#what am I. fourteen again. Jesus. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

melrosing · 2 years ago

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sparknotes for ep 2 of my made up Robert's Rebellion adaptation because I don't trust HBO :) this part is more detailed because the introductions are over and I am having fun. once again, some changes: Rhaegar and Joncon canonically meet when squiring together, but I want to introduce him slightly earlier so now they'll first meet with Joncon as a page at the Red Keep (so he's maybe a little younger than Rhaegar). also, spot bonifer hasty - this is just before he finds jesus Prev Part - Episode 1

Next Part - Episode 3

Episode 2: The Boys Are Fightinggg

It’s been five/six years since ep 1. We open in the library of the Red Keep, where a fourteen year old Rhaegar Targaryen sits reading a heavy tome, brow pinched. After a moment, he shuts it carefully and rises to walk to a window overlooking the training grounds. A maester asks if he’s alright, and Rhaegar answers “it seems I must learn to fight” (cryptic lil fuck)

Opening credits roll. They’re the same as GOT except the music is caramelldansen

Joanna Lannister at Casterly Rock, sat in her solar with Genna; she’s visibly pregnant. A maid enters the solar looked panicked, and insists she speak to Joanna alone. Joanna allows this, and the maid confides something (guess what) concerning the twins. After ascertaining the maid won’t speak (and maybe issuing a tiny little threat), Joanna dismisses her with a bag of gold

Joanna confronts her children one at a time. Cersei is belligerent, insisting it was only a game. Jaime is distressed, unable to comprehend why what they were doing was wrong. Joanna states she will be placing their rooms apart, with a guard on Cersei’s etc - and don’t make her tell their dad. Both children look utterly horrified by that prospect, and Joanna seems uneasy threatening it

Aerys and Tywin at the King’s council. Lots of matters on the table etc. Some guy called Denys Darklyn is asking for a charter for Duskendale (it's clearly not the first time), which Tywin dismisses. Some Kingsguard has died, and they need a replacement. Tywin makes some suggestions of his own, and asks Aerys which he would prefer. Aerys is not really listening, only waving his hand over the flame of a candle. Tywin interrupts his musings, and Aerys burns himself in surprise. Asking the King his input on some matter, Aerys has little to offer. Tywin says something faintly facetious regarding the King’s attention span, and Aerys thinks he sees Pycelle smile

Rhaella, also pregnant, is in the gardens at the Red Keep, sat beneath a memorial statue of her parents. She grasps a bunch of flowers that she presumably means to lay at their feet, touches her bump and looks uneasy. Watching on is a castle guard who stands at the garden gate; Rhaella meets his eyes, pleading him closer, and they hold one another’s gaze for a long moment. Ultimately the guard breaks it, and looks down to his feet. Rhaella, looking away in despair, stiffly but violently shreds her flowers, and drops the remains beneath the statue before rising and leaving the garden

Anime boy Rhaegar learning to fight in the training yard. He seems a little surprised if reassured by his own skill, overpowering the master at arms at one point. Young page Jon Connington watches on, looking like he’s about to burst into applause. Aerys himself looks on from a high window, and looks Intensely Bothered

Aerys walking through the halls past a small crowd of men. He hears one say that Tywin truly rules the Seven Kingdoms, and turns abruptly to see the speaker - one Ilyn Payne, who looks shocked to see Aerys there. Aerys looks violent, like he might do something for a moment, but is ushered onwards by Barristan Selmy

Rhaella and Rhaegar at the dinner table in the royal… chambers??? whatever lol. Rhaella says she’s heard Rhaegar is fighting: that is good. Rhaegar is not super responsive to this praise. Rhaella then asks her son if she thinks the baby will be a boy or a girl. Rhaegar looks at her sadly

Aerys arrives belatedly to ruin dinner, decides he dislikes how quiet and miserable his family looks. Cracks a shit joke, doesn’t like the way his son looks at him, reads judgement in the kid’s eyes. Aerys is about to escalate in this sudden disagreement with his son, when Rhaella begins panicking - there’s blood pooling beneath the table. As Aerys realises what’s happening his anger abruptly turns to Rhaella, and he looks like he might strike her - then Rhaegar stands between them, and silently warns him off. Aerys is furious, but it works, and he storms out

Now Aerys is storming into the throne room, where Tywin sits his throne, listening to the grievances of some visiting lord. Aerys identifies Ilyn Payne at the sidelines, calls him over, and orders his tongue ripped out. This is appropriately grim :) Tywin looks on, displeased but unable to say anything. Aerys orders him off of his throne then takes it himself, and announces that as king he is ordering a tourney: the winner will join his Kingsguard

#asoiaf #cw miscarriage #sparknotes robert's rebellion

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toasty-melons · 2 years ago

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Escaping Jackson (Part 2)

Ellie x reader

part 2 of ??

part 1 :) || Part 3 :)

After Ellie and Joel officially move into Jackson, Maria gives you the job of being Ellie’s partner on patrols. While Ellie is adjusting into Jackson, you’re planning on escaping it.

TW: none (not proofread idk)

Tags: @kyleeservopoulos @nellbedumb

i like to image that readers on the brink of insanity. (it’s more fun that way)

Today’s even colder than yesterday. You huff as you tug on your second pair of socks, hoping that’ll be enough to keep you warm for patrol. Probably not. Oh well. After lacing up your boots you make your way over to the small kitchen. Reaching to open the cabinet, your hand stops midair and then falls heavily to your side. Not hungry. You should eat.. You’ll be fine.

The days are getting harder. You’re tough, you have to be. Whatever. If you don’t hurry you’ll be late. Walking through the kitchen and into the connected living room, you grab your bag. It feels heavier everyday. You unlock the door but before you open it, something catches your eye.

Your bow.

Should you take it? Nah, leave it… You might need it though. Jesus, make up your mind. Reluctantly, you reach over and snatch it up, swinging it over your shoulder.

You yank the front door open, the cold wind smacking you in the face making you scrunch your nose up, close your eyes, and send a chill down your spine. You lower your head to shield your face from the wind.

You take one step forward, turn, shut the door, lock it. You move to turn around but stop yourself. You look at the lock again. It’s fine. You reach out and twist the knob.

Locked.

It’s fine. You let go and lower your hand, staring at the knob for a second…

Two seconds…

Three…

Check it again. You twist the knob.

Still locked. It’s fine.

Huffing, you stuff your hands in your jacket pocket and turn around. You’re met with a site you didn’t expect.

Ellie.

She’s facing you, leaning against the wooden post connected to the covering of your small porch. Her arms are crossed and her eyebrows are furrowed. She was watching you.

“How long have you been standing there?” Her face slightly softens at your question. She looks you up and down quickly before opening her mouth, closing it and then opening it again.

“Do you always do that?” You hands twitch inside your pocket. Do what? Do what? What did you do? You glance off to the side for a split second, nervous habit, and then lock eyes with her again. You shift onto your left foot.

“Do what?” She pauses, looks you up and down again and then nods her head towards the door behind you.

“Check the lock like that.” Oh. You turn your head to look at the lock again. You shrug before looking at her again. You feel your cheeks start to redden in embarrassment. Was it that weird?

“I guess.” She glances at the door, then she pushes herself off the post and uncrosses her arms. Weird. She thinks you’re weird. Who cares? She turns and before she takes a step forward she’s facing you again.

“Look. I’m.. sorry for being.. so fucking rude yesterday. Really, I am.” She sounds sorry. But is she really?

“Okay.” You give her a lazy shrug.

“Okay?” Her eyes are wide. She probably didn’t expect you to forgive her so quickly. You have more important things to do than be worried about getting along with the new girl. You shrug and take a few steps forward. Just a few more weeks, then you’re gone.

��I’m guessing Maria talked to you? It’s cool.” She just stares at you. It makes you shift uncomfortably from you’re right foot to your left. A few moments pass and she doesn’t say anything. This time you shift from your left to your right foot while breaking eye contact and clearing your throat awkwardly. Why isn’t she speaking? You nod your head towards the direction you should be going, she gets the hint and takes the first step, you following.

“So..” A question? A comment? “..how long have you lived here?” A question. A stupid question.

“Since I was fourteen.” She nods slowly, then looks over at you.

“Four years?” She stares a lot.

“Close. Three.” Three whole years of what? What have you done in the past three years?-

“You don’t like it here?” This makes your head snap up to meet her gaze. Eyes wide and mouth open. She nods her head slowly like she’s solved the worlds greatest mystery. “Ah.. so I am right. Why?” Shit.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Don’t let her figure it out. Please. Please. Please.

“Really? You’ve lived here for three years, no family, barely any friends-..” You cut her off. Her words sound familiar.

“And i’m guessing you got all this important information about me from Maria?.. Or was it Tommy? You know the more time you spend around them the more they start to sound alike.” She looks down at her feet. Guilty. You can hear her sigh, if you could read her mind you would probably guess she’s cursing herself.

“To be fair.. you’re a very interesting person to learn about.” You scoff and tilt your nose upwards slightly at her confession. Interesting? You can’t help the small smile that makes it way onto your face.

“Oh i’m so glad to hear that my sob story entertains you.” She looks at you and her eyes widen just a bit and a grin slowly etches onto her face.

“So you can smile. Cute.” Your smile drops. So does your stomach. Weird. Don’t like that. She watches your face for a moment before looking forward. A small smile still present on her face. “Don’t be too mad at me.. You’re still stuck with me for a while.” She gently pushes her shoulder against yours. She’s warm.

“So I can be a little mad at you?” She laughs softly. It’s a nice sound.

“Just a little.” You nod and gently bite the inside of your bottom lip to keep yourself from smiling too hard. She’s actually kind of nice. Kind of.

…

You walk up to your front door. Feet heavy beneath you. Patrol was hard and cold.

The last three days have been hard and cold. No accidents or attacks so far. That’s a plus. And Ellie… has been bearable these past few days. She’s funny. Really funny. She keeps cracking jokes left and right. Stupid jokes.. but still funny.

You unlock the door and close it behind you. Slipping your backpack and bow off your shoulder and setting them down on the floor, you sigh and rub your hands over your face. Before you could even think about it, your stomach growls, loudly. Dammit. You doubt there’s even anything good in your house. You need to change first. Your jeans and jacket feel like they’re sticking to your skin. Gross.

After showering and changing into some comfortable clothes, an oversized shirt and some shorts to sleep in, you head to the kitchen to find something to eat.

Three knocks on the door. It’s kind of late.

You walk towards the door. Reaching out to grab the knob then freezing up. Who’s out there? You can feel your heartbeat in your ears. It’s fine. Just open the door. You grab the knob, twist it and open it just a crack, just enough that you can see out.

Ellie.

You open the door a bit wider, this time enough that she can see your whole face.

“Hey.” The cold air is brushing up against your bare legs. She’s probably cold.

“Hi..” She’s changed out of the clothes she wore on patrol today. “What are you doing here?” Silence. She doesn’t answer. Her mouth opens. No words come out. You open the door wider, and motion with your head for her to come in. She hesitates. You look down just a bit to avoid her gaze. “Think about why you came here inside before you freeze to death out here .” You give her a smile, a small, awkward one.

She nods and returns your smile with a slightly bigger one. Taking your offer and walking inside. She doesn’t go far. Just like you did at her house a few days ago. After you close the door and lock it, you turn around to find her looking around your living room.

“Nice place.” You take a couple of steps forward until you’re standing beside her, looking around with her. Looking over at your couch, the few throw blankets accompanying it. Some shelves that had already been there when you got here holding all your trinkets and collectibles you had gathered over the past few years. You shrug and purse your lips.

“It’s alright. It’s small.” She makes her way over to your bookshelf. It’s somewhat filled with random books you’ve found on various patrols. She gently runs her fingers along the spines.

