#why are people homeless in a country full of empty homes

[shaanks]

like. I know. I know we live in the epicenter of Western greed, the seat of neocolonialism and structural violence, I know we're a country being farmed and driven into dust and nothing for corporate greed and capitalist ideals, I know I know I know...and yet it still assaults my rational mind and senses every time I go outside or open an app or look at anything anywhere and get a banner ad for HURRY BLACK FRIDAY DEALS ARE HAPPENING NOW that, once scrolled past, was slapped over footage of pieces of Palestinian children or posts calmly documenting horror and atrocity in Ukraine.

somehow we live in the timeline where we're expected to care about...like. buying things. when all the things are made from slave labor. or new phones, made from cobalt and precious metals being pulled up from mines run by old money lunatics who are grinding their workers into blood and pulp. or the geopolitical posturing of our government, when their lies are being documented and livestreamed concurrently as they're being told, when the tax dollars of people who are chaining themselves together on freeways trying to stop our country from contributing to a genocide are being used for that genocide.

we're just people on a planet whipping around the sun, killing and torturing and destroying each other over money and borders we made up, over gods we made up, over nothing substantive. the government of the country I live in is funding three different genocides because it's making the countries they're killing seem like less reliable trading partners for natural gas and oil.

I know the academic why, I know the political and philosophical and historical answers about what is happening here.

but what. the fuck is happening here. how did this happen to us as a species. why do hellfire missiles and white phosphorus exist. what would possess one person to cut another person's head off for being born in a different country. how is anyone capable of watching footage of children burning with their own eyes, and still turning around and calling them dogs that deserved it.

who are we? who are we??

[adrinktostopyourthirst]

Bucky Barnes | One Shot | Rebound

Part two to Underground

Pairing: Fighter!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Plot: You lose your last tether to the normal world and Bucky has to make a decision. You’re officially part of the Underground. Does he help you, or not?

Warnings: 18+. Angst, violence, fluff and smut.

Words: 5OOO

The demanding throbbing in your feet nearly feels delightful as you drag yourself home to your cramped apartment. As the sun rises and the city turns pink and orange, your building starts to come alive. Though you can barely manage to keep your eyes open.

You can tell the Underground is starting to toughen you up. You make longer days, are a bit paler in your face, making your features sharper, and the bravado you muster as you survive every night is surely something that has started to cling to your face and posture permanently. The people that start their days at sunrise, the ones that weren’t blipped from society and still have a life to return to, they walk around you in a big circle now.

It only makes you feel smug. The society slowly casting you out – starting to fear you.

However, your confidence has a short lifespan when you walk up to the front door of your apartment. The fresh paper with red capital letters stamped on it shouldn’t come as a surprise. You have tried to hold this moment off for as long as possible, going even as far as to take small side jobs in the fighting dome to make some extra money.

You suppose it was only a matter of time before you’d have the words ‘EVICTION NOTICE’ stamped across your door.

And your adrenaline spikes again, realising the time has come that you are officially homeless. You have been well and truly cast out by society, something both you and Natasha had been trying to fight and hold off for as long as possible. This is why the spy had introduced you to the Underground, to make some sort of living. And Nat had never judged you for staying in denial a little longer, even though you knew you would have to get used to the Underground fast, because it was only a matter of time before it would be your new home.

So no sleep for now.

You rip open the door and start packing, leaving all the old furniture that was already there and ending up with one big, stuffed duffel bag and a smaller bag. And then you stand in your place that is no longer your place and truly has never really felt like your place. You look around and feel angry …and hurt. After all, you have been chewed up and spit out, like so many before you.

You stuff that feeling far, far away and vacate the building right as de evening rolls back in. Evening already – since you have tried to put off this moment for as long as possible, have extended packing for hours. Since you don’t have a clue where Natasha lives, if she even resides in the country right now, you are forced to step to the one person you do not want to go to…

As you enter the dome, the place eerily quiet since the nightlife is a long way from commencing, you mildly greet the bartenders and crewmembers readying for the night. You scrunch your face at the stench, wondering if the place ever really gets cleaned. In the darker corners you see things that you decide are none of your business and you drag yourself through centre of the Underground, the capitol of dodgy business.

Making your way to the locker room, you breathe a sigh of relief when you find it empty. Finding a locker in the far back, you stuff it full with your last belongings and pray that none of it gets stolen. Maybe you can find a place in this building to sleep in. You have definitely seen other people crash here for the night, though you debate how safe you’d be. You hardly think you’d close an eye in a place like this.

Then, all the hairs on your body stand up straight.

You slowly turn to find Bucky staring at you, one brow quirked and that being the only sign of his curiosity. “Why are you already here?”

You swallow, “Just trying to get some extra work in.”

Neither of you have talked about what happened nearly a month ago. How you rode his leg with his fingers inside of you until you had one of the most intense orgasms of your life. And how that had been enough for him to come nearly untouched. Well, you say untouched, but you had felt just how heavy he was on your tongue and that’s where you wanted him coming next. Badly.

