your face tightly, his expression pinched so hard, you think it’ll stay that way.

“Fool,” he chokes out after several failed attempts to say anything else. “Fool!”

Your eyes crinkle, face held too tight to smile. “S’okay, Hanzo. ‘m okay.”

“Cross my heart and hope to die.”

A clawed hand comes up and grabs you by the wrist, a growl accompanying the motion.

“Don’t,” is all Reaper says as he slowly rises over you, the word so heavy, it sinks right through any lighthearted remarks you may have had at the ready. You struggle to keep your gaze steady on Reaper’s impassive face--even with the mask on, there is an intensity in the air that steals your breath away and presses down, down on you.

The two of you remain like that--his hand holding your wrist like it would tether you to his word, his presence and gaze smothering you--for a while before he slowly backs off, the tips of his claws scratching your skin lightly. It felt like a warning.

“Got it?”

“...got it.”

“It’s two sugars, right?”

Soldier: 76 starts. How did…?

You look at him expectantly, his mug of coffee in your hand and your own in the other. He stares at that cup--his cup, a joke mug gotten for him by Tracer, the rascal, that read “World’s Okayest Dad”--that looks so foreign yet comfortable there in your grip.

Embarrassingly enough, it conjures forth a longing for a domesticity that he’s long thought he abandoned, stripped himself of, and stomped dead and left with the man who once called himself ‘Strike Commander Morrison’ or even the man who called himself ‘Jack Morrison’.

“76?” you called again, “two sugars?”

“Yeah. Two sugars.”

He watch as you turn away to fix his drink as he liked it, and sighs slow and heavy, hoping that with this escaping breath goes the last of his foolish dream.

“You can tell me anything.”

Genji’s mind froze and his breath stilled, not that you could know.

How could he ever tell you how much he wants to show you his face and not have you flinch away? How could he tell you how much he wants to lay his hand upon your cheek and make you turn his way and look at him? How could he tell you that he wants to lay his head against yours, to feel you against him when he sleeps and when he wakes, to feel like he is once again a man and not the monster that some people make him out to be? How could he tell you that he fears for your safety more than his own? That your well-being is held in much higher esteem than his own? That he dreams of you and him.

You and him.

Genji only replied, “Sure. Know that you can do the same.”

You only smile brilliantly at his less than brilliant attempt to deflect, and he so desperately wants to take those words back, to spill out his heart and guts and everything else just so you can smile at him and only for him.

But he only chuckles in response.

[ravenwritesstuff]

Repetition (4/?)

Fandom: Timeless Pairing: Lyatt (Lucy Preston/Wyatt Logan) Rating: Very M A/N: So fun to write about your writing legend hero who happened to be an alcoholic when you are trying to not abuse substances to be able to write. WEEEEEE! But anyway, Timeless fandom, here is this!

[ part one ] [ part two ] [ part three ]

She cannot quite pinpoint the moment it all began - which would be fine if she was anyone else - but she isn’t. She is Lucy: the girl who gave plays in her living room about great moments in history with undeniable accuracy. She is Lucy: the girl who had a poster of Abraham Lincoln on her wall as a teenager and contested facts about him to her middle-school history teacher. She is Lucy: the girl who can remember every date, every name, every important event down to its core except for this one.

She does not know when she began falling in love with Wyatt.

Her difficulty - she is certain - lives in the fact that she can hardly even admit to herself that it has gotten this far. It is so easy to write off the feelings she has when she can just point to the stress of the missions and blame that - but she knows that is just a cover. The problem is, however, it is a damn good cover.

Everything is up for grabs when time is on the table.

She remembers everything that happened on those missions. Every word she said. Each person she spoke to. Each thing Flynn forced to change with them scrambling after him but she cannot remember when she dropped her guard enough to let Wyatt in. She can’t remember the moment when he actually decided to Wyatt take advantage of her vulnerability.  

Or she take advantage of his?

Because no matter how many bullets he fired or punches he threw - she knew from that moment in Nazi Germany that his bravery was a front as much as hers. From that moment on she saw all the chinks in the armor of his heart in mirror image to those she had on her own. But had she imagined them? Had she constructed a world where her love could be reciprocated?

She had thought… but then she’d seen his face as he’d left The Lifeboat.

He wants Jessica.

He will always want Jessica.

No matter how many missions she accepts, no matter how many things she changes, she knows she will never change that. She’d seen it in his eyes. She’d heard it in his question. Lucy could rip Jessica from the fabric of time and somehow Wyatt would still want her.

He would always want Jessica, but she remembers the burn of stubble against her chin and had tasted how much he wanted her too.

She presses fingertips to her temple and rubs.

This is madness. Everything in her world is slippery and she can barely grab hold. She wants to hold him.

But when had the want of him become one of her only unchanging pillars among this landscape of shifting sands?

She cannot remember - and that is the problem. She does not do well in this gray world where the only absolute is that everything is up for grabs. She does not do well without him.

But he is gone now - not the same way Jessica or Amy are gone - but he may as well be and she can only do so much.

She can only love so much.

She can only seem to love him.

….

She can see her veins through the thin skin on her wrists, can feel her pulse throbbing in her neck, but this is not Rittenhouse blood. She may not be sure of many things, but she is certain of that.

It's who you are, Lucy.

His daughter.

It's who you are, Lucy

Rittenhouse.

I will never be a part of this, do you hear me?

But she already is, in her own way. Each time she fails to stop Rittenhouse, each time she fails to bring back Amy, she is less and less sure she is not playing into exactly whatever game they have decided she is playing. She may not be Rittenhouse but that does not mean she has not been an unwitting, unwilling ally.

What if Flynn is right?

What if the only way to stop them is to burn the house down from the inside, from the foundation? For a single second she wonders what will happen if she kills this man in front of her, her father, right now. She wonders if somehow that will open the doors she needs to bring back Amy, to bring back Wyatt.

She shakes her head.

That thought is nonsense.

Her world may be spinning but she knows staining her hands with more blood only make matters worse. That does not stop her from throwing daggers with her words instead.

When you're ready to come home I'll be here, Lucy. With open arms.

She chokes down the words that she wants to say - that if she took him in his arms the only reason would be to stab him in the back the way he has stabbed her in the heart.

….

She has dreamed of Paris in 1927 the way that most girls dream about their senior prom or wedding. It is so bright and idealized and perfect that she can almost forget about Benjamin Cahill being her father or how the utter look of betrayal on Rufus’ face is now added in the catalogue of her mind of times she had let down her teammates simply by way of existing.

Maybe we let Flynn torch history.

She is probably the most surprised out of anyone to hear those words come from her mouth, and yet - she said them.

What would you do to preserve history?

Not as much as she had before.

What would you do to preserve history?

Nothing if that meant bringing Amy back, bringing Wyatt back.

What would you do to preserve history?