“It’s still yours.” You furrow your brows and your lips form a soft frown. Her fingers stop over a comic book, picking it up and reading the title, then placing it back in the shelf.

“Yeah.. just mine.” She looks back over at you and lowers her hand from the book.

“You don’t like living by yourself?” You shrug. You don’t. Whatever. You’re not even staying here for much longer so what does it even matter. “I guess.. yeah I guess that makes sense. It could get lonely.” You cross your arms over your chest defensively.

“I do not get lonely.” You’re being serious. So serious. You’ve never been more serious in your life.. and yet.. she cracks a smile. That stupid smile.

“Everyone gets lonely. Especially in this world.” You roll your eyes and shift from your right foot to your left.

“You still haven’t told me why you’re here.” Her smile stays on her face but it’s softer now.

“You eat yet?” Damn. You completely forgot how hungry you were. You shake your head softly and give her a joking grin.

“Why? You trying to take me out to dinner?” Her smile drops and she looks back at the bookshelf. She clears her throat. The tips of her ears are red. Oh?

“Just wanted to see if you wanted to hang out. Ya know, outside of patrol. You seem pretty cool, that’s all.” You don’t answer for a moment. She looks back at you and is met with your wide eyes and parted mouth.

‘Pretty cool.’ She thinks your pretty cool.

You close your mouth and nod, looking away from her as your feel your face grow a bit hotter. You lightly pinch the skin on your left arm to make you focus.

“Yeah.. yeah that sounds.. fun.” When you look back at her she has a smile on her face.

“Cool, cool. You should uhh.. probably change. It’s a little cold.” You look down at your mostly bare legs and chuckle awkwardly.

“Yeah.. yeah give me like five minutes.”

#ellie the last of us #ellie tlou #ellie tlou2 #ellie williams #elliewilliams #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x y/n #ellie williams x you #tlou #ellie x reader #ellie x you #ellie x y/n #ellie x female reader #ellie x fem reader

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pyxes · 6 days ago

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BUCKLE UP FEW FOLLOWERS/MUTUALS WHO INTERACT WITH MY POST... because right now is a good time for me to tell you all the tale of Idaho’s cannibalism law and the still very much relevant christian-fascist fear of anything that goes outside their bubble.

Idaho House code 18-5003 is perhaps my favorite part of history because it’s one of the most unknown but most jarring example of moral panic and is comparable to what we see today with Q-Anon, MAGA, and even general republican politics. I am going to try to keep this as short as possible but that might be a hard for me (post writing warning this is like...super long but also super cool and interesting). Like I said, I am completely entrenched in this part of history so I may go off rail a couple times.

To preface, Idaho is the only state in the union that explicitly has a law outlawing cannibalism. There is nothing like it in any other state which, when hearing this, people are generally shocked. The law states:

18-5003. CANNIBALISM DEFINED — PUNISHMENT. (1) Any person who wilfully [sic] ingests the flesh or blood of a human being is guilty of cannibalism.

(2) It shall be an affirmative defense to a violation of the provisions of this section that the action was taken under extreme life-threatening conditions as the only apparent means of survival.

(3) Cannibalism is punishable by imprisonment in the state prison not exceeding fourteen (14) years.

One would expect this to be cause by some crazed cannibalistic maniac but no. In 1990, it was caused by an orchestrated nationwide fear that “satanist” (use context clues on who was labeled as such) would kidnap children-specifically white, Protestant, blue eyed, blonde hair, girls-who would then be sacrificed. We know this now as a product of the Satanic Panic of the 80's-90's. But where does the Satanic Panic and fear for our little Suzy’s life come from????

Well with all terrible things in contemporary American history the vast majority of this goes back to gross, disgusting, turkey-neck Reagan. I know. Yuck. Don’t have to tell me twice. But to understand more we have to go back a little further to the Vietnam Era and the Jesus Freak Movement.

The fundamental idea of the Jesus Freak Movement was to break away from the period typical charismatic Protestantism. The "Freaks" were generally peaceful but a few bad seeds lit the fuse for what would become the early aughts of the Satanic Panic. Two of the most notable are The Manson Family and Jim Jones' Jonestown, both of which used New-Age Christianity to further their dark self-fulfilling prophecies. Because of this, anti-cult organizations began to form and would label anyone with differing opinions from, again, charismatic-fundi Protestantism, as "devil worshippers". These organizations really did nothing to help victims, nor did they care, they only served a purpose to yap and uphold Christian Morality.

Okay, so with that out of the way, it's time to talk about the man who unfortunately survived a gunshot, Ronald Reagan. Even with the recent assassination attempt, Reagan was dropping in the 1882 mid-term polls. He was not a good man but he was a good grifter, like what we have currently been witnessing with Donald Trump. Seeing that he needed to align with something he sought refuge in the growing Religious Right movement, even though he was the first president to not attend church while in the whitehouse. His “griftey-ness” seemed genuine to some, especially Protestant Evangelical America. This is because of three calculated speeches at the National Religious Broadcast, the National Prayer Breakfast, and the National Association of American Evangelicals. These speeches would regain confidence in Reagan and would give way to a new political group to rise, the Moral Majority.

After this alignment with the Religious Right, Reagan was to the average American W.A.S.P (White, Anglo-Saxon, Protestant) as John F. Kenndey was to the average Irish American Catholic. And if you have ever met and old Irish Catholic lady, you know they SALIVATED at the meer image of sexy John EVEN before he was president. Before Reagan, the Moral Majority was a right-wing movement whose relevance could be compared to a child putting their fingers in their ears and going “la-la-la”. The movement was founded by known anti-semite, Teletubby hating, sexual abuse defending, televangelist, Jerry Laymon Falwell Sr in the late 1970's. The Moral Majority was a loud but ignored group until Falwell’s association with Ronald Reagan.

Falwell saw how moldable Reagan was and would personally invite him to speak at the National Religious Broadcaster Conference of 1982 previously discussed. He would use Ronald Reagan as a tool to further legislation that made his world more comfortable for him. SOUND FAMILIAR???? The moral majority had one mission and that was to create a ginormous red voting block that upheld conservative Christian ideals. These ideals really have not changed much from today with them focusing on a “traditional”, nuclear, bible abiding family. Traditional meaning strict heterosexual gender roles with males at the helm that we all know and are disturbed by.

One aspect of the Falwell’s Protestant Christianity, also referred to as charismatic Protestantism, is the idea of eschatology. While yes, all Abrahamic religions believe in eschatology, Falwell’s version was much more extreme. Instead of pondering of what happens with one's soul after they die, Charismatic Christianity cranks an imaginary biblical dial up to its max setting. Anyone who did not follow their beliefs were sinners and were bound to go to hell. It was, and still is, quite easy to be persuaded by the Devil, some examples include being gay, trans, Jewish, Muslim, a democrat, not want children, not tithing, playing Dungeons and Dragons, wearing pants if you are a woman, listen to secular music, breathe wrong... the list goes on. All things that deviated from the views of the growing Moral Majority turned into a calculated tabloid sensation that created a real time imaginary world that only served to push their political agenda.

Many of the tabloids were orchestrated in a way that disrupted the white suburban lifestyle institutionalized by the “White flight” of the 1960’s. A good chunk of these rumors was formulated via fear to persuade blue collar workers of the growing divide between them and those who wish to push a liberal agenda. The component of Protestant blue collar workers is important because it is distortional composed of economically stressed people who still held on to traditional American cultural values which affirmed the theology of the Moral Majority. This is still relevant today, I mean look at the voting stats in this years election. Or I don't know listen to you weird uncle who gets his checks garnished talk about how he voted for trump because of "taxes".

There are more blue-collar workers in the nation than televangelist, but the televangelist still persuaded the working class with the teachings of the prosperity gospel because that is the goal of their game. Fear provokes rumors and that was the plan to control the general population at the time. Rumors are created to both satisfy the need to reduce uncertainty and provoke more anxiety. It did not help that at the core of these rumors all held shared beliefs between thousands of people who share the stress of demoralization fronted by Satan.

Besides the views held by the religious right, a book would come out in 1980 that would confirm all the mass rumors surrounding satanic ritual abuse. Now discredited and laughed at, Michelle Remembers is the book that conservative America needed in terms of mass satanic cult confirmation bias. The book was written by “recovered-memory” therapist Lawrence Pazder and details the not-so-true story of his patient and later wife, Michelle Smith. Although the Health Insurance Portability and Accountability Act was not around at the time the book is straight HIPAA violation after violation. The book is filled with Smith’s accounts of being tortured, sexually abused, and witnessing human sacrifices that she was sometimes forced to be a part of. One of the books many covers plays into the fear of the kidnapped blond-hair blue-eyed child previously discussed, the child is holding a doll surrounded by candles with the eyes of an evil satanist looking down at her ready to sacrifice and consumer her at any given moment.

Smith’s story set shockwaves and inspired another “victim” of satanic ritual abuse to come forward named Laurel Rose Wilson with her book Satan’s Underground. The two would go on and appear on the Oprah Winfrey show and speak their “truth” and have it confirmed on nationally syndicated television furthering the fears of many. Although both books have been disproven and scrutinized by investigators both books sent a shockwave throughout the globe, with Michelle Remembers being known as the “whistle-blower” book. One of my favorite reviews regarding the book is “Five Baphomet pentagrams for originality and five more for hilarity.” Looking through the lens of today it is easy to call out the embellishments and laugh at Smith and Pazder’s elaborate trolling, but back then this book was truly groundbreaking and instilled more fears in Christian America. DOES THIS SOUND FAMILIAR ARE WE MAKING CONNECTIONS YET! I mean think of all the brain dead idiots on youtube still claiming to be a victim of satanic ritual abuse.

At this point the Satanic panic has surpassed cult rumors and became a real threat to once secure neighborhoods. Parents began to fear for their children's safety when sending them to school, nowhere was safe from the evil grasp of Satanist. One event regarding this would be a product of the rumors and be the catalyst that ceased the Satanic Panic of the 80’s and 90’s. This event is known as the McMartin Preschool Trials which would later become the longest and most expensive series of criminal trials in American history. The story of the trail starts with Judy Johnson claiming her son was sexually molested by McMartin Preschool employee Ray Buckey. Ray Buckey was soon arrested, and a letter was sent out to the about 200 parents who sent their children to the preschool detailing the alleged acts perpetrated by Buckey.

Quickly receiving this letter, the number of children abused by Buckey reached 360. During the investigation claims were getting muddy with Buckey having an array of costumes, branding children, creating child sexual abuse material and dispersing it to others, slaughtering animals, and any other satanic ritual abuse activity. Buckey was not the only one charged in the case, his mother, sister, as well as several other employees were charged with the same counts as well. All together they had 208 counts of abuse that were a product of cult practices. There were even claims of underground tunnels made to traffic children. Eventually it would come out the children were being coached by investigators to make false claims in regard to what happened at the preschool. In the end all charges but 12 were dropped and the preschool was demolished which can serve as a metaphor for the panic in general. Something created out of falsehoods only to be destroyed by factual evidence based.

Do I believe the Buckey and others involved were abusing children in the name of Satanic Ritual Abuse? No. But I do believe that something must have happened for a child to recount what happened, persuaded by investigators or not. What could have happened to spark such controversy could take the form of many types of abuse, it does not always need to be sexual abuse is abuse. One thing about children is that while yes, they have very active imaginations they also lack awareness of what being abused is like unless they suffered. It is not a concept they are born with so it should be a red flag to an adult when a child says something relating to being abused. Instead of focusing on the real issue of the claims being made, the parents of McMartin Preschool could not face the reality of abuse being perpetrated by a non-Satanic cult affiliated person with bad intentions. I think the idea of parents automatically blaming Satanic ritual abuse is, well to be frank, disgusting. It takes away from the reality of the situation and gives backswords credence to abuse happening inside their bubble.