And you can’t exactly say the tension between you has shifted much. Something that made you realise just how high tensions between you already were. But you dropped it, so had he.

“You have to be careful with those side businesses,” he tells you as he turns to his own locker, one that does have a lock. “People will take advantage of a woman like you.”

“I can take care of myself just fine, thank you,” you snap at him and move to find your bag of supplies for the fight. You try to calm your breathing as you find the bag, kneel down and rummage through it, checking if you need to restock any of your supplies, if only to give yourself something to do for the upcoming hours.

But your spine stiffens again and it’s a little darker around you. So you turn and immediately stand up with you see Bucky looming over you. His eyes rove over your face, peering straight through to your soul, where it quivers before him.

“If you could take care of yourself,” he drawls, “you wouldn’t be homeless right now.”

You startle, “What? How do you know?”

He smiles, but it feels more vindictive than smug. “Because word travels fast, sweetheart, and a pretty girl like you on the loose is gold in the Underground.” He pauses and then his smirk turns smug, “Especially when she’s desperate.”

“I’m not desperate!” you squawk in outrage and he takes a step closer, close enough to feel his breath fanning over your face.

He clenches his jaw, eyes hardening. “What are you going to do?”

“I’ll figure it out.”

“How?”

“That is none of your concern.”

Bucky lets out a humourless laugh, tilting his head up and running his tongue over his teeth in annoyance before he lowers his gaze back to yours. “You see, it seems like I’ve signed a stupid fuckin’ contract where that is my concern. So please tell me you have a plan and I don’t have to intervene.”

“Intervene?” you sneer and roll your eyes. “Please, it’s not like you can offer me anything out of this place. You’re not here by choice.”

He quirks his brow, seemingly intrigued by that assumption. “Is that what you think? What if I was here by choice, huh? What if I chose this life?”

You fall silent at that, and decide to keep it like that. An argument with him won’t be worth it. Besides, what are you going to tell him? You have nothing and no one. You are officially at your wit’s end and for you, that is saying a lot. The silence stretches… and stretches…

“Give me something to do,” you tell him quietly –deflated– when he doesn’t break the silence either. You don’t see Bucky’s face soften when he watches the defeat in your face before you stare down at the ground.

Bucky’s skin prickles like there is electricity in the air. Because he’s angry. He’s pissed and furious and so fucking angry. That the world can spit out a woman like you, like it has let down so many good people after the Blip.

And the anger doesn’t cease. It only gets worse, like magma bubbling under his skin and boiling his bones. That night, he beats up opponent after opponent in what seems like a record time. People get killed in these fights all the time, they fight to the death all the time. After all, there are too many people and they know what they signed up for when they enter this place. Yet, it’s a line Bucky has never crossed, never will cross. Not anymore.

It’s difficult, to stay of this side of that line tonight. He wants to kill. He feels the soldier crawling under his skin, flipping knives in anticipation, begging Bucky to unleash him. And he thinks he has hardly been this angry before. Bucky yanks on that leash and fights, each punch and kick doing nothing to quench his thirst for justice.

Win after win, Bucky ruins everyone who dares to take it up against him. But he doesn’t hear the crowd – the screams for more blood and sensation, the cheers that he is the most dangerous man in the Underground. He only hears the rushing of his blood in his ears as he thinks about the woman the world has abandoned – as he thinks about you.

…

“Grab your bags. You’re coming with me.”

You gape at your two bags sitting on the leather bench and peer back at all of the lockers, each of them seeming like they have been ripped open with brute force, some of them dented in a manner that looks like a metal hand gripped its edges. You briefly glance at his metal hand and then up to his face.

Unflinching. His command and his face.

So you grab your bags and follow after him silently. Through countless of alleys and wild crowds that seem to think the night of violence has only just begun, even though the sky is turning lilac with dawn. You sometimes hobble to catch up with the soldier, your arms quaking under the weight of your duffel bag. But you keep marching onward, the last dregs of your energy fuelled by what is to come.

The stairs of the industrial building are almost too much, but you try not to stumble since Bucky is walking behind you and that would severely hurt your pride. The fatigue is making every step feel like torture, like you’re climbing a sandy hill and you have to move carefully to keep from slipping into the dark depths. When you do stumble slightly, the weight of your duffel tipping you backwards, you feel the faintest nudge of a warm hand at your lower back, just enough to tip you back and let you continue your trek up the stairs.

Bucky overtakes you at last and opens a door with around twenty locks attached to it, all of them unlocked. He walks in like it’s habitual and you trudge after him, your energy spiking enough to take in the sight. Bucky walks over to the floor to ceiling windows and rolls down the beige canvas curtains. Just as the sun peaks over the horizon of the city and orange light pours into what you can only assume is Bucky’s home.

It's big. Simple and imposing, but cosy nonetheless. There are plants, a fact that has you fighting to keep from smiling. And brown leather furniture, a beautiful and clean kitchen… You turn your gaze back to the man of the house, who is now standing beside a massive bed with cream sheets and fluffy pillows. Your eyes become bleary at the sight, sleep fighting its way to the surface and threatening to drag you to the floor.