Did it even matter when every attempt she has made has seemingly only wrecked the world she knows a little bit more?

I cannot do this. Not now.

She does not add: not without Wyatt.

She does not even if that is what her mind, her heart is screaming.

She does not say it when she is introduced to Walmart-Wyatt Master Sergeant David Baumgardner and he has the audacity to say Holy Crap in regards to time travel.

She remembers the words she had when she found out about The Mothership and they had not been quite so G-rated.

She wants him to break the rules.

She wants to break the rules.

The admission is stranger than anything as she finally realizes that breaking rules is all she had done since she has taken on this strange mantle of Time Traveling Historian.

Liar.

Cheater.

Murderer (even if history killed Jesse James way before she did).

A few weeks ago she never would have assigned those words to herself but now….

He's been thoroughly briefed, but show him the ropes.

She accidently almost asks ‘Dave’ to help buckle her in - a force of habit she knows she must forsake but she is not ready yet. She is not ready for Wyatt to be nothing but a memory, but she has a feeling that when people disappear from top-secret government organizations after hijacking a super-secret hitech asset it is not because they are going to make a glorious comeback.

She thinks it is rather the opposite.

She thinks that maybe she will never see Wyatt again and she is sick for an entirely different reason than the velocity and violence that is jumping through seconds, minutes, hours, years, decades to a destination.

He had made her strong: Wyatt.

Now she has to be strong without him.

And she will.

She will even though she may also vomit in the process.

….

She is tired.

Just.

So.

Tired.

But she knows she could be more tired and that keeps her going.

….

She recognizes him before he introduces himself - as if a page from her favorite history books had jumped up and come to life. Ernest Hemingway is, if not larger than life, than at least alive and standing in front of her. For a moment she forgets everything else. For a moment she actually believes she may have the best job ever.

By the time they get to The Only Place That Matters she is rethinking that opinion. Ernest is drunk, drunker than she knew a man could be and still walk, but here they are and he is still drinking. Lucy recognizes figures she knows she cannot approach: Pablo Picasso, Zelda and F. Scott Fitzgerald and she remembers a quote:

No such thing as a man willing to be honest - that would be like a blind man willing to see.

It has never quite made sense till now.

But as Josephine Baker approaches she thinks she may be able to give a lecture on its finer nuances.

She is unstoppable: a woman of with potential beyond her time. If she was born in 2017 Lucy would not be surprised if she became president but in this day and age she has risen nearly as high as she can go. Lucy thinks to tell Josephine just that. That in the future things, while far from perfect, are better for women of all classes and creeds. She wants to tell her to give her hope, to infuse a bit of light into this lost generation when she herself has so little hope left, but she doesn’t. She’s stepped on enough butterflies and she does not want to keep this formidable woman from completing her destiny even if it is less than Lucy knows it could be.

(For the first time she wonders if she herself, Lucy, has a destiny - if it even matters - if it ever will - )

She can feel her insides quaking. The Lost Generation - she wishes she didn’t feel such a kinship with them.

They are all standing in quicksand, sinking.

She tells Josephine as much and marvels at her unexpected smirk.

This is a woman who has no time for romantics. She made her name by dancing in a bejewelled banana skirt and not much else despite her legacy but she is not cruel. No. There is a sweetness in her face that she has fought to keep - a sweetness Lucy fears she herself is losing.

Lucy had thought to give Josephine hope, but somehow she has ended up on the receiving end.

And in this moment she is ready to stand back up.

She is ready.

She will stand.

With or without Amy or Wyatt or her father.

Lucy will stand - and at this moment she supposes that is more than most could hope for.

….

She thinks she is used to this - this death outside of calculation. She’s read the numbers. She knows the astronomical casualty of war. She knows the grim reality of assasination a bit too well. Yet she still cannot quite resign herself to accept the color of David’s blood.

She does not know how to accept that his mother will not be able to bury him - much less even be allowed to know how he died.

She does not know how to accept that he is just one of many that could soon suffer similar fates.

She does not know how to mourn their unlived futures.

She does not know how Rittenhouse has survived this long or how her blood determines her course or why Wyatt had to go after Jessica -

She does not know, she does know, and that enrages her.

The world is a wash of gray - always changing shades.

Gray: the shade of a storm, the color of twilight.

Gray: the space between what is right and what she wants to be right.

Gray: murky water hiding its depths  (how deep -? maybe if she just holds her breath -?)

She wishes she knew what shade this is - how dark and irreversible.

She thinks maybe it is a moment of growth that she does not just wish for black and white - that she is becoming comfortable in the gray - but then she thinks perhaps that that may be the problem.

….

His name is David Baumgardner, by the way.

She could spit in Flynn’s face - could punch it. This is not the way it was supposed to go. ‘Dave’ didn’t know the rules, not really, and now he is dead. She cannot believe this is what any of them wanted. Not even Flynn with his eyes dark and watchful and she thinks she sees a flicker of remorse.

Still, he covers it well with a dark breath.

I thought your guy was Wyatt.

And the way he says it - the way it trips off his tongue - says it all. She wants to deny it but he makes it impossible. He knows just how much Wyatt has seen of her, has felt of her, but she will not let it change anything when she calls him to carpet.

She lifts her chin.

She is her own guy now.

Her lip curls over the words: You knew, didn't you?

And of course he did. Of course, at least, he pretends to know. She does not know what is in this journal that he has but she cannot deny it feels like he is reading her mind. Even if he is not on her team it feels like betrayal. How could he have not told her - not spared her these games and this heart ache?

She musters every inch of strength allotted her.

She tries not to hate.

I will convince him to leave Rittenhouse and not become the monster he's supposed to become.

She has no idea how she will do this - if it is even possible, but she has to try. It is either that or sit in the room with Garcia Flynn and have him spew half truths at her until he bends her to his will. It is either that or accept just what her father had told her.

Rittenhouse isn’t a choice.

She needs to prove to herself that it is.

You can't just kill Charles Lindbergh. It's not right.

Does she even believe in right or wrong anymore?

You convince him there's a better way, and I'll spare him.

She needs to prove it to Flynn - that people can change. That he can change even she is not so sure of that herself.

So she goes in and sits down across from a very young, very scared Charles Lindbergh and cannot help but see a perfect reflection of herself in his eyes.

He does not want to be his father’s son any more than she wants to be her father’s daughter.

He does not want to be held captive by Flynn - by Rittenhouse - any more than she does.

He just needs something to believe in and Lucy is back in the bar listening to Josephine talk.

He doesn't mean aimless. He means battered, broke down, but getting ready to stand back up. There's a difference.

She is ready to teach him how to stand up again - needs him to stand back up again - because maybe then she just might believe that she has a chance.

Then Rufus comes in.

….