That is where the crux of this super mega long text post lies. People have always refused to acknowledge reality outside of their safety nets. When the reality of their constructed world is broken there is no other way to explain it other than fiction with the intent to blame everyone but themselves. Reading this you can not help but make comparisons to today, most notably with that of Q-Anon and Charismatic Fundamentalist. It feels like every week Q-Anon comes up with a new child-trafficking conspiracy like Pizza-gate/Wayfair-gate, turning Jill Biden's panda costume into some symbol of child abuse, thinking a trans predator is awaiting in every women's bathroom, creating child victims with drag queen story time, etc, all while turning a man (Donald Trump) into a god who has been charged numerous times with abuse of a minor along with his sex-trafficker friend (Jeffery Epstein) who certainly did not kill himself.

These hypocrites all preach the same ideas as Falwell and his Moral Majority constituents: that all those who do not follow their path are monsters out to abuse children, when in reality they do not care about the abuse of children. The state of Idaho does not care about children and is actively pushing legislation to make the lives of women and children more difficult every day. Long before the overturning of Roe v Wade, Idaho governor, chud Brad Little supported sentencing women to death for getting an abortion. Shortly after Roe v Wade was overturned, Idaho immediately put an abortion ban in place, making sure to sign “abortion trafficking” laws that would prosecute anyone who crosses state lines and then followed that by eliminating Idaho’s committee dedicated maternal deaths. Eliminating a committee who’s sole purpose was to understand maternal deaths all while OBGYN’s flee the state the to follow that up by cutting $38 million in state funds dedicated to preventing child abuse while also repeatedly killing bills that would put an end to child marriages in a state with one of the highest rates proves the Brad Little and his cronies do not give a single shit about kids. This obviously is not just an Idaho thing but this is a growing trend across the nation. They only care about ownership. They only care about furthering an agenda to keep their world theirs. Thus, they orchestrate lies to control the masses while they themselves turn them into truth.

For the few who read this I hope you are now informed and also enjoyed this little history lesson that is doomed to repeat itself. We are all aware of the signs of what is to come but stay strong and do not fall into it. They want you to. Be vigilant and be informed.

#if you want my sources just ask

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via-the-cryptid · 1 year ago

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Ellie? On the floor, sticking her fingers in a wound to try and fish a bullet out. Ace? Hovering above her with great concern. Eddie? Standing in the open doorway, watching with abject horror.

“Oh my— no, no no no, hands out of the bullet wound, thank you.” He knows he’s fussing like a worried mother, but jesus fuck that’s a child with a gunshot wound and she’s sticking her hands in it. “What on earth do you think you’re doing?”

“Fixing it,” Ellie replies waspishly, pointedly not removing her hand. “And what do you want, Question Man?”

“It’s the Riddler, not ‘question man’, and I want you to stop that.” He strides forward, crouching down and trying to pull her hands away from the literal open wound, but all that gets him is a kick to the stomach and an angry hiss.

“Hands off, green bean, I’ve got it!”

“It’s a bullet wound! How old are you, ten? Eleven? Why the fuck—“

Language, Ellie thinks, face unimpressed as the odd man starts rambling about ‘child safety’ and ‘fake clown bastards’. She’s fourteen (physically, anyways), thank you very much, not ten, and she’s been handling herself ever since she got away from Vlad. Besides, she would’ve had this sorted ages ago if her intangibility was working properly.

“Don’t you have better things to do? Scram, Question Man, I hear Ripley’s Believe-It-Or-Not is still hunting for their lost exhibit.”

Eddie squawks in offense. “Ripley’s?! What do you take me for, a tourist trap? I am a genius!”

“Well, you’re not acting like one! Leggo of my hands and lemme deal with this!”

He’s had enough of this, thank you very much. Eddie may not be the most physically capable, but even he knows how to handle a kid that’s barely half his size. Grabbing her hands and pulling them away from the wound, he tries to haul her up off the floor only for her to jerk her head back and smash it into his nose.

“Ow, fuck! What the hell, kid?!”

Ellie hisses, wriggling out of his grip and suppressing a wince when it pulls at her wound. “I dunno what you think you’re gonna get from me, but whatever it is, I ain’t coughing anything up! There’s no rewards coming from kidnapping me, so don’t even bother—“

But then she stops, eyes flicking to an empty space above Eddie’s head an back down to his face again. They stand at a stalemate for a long, long moment before she regards him with a wary look.

“What do you actually want?” She asks. “Don’t lie. I’ll know.”

…What does he want?

It’s a good question. Why does he even care about this disaster child and her bullet wounds? He’s never had an issue with this before. Hell, he’s had no problem with giving people debilitating and often fatal injuries for failing to solve his puzzles, and now he’s getting all worked up over… what, a random street rat?

But that’s just it. Those people all failed. This girl, she didn’t. She didn’t solve it either, but she didn’t fail. She had her own solution.

She’s smart. He needs to know how smart, and for that, he can’t have her dying of infection from a Joker-infested bullet.

(and it’s definitely infested. that shade of green is never a good sign.)

So, Eddie answers. “You have potential.”

“For what?”

“Don’t know yet. Do you know, you’re the first person other than Batman to get out of my puzzles without passing or failing?”

“Who’s Batman? That sounds like a bad fursona.”

“…What do you mean, who’s Batman?”

#dani phantom #danielle phantom #danny phantom #dc comics #gotham ghost au #dp x dc au #dp x dc #I. forgot to tag this and now I have to edit it #the riddler #dc ace #ace batman #ellie phantom #edward nygma

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doll-elvis · 1 year ago

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I AGREE SO MUCH ABOUT CHILD BRIDE. i went into it knowing nothing about the author, and in the forward shes really emphasizing how crazily obsessed she was with priscilla so i guess i was expecting it to be a sympathetic view of her😭 definitely not. what is suzzanes problem dear lord. shes so convinced and desperate to tell you that priscilla was some evil teenaged succubus out for rockstar blood. jesus christ. like girl even if she actually was who gives a shit????? same goes for currie grant. i dont care if he showed the author concrete evidence on a golden platter that he was telling the truth. hes just such an obvious sleazeball. just disgusting……. and she dedicates like 300 chapters to him saying over and over again that he fucked 14yo priscilla and that she was into it. babe they couldve had a steamy decade-long affair and NOBODY would care because he is literally just some random creep ass loser 13 years older than her. and when it comes to his attempted rape of her hes literally like “no i didnt try to rape her i just [decribes attempting to rape her]”. i really dont know suzzanes backstory but she is insane.

but uh. anyways that aside i did enjoy parts of the book for the more in depth view of the story. like suzzanne has such intense bias that really shows throughout but even with that it was still a great way to understand some of the situations a little better… i wish elvis and me was a little more detailed but i can appreciate how and why it is. and i am strangely curious about the actual nature of priscilla and curries relationship (i dont think they ever had consensual sex but i do believe he attacked her before elvis left germany and that leaves me curious as to why she still hung around him afterwards... i.e. those pictures of her to send to elvis that he took)

sorry for the huge wall of text im just.... very .. intrigued? by the book? its just so bizarre and raises a lot of questions lol.

“Currie’s like “No I didn’t try to r*pe her I just [describes atttempting to r*pe her]”

YES THANK YOU!!

if I could, in my own words, summarize the transcript of the conversation between Priscilla & Currie it would be this ⬇️

Currie: I didn’t r*pe you

Priscilla: You forced yourself on me

Currie: I didn’t force anything, you just weren’t into it

Priscilla: So you didn’t try to kiss me?

Currie: Well yeah I was trying to kiss you, you just wouldn’t kiss me back. You were very cold

again that was just my own words so not the actual transcript but that is exactly what I got out of that conversation- which is Currie denying he forced anything on her while simultaneously describing just how unresponsive she was to his advances, so THANK YOU for articulating that perfectly

He is an absolute sleaze-ball as you said, and clearly did not realize he was incriminating himself throughout that whole exchange

like even if Currie’s version of the events were true (I highly doubt it), he still committed statutory r*pe. Perhaps Suzanne and him don’t understand the age of consent but a fourteen year old girl cannot consent to intercourse, so anything he may or may not have actually done to her is still R*PE, whether she seemed willing or not. I’m completely abhorred that a biographer would give a man like that such a large platform and not only that, but agree/go with the story he tells- I’m sickened by it

and god, his reasoning as to why he wouldn’t need to r*pe Priscilla is just the most insane thing I’ve ever read ⬇️

“I had at least ten girls that I could call any night and go have sex with them,” countered Currie. “I’m not bragging—at least ten. I didn’t need to rape anybody ”

excerpt is from “Child Bride” by Suzanne Finstad

okay like?? Ted Bundy had a longtime girlfriend and yet he still went out and s*xually assaulted and murdered women… what’s your point, Currie?

what also bothers me is that Suzanne Finstad is sitting on the full audio tapes of that conversation between Priscilla and Currie, and knowing her history of misquoting people and writing things that don’t line up with other testimonies, I wouldn’t be surprised in the very least if parts of that tape have been conveniently left out, or transcribed wrong, as she converted it from audio to text

like the whole 1961 photoshoot, as you mentioned, is something that I just wish I could hear Priscilla explain for herself

Priscilla Presley and Currie Grant in 1961

It does raise the question if what she said transpired was true why would she ever want to be alone with Currie again, and better yet, why would Elvis willingly put her in a situation like that?

Especially when he was aware of the attempted r*pe ⬇️

MARTY LACKER: “There was a guy who used to bring Priscilla around to Elvis’s house some, over there in Germany. He would take her home to her parents’ place, and then he’d go back to the barracks. Well, he was a scumbag. He was using cute little girls to get into the house, to be around Elvis. And he tried to put the make on Priscilla one night when he took her home. She says in her book that he tried to rape her. But he didn’t succeed. Elvis told us about it, himself”

excerpt is from “Elvis and the Memphis Mafia” by Alanna Nash

The only explanation in my mind that makes sense is that perhaps Currie Grant was Elvis’ only remaining contact in Germany- or at least the only person in contact with Priscilla- and since he was so desperate to see her again, maybe thought that the reward outweighed the risk

And obviously a 15-year-old Priscilla was still reeling over him leaving Germany and would likely agree to anything to please him…plus since it was Elvis who asked Currie to take the photos, maybe she thought if Elvis trusted him to do that, she could trust him as well ?

And although I doubt she intended too, Suzanne inadvertently said something similar when trying to do one of those logical fallacies that she does throughout the duration of “Child Bride” ⬇️

“Priscilla, despite her claim that Currie tried to rape her, was thrilled to oblige, “desperate” for word from Elvis, through Currie”

excerpt is from “Child Bride” by Suzanne Finstad

I feel like Suzanne is basically answering the dilemma herself despite her attempt to point out the inconsistency in Priscilla’s behavior (her being afraid of Currie, but also being around him)

Priscilla was willing to be photographed by her attempted assaulter as she was desperate for contact from Elvis and Currie just happened to be that link between them

and I have to say, my original response to the ask that I received about “Child Bride” was something that I was worried about posting as many of the more passionate anti-Priscilla crowd tend to treat it like it’s their Bible but WHEW- I am beyond relieved that so many people have also seen just how outrageous that book is, especially the narrative that Suzanne Finstad goes with- like as you said, trying to make a fourteen-year-old Priscilla out to be some “teenaged succubus” LMAOOO (that took me out 💀)

I honestly consider myself to be Priscilla-neutral despite what some people assume of me based on some my posts 🤧 and so because of that, I am very open to reading and discussing the valid criticisms against her HOWEVER- I have no time in my day to take someone like Currie Grant seriously so that is why the first half of “Child Bride” (chapters about Germany and what fourteen-year-old Priscilla may or may not have done) are just what ruin the whole book for me

And it’s a shame because again, there are some very valid things that Suzanne points out about Priscilla, especially the things that were left out of “Elvis and me”; like her inconsistencies in recalling certain events, her sometimes questionable character (treatment of others), her possible greed (suing and more suing) and the biggest one to me- her involvement in Scientology… but all of that is just dampered by Suzanne’s god awful commentary and god awful judgement

also girl please do not apologize for sending this in- I sincerely thank you for adding to the conversation about this book as I think these kinds of discussions are so beneficial and I’m just truly grateful to be able to have them with y’all- I’ve fr learned so much from your guys’ insight

and since there is such a surplus of information about Elvis (and Priscilla), I feel like the best way to navigate through it all is by breaking it down like this, and so if y’all ever want to talk about another book feel free to send in your thoughts <3!!!