Bucky panics slightly at the look on your face and strides over, grasping your bag from your trembling arms. He has to hold back from cursing at the thought that you must not have slept for over forty-eight hours and how dreadful the past day must have been for you.

He guides you to his bed and lets you collapse into the sheets as he pulls off your boots. Bucky knows you would have put up more of a fight if you weren’t so exhausted, but he won’t use it against you. Just like you didn’t use his weakness against him when you were massaging him.

That massage.

He cannot cast the thought from his brain. Never mind what followed the massage. The woman that was on his knees for him, that came around his fingers and was moaning for him so beautifully – she seems like such a far cry from the woman before him. How you can be so careful and feisty, yet such a dream when it comes to his most sinful fantasies. What you did to him in that locker room that day has been playing in his head on repeat. And he wants to slap himself for wanting to crawl beneath the sheets now, drag those clothes off your body, spread your thighs and bury his face between them–

He quickly stands from the bed and clears his throat, casting you one more look before he’s off to the kitchen area and refill his energy in other ways.

…

When you wake up, it’s dark again. It takes you a while to orient yourself, your body fighting off the heavy blanket of sleep you have been swaddled in. The bed below you is more comfortable than anything you have ever felt and the smell–

Pushing up to a seat, your body becomes alert of your surroundings just in time to hear the rattle of about twenty locks opening. In walks Bucky, slumping as he moves his bruised body across his own floors. He notices you, doesn’t pay you any mind, and then plants himself to sit at the edge of the bed you are laying in. He bends down with a quiet grunt, unlacing his boots and peeling them from his feet.

He seems exhausted. And judging by the darkness, he has called in an early night. You push off the sheets and crawl towards him. Bucky tenses almost imperceptibly, but you gently put your palms on his wide shoulders. You swear you see him shudder, before his back bends over more in relaxation.

“I lost tonight,” he tells you as you slowly circle your warm palms over his back.

He lost. That’s unlikely. Something must have happened for him to lose. He must have been distracted. Or someone new has joined the Underground. Something’s maybe different. Shit, you were supposed to take care of him yesterday. He’d fought harder than you’d ever seen him fight. He must have been broken this morning– But, no. He has fought fights without your care for God knows how long. It couldn’t have made a difference now.

“What happened?” you ask, doubtful he’ll open up to you.

His head snaps backwards and you flinch at the look in his eyes. “What do you mean ‘what happened’? You happened. Can’t fucking focus with you being all dramatic with your personal bullshit.”

You draw back. “Excuse me?! I don’t recall making my problems yours!”

“Well, they are now, aren’t they?” he snipes back and runs his hands through his hair in frustration.

And you think maybe it’s not you he’s frustrated with.

“What do you want from me?” you ask quietly. Timidly.

You barely hear him, his voice muffled by his hands as he speaks, “I want you on all fours.”

But you did hear him. Some part of you heard him, that’s for sure. The heat that left your body after your endless sleep is returning to you in a different form, pebbling your skin with anticipation. You swallow hard and barely manage to get out, “What?”

Bucky takes a deep breath and slowly turns to you.

“Lie on your stomach.” The order is soft, but so, so clear and not gentle by any means. You search his eyes frantically, but only find his immovable self. Your traitorous body lights on fire at what she finds. So you do as you’re told.

And you wait.

Two large, warm hands travel up your clothed legs. Kneading your calves, your thighs, until they knead your ass. You cannot help but push your hips back to seek the pressure. You feel his looming presence crawl over you and you hold your breath. Soft lips press to your shoulder that got exposed after your shirt slipped slightly.

His hands slip around your hips and under them. The feeling of your jeans popping open, makes your core throb with need. He pulls your jeans down, but not off. No, just far enough down for access and to keep you in place, barely enough give even allow you to squirm.

Then, you feel his weight press into your body and you could have never imagined feeling his weight would be enough to make you want to moan. That’s when you register the feeling of his hard bulge against your ass and you push up against him again. Bucky answers with a muffled growl against your shoulder, followed by a gentle bite as a warning.

“Careful,” he drawls, one hand holding him up slightly as his other spreads over your side and slips under your shirt to feel your bare skin. You shudder at the feeling and bite your lip, your fingers curling into the pillow below your head.

How is this even possible? How can you deteriorate so quickly when he has barely touched you? His breaths turn heavy against your neck and you twist your head to hear him better, your mouth so close to his now. You wonder why it is that his breathing is coming out more laboured, but the only thing you can come up with is that it’s plain old restraint that is stiffening his body, his lungs.

One of your hands reaches back and up, and you scrape the pads of your fingers over his stubble. Bucky’s grip on the sheets tightens and his hips roll down into you in response. His mouth attaches itself to your neck and he hums as he grazes his teeth over your skin, his tongue soothing the pain instantly.

“Bucky,” you whisper and he rolls his hips again. The hand under your shirt slides to