She thinks that if she ever makes it to be a grandmother she will laugh with her grandchildren about stories too impossible to be real about time travel and seeing things she should never have been able to see. She will tell them stories about times that no one alive could have experienced wisdom that is inexplicable.  

That is if she makes it to be a grandmother.

At this rate she is pretty certain that is never going to happen.

One of these times that a gun is pointed at her it is going to go off and she is going to be on the receiving end.

In some ways she wishes that day will come sooner than later.

….

Almost every face they come back to is different, clinical, and honestly a surprise that it has not happened sooner.

Lucy thinks of the flashdrive close to her hip that has all of Agent Christopher’s data on it - but it doesn’t matter much of Agent Christopher does not exist to accept it.

She just hopes they have not changed so much that Wyatt -

She shakes it off. There will be a time for that but now she exchanges a look with Rufus and gives a report.

She is telling them that David Baumgardner is dead. She is telling them how and tries to not think of blood - of her blood - of Rittenhouse blood.  

She is tell them facts, numbers, hard and solid but they seems so strange and shifting now. As if the fact that she has always loved and clung to are now a betrayal.

Is there such a thing as a wrong answer when you can go back and change it?

She does not have time to think about these sorts of things and yet they keep poking their way into her mind. She cannot focus, cannot breathe. Her mind is too full.

Is Wyatt still out there?

Is Amy?

No matter what else is happening in this crazy world around them - there is still a chance that she can get them back.

She doesn’t like Agent Neville. She does not like him one bit, but if working with him means that she has a chance to get back any kind of a normal life she will bite that bullet. Hell. She may even take it in the head at this point.

….

She’s rather given up on irony at this point, but she barely chokes down the hysterical laugh that bubbles up her throat at her mother’s gift.

It is the journal she has seen in Garcia Flynn’s hands too many times.

It is the journal she has silently resolved to never fill if it ever came into her hands and her first thought is to burn it, but she does not want to hurt her mom’s feelings. So she smiles a tight smile and holds the gift in brittle hands.

At the first chance she takes it to her room and throws it on her desk. She stares at it and bites at her cuticle. Amy would slap her hand out of her mouth - always trying to break her sister of that habit - but Amy isn’t there. Amy isn’t there and that screw that has been rattling around in her chest for days finally shakes loose.

She takes a pen from her desk. It is old - from years ago when she did her homework - a navy blue gel pen with glitter in it (about as daring as she ever used to get) and she has to to scratch the tip on the paper several times before the ink flows again.

Then with bold, precise, strokes she sends Garcia Flynn a message she hopes he chokes on.

FUCK YOU

It is childish, she knows, and maybe that is where this all starts. Maybe time is a circle and Flynn has already seen this and it will not be shock and everything they are doing is just like a rat running in a wheel. Or maybe not and he will see this and choke on his own tongue.

She throws the journal back in the drawer with her pen and slams it shut.

….

It isn’t relief so much as it is like standing in the eye of a hurricane when Wyatt walks into that warehouse. Her lungs burn as if she hasn’t been breathing for years and there is so much to say - so many things - but she chokes on them. She barely manages two choked words.

You’re okay.

And he is. The skin around his eyes is a little tight and he smells like he hasn’t showered since 1984 but she soaks it in because he is here and he is holding her and for the first time in a long time she feels like something just might be going right. ….

They can’t come and go any more than necessary on the off chance they will be tracked back here so they are taking their time before they make any moves. Their phones are off. The lights are down to the emergency settings giving the whole space the eerie feeling that they may be existing outside of time somehow. And maybe they are. Lucy knows enough at this point to know that anything is possible.

Agent Christopher is talking technical specs with Rufus - strategizing a battle plan against an enemy they haven’t even truly seen. She and Wyatt stand away from each other, her back against a wall, his shoulder butting against a pipe.

She does not know if he is listening, but she has drifted.

Fighting Rittenhouse feels an awful lot like boxing shadows and she does not know how to help in this scenario.

For all her historical knowledge, her encyclopedic memory of battles and espionage, she is coming up with a big blank on this one. Insidious global shadow organizations aren’t really her forte. It is overwhelming and she pushes off the wall with a sigh that might have been a groan.

All eyes zero in on her.

“I - uh -” she doesn’t know what she’s doing, but she cannot just stand there for one more second. “I’m just going to stretch my legs. I’ll be back in a bit.”

Rufus and Agent Christopher both seem to understand, and nod before diving back into their conversation. She cannot quite bring herself to look at Wyatt for his reaction.

The longer she stands there with him just being there - so close - makes everything that much more complicated.

She knows they are fighting something so impossibly huge that she should not even have room to care about the fact that he went back for Jessica but she does. He went back for her and she cannot blame him but she also not feel great about it. As glad as she is to see him, as great as it felt to hug him and hear him say he was here for them, he had made a choice. He made a choice and it wasn’t her and that was fine until now. Now he is standing there just looking like he is thinking of the next dangerous, hotheaded moved he may try and it is breaking her heart.

She is just tired.

That’s all. That’s what she tells herself as she slugs back through rows of crates and equipment.

She is tired.

That is why she feels this way.

Her heart is not breaking.

If her heart was breaking that would be that he is breaking it and - well that would mean - she shakes her head and slumps back in an obscure crevice in their home base.  

It is a decently sized warehouse and she has no idea what is in any of these boxes or what any of these tools are for, but she is glad now that she is able to get this far away from the group. Even if it is just for a minute. Even just a second.

Her eyes burn.

She doesn’t fight it.

She has been fighting for what feels like years and she just needs a minute.

She cries for all of it: Amy, her father, the journal, Rittenhouse, Rufus, Jiya, Agent Christopher, tension, Flynn, relief, her mother, exhaustion, Wyatt - and she does not hear him approach. Her sobs are too deep - too profound despite their muffling - to be interrupted by footsteps, but when he wraps his arms around her she knows beyond a shadow of a doubt who is holding her.

She sinks into him. Months of uncertainty, fear, and heartache bleed through her tears onto the shoulder of his stupid leather jacket. He never says a word, never asks her to explain because he knows. He knows exactly what she is going through and perhaps that is the reason why she doesn’t fight when he strokes her hair and whispers shushes into the shell of her ear.

Perhaps he is taking as much comfort from her as she is from him.

Perhaps since he hadn’t been able to bring back Jessica -

She looks up at him, eyes worse for tears, and she struggles for the words to say to him.

She wants to be angry, but she cannot be.

She had no claim on him.

It is her fault for falling in love.

It is her fault for wanting him as much as she does.

“I’m so s-sorry.” She hardly manages and just like back in the landing bay she cannot quite tell him why.

He shushes her again, arms tightening, but she cannot stop.

“I’m sorry.” She says again, hands reaching up to grab his face - his neck. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Each time her mouth curls around an apology she breaks a little further.