#suzanne is twisted #and currie belongs underneath the prison #elvis presley #elvisaaronpresley #elvis #elvis history #elvis fans #elvis books #elvis fandom #elvis asks #suzanne finstad #priscilla presley #currie grant

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orthodoxydaily · 11 days ago

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SAINTS&READING: SUNDAY, NOVEMBER 3, 2024

october 21_october 3

VENERABLE HILLARION THE GREAT OF PALESTINE (371).

Saint Hilarion the Great was born to pagan parents in the year 291 in the Palestinian village of Thabatha near Gaza. As a young man, he was sent to Alexandria for his education. There he became acquainted with Christianity and was baptized. After hearing an account of the angelic life of Saint Anthony the Great (January 17), Hilarion went to meet him, desiring to study with him and learn what is pleasing to God. Hilarion soon returned to his native land to find that his parents had died. After distributing his family’s inheritance to the poor, Saint Hilarion went forth into the desert surrounding the city of Maium.

In the desert the Saint endured violent struggles with impure thoughts, vexations of the mind, and the burning passions of the flesh, but he defeated them through heavy labor, fasting and fervent prayer. The devil sought to frighten him with phantoms and apparitions. While he was praying Saint Hilarion would sometimes hear children crying, women wailing, and the roaring of lions and other wild beasts. He understood that the demons were causing these terrors in order to drive him out of the wilderness. He overcame his fear by resorting to fervent prayer. Once, some thieves fell upon Saint Hilarion, and he persuaded them to forsake their lawless life by the power of his words.

Soon all of Palestine heard about Saint Hilarion and of the miracles he worked. The Lord granted the holy ascetic the power to cast out unclean spirits. With this gift of grace he loosed the bonds of many of those who were afflicted. The sick came for healing, and the Saint cured them without asking for any payment, saying that the grace of God is freely received, and must be freely given (Matthew 10:8).

Such was the grace that he received from God that he could tell by the smell of someone’s body or clothing which passion was afflicting his soul. They came to Saint Hilarion desiring to save their souls under his guidance. With his blessing, monasteries began to spring up throughout Palestine. Going from one monastery to another, he instituted a strict ascetic manner of life.

About seven years before his death (+ 371-372) Saint Hilarion moved back to Cyprus, where the ascetic lived in a solitary place until the Lord summoned him to Himself.

Saint Hilarion is sometimes depicted holding a scroll which reads: "The tools of a monk are steadfastness, humility, and love according to God." In iconography, is depicted as an old man with a brown, rush-like beard divided into three points.

Source: Orthodox Church in America_OC

SAINT CONDEDUS HERMIT OF FONTENELLE (France685)

CONDEDUS (685)

He was an English hermit at the Abbey of St. Valery (Walric) on the Somme (abbaye Saint-Valery-sur-Somme) at present-day Saint-Valery-sur-Somme (northern France) who joined the community of the Abbey of St. Wandrille (abbaye Saint-Wandrille) in Fontenelle, Normandy (north-western France). In later years, St. Condedus lived as a hermit again, this time on an island in the river Seine near present-day Caudebec-en-Caux, not far from Fontenelle Abbey. St. Condedus reposed circa 685.

Source: Orthodox Saints of the Pre-Schism See of Rome

2 Corinthians 11:31-12:9

31 The God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who is blessed forever, knows that I am not lying. 32 In Damascus the governor, under Aretas the king, was guarding the city of the Damascenes with a garrison, desiring to arrest me; 33 but I was let down in a basket through a window in the wall, and escaped from his hands.

1 It is doubtless not profitable for me to boast. I will come to visions and revelations of the Lord: 2 I know a man in Christ who fourteen years ago-whether in the body I do not know, or whether out of the body I do not know, God knows-such a one was caught up to the third heaven. 3 And I know such a man-whether in the body or out of the body I do not know, God knows- 4 how he was caught up into Paradise and heard inexpressible words, which it is not lawful for a man to utter. 5 Of such a one I will boast; yet of myself I will not boast, except in my infirmities. 6 For though I might desire to boast, I will not be a fool; for I will speak the truth. But I refrain, lest anyone should think of me above what he sees me to be or hears from me. 7 And lest I should be exalted above measure by the abundance of the revelations, a thorn in the flesh was given to me, a messenger of Satan to buffet me, lest I be exalted above measure.

Luke 16:19-31

19 There was a certain rich man who was clothed in purple and fine linen and fared sumptuously every day. 20 But there was a certain beggar named Lazarus, full of sores, who was laid at his gate, 21 desiring to be fed with the crumbs which fell from the rich man's table. Moreover the dogs came and licked his sores. 22 So it was that the beggar died, and was carried by the angels to Abraham's bosom. The rich man also died and was buried. 23 And being in torments in Hades, he lifted up his eyes and saw Abraham afar off, and Lazarus in his bosom. 24 Then he cried and said, 'Father Abraham, have mercy on me, and send Lazarus that he may dip the tip of his finger in water and cool my tongue; for I am tormented in this flame.' 25 But Abraham said, 'Son, remember that in your lifetime you received your good things, and likewise Lazarus evil things; but now he is comforted and you are tormented. 26 'And besides all this, between us and you there is a great gulf fixed, so that those who want to pass from here to you cannot, nor can those from there pass to us.' 27 Then he said, 'I beg you therefore, father, that you would send him to my father's house, 28 'for I have five brothers, that he may testify to them, lest they also come to this place of torment.' 29 Abraham said to him, 'They have Moses and the prophets; let them hear them.' 30 And he said, 'No, father Abraham; but if one goes to them from the dead, they will repent.' 31 But he said to him, 'If they do not hear Moses and the prophets, neither will they be persuaded though one rise from the dead.'

#orthodoxy #orthodoxchristianity #easternorthodoxchurch #originofchristianity #spirituality #holyscriptures #gospel #bible #wisdom #faith #saints

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hannibalzero · 4 months ago

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Little something something I sent to my roleplay partner.

We have our own ocs and things but we tend to hide our OTPS in the stories. From like different series, books, games or whatever.

So being crazy, I hid modern Charles and Arthur in a ocs family tree.

Not to be taken seriously but I thought it was cute!

Arthur felt like his stomach was in knots, hadn’t traveled in years. But that had always been in America, when he was a youngin. Now he was heading to South Korea.

Sitting in a first class seat next to his husband. The ranch was full of nature and different parts to explore. Flowers and animals to sketch. His babies to raise and love on, Charles to chase around the ranch too.

It hurt his heart when Adam, chose to move to South Korea after the lawsuit cleared. But Adam was like his father, found his footing and met the sweatiest little thing. Feelin love and married the young man. Arthur and Charles agreed to visit.

Their children were all fine and dandy staying with Lenny and Sean for the week, Arthur’s youngest brothers and Hosea his Pa.

They would be fine but Arthur…felt out if his element. He shifted in the seat again.

“Niwah” (word for wife)

startled Arthur from his nerves, he ducked his head. “Charles.” He kept his voice down, Arthur didn’t want to be a loud American and disturb these fine people.

His mate, husband, love of his life looked damn good. That black button down shirt with a few buttons undone showing Charles strong chest. Those faded blue jeans that Arthur liked and that belt buckle that was all pretty like.

Pretty like the devil, Arthur knew he would be holding the back of his knees crying out as he pushed out a big beautiful baby if he gave in. God how long has it been? Condoms work just fine but Arthur missed feeling Charles so deeply filling him up.

Arthur licked his lips.

“Niwah.” Charles repeated with an amused smile. Knowing what Arthur was thinking. “You’re worrying again.” He uncrossed his legs and spread them wide..well as wide as he could in the first class seat.

“At least you were “ Charles flicked Arthur’s hat up. “Now? You have that look on your face that screams you want something.” Charles was teasing Arthur now, readjusting himself in his jeans making poor Arthur whimper at the sight.

“Imma sorry, don’t need ta be worryin’. Just missed Adam, he married such a little thing, half way around the world. wanna make a good impression.” Arthur admitted “don’t wanna embarrass poor Adam, I am a fool at the best of times.”

Arthur crossed his legs trying to settle himself down a bit. “Just…thinkin’.” He started making Charles laugh softly, resting an arm over the cowboys shoulders, moving Arthur’s head to look at him.

“Whatcha thinking Niwah?” Charles gave Arthur a kiss.

“I…I…I..wanna be close ta ya…” Arthur had a hard time talking about intimacy. “Think we could…” he asked shyly twirling Charles hair.

Charles gave his mate a good kiss. “Niwah, sweet thing, love of my life. Adam chose wisely. He wouldn’t pick a mate that wouldn’t love us. But I understand your point, Adam is the first to be mated. It’s a new concept.” He soothed playing with Arthur’s hair as he spoke.

Charles voice deepened as he whispered into Arthur’s ear. “Sweet thing, behave yourself. I doubt we could both fit in that bathroom. First class or not. We have two more hours of this fourteen hour flight. I wanna take my time withchu..love on ya good and well….without our son bailing us out of customs.” He promised as Arthur pressed kisses into his big hand with a soft purr.

“Ya right, I’ll behave just-“ Arthur gave a small roll of his hips with a hand on his lower belly.

Charles eyebrows shot up, giving a lusty groan. “Jesus Niwah, maybe this is why we can’t be left alone?” He whispered making them both chuckle.

“Can’t help it, all I want is you.” Arthur snickered out.

#dabble #my writing #charthur #tw mpreg #tw omegaverse

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warnerswilsons · 5 months ago

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Oh god another fic

I've got to give a bit of an intro for this so here we go. The other day, I made a design for what I thought Schmitty may have looked like in his early teens, and immediately after I finished I had the idea for a fic based around what would happen if he mysteriously became a teenager again because I enjoy putting my comfort characters in the most chaotic situations. Anyway, this is the first chapter of the product of that idea and it's very self indulgent but I wanted to put it here. Quick warning for brief physical fighting and some accidental injuries, but other than that, here we go!

The working title is "I Was a Teenage Teenager" after the Green Day song of the same name, and this first chapter is 1,005 words long.

************************************************************************

At this point, it had practically become routine for the hosts to carpool to work a couple times a week, so it wasn’t much of a surprise to Cookie when Schmitty asked him for a ride at the end of the previous workday. He even expected his fellow host to be a few minutes late coming out to the car, but once after waiting for about five minutes, he suspected something was going on. With a sigh, the Fibbage host opened his phone, and sent a quick text message.

You still need a ride or did you forget to tell me the change of plans?

No response. Not even a ‘message read’ appeared. After a couple more minutes of radio silence, Cookie headed towards the front door, immediately looking for a spare key or some other way in. It didn’t take long for Cookie to find the key and step inside with at least a small degree of caution.