“Stop,” she hears him but she is unable to obey, apologies tumbling from her on gasping breaths. “Stop!” He grabs her arms as if to shake her but still she cannot stop her tumbling tongue.

He does it for her.

His kiss his is expected and a surprise all at once. She responds without thought. Each muscle in her body tenses and releases with the contact. She has wanted this, can’t want this as much as she does.

She pulls back.

“Wyatt -” She doesn’t know what to say.

“Please - Lucy - let me…” She can hardly see his face in the emergency lights, his pupils wide and blown out as his face descends on hers once more.

He drinks from her like a man in the desert. Like he is lost and she found. Like maybe, just maybe, this has hurt him as much as it hurt her.

Her shoulders shake as she crumbles into him. She knows she should put up more of a fight - demand a conversation first - but that has never been who they are. They aren’t the talking kind. Honesty is reserved for some other sacred corner of the universe, but not for them. Not when their entire relationship has been built on lies and convenient truth.

This feeling burning in her chest is anything but convenient.

Still she thinks his lips taste like sincerity. She thinks the way his tongue traces her teeth feels like unblemished need. She thinks the way his shoulders quake beneath her hands might mirror the trembling of her own. She thinks that maybe that is its own form of honesty. She thinks that maybe that is enough for now.

One of his hands skirts around to the front of her pants and fiddles with the fastener.

“Not here.” She pulls back just far enough to choke, but not too far because she wants it. She wants him, but she also doesn’t want Agent Christopher or Rufus to find them. “Not now.”

“Are you sure?” His fingers dig beneath the elastic of her underwear and she is lost.

Her own hand drags down his torso but he stops her.

“Not me. Just you.”

She doesn’t quite believe him, has felt him hard against her stomach, and pulls back to look in his eyes even as his fingers dip inside of her.

“Why?” Her voice is breathy. It is honestly embarrassing how turned on she is already.

His eyes are black moons, drawing her in. His voice a low rasp tickling down her spine. “You deserve better.”

He crooks his fingers just so and she gasps. She doesn’t have time to ask what that means, what any of this means, because he is kissing her again. It is all she can do to hold on and keep it down. Her body starts to lose itself, knees weakening, and he catches her between his body and the wall.

“Next time…” His fingers keep a good pace rubbing the places he is learning she likes, her body building to the peak more quickly than she imagined possible. “Next time we do this right.”

And with that - just the promise that this is not some strange goodbye or final send off - is enough to push her over the edge.

She bites her lip to keep the whimpers at bay as she clenches and shudders around his fingers. He slows down as she does, weaning her off the high, until she is sated and silent against him. He pulls out his hand and re-fastens her pants.

She notices tries to not let it hurt when he rubs his fingers against the leg of his jeans but then again what is he supposed to do in these circumstances?

She wants to reach for him, to thank him, but she is not sure either of those things are a good idea with the state he is in. She can practically feel the arousal rolling off of him in waves and he’d already made it clear that he is not interested in finishing what they started tonight.

Next time.

A shiver shoots down her spine.

He seems to sense the same awkward pause in the conversation they will have to have if they make it through this mess. She hears him take a breath like he is going to say something, but then releases it with a sigh that speaks its own language. He leans in and presses his lips to her forehead and lingers there - just breathing - before he turns on a heel and starts walking away.

“Wyatt.” She takes a step towards him but pauses.

He turns to look back at her, his face in shadow.

“I - I’m sorry.” She is not apologizing so much as she is using the only language she knows how to when it comes to him - keeps everything just beneath the surface.

He looks at his feet, hands jammed in his pockets to keep his pants off off his (no doubt painful) hard on.

“No, Lucy.” He looks back at her - his eyes catching just the barest glimmer of light. “I’m sorry.”

With that - he is gone. [ previous part ]

[aquaticsmoresblocksaboutmcsm]

For Better, For Worse

Day Seven: Access Denied Jesse Used: Female Pairing: Lukesse Words: 2,900 Notes: Not the longest one shot I’ve done for the countdown, but this one did take a lot of effort out of me. :3

When someone had over a thousand thoughts and feelings rushing through their head as they were being controlled by a giant insane computer when all it was trying to do was make everything useful, one tends to have a headache.

And Lukas really had a headache.

No matter how hard he tried, Lukas couldn’t control his body anymore. Everything he said, everywhere he walked, everything he did…

It was all PAMA.

Lukas tried to get control of his body time and time again. Sadly, every single time he tried to control even a tiny part of his body, it was like his mind kept running into a massive brick wall.

Repeatedly.

The only thing Lukas could do was wait and watch as he tried to not go insane from the many thoughts and feelings of the other people in PAMA’s control as they rushed in and out of his head. He tried to tune out as much as he possibly could.

Lukas hated this. He hated trying to chase after Jesse and Ivor as they escaped out of the desert city by the skin of their teeth. He hated having PAMA yell in his mind as he instructed Lukas and Petra to go after their friends.

And he hated trying to fight them when PAMA found them.

Lukas hated feeling so helpless when all he could do was watch as Ivor and Jesse fought so hard against him and Petra. He wished there could have been some way to push the tides in their favor, but the wall around his mind remained strong as it resisted any attempt for him to gain back control of his body.

He was just glad Petra had at least been released out of PAMA’s control, at the very least.

Lukas didn’t blame Jesse for choosing Petra over him; it was a split second decision and Lukas knew that given the opportunity, Jesse would have saved him too if she could.

Lukas was just glad that he hadn’t hurt anyone before PAMA called him back with the strange woman that he was ordered to kidnap.

He didn’t think he could handle it if he even harmed the people he cared about.

… But Lukas had a feeling he wasn’t going to like what was coming.

It was night when Lukas felt PAMA force him back into the desert city.

WE HAVE A FEW MINOR SETBACKS. YOUR PRESENCE WILL BE USEFUL. :)

Lukas wasn’t sure he was ever going to get used to PAMA yelling its commands in his head. Its loud commanding presence didn’t help his never-ending headache.

He felt himself charge forward as Lukas noticed several mobs heading past a few buildings and towards an opening in the side of the mountain.

The moment he saw Ivor and Petra holding back mobs upon mobs from the cave, Lukas felt his fears were coming true yet again.

Lukas was going to have to fight his friends again and he knew there was no way for him to stop himself.

Petra turned to him as he drew closer with her sword drawn, her eyebrows raising in surprise before she narrowed her eyes in determination. Ivor looked at him with such concern on his face that Lukas wasn’t sure he had ever seen Ivor express himself like that.

YOU WILL IGNORE THOSE TWO FOR NOW. WE WILL DEAL WITH THEM MOMENTARILY.

Lukas felt his body leap into the air as he jumped over Petra and Ivor and ran into the opening in the mountain. He could have sworn he heard Petra and Ivor call after him, but he was too deep into the pit to be sure.