“Schmitty…? The hell is taking you so long?”

Almost immediately, Cookie heard a crash, followed by a shout. While he didn’t recognize the voice, there was still something familiar about it. It couldn’t have been Schmitty, though. Whoever just screamed sounded way too high and pitchy. Still, the Fibbage host picked up his speed and continued to search for the source of the shout. Within seconds, he stopped at the bathroom, the door slightly open and the light on. He heard slight shuffling and a much more distinguishable cry.

“Even the braces too? Oh, you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

Cookie couldn’t help but clear his throat just a little too loudly. Any noise that had come from the room stopped completely, and seconds later, the door swung open. Now, Cookie was face to face with a boy who appeared to be in his early teens at the least. He was still trying to piece everything together when the other shook his head.

“Great. Just one more thing I have to deal with today.” The apparent stranger started to make his way across the hall, but the Fibbage host quickly stopped him. “Really?”

“Yeah, ‘really.’” Cookie rolled his eyes as he went on. “Now, who are you and what are you doing in my…co-worker’s home?”

“Jesus, Cookie, you really don’t know?” Cue the other shaking his head. “Who the fuck do you think I am?”

“Well, obviously you’re someone who knows my name but you couldn’t be-” Cookie trailed off, shaking his head. “Could you?”

“Are you gonna actually make a guess or…?”

“Would you give me a second, kid?!” Cookie quickly tapped his foot, thinking out loud as he ignored the teen’s miffed groan. “It can’t be a coincidence that you’re here in Schmitty’s apartment and acting a hell of a lot like him.” The host noticed the anticipatory glint in the other’s eyes. “Are you, like, a relative or something?”

“God, you were so close!” The stranger let out a sigh as he pinched his nose between his fingers. “Actually, I’m Schmitty! Not a relative or some random neighborhood kid or anything! And before you ask, no I don’t know why I’m suddenly fourteen again! Also, I feel like I could fall over at any given moment, because surprise surprise! I don’t have the same fucking glasses perscription that I had at this age.” Schmitty stopped for a moment to catch his breath. “Any other questions?”

Cookie slowly shook his head as he brought a hand to his chin. “Okay, okay…if you really are Schmitty, then here’s what I’m gonna do.” The Fibbage host faintly heard his co-worker let out a sigh of relief. “How about I just give you something to eat, and then set you down for a nap. You clearly need one.”

Schmitty rolled his eyes as he once again tried to push past the other. “Cookie, I swear to god, I don’t have the self-control to deal with this right now. Just please, get the fuck out.”

“Fine. But I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to leave a child in a house, unsupervised.” By this point, Cookie had leaned down slightly to reach Schmitty’s eye level, a smirk resting on his features. In less than a second, The Quiplash host quickly made a third attempt to push past his co-worker, not quite realizing how force he used and where exactly his hand landed. “FUCK!” Cookie staggered back cupping his nose with his hands. Schmitty couldn’t help but stare at him.

“Oh my god. Cookie, I didn’t mean to-”

“I can’t believe I just got my ass kicked by a kid!”

“And suddenly, I’m not feeling as bad about it!”

“You know what?” Cookie slowly stood up, only removing one hand from his face. “Just get in the car. I’ve gotta stop and get this taken care of, and then we’ll just come up with a plan on the way to the studio. Just as long as we’ve got a story that everyone will believe.”

“Sure, sure. I’ve just got a few questions about this-”

“We’ll figure it out on the way!” With his empty hand, Cookie grabbed Schmitty’s arm and started dragging him towards the door. The current younger of the two stopped and pressed his heels into the floor, sending the two of them toppling down.

“You’re really gonna leave with me looking like this?”

“Yeah? What else am I supposed to do?”

“Look, this entire day, and looking and feeling like this has been hell, but I’d at least like to seem like I want to go out in public today.”

“Fine. But just be quick!” Cookie shook his head as he leaned back on the wall. He could just barely hear Schmitty mimic his previous statement as he headed back in the other direction. It was only then when the Fibbage host allowed himself to process everything that had happened in the past few minutes that he realized just how much of a mess this day was proving to be for both of them.

#jackbox #you don’t know jack #ydkj #josh schmitty schmitstinstein #cookie masterson #multichapter #multi chap fic #jackbox fanfiction #fanfiction #writers on tumblr #character turned into a teen

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darklydeliciousdesires · 2 years ago

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The Dark Passenger - Chapter Eighteen.

Thank you so much for all your engagement, guys! I’m thrilled at how well received this has been. Now, this is the chapter I’ve been dying with excitement to bring to you, because it reveals my very first fandom crossover! I shan’t say which particular fandom will enter the story, but fans of the show will know instantly when they see the name mentioned at the end of the chapter. As ever, 40 notes to unlock the next. Enjoy! :)

Previous chapters - One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven Twelve Thirteen Fourteen Fifteen Sixteen Seventeen

Words - 4,000

Warnings - 18+ content throughout, minors DNI!

Tag list - In the comments. Please DM to be added/removed

“How’s that now, any better?” Camille asked, watching her boyfriend stub out the joint he’d just finished, blowing the smoke down his nose. She’d never seen him partake of weed before, but he revealed that he did smoke it very, very occasionally, this now being one of those rare occasions.

“I don’t know whether I truly feel better, or whether I’m too stoned to care,” he admitted, chuckling softly. “Shit, Nestor’s weed always blows my damned skull off. He can’t just be a little bit stoned; dude has to be annihilated.”

From the smell of it, she was inclined to agree. “Want me to leave you to sleep?”

He nodded gently. “Please, baby.” Sitting up, he kissed her softly, nuzzling her nose with his. “Thanks for taking such good care of me.”

“Anytime.” She’d been there every day since they’d gotten back together, packing a large bag of her stuff and virtually moving in with him, taking time off from the club so she could be there for him at night, when he was lamentably always at his absolute worst. Luckily, she could afford to hand her shifts over to a few of the other girls, and Martin understood after she’d explained the situation to him.

Leaving him to it, she went downstairs and got herself furnished with a drink, giving Nestor a smile when he appeared behind her. “Your weed has just kicked my boyfriend like an angry donkey.”

He snorted softly, wrapping an arm around her. “Yeah, it tends to do that. You should have seen the state of Bella one time, smoked half a joint and ended up lying on top of EZ’s old trailer, singing Elvis songs at 3am, refusing to come down because she said that the stars needed to be serenaded. Angel had to climb up there to get her down again because she was too stoned to move.”

Camille snorted at his story, laughing as she sipped her drink, heading on outside, watching the lady herself approaching the clubhouse.

“Oh, Jesus fucking bloody Christ,” she winced, slowly lowering herself onto the couch at Camille’s side, puffing her cheeks when she finally made contact. “Alright mate! How are you?”

Receiving a hug and kiss, Camille raised her eyebrows. “Better than you, I’d say!” Nodding at Bella’s lower half, she hazarded a guess. “Squats?”

“Angel. He was on me all last night and I swear, I am not complaining at my husband or his level of horny, but shit the fucking bed, I feel like I’ve been blasted straight up the cooch with a fire hose.”

It was an unfortunate moment for Camille to have sipped her drink, a fine spray of rum and diet coke exiting her mouth as she laughed. “Fire hose, huh? Well, isn’t he like his brother.”

“And you know what kills me most, Camille?” she began, eyes wide, reaching over her head to take the beer Hank passed her, blowing him a kiss before he went back inside. “He says I’m the one who’ll end up breaking him one day, but as soon as he gets to six beers in, the raging, overly horny sex demon happens. I mean, he’s bad enough when he’s sober, but fucking hell!”

She was in soft fits at hearing her friend’s words, Bella lighting a cigarette and wincing as she got comfortable. “Yeah, EZ is usually the same. Except for right now as he feels like death most of the time, my poor honey. He used to get night horny, about 11pm and if we hadn’t already done it or weren’t in the throes, I’d get hauled off. Now, morning is his horny time, before he starts feeling really ill.”

“How’s he doing today?” Bella asked, swigging her beer, suddenly throwing up an aggressive middle finger with a silly scrunched face at Gilly, who was giving her the same, a small dance included.

“I’m going to pick up Garcie, so you three can hold your little coven meeting,” he informed them.

“Yay! Tell her to bring a cauldron!” Bella yelled, laughing, turning back to Camille. “Sorry, I’ll shut up now.”

“No, it’s fine,” she assured her, rubbing her wrist, raising her eyebrow at the red marks she noticed.

“I got cuffed,” she confided, poking her tongue between her teeth. That somehow didn’t surprise Camille to discover, that Angel and his wife were kinky.

“So, EZ,” she began, crossing her legs and placing her drink down. “He’s the same, he’s good for the morning, but worsens as the day goes on. It’s the more food he eats, that’s what causes the nausea and inability to keep the anti-nausea drugs down. He’s currently only managing to keep breakfast in most days, and thankfully the medication for his seizures is only once daily, so we have those under control now. He had one the other morning, don’t tell him, but he nearly ended up crushing me until I managed to scramble out and get him onto his side.”

Bella nodded with sympathy, drawing on her cigarette. “One more week and then here’s hoping it’s worked. Seeing him go through this is tough, I keep thinking about if it was Angel and it just moves me to tears every time, so I can’t imagine what you must be feeling.”

“I’m okay, most of the time,” she revealed. “I’m just holding onto the hope that the radiotherapy has shrunk it enough to safely operate on him. I can’t even think of the alternative right now. I can’t.”

She sank into Bella’s embrace with a wobbly sigh, having a little cry in her friend’s arms, a friend who silently vowed to take her mind off it for the rest of the evening, between Camille heading back upstairs to check on EZ every so often. He actually surprised them mid-way through the night by coming out, sitting with her, Bella, Angel, Gilly and Amelia, feeling better for the weed induced sleep, and a little less sick.

One more week and hopefully, he could put the treatments behind him at least, even though he’d been told that the side-effects would likely last for a while after radiotherapy cessation. After his last treatment had been given, he was sent for a scan prior to his appointment with his oncologist, Camille there with him too, Doctor Ruiz taking a seat at her desk.

“Okay, I have your scans here, Mr Reyes. Unfortunately, they aren’t what we had hoped for.” Immediately, his heart sank. “The glioblastoma remains more or less at the same size as it was prior to commencement of treatment. I’m going to recommend putting you through another round of radiation after a rest of a month in order to give your body time to recover, but with that I cannot guarantee that it would work. The dose we gave you already should have impacted the tumour’s size more than it did. It seems we truly did not realise just how aggressive it is. I also want to change your medication to slow the growth, as I can tell by the parameters that your current combination isn’t having the desired effect.”

“That’s because I can’t keep anything down for long enough,” EZ snorted darkly, his hand squeezing Camille’s.

“Well, if that’s the case, we can look into you perhaps being given the option of injection, this is entirely possible. We can arrange for someone to come out and administer this for you at home, or visit your local doctor’s office. Alternatively, I can recommend a liquid alternative, as I have found they have a higher success rate at absorption much quicker than the pills do. Let’s try that first, actually.”

“So, what does this mean long-term, if another round of radiotherapy does nothing to shrink it? What would his options be next?” Camille asked, feeling her bottom lip quivering at the look on Doctor Ruiz’s face.

“Then lamentably there would be nothing more we could offer. The only thing we could do is make Mr Reyes as comfortable as possible in the time he has left. I’m so sorry.” The rest of the appointment passed by him in a blur, EZ almost feeling as if he’d gone deaf, Camille showing the kind of strength she truly possessed by taking over, answering for him, making notes on her phone.

“It isn’t over, baby,” she began as soon as they were seated within her car. “Who knows? Another round of treatment could begin to work, she couldn’t guarantee that it wouldn’t.”

He sniffed, picking at his thumbnail. “She couldn’t guarantee that it would, either.”

“But you can’t lose hope, EZ. It might...” she began.

“I’m fucking dying, Camille!” he suddenly burst out with, punching her dash. “I’m not going to survive it! If all that radiation did nothing to shrink it successfully then I can’t fucking see how any more is going to, can you?” Inside, he was crumbling, facing the reality that he was thirty-five, and likely to never see his next birthday. Here it was, his ending, and it loomed over him forebodingly, like a buzzard stalking a dying animal as it dragged itself along, using its last strength in a futile attempt to escape it.

There was no escaping his buzzard.

He shut his eyes for a moment, feeling bad that he’d lost his temper, turning to reach for her hand before gazing out of the window. “I’m sorry, I’m just... fuck.”

She nodded, wiping her eyes. “I know, I know. Listen, do you want me to call mom and cancel? I get it, if you’d rather just be alone.” They were scheduled to go right from the appointment to her parents' house for lunch, Marge and John wanting to see him to offer their support in the wake of his news and recommencement of his relationship with their daughter.

“No, no it’s fine. It’ll be good to see them.” He nearly added ‘while I still can’, but for her sake, swallowed the words. Dark humour upset her, and he knew that while it was him only looking at another six months left to live, Camille was in it, too. His death would break her heart. “I love you. Thanks for being here for me.”

She leaned into his space, kissing him, her hand cradling his cheek. “Takes more than a brain tumour to get rid of me. It’ll take more with you, too. This isn’t over. I really think you should look into getting some second and third opinions.”

He seemed to tense up then, Camille regretting her gentle pressing. His eyes were warm when he looked at her, though. “I dunno. Is it even worth it?” He spoke again before she could reply, saying that they should get going, or they’d be late.

When they arrived, he took a few moments, resting his head against her shoulder, Camille stroking his face lovingly, kissing him atop his head. She wanted to tell him it would be okay, that something would rise up and block the path of the fate he’d resigned himself to, but she knew he’d reject such platitudes, so opted instead for silence. Noticing her mother appear at the front door, though, she knew they had to leave the car.

Taking his hand, she kissed his palm, stroking his knuckles. “Come on. Let’s see how well those new anti-nausea meds shape up.”

As she watched them approach, it hit Marge hard in the chest, to see him looking so ill. “Hold it together.” She whispered to herself, yet when she saw him up close, she cracked, her mouth trembling as she tried to hold the sob in, stepping out onto the porch and throwing her arms around him.

“Oh, Jesus. I thought such awful things about you, but knowing now that you couldn’t help the way you were, oh, my love. I’m so sorry for thinking that of you.” she completely broke down in tears at that point, feeling stupid, crying when it was him going through it, the pain of it all, the treatment, the mental anguish, the uncertainty that he’d even survive it. “I know you lost your mom, and I can never replace her, I know this, I know. But if you want me to be, I’m your mom now, too, honey. I am. I’m here for you.”

EZ felt like someone had pulled his heartstrings to the very parameters of what they could withstand, hearing that when he was exhausted from treatment, low and aching with the weight of what he’d been told that morning. And there it was, what he needed most. A mother’s love.

“Thank you. That means more to me than I can ever tell you with just words,” he replied, hugging her tighter, the comfort he felt from her staggering. The hard woman, descended from a man steeped in bloodshed, bullets, misdemeanours, blood on his hands and a code that had ultimately led to his demise, more so than he hoped he would ever understand had embraced him as her own, opened her heart and given him the love he so desperately needed. Camille was his loving girl, but Marge, she was now his surrogate mother. He couldn’t help but think Marisol would be nothing but approving, in lieu of being able to be there herself to offer him the tenderness he so needed.

“Come on, come inside. I made lunch, but if you’re not hungry, I have Patron. Lots of it.” He laughed softly, kissing her forehead, Marge grasping his hand in hers and leading him inside. There in the hallway, he was equally emotionally touched when he saw John standing there waiting, opening his arms.

“Son,” he spoke, hugging him, slapping his back softly before one hand moved to gently cradle the back of his head. “We’re gonna get you through this. We will. I heard what Margie said, and I know you already have your dad still here with you, but you got another right here for you, you hear me?”

EZ was so touched, it took everything he had not to cry there in John’s arms, nodding as they parted, not able at that moment to share his bleak news, John touching a soft fist to his jaw. “That tumour ain’t gonna know what’s hit it. You’re a tough kid, you’ll damn show it who’s controlling who. Now, I got a chicken the size of Encino on the barbecue. Come help me get it off in one piece while our ladies mess around with salad and stuff.”

They all laughed, EZ gripping his arm fondly, wrapping an arm around his shoulders, John returning the gesture as they walked out to the backyard, Camille and Marge heading into the kitchen, where the former immediately burst into tears.

“It isn’t working, mommy,” she sobbed, clutching her mother tightly. “The tumour isn't shrinking, and the medication is only just about working in keeping it from growing. His doctor doesn’t think it’ll even work for much longer, with how aggressive the glioblastoma is.”

“Christ, Camie,” Marge tremored, her arms tightening around her. “So, what’s next? What’s your plan, here? I’m of the opinion that it’s worth getting a second opinion on this. Here, you slice, I’ll mix.”

Passing her the scallions she’d washed, Marge took a large spoon to the couscous salad, adding diced apricots as Camille began to chop. “It’s something I’ve been looking into, yeah, should the results of today not be what we hoped for, but EZ, he’s starting to lose hope, resigning himself to not surviving it after what Doctor Ruiz told us earlier.”

“Well, I’m not about to badger him about that. Christ, he looks so tired. If you want me to help you research neurologists quietly from the side lines, though, I’m right there. Let’s try and lift him up this afternoon. I know that sounds trite, but fuck, the poor guy needs it. I’ll nudge daddy to go fetch his smoke box, if he partakes?”

“He doesn’t usually, or at least not often at all,” she confirmed, scooping up the sliced scallions and adding them to the bowl. “He has been more of late, though, since it helps him sleep. Mind you, the stuff one of his guys in the club gets could floor a rhino, so sleep is about all it’s good for.” Grabbing a bowl each, they headed outside, Marge discovering that her husband was a step ahead of her, EZ sitting with a joint in his hand, looking very happy.

“Don’t tell Nes, but your dad’s weed is way better. I feel nicely high, rather than five seconds from unconscious.” John beamed, handing out the plates and cutlery, taking a small puff on the joint before handing it back to EZ.

“There’s some crazy chronic out there, man. I prefer a mellow high these days. I’ll call my guy, have him hook you up before you leave. You gotta see this dude, EZ. He looks like one of those Duck Dynasty guys, but all in tie dye. It’s like the seventies had a hold of his wardrobe and didn’t let go.” John’s statement was mildly funny, but the way EZ began to laugh, anyone would have thought he’d just been told the world’s funniest joke, Camille looking over at her dad. ‘Thank you’, she mouthed. God knows, her beloved needed his mind taking off what ailed him.

A few hours after lunch, and he was lying in John’s hammock with Camille, Marge watching the scene as she sat in the shade with her husband, drinking some of his homegrown nettle tea.

“Hey, what’s all this, my Margie?” he asked softly, moving to wipe her tears on the back of his hand as his wife began to cry softly. “Where’s my tough Jersey girl gone?”

“I’m sorry,” she began, fanning her face as she took a deep breath. “It’s just that sitting here with him this afternoon and seeing how he really is beneath that fucking tumour, oh god, John. He’s the sweetest kid, he’s bright, smart and funny, humble, too. And Christ, how he loves Camie, and now, now he might not survive it. She told me when we were in the kitchen earlier, the treatment isn’t working. The radiotherapy has only partially shrunk it and the medication is only just slowing its growth.”

John sat up a little straighter, combing a hand through his hair as he knitted his fingers through hers. “Well, he can be put through for another round, can’t he?”

“I don’t know, she didn’t say, but mother Mary, the amount of radiation they’ve already pumped through him, and it hasn’t worked? Who’s to say another round will do it. Look at him, he’s so pale and tired. What if they do put him through it again and it knocks him around like that, and it’s for nothing?” she sighed shakily, John rubbing her hand with his thumb.

“Come on, baby. This isn’t you. Where’s my fighting girl at, huh? We gotta be strong for Camille, she’s gonna need us while she gets him through this. There’s gotta be another way. There just has to be. He’s too young to die. Ain’t his time yet.” John vouched, sighing softly and picking up his phone, beginning to do a little research, moving to Marge’s side so they could look together.

While they did that, EZ lay back in the shade, feeling comforted for his girl in his arms, a belly full of chicken and fresh vegetables he’d managed to keep down thanks to his new anti-nausea drugs, and his love lying against his chest.

“I think I might nap for a while,” he spoke, stroking her hair, Camille looking up at him, stroking his chest as she idly let his pendant chain snake over her fingers.

“Yeah, good idea. Mom and dad always make the kind of lunches that need sleeping off, add that to you being stoned out of your tree and I can’t say I blame you.” She kissed his cheek as he chuckled softly, both of them settling down, Camille more snoozing than anything as the soft breeze fluttered over them, the hammock swaying gently, while EZ fell into a much deeper sleep.

Looking all around him, he knew he was dreaming, suddenly going from being in John and Marge’s back garden to walking through the lounge at his dad’s home, hearing a familiar humming coming from the kitchen. Walking through the doorway, he had it confirmed.

“Mijo, I’ve been waiting for you! Is Angel with you? He’s always late, that boy.”

“No, mom,” he spoke, feeling his throat tighten. “I think he’s on his way, though.” God, how he missed her. All the way through his prison sentence, grieving her, unable to attend her funeral, he’d fallen asleep every night hoping, praying that she would visit him in his dreams. She never had, but now, when he really needed her, there she was.

“Okay, well call him if he isn’t here in ten. Here, eat, eat!” Furnishing him with a bowl, he looked down to see his favourite. He often tried to make huevos rancheros for himself, but it never quite tasted the same as his mom’s.

“Mom, I need to talk to you,” he began, pushing the dish away, Marisol coming to take a seat in front of him.

“I know, my love. I know. I have answers to your questions, too. Well, just one.” Reaching for his hand, she leaned forward in her seat, everything so real, he could even smell her perfume, the faint scent of bluebells fluttering under his nose. “Seattle, Ezekiel.”

He frowned in confusion. “Seattle?”

“Yes.” She confirmed her statement with a nod. “Your answer is in Seattle.”

Before he got chance to ask anything else of her, what on earth she meant when she’d referenced Washington state’s largest city, his eyes fluttered open and he was back in the hammock, looking down at where Camille snored softly on his chest.

“Little piglet.” he whispered fondly, kissing her hair. They stayed until the early evening, EZ glad to be feeling well enough to stop for a light dinner on the way home, pleased that the new medication meant he could have a little normalcy returned to him, able to partake in something he’d never take for granted again, the basic act of taking his girlfriend out for a few hours, without worrying that he’d spend most of his time in the bathroom.

He also mentioned his dream to her, Camille thinking it lovely that Marisol had appeared to him like that, although she had absolutely no clue what on earth the significance of Seattle meant, both of them chalking it up to the randomness of dreams.

He had a great time, being able to enjoy the simple things, sitting talking with her while having a couple of beers, until the tiredness got to him, going straight to bed as soon as they arrived back at his place, Camille sitting up, watching the TV on low, Sally curled up in her lap.

It was as the second episode on a documentary about unsolved mystery disappearances was beginning that she received an email from her dad, Camille smiling fondly as she read it.