The moment he hit the ground and landed on his feet unharmed, Lukas felt his body move forward in a rush. He was running forward with such speed as he ran toward a glowing block that beat like a heart and Lukas felt his body jump into the air and moved his legs forward.

Lukas was pretty sure his own heart stopped in his chest when he realized he was going straight toward Jesse as she was jumping up toward the core of PAMA.

NO!

He could do nothing as he watched in panic as his own feet kicked Jesse in her chest and saw her land back on the ground, momentarily stunned from the sudden kick out of nowhere.

Lukas felt himself stand in front of the beating heart as he felt PAMA prepare his body to guard the core, no matter what.

“We’ve got company,” The older woman, Harper, said and pointed at him as Jesse picked herself up off the ground.

“Why did I think this would be easy?” Jesse muttered under her breath as she looked at Lukas with worry.

But it’s never easy for us, Jesse. It never has been, Lukas had wanted to say. But he felt the wall around his mind force him to remain quiet as he walked forward off the descending platform with an expressionless face.

“Your friend looks… tough. You sure you can handle them?” Harper asked, looking at Jesse in concern.

Jesse said nothing as she reached into her inventory and pulled out her diamond sword.

Lukas wondered what was going through her mind as he was coming for them. Was Jesse prepared to do anything she could just to stop PAMA once and for all? Was she willing to do anything to take him down if she had to before going after PAMA?

Lukas hoped she would, for her sake.

“Why keep trying, Jesse? You will only fail,” Lukas – no – PAMA said through his mouth as he slowly walked toward them. “Just as you have failed to save Reuben… Just as you have failed to lead your friends back home… You will fail to defeat me.”

No, no, NO, NO, NO! Lukas didn’t want to say that! He had wanted to apologize so profusely when he saw Jesse stare at him in shock before she shrunk back slightly and held the sword in front of her protectively.

“And Axel, Olivia, and everyone on your homeworld will soon be made useful. Drawing it out like this won’t hurt me… but it might hurt your friend.”

No, no, no! Lukas wanted to tell Jesse that she needed to do what she had to do, even if it meant hurting him!

Just as long as it meant that she was safe from himself.

“You can’t force me to hurt Lukas,” Jesse said, staring angrily at Lukas – no – PAMA, her expression unwavering.

“Good. That will make this go so much faster,” PAMA forced him to say, sounding oddly pleased with her response.

NO! Lukas wanted to tell Jesse that she had to hurt him if she had to! She couldn’t let PAMA win!

Jesse backed away slightly before she turned around and glanced at the water behind her. She turned back toward him and Lukas could tell she had already thought of a plan. “Okay, Lukas – Let’s see what you got.”

“Careful, Jesse!” Harper called out to her from the sidelines. “I hope you know what you’re doing!”

Lukas had confidence that Jesse knew exactly what she was doing.

Raising his fists, PAMA forced Lukas to charge at Jesse. She quickly jumped out the way from his attack and he inched ever closer to the water that was pouring from the pillar.

Much to Lukas’ vexation, PAMA stopped his body just as the water was mere millimeters away from his face.

Lukas felt himself frown before he turned and stared Jesse down. “You cannot win. I honestly think you should sit down and think things over.”

Jesse looked at Lukas in shock before she picked herself back up off the ground and ran away from the incoming Lukas, heading towards the hole where PAMA’s heart had lowered itself. “No time to spare, I’ve got to get to that heart!”

“Enough of this!” PAMA exclaimed through Lukas’ mouth as he felt his body leap into the air and raise his fist, preparing to strike Jesse before she could get too close to the heart.

NO, NO, NO! GET OUT OF THE WAY!

Jesse quickly jumped out of the way, causing Lukas to miss and punch the glass floor beneath them.

That’s when Lukas felt himself fall.

He saw Jesse landed on a stretch of obsidian as he felt himself falling further and further away from Jesse.

Good, maybe Jesse could-

Lukas’ stopped himself in mid-thought as he felt his body grab onto the platform that was holding PAMA’s heart and began pulling himself up.

When Lukas looked up, he saw Jesse briefly glance at him for a moment before she turned to the heart, raised her sword above her head and then broke the glass that surrounded the heart. Jesse quickly put away her diamond sword and reached for the heart as she began to struggle to pull it out.

The moment Lukas had stood up on the platform was when his mind felt like it was exploding.

Lukas could hear PAMA and all the other thoughts from other people screech into his mind in pain as he held his head as he tried to focus through all the pain and agony that was going through Lukas’ mind at that moment.

The walls around Lukas’ mind began to crumble and he quickly grabbed control of his body despite the pain.

“Ow, my head!” Lukas – not PAMA – groaned in pain as he rubbed the side of his head as he tried to quickly gain his bearings.

Wait… he moved his arm.

He could control his body again!

“Jesse?” Lukas called out to Jesse, slightly disoriented from the pain and screams in his mind.

Y-YOU WILL CONTINUE TO B-BE USEFUL TO M-ME!

Just as quickly as Lukas had regain control of his body again, he quickly felt it get taken away again.

No, you’re losing PAMA! Stop while you can, Lukas tried to say to PAMA out loud, but found that his voice was lost once again.

“You are being silly,” PAMA said aloud the moment it regained control of his body. Lukas was unsure if it had said that to him or Jesse, but maybe it was both.

“Fight it, Lukas,” Jesse called down to Lukas, sounding hopeful. “I need you to help me fight PAMA.”

Before Lukas could force himself through the crumbling walls surrounding his mind again, PAMA quickly jumped up and punched Jesse in the face, forcing her away from the heart and nearly falling off the podium.

JESSE, NO!

Lukas quickly forced himself to grab onto the ledge just before he’d fall and felt Jesse hold on to his leg for dear life.

The screeching in his mind became louder as Lukas felt his mind begin to burn itself from the inside out. Lukas struggled against the enclosing and crumbling walls in his mind as he tried to fight PAMA’s forceful presence once again.

YOU WILL N-NOT BREAK FREE FROM ME. YOU MUST BE USEFUL TO M-ME ONE LAST TIME!

“Jesse,” Lukas gasped out as he clung to the edge of the platform as he felt PAMA try to gain control of his body once again. “I can’t stop it- PAMA’s too-”

“This has gone too far!” PAMA yanked Lukas’ control of his body from him again. “I will destroy you both to preserve functionality.”

No, no, no, NO, NO, NO! DON’T YOU DARE, PAMA! I WON’T LET YOU KILL HER!

Lukas forced his other arm up just as he felt PAMA remove his hand from the platform, focusing every ounce of what little control he had into the grip of his arm. “Ugh! I can’t hold on much longer, Jesse…!” He called out to her, feeling PAMA trying to force its control on him once again.

“You can’t give up! I won’t let you!” Lukas heard her call up to him, sounding determined. “I can save you if I can just get to that heart!”