‘Hey kid, great to see you and EZ today. Listen, while you guys were napping earlier, mommy and I sat and did a little digging. Below is a list of all the top neurosurgeons in the country. We think it might be worth reaching out, see if any of them feels any differently about EZ’s case. You never know. Love you x.’

Scanning the list, she began to look through each, but it was one above all who caught her eye significantly, Camille sitting up as she read up on the surgeon. It was not her accolades – and there were many, the doctor extremely accomplished in her field – that caught her eye most, though. It was her location.

Doctor Amelia Shepherd, head of neurosurgery. Grey Sloan Memorial Hospital, Seattle, Washington.

#ez reyes #ez reyes fanfiction #ez reyes imagine #ez reyes smut #ez reyes x ofc #ez reyes fanfic #ez reyes fic #mayans mc #mayans mc fanfiction #mayans mc imagine #mayans mc smut #mayans mc fanfic #mayans mc fic

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lovelyrocker · 6 months ago

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Like Me Part Fourteen

Bones & All (AU)

Characters: Lee, Reader, Liam (OMC)

Parings: Lee, Reader

Warnings: Angst, Guilt, Fear

Word Count: 1,794

Lee woke up, he could feel the cool blankets against his naked body as he turned his head on the pillow. Blinking his eyes it was still pitch dark in the room. Y/N still asleep next to him, he looked over at the clock next to the bed. It was barely one am. He ran a hand over his face and gave a huff of annoyance. He leaned over pressing a soft kiss to her cheek and carefully slipped out of the bed.

When Y/N’s alarm went off the hours later she turned over in the bed feeling the emptiness and the cold sheets. SHe dressed and walked down stairs thinking Lee would be awake and drinking coffee. Maybe Liam woke him up early. To her surprise the house was quiet. On the coffee pot read a note.

Won’t be back for a day or two. I left money for the sitter for work. Love you.

She furrowed her brow. Why would he leave after last night? Was he regretting what happened, what he said? Pushing it out of her mind she crumpled the paper and tossed it in the trash with annoyance.

Four days went by without a word from Lee. Liam asked for him constantly and all she could do was say he’ll be back without even knowing if it was try. The sad little face whenever he would wake up and Lee wasn’t there broke her heart.

After Liam had fallen asleep Y/N took a long shower and let the hot water relax her after a double shift. Walking down stairs she froze seeing the kitchen door that led to the backyard open. She knew she’d shut and locked it before going to shower. Walking over she looked out the screen door seeing nothing.

“Lee?” She spoke. Hearing nothing she shook her head feeling foolish, shutting the door and locking it again. As she turned she saw someone walking into the kitchen. “Jesus! She grabbed her chest.

“Whoa!” Lee held up his hands, stopping in front of her. “You okay?”

“Am I okay?!” She slapped his arms. “Where the hell have you been, you jerk!”

“Whoa, whoa!” He grabbed her hands, stopping her from hitting him. “I left a note!”

“You said a few days! Not almost a week!” Her eyes were tearing up and Lee pulled her into his arms.

“Hey, I’m sorry.”

“Where the hell did you even go?” She wrapped her arms around his waist.

“I was. . . hunting.” He leaned his cheek on top of her head.

“You couldn’t call?” She sniffled.

“I should have. I’m sorry.” He rubbed her back. “You thought I took off again.” She nodded against his chest. “I’m never doing that again. I’ll always come back.”

She backed away, wiping her eyes. “Why’d it take you so long?”

“I drove a few states away.” Placing his hands on either side of her face, his thumbs wiping away her tears. “Wanna make sure-”

“I know.” She told him understanding.

“Hey,” He tilted her head up. “I’m back.” He pressed a gentle kiss to her lips. “I came back.”

“I hate how much I love you sometimes.” She confesses.

“I know.” He scrunches his nose. “But I love you just as much.” He kisses her head. “I’m gonna shower, then I’ll meet you in bed.”

“Okay.” She nodded. “Lock up.”

Lee wasted no time washing the dirt away from the last few days. He placed his soiled clothes to soak in the washer to get the blood stains out before going back upstairs. Crawling into bed next to her He wrapped his arms around her middle, his head next to hers on the same pillow.

“Feel better?” She asked, nuzzling his head with her nose, breathing him in deep.

“Much.”

“Mommy.” The door creaked open and both looked up seeing Liam rubbing his eyes sleepily. “Lee!” An instant smile on his face. “You're back!” Liam ran and jumped on the bed, crawling into Lee’s arms.

“Of course I'm back, buddy!” Lee hugged him tightly.

“Where were you?”

“Hunting.”

“You went hunting without me?!” Liam pouted.

“Well, I was looking at some places for us to go hunt. I found one. We can go in a week or two. How's that sound?”

“Sounds good! I'm not hungry yet but I will tell you as soon as I am!”

“Good boy!” Lee ruffled his hair. “Now come on, go back to sleep.” He told him, pulling the blankets over the toddler.

Y/N smiled watching Lee snuggle Liam. He really fell into his role with Liam so easily. Her only worry was will he stick by his word and stay.

Lee reached his hand, grasping hers. She looked over and saw a worried look on his face. She shook her head, gesturing for him to not worry as she laid her head on her pillow.

The next morning she woke up to an empty bed and laughter from downstairs. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes she yawned and made her way to the fresh coffee smell.

“Hey mommy!” She was greeted with a smiling Liam with a mouth full of cheerios.

“Morning baby.” She kissed the top of his head. “Morning handsome.” She pressed a kiss to Lee’s cheek. As she walked passed she noticed a long scratch across his neck and shoulder.

Lee noticed the look on her face and gave a small head shake as if to tell her they would discuss it later. She nodded and went on to her coffee maker. She leaned back against the counter and watched them playfully converse. The longer they were together the more it was obvious that Liam was Lee’s son.

Lee walked back to the counter and poured another cup of coffee. “I think we should tell him.” Y/N said, placing her cup down.

“What?” He pauses, his cup halfway to his mouth.

“We should tell him you’re his dad.”

Lee places his cup down. “Are you sure?”

“Why shouldn’t we?” She looks at Lee. “He looks to you as his father anyway. He looks just like you-”

“Poor kid.” He chuckles, looking down at his cup on the counter.

“Do you not want to?”

“No, it’s not that.”

“Then what is it?” She turns to him. He stands in silence for a long moment, saying nothing. Just staring at his cup. “Is it because once we tell him, you can't get up and leave?”

“No, no.” He shakes his head. “It’s not that.”

“Then what, Lee?”

“WHat if I let him down?”

“Let him down?” SHe asks unsure what he meant. “Let him down how?”

“He loves me as his friend. What if it’s different after he finds out I'm his dad?”

“Why would it be?”

“I don’t know?” He shrugs. “It’s kind of like,” He turns to her. “Kind of like how people are happy and in love then after they get married it all falls apart.”

“You think it will fall apart?”

“I’m scared it will.” He confesses. “I’m scared that what we;ve built together will come crashing down.”

“Lee-” She pulls him into her arms. “It won’t.” She rubs his back soothingly.

“Lee,” That little voice sounded. “Are you okay?’

Lee felt hands tapping his leg. “Yeah, buddy.” He turned, lifting the toddler up. “I’m fine!”

“Hey, Liam,” Y/N pushed her son’s dark curls from his forehead. “Remember when I told you that Lee was special?”

“Yeah!” She nodded enthusiastically.

“You wanna know why he is so special to mommy?”

“Why?!”

“Because Lee is really your daddy.”

“Really!?”

“Yeah!” She chuckled at his excitement. “Why do you think you have his freckles and eyes?”

“I get my speckles from you?!” Liam grabbed Lee’s face in his hands.

“Freckles, not speckles.” Lee laughed. “And yes.”

“What else do I get from you?”

“My hair. If I don’t dye and cut my hair I’d have the same dark curls as you.” Lee ruffles his hair.

“You have his laugh and his same scrunched face when you don’t like something.” You smile.

“So, can I call you daddy?”

“You can call me whatever you'd like, buddy.” Lee tells him with tears as Liam wraps his arms around Lee’s neck.

“I knew you were my daddy.” He squeezes tightly. “I just knew it.”

“You did?”

“Uh huh.” Liam lifts his head. “I just knew, in here.” He pointed to his heart.”

Lee was surprised with how excited Liam was to know the trust. And to even more of his surprise, it only made him love the boy even more. Instead of feeling trapped and overwhelmed he felt pride and adoration.

“Hey, daddy?’ That small voice chimed from the doorway of the living room.

“Yeah, buddy?” He smiled, loving the way his new found name sounded from the sweet child.

“Can I ask you something?” Liam walked over, sitting next to Lee.

“Of course.”

“Since you are my dad, are you where I get my hungriness from?”

Lee sighed, wrapping an arm around the boy. “Yeah, buddy. And I’m sorry for that.”

“Why are you sorry?” Liam looked up at him.

“Because it’s a tough thing. I wouldn’t wish it on no one. And to know that I am the reason you have to deal with it-”

“I’m glad I have you, though.” He lays his head back on Lee’s shoulder. “You always know what to do.” The toddler gets comfortable in Lee’s arms. “Who gave the hungry to you?”

“My dad.” He rubbed his shoulders. “But my dad didn’t love me as much as I love you. He didn’t help me with it.”

“Why not?”

“Well, bud, some people are nice and some people are mean-”

“And grandpa was mean?’

Lee’s heart sank and his dad being called grandpa by his son. “Yeah, bud, he was a mean one.”

“You’re not a mean one.” His little arms wrapped around Lee’s middle. “You’re good.”

“Yeah, Lee.” Y/N said from the doorway. “You’re good.”

Lee gives a soft smile and leans his head on Liam’s head. “Thank you, buddy.”

“Hey, daddy?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you do something for me?”

“What’s that?”

Liam has a mischievous smirk come over his face as he jumps up, pulling Lee with him. They left in the truck, Liam refusing to tell Y/N where they were going. Forty five minutes later Liam barged into the house with his dark curls trimmed into a mullet, matching his dad.

“Oh my God!” Y/N gasped in surprise.

“He wanted to go red but I told him he was too young for that just yet.” Lee ruffled his shortened hair.

“Now he really looks like you!” Y/N smiled, pressing a kiss to Lee’s cheek and then pinching Liam’s.

#timothee chalamet #timothée chalamet #timothée #chalamet #timothee #bones & all #Lee #Reader Insert #Reader x Lee #AU #fanfic #Bones and All

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robotstrategy · 10 months ago

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Recalled • Part 4 • 27 - Keegan

Previous • Series Masterlist • Part 4 Masterlist • Next

TW: Animal Death + Slight Gore (Trust me, you won’t like this chapter.)

The trailer park is colourful, there’s the patchy grass that is mostly all dirt at this point holding up all the trailers. The dull stained trailers in all different colours, but what’s more colourful is the people that live there. Keegan sits on the electrical box next to the main road waiting for his older brother to come home.

“Just sitting out here in your wife-beater aren’t you, Keegan?”

Keegan cringes, looking over at his neighbour, he sneers, “Don’t call it that!”

“But that’s what you call it? Don’t you?”

Before Keegan can say anything it’s like the wrong words start spilling from his mouth. “Hell no!” He awkwardly gets up off the electrical box, his mind is fighting with itself again. It’s been a year with Roland controlling his mind, and still can’t tie him down to his command.

Keegan enters his family’s RV and the smell of nicotine enters his nostrils. His mom smokes while looking at a magazine, probably daydreaming of all the things she can’t afford. Keegan has never really connected with his mom, yet now he feels some sort of sympathy but also anger towards her.

“What do you want, Keegs?” His mom asks, her raspy voice echoing through the camper.

“Roland has been messing with me again,”

“Knew it was a mistake to get you a new brain part, I tried to tell your father, but he wouldn’t listen, we could’ve put that money to good use.”