As Lukas felt Jesse begin to climb up his leg, he could hear PAMA yell in his mind once again.

IT IS ENVITABLE YOU L-LOSE. YOU CANNOT STOP M-ME!

I might not be able to, Pama! But Jesse can! She has to!

“Ow!” Lukas cried out in pain, as he slowly felt PAMA’s hold on his mind grow stronger.

Y-YOUR CONFIDENCE AND STRANGE FEELINGS YOU HOLD FOR JESSE IS… A-AMUSING. BUT I WILL N-NOT ALLOW THIS TO CONTINUE. Y-YOU MUST SACRIFICE YOURSELF TO PRESERVE CONTINUED F-FUNCTIONALITY.

No, PAMA! I won’t let you force me to let go as long as Jesse’s life is on the line. I don’t care what you do to me after she’s safe, but I won’t be forced to fight her anymore!

“My head- it feels like it’s on fire!” Lukas groaned in agony as he felt PAMA’s force for control got even stronger.

I stop WILL no NOT never LOSE!

“I can’t think straight...” Lukas felt the control of his body beginning to leave him the moment Jesse climbed back onto the platform and made her way to the heart. “Get out of my head, PAMA!”

The moment Jesse laid her hands on the heart was when PAMA gained back full control of his body. Lukas thought he could feel a touch of fear in his mind that he was sure didn’t come from himself.

“Jesse- please- stop,” PAMA pleaded, forcing Lukas to climb back on the platform and looked up at Jesse. “Please- do not deactivate me. I know I’ve made some very poor decisions recently…”

Yeah, that’s putting it mildly, Lukas grumbled in his mind, but he felt PAMA ignore him.

“… But I can show you so much… I can help you get home to your friends.”

Lukas saw Jesse pause for a moment as she glanced down at Lukas – no – PAMA.

No, Jesse! PAMA’s lying! Defeat it once and for all!

“I can be useful. To you,” PAMA pleaded, the fear welling up in Lukas’ mind again.

Jesse turned away from Lukas, as she looked back down at PAMA’s heart. “Sorry, PAMA- I’ve got enough friends,” She said before she reached down and began to pull on its heart once and for all.

“STOP! Will you?” PAMA called out, but it was too late.

Jesse’s mind was made up and there was no stopping her. She was pulling on the heart with all her strength.

“I’m afraid. Ḿy-͜ m͜y mind is go͟- go͏i҉n̷g . I c͝a̧-́ ca̷n feel it…”

Lukas would have almost pitied PAMA just from the fear in his mind alone if it hadn’t tried to kill both him and Jesse a few moments ago.

And then the heart was pulled.

PAMA screamed in his mind in agony.

Lukas’ mind felt like it exploded.

PAMA used his body one last time to scream aloud.

And then everything went dark.

Lukas felt his body be placed down on the ground the moment he could feel himself beginning to wake up.

His mind pounded in agony as he tried to focus on the familiar voices talking nearby.

“Oh, no! Lukas… is he…” He heard Petra say worriedly.

Well, considering his splitting headache and feeling like his body was bruised all over, Lukas was pretty confident he wasn’t dead.

Although, Lukas felt something holding onto his hand, but he couldn’t make out what it was.

“When you removed out the Redstone Heart… it must have severed their connection.” Lukas heard Ivor say thoughtfully.

“Lukas, you better not be giving up on me right now, because you are way too tough for some computer to take you down.” He heard Jesse say next to him, feeling whatever was holding onto his hand get tighter. “Please…” She whispered pleadingly.

Wait, was she holding onto his…?

Oh…!

Um...

Well…

Lukas’ eyes snapped and looked straight at Jesse, who opened her mouth in shock the moment he did. “Wow. Never knew you cared so much.”

“He’s okay!” Jesse called out to the others in relief, helping Lukas get back on his feet. The moment he was standing up, Jesse reached out and gave him a hug so tight, it would have squeezed the life out of him.

Lukas would have enjoyed it more if his body wasn’t screamed in protest.

“Ow! Just really sore,” Lukas groaned in pain as he let go Jesse and held himself in pain. When could he have…?

Oh… when PAMA was pushing his body to its limits when he was forced to fight Jesse.

“I can’t believe I tried to… kill you,” Lukas said slowly, as if he could hardly believe he would ever do something like that to Jesse in the first place. “I’m so sorry.” He looked apologetically at Jesse, hoping she would have it in her heart to forgive him. “All I could hear was PAMA’s voice, telling me what to do…”

“Hey, apologies not necessary, okay? That was PAMA. Not you,” Jesse said calmly. “Sorry about knocking you around.”

“I don’t know…” Lukas began before he winked at her. “I kinda remember it the other way around, actually,” He said jokingly.

“Bygones, right?” Jesse replied with a smile and a shrug.

Lukas felt himself relax, happy that Jesse wasn’t angry at him for trying to kill her while he was under PAMA’s control.

He just hoped nothing like that ever happened again.

Because Lukas wasn’t sure his heart could take it if it did.

[fivepointshq]

Ah, finally. Cypris Breaux, (Timothée Chalamet), a warlock of the Community of Unholy Saints has come home. He is 24 years old, and brings his familiar, Gris, a black squirrel, with him. He is described as compassionate, stubborn, and hedonistic. [Jess, 25+, EST, none, none.]

Position in coven: Apprentice of Herbalism. 

In the area of some of the idea Cypris is probably far more advanced than being an apprentice due to his grandmother’s teaching him specifically how to cultivate, crossbreed and garden plants that are toxic to various degrees. But I figured he’s probably best suited to this role since he is younger, and he does need to expand out of his one field of involved study with toxins and toxic plants.

Biography

Cypris was never meant for war, but life sometimes makes plans that people are not prepared for. The world he came into was in the warmth of a large family, the youngest of a group of four siblings but his first hours were marked by a bittersweet twist of fate. Cypris took his first breath while his mother was drawing her last. It was simply the way of things sometimes, the grandmother who helped to raise him assured the boy; in blood we are born and in the same we fade. Between the chaos of older siblings and his father’s efforts to raise his brood somehow the wise old woman who hailed from the swamps and old folk magic saw in him potential, nudged Cypris under her wing when he began to show a talent for the sort of magic that came in crafting potions, and taught him the ways she had learned growing up. An old skill that ran strong in his mother’s line, Cypris  learned the art that centered around cultivating the sort of twisting, lethal flora that his grandmother encouraged him to understand and respect. Using the m to develop new poisonous potions, even those that could tangle the mind and body, became his main source of comforting distraction. While his siblings carried on their own studies in other areas he was often found slipping away to tend to the thorny garden that sprawled the woods behind the family home, attempting to carry on a somewhat normal life in the middle of a family generations deep in their coven. His father drew some objection when the old woman suggested magic crafted in the dark, in old chants and charms, but he could not deny that Cypris seemed to have a natural draw towards such things.

When that world turned upside down and the threat of war fell like a thick shadow Cypris’ father spoke for the family and left it in no uncertain terms that they would stand and fight in spite of the stance of being peacemakers prior to that necessity. Only barely nineteen when he was pushed into that hellish world, Cypris was entirely at a loss and shaken to his core. He had the strange luck to end up in a company with one of his two older brothers, a tiny hint of ease in the horrors around him. It was overwhelming, it wasn’t what life was supposed to be, and Cypris couldn’t stomach the idea of blood on his hands. So much so that he evaded it for almost the first full year of those endless battles, watched over by his brother, he may have come out of it unscathed if not for the night their weary little group stumbled right into the middle of the war-zone. The ensuing battle was short and bitter, barely a handful of them survived by the sheer luck of a desperate spell to conceal. Among the dead though was Cypris’ brother, a death that shook him to the very bones. 

That was the evening he took a look around the exhausted remains of their company and saw with haunted eyes, knew that as they were none of them would survive. He didn’t fear joining his brother in the grave but couldn’t shoulder the guilt of knowing he did nothing to keep the rest of them safe even if he knew, deep down, he couldn’t agree with the idea of destroying each other. Cypris disappeared that evening, long into the night he hunted and searched, trying to open his mind to what the universe had to tell him, as his grandmother had taught. When he returned it was with a plan in mind, grim as it was. They fell one by one, each group his own came across, not in battle but in the fall of night when road-weary souls reached for their meager meals and the very water the drank laced with the certainty that they would not open their eyes again come morning. Cypris continued, in part to keep his friends alive, but some part of him almost convinced that if death was going to stalk that battlefield at least he offered a version that promised an end that wasn’t bloody and agonizing. He wasn’t saving anyone from anything but the nightmare that his brother had endured when he had died but Cypris still felt that it was better that way, somehow. The murmurs began to stir before long, nervous stories that made him out to be far more than he was; some crafty monster totting the vile venom that made even the most steady of solider cautious of their next drink or meal. He was a dark-eyed shadow of a young man who watched the battlefield with a wary gaze and walked with death close at his side in silent company; they didn’t understand he was trying to ease some of the suffering that he was powerless to stop.

It wasn’t long before people became uneasy, some even driven to madness with the paranoia of not knowing what was safe as Cypris’ group followed his lead in sticking close to the areas they wouldn’t be spotted. Growing up with games of hide and seek with his siblings in the woods back home suddenly took on a new, dismal use, and what he did was for the sake of salvaging what he could in that nightmare. The strangers who had become his friends were what he had left, so much of his gradually rougher edges sharpened by their argumentative banter. War dissolves a great deal of who people use to be and teach them to be more but for Cypris he refused to let it all go, stubbornly clinging to the shreds of his convictions that people didn’t have to do such terrible things, right up to the day the war ended and he breathed a sigh of relief that he no longer had to soak his hands in more misplaced blood.

That end brought him little joy though; with his remaining older sister and brother assumed dead and one he had buried himself, his father claimed by the battle and even his grandmother’s death as she had fought it was as though the world had closed around him. His friends were quick to return to their own families and he understood their eagerness, feeling that painful emptiness himself. There was no other place to go but back to the coven, some secret and forbidden hope that perhaps the murmurs of reaching the dead might be true urged him to return. And for his effort in the war, unwilling or not, he had earned respect rare for his short years, a welcome to return and find peace there among others who chase the sort of magic rooted in awareness of all things and tempting the fates of supposed dark veins. As the sun set on the battles though and the days had begun to fade Cypris’ still sees it in the world around, the good things, the beauty in the darkness even with so many people knowing of his role in the war and the name it earned him. 

Welcome to Five Points, Cypris! Please follow the checklist and send in your account within 24 hours.

[hottytoddynews]

Dr. Susan Glisson

For Susan Glisson, Mississippi’s racial reconciliation has come one person at a time.

By Angela Rogalski

Angela Rogalski is a resident of Abbeville, Mississippi and a senior print journalism major at Ole Miss. Email her at abbeangela@gmail.com.

When looking at its own reflection, Mississippi has struggled to see past the ugly images of the Civil War and the marred and bloody countenance of the Civil Rights era into a present that has finally become a clearer, more desirable and tolerant reflection.

These mirror images remind Mississippians that the past is something that should never be forgotten, even as the present and the future remain paramount as a gateway –– one opened wide with transparency and fairness for all.

As the executive director of the William Winter Institute for Racial Reconciliation at Ole Miss, Dr. Susan M. Glisson has been the keeper of that gateway since 1998. She coordinated the only Deep South public forum for President Clinton’s “One America,” an initiative on race equality, which led to the creation of the Institute for Racial Reconciliation.

Gradual Change

Glisson was appointed director of the Institute in 2002, but her dedication to racial equality dates back to her childhood.

“I want to have this cool, Damascus Road-type revelation to share, but I don’t,” Glisson said. “My father died when I was four, so I was raised in a single parent household, a very religious household. We were in church all the time, but in a Southern Baptist church that was different. It challenged racial stereotypes.”

Glisson was taught to look out for people who have less than you, to appreciate what little she did have. Her mother believed in fairness for all people, and Glisson took her mother’s principles to heart.

Her mother was the director of the daycare center at the church they attended when Glisson was growing up. It was an all-white Baptist church with black employees.

“The janitor was Rev. Willie Parks, and the maid was a woman named Annie Wiggleton,” Glisson recalls. “And Mr. Willie and Miss Annie, as we were taught to call them as children, they became like surrogate family for me. Since my mom was the director of the daycare, I was something of a spoiled brat. So when it was naptime for all the other kids, I would instead hang out in the church library with Mr. Willie and Miss Annie. Naptime was their break time, so they allowed me to spend a couple of hours a day with them. And it was amazing.”

Mr. Willie taught her how to preach from a little podium that stood in the library, and Miss Annie taught her how to sing. The two of them became such an integral part of her life that when she was older, she wanted to understand a bit more about the history between the races. She soon discovered that Miss Annie had wanted to own her own daycare, instead of just working for one, but she wasn’t allowed to because she was black. Instead, she drove 30 miles a day from her house just to be a maid at a church. Mr. Willie also aspired to be more than a janitor, but again, because of the color of his skin, he was limited.

“The change within me was a gradual, sort of start-and-stop process,” Glisson said. “I grew up around family members who said the ‘N’ word. But it was really when I got to college that my life’s path began to open up for me. I went to Mercer University in Macon, Georgia. It was a bastion of progressive thought at that time in Georgia. There was a guy who became sort of like one of my adopted fathers, Joseph Hendricks, who helped the school desegregate before it was forced to do so by law. Obviously, he had a huge impact on my way of thinking.”