“Please, all you’d spend it on cigarettes.” Keegan watches his mom sit there, a teardrop lands on the magazine. “I know I’m hopeless, you don’t have to rub it in.”

Keegan is about to say something until he hears motorcycles roaring in the distance. He runs out of the RV towards the street watching as five motorcycles stop in front of the trailer park. The leader takes off his helmet and fixes his hair, he turns his head to Keegan, frowning.

“Oi Tony! You’re stupid-ass brother is still sitting out here waiting for us like he’s a little kid.”

Another one of the bikers removes his helmet, he puts two fingers to his temple, glaring at Keegan. Tony puts his helmet between his arm and his chest, grabbing his motorcycle by one of its handles pulling it off the street. While walking towards Keegan he grabs onto the back of the tank top, dragging him up into the RV. One of the other bikers passive-aggressively waves at Keegan as they go out of his view.

Once in the RV, Keegan gets out of Tony’s grip. “What the hell was that for?”

“Stop being such a friggin baby! It was endearing when you’d wait for us when you were fourteen, but it’s been three years. Grow the hell up!”

“I'll join you guys when I get the money, you know that?”

“Hell no you won’t!”

“Am too.”

“You’re such a whiny bitch!”

Keegan’s mom rises from her chair, filling her lungs with air as much as she can. “If you two are going to fight, do it outside, Myrtle is tryna sleep off a hangover!” She yells, surprisingly her yell is loud enough to wake up the pitbull a few trailers down.

“Or maybe you should just stop at this point.” Their mom looks outside at the pitbull. “Jesus, that thing is still kicking?”

“It’s only a five-year-old mom,” Tony mutters, “and its brain is only getting worse and worse.”

Someone swings open the RV’s door, and all three of them turn around to see Keegan and Tony’s dad.

“I see the ole yapper is at it again?” He asks.

“Yeah, Mom woke it up with her yelling,” Tony exclaims, Keegan glares at him.

“Ah, making a fuss in here aren’t you Wendy?”

“Would all of you quiet down? Myrtle is trying to sleep!” Wendy whisper-shouts.

“Right, right.”

There's a second of silence in the RV, Keegan can only guess it’s between waiting for the dog to stop barking and seeing if Myrtle will get up because of it.

“Keegan still hasn’t gotten used to that new brain part yet,” Wendy mutters.

“Well of course, that Roland boy was violent, it’ll take some time to control him.”

“Yeah, but you guys got his frontal lobe replaced, that Roland kid will most likely control him in the end,” Tony replies.

“Are you concerned about me?” Keegan asks his brother.

“Yeah, ‘cause you’re not my little brother, you’re some stupid jerk who’s taken over his mind!”

Keegan scowls, “You wouldn’t be saying that if you knew what I went through, huh, would you like to know what it was like to be unwound? I don’t like being here as much as you do.”

Tony and Wendy look horrified, his father says nothing. Keegan watches as his brother looks miffed, he then falls to his knees and puts his hands to the floor, he’s crying.

“Get out of here you hear me?! You probably went through a lot, but you can’t take my brother down with you, got it?” Keegan wants to scream back, but at the same time, he wants to run from the RV, from the situation.

What happens is that he looks like a lunatic as he rages and runs out of the RV over to the entrance of the trailer park, he crouches himself in the tall grass, planting his palms to the ground, and words start falling from his mouth again.

“Pfft, your family is worse than mine, at least my sister liked me.”

“S-shut up.” He mutters.

“And ya don’t even live in a house? Y’know used to hear that they’d give out three thousand dollars if you unwound your child.”

“Shut up!” He yells.

“Oh you know your family wants to unwind you, shame I wasn’t the toughness they were looking for. And that whole ban on unwinding, god, wish that came sooner, then I wouldn’t be stuck here with you.”

“Maybe you should’ve told the Akron Awol to hurry up!” His mouth stays closed this time, guess Roland won't say anything on that subject.

“Is that who stopped this?” Roland asks as he speaks from his mouth.

“I thought you’d know already”

“I make you do things, not remember them, idiot.”

“Fair,” He pauses, “You seemed quiet when I talked about him, why?”

“Can I remember things?”

“...”

“No, I can’t,” Roland says in a friendly voice, “Stupid!”

Keegan sighs as he gets up from hiding. “This has got to stop Roland, you can’t keep taking control of me!” Roland doesn’t talk this time, instead, there’s a wave of doubt that washes over him. Keegan knows why, he’ll never really get rid of Roland, not ever, unless one day he’s got enough money for a Biobuilder transplant. Well, unless he can scare Roland into submission.

Keegan knows from a neighbour who has an unwind part that unwinds don’t like the look of antifreeze. Something about the artificial greenness of it sends unwind parts bonkers. Keegan heads to the metal box welded to the RV; it's mostly filled with emergency supplies like nonperishables, an extra tank of gas, a first aid kit, and whatever the sort. Though below that is a bottle of antifreeze, Keegan shoves things to the side, pulling out the bottle, almost immediately his hand that holds it begins to shake. He unscrews the cap and sticks a finger in it, coating his finger in antifreeze he wipes it across his leg. His knees begin quaking as if he’s been kicked in between them, he quickly caps the bottle back up before Roland can try to release it from his grasp.

“Stop it! Stop it!” Roland cries.

“Pussy! Weak bitch!” He yells back.

“Shut up!” Keegan looks back up to the RV, Myrtle must’ve finally woken up to yell at him. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the only thing Keegan really woke up, he turns his head to look behind him, the pitbull charged at him, barely being held back by the metal peg and leash buried in the ground. Keegan looks it in the eyes, they show nothing but pure rage, it’s barking so much that spit is frothing up in the corners of its mouth. And yet, for how much Keegan is scared and enraged by this dog, part of him is worried about it. Keegan grumbles, he’s not worried for the dog but Roland is, Keegan backs away from the dog, and after a solid minute, it stops barking and goes back to its trailer and sleeps.

“Why are you worried about it?” He asks aloud.

“Thing looks like it has rabies, it’s miserable out here.”

“Psh, so I’m I.”

“I don’t care about you.”

“You should, if something bad happens to me, it’ll happen to you too.”

“Thought I told you before, I don’t wanna be stuck here.”

Keegan stays silent for a moment. “There’s a pocket knife in my jacket pocket, hurt me, Roland, I know you won't.”

“Just ‘cause I hate your guts doesn’t mean I want them all over the floor,” His hand pulls the pocket knife out, “Though…”

Keegan stabs himself in the arm and pulls down, leaving a giant cut all the way down. He winces and goes frantically through the first aid in the metal box. He sprays it with isopropyl alcohol, then shoves gauze on it and wraps it with bandages like his life depends on it.

“Ya better be livin’ on a prayer, ‘cause I don’t that’s gonna do shit.”

“You shouldn’t have done it in the first place! For the longest time, I thought you were harmless!”

“Ha! I don’t think I can kill, but I’ll harm all I want!”

Keegan sits in what little grass there is in the trailer park and thinks about what Roland said. He can’t kill. He doesn’t think he can kill. What if Keegan could confirm something about him? What if he could get Roland to kill? That pitbull is looking tempting right now, it’s about time someone put it down. Keegan had once read a horror story about the murderer killing the victim’s guard dog by filling up their water bowl with antifreeze and watching the dog drink it down. Roland seems to be afraid of the antifreeze, Keegan doesn’t think it would take much to convince him to do the crime.

Keegan looks back down at the bottle of antifreeze on the ground, he picks it back up. “How about we get rid of this.”

“Seems like a useless waste.”

“C’mon, by getting rid of this we could get rid of so much more, like that pitbull.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You know exactly what I’m saying.”

“I won’t do it.”

“You will.”

“Like you have any authority over what we do.”

“I told you, you have to stop controlling me, I’m going to get my way.”

“It’s just a dog, Keegan!”

“Don’t care, didn’t ask.”

“What are you going to do to it!?”

“You’ll just have to wait and see.”

Keegan knows that the pitbull’s owner works a 9 to 5, and right now it’s 2:30, a perfectly good time slot. It’s easy to walk in between the trailers, RVs, and caravans without getting caught, nobody wants their doors to be facing towards the pitbull, all Keegan has to do is duck under the windows. He lets out nervous hums as he gets closer to the dog, who lays sound asleep.

“You must be excited.” He whispers.

Keegan tiptoes past the dog over to a white jug with an orange cap. Keegan notices that every time the owner gives the dog water he gives it out of this jug, the jug almost calms the dog down as even the dog barks at the owner. Keegan grabs the jug and starts filling it with the antifreeze, he looks on the outside of it as the level of the antifreeze starts rising. “No, no, no, no, no…” He whispers, it seems like Roland wants to talk again. As Keegan steps closer the pitbull starts waking up, but it sees the jug and stays calm. Keegan walks over to the water dish and starts pouring the antifreeze into the bowl, the pitbull stumbles over waiting for it to be all filled up. He stares at the dog a bit, noticing little things about it, it's got a bitten-off ear and snaggletooth. There’s a pink collar around its neck with the name “Shyla” on it. He can feel his body start to tremble as Shyla starts lapping up what she thinks is a drink, in some way to repress Roland, Keegan bends down next to Shyla and starts petting her head like he watched her owner do every day. Somehow Shyla doesn’t see the difference between some middle-aged greaser and a 17-year-old with liberty spikes, not that Keegan is complaining, he’d rather not be chased down by a rabid dog right now. Noticing that blood from his fresh cut is starting to leak through the bandages Keegan finally gets up and walks backwards away from Shyla, watching for any aggression.

“Are, are you happy now?” Roland asks.

“Yeah, I proved something.”

“What? That you’re a monster, that you're insane?!”

“You said you thought you couldn’t kill, so I wanted to prove that you could.”

“No! You did this, you made me make you do this!”

“I thought you were the one that made me do things, idiot.”

Roland doesn’t respond. “Let’s face it, you’re what makes me do everything, if I killed a dog, then it was you that did it. You’re a killer Roland.”

“No, I can’t, I’ve tried it before, it doesn’t work!”

“When?”

“I don’t know dammit!”

“Well, I guess animal’s lives don’t mean that much to you then.”

“No, no, they’re innocent, I’d only attack something if it attacked first.”

“Well, that dog would’ve hurt us one day.”

“But it didn't today, and if we stayed away from it, it wouldn’t have ever!”

“And what if it attacked a little kid, how would you feel about it then?”

“Would you have cared if that dog hurt a kid?”

“... Of course, I would.”

“You do realize you use my part to think, I know your nasty thoughts, you wouldn’t care as long as it wasn’t you, you sicko!”

“So why didn’t you stop me from doing this in the first place?”

“Because, because somethings I just can’t control, okay? Certain parts of the brain don't interact with me.”

“You seem a little obsolete.”

“Keegan, I am your frontal lobe when I figure out how to, I’m gonna make sure you hold your breath ‘till you die!”

“I hear that realistically takes 8 minutes, you won’t get second thoughts?”

“I won't!”

Keegan hears the dog start to wheeze and pant and it lays against the ground, the antifreeze is kicking in. Keegan grins as he watches Shyla die from afar, though it seems like Roland is trying to have the last laugh, or the last cry in this case as Keegan’s eyes are forcibly shut. Keegan growls to himself, Roland doesn’t seem to be controlling everything as Keegan is able to force his eyes open again with his fingers. No matter how hard Roland tries and no matter how much he wells Keegan’s eyes with tears, Keegan makes sure that Roland sits through every last of Shyla’s breaths.

#unwind #unwind dystology #unwind fanfic #unwind series #sequel fic #roland taggart #unwind oc #cries

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