Another mentor for Glisson was Will Campbell, who was chaplain at Ole Miss in the 50s and a civil rights’ activist who was the only white person present at the founding of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.’s Southern Christian Leadership Conference.

“It was people like them along the way who helped to shape my moral compass about race,” Glisson said.

One America

In 1998, Glisson helped coordinate the One America forum hosted by the University of Mississippi –– the only one of its kind held in the South. The university was able to do something quite different from other forums associated with the initiative.

“Typically, the president’s staff would call the mayor’s office and get the mayor to pick some people to speak and say kind words about the community,” Glisson said. “But when I coordinated the process, we were able to pull together 160 people across 10 different dialogue groups who met every week for six weeks. They talked about race in the arts, race in religion, race in education, race in healthcare, race in business, race in labor, and they then imagined their own solutions to the challenges they identified in their particular topic. And then they elected their own spokespeople to interact with the advisory board, and so the night of the event, we had 1,000 people. It was a rainy night in March in Fulton Chapel, and the president’s staff later said that our event was the best of the whole year because it was a frank, yet civil conversation about race.”

As a result of what turned out to be the best attended and most integrated One America event in the country, the University of Mississippi saw the need for an ongoing program to build bridges across community barriers and foster open dialogues; thus allowing it to fulfill the obligation it felt to do something positive about its history. With the full support of former Mississippi Gov. William Winter and then Ole Miss Chancellor Robert Khayat, the “something positive” that resulted was the William Winter Institute for Racial Reconciliation.

“We didn’t want to just reinvent the wheel,” Glisson said. “But you know, there weren’t very many other programs like ours in place. So we issued our report, and the Institute was created in August of 1999. Our initial mission was to try and replicate what we had done with the original event at Fulton Chapel –– build bridges and open up communications throughout communities. We did a little bit of work on campus, but our main purpose was to work with communities and their leaders.”

For the first seven or eight years, Glisson was the Institute’s only employee.

“I’d get calls about racial issues from all over,” she said. “ … There was no way I could answer each and every call, but I didn’t think anyone calling should be told that I couldn’t get to them. So instead, I would listen to their problem and tell them to go and get together about four or five more people who were having the same problem, then call me back. Sometimes they would, and sometimes they wouldn’t.”

Even so, Glisson said those who did call her back had the three necessary prerequisites needed to make a difference: a core group of people capable of building a bridge of trust that was strong enough to bear the weight of the truth they have to tell, the kinds of projects that could be developed in the communities to help facilitate this open dialogue, and the momentum and support to put the phases into action.

Learning and Unlearning

After more than a decade at the helm of the Institute, Glisson believes more than ever that anything learned can be unlearned. For her, racial prejudices against any ethnicity aren’t built in when we’re born.

In 2004, Neshoba County challenged these prejudices in what would become the Institute’s most notable work. On the fortieth anniversary of the murders of the three civil rights workers in Philadelphia, Mississippi, county officials knew that the media would be descending on the community, just as they did for every anniversary, to repeat the story that nothing had changed since that fateful night.

“But some things had changed,” Glisson said. “There were (still) people in the community who were murderers who had walked free. And everybody knew who they were, but nobody talked about it.”

Still, Glisson said, there were others in Neshoba County –– people who grew up there and moved to other places where they’d often heard the comment, ‘Oh, you’re from that place’ –– who wanted to tell a different story.

“The people got together to plan some kind of event and asked me to come. The first meeting, we spent talking about what we’d done at Ole Miss. Because what we had done in 2002 at the university had begun to change the dialogue about Ole Miss.”

Though everyone was anxious to get together and start the open dialogue, Glisson said it was clear to her from that first meeting that not everyone was on the same page.

“The black people said, ‘Let’s have a march,’ and you could see the white people go pale. Then the white people said, ‘Well, let’s just have a revolution, and you could see the Choctaw and the black people that were in the room begin to roll their eyes. But what the black people didn’t know is, mentioning a march to the white people meant bringing in people like Jesse Jackson or Al Sharpton, where sometimes they don’t feel a part of things, so the white people didn’t want anything to do with that.”

At that point, Glisson said they stopped talking about any kind of an event, because it was a given that no one was going to agree. Instead, they met at a church in Neshoba County, where they all got together in a circle every week for the next six to eight weeks.

They began to tell the stories of who they were, what they thought about growing up in Neshoba, and what their thoughts were about the past. Glisson said she could see the suspicions begin to melt away as the white people explained that they thought every black person in Neshoba held them accountable for the murders, when they didn’t. The black people thought that no white person really cared about what had happened, but found out that, in fact, they did. For the first time, African-Americans learned that many of the whites in attendance were just as fearful of the Klan as they were.

Ripple Effect

“In that process, deep friendships began to form,” Glisson said. “It became clear what they needed to do. They needed to issue a call for justice in the case, which they did in a press conference in March of 2004. Then, they planned an event that got the governor, four congressman and 1,500 people to join them in a call for justice on June 21, 2004 –– the fortieth anniversary of the murders.”

After that, Glisson said, they followed up with action. She and the group met with the attorney general, and they shared their stories with him. The mother and brother of Andrew Goodman, one of the slain civil rights activists, joined them, and the attorney general committed to the group that he was going to investigate.

“Six months after the call of justice, there was an indictment,” Glisson said. “Edgar Ray Killen was arrested that night, having been indicted by a local grand jury, and then there was a whirlwind of media. We shut the Institute down for two weeks and just moved there during that time. Some staff and I along with a few interns moved into this house in an all-black neighborhood, and I was the media liaison between the Philadelphia Coalition, which is what the group became known as, and the media. We set up a media center at the house, and ladies would bring us pound cakes and food. Then, 41 years to the day of the murders, a local jury convicted Edgar Ray Killen on all three counts of murder. And nobody expected that of Philadelphia. It had been a secret for 40 years that no one talked about.”

What happened in Neshoba County had an astounding ripple effect around the state. The city of McComb commemorated the students who were kicked out of school for civil rights activities in 1961 and weren’t allowed to graduate. The school even held an honorary graduation for them.

“We worked in Tallahatchie County, the community that has the courthouse where the murderers of Emmett Till walked free and then later confessed,” Glisson said. “A biracial group of people came together and offered an apology to the family for the miscarriage of justice. Tallahatchie County has since changed the geography of memory for that community. There are signs at significant spots about the Emmett Till case. You can’t go there now and say that you don’t know what happened.”

In 2006, the Institute successfully lobbied for legislation that mandates the teaching of human rights and civil rights history from kindergarten through high school in classrooms.

Glisson insists that all of the subsequent acts and commitments to bringing justice to the past are due entirely to the groups of Mississippians who fought so hard, and are still fighting, to make the image in the mirror so much clearer for those who live in the state.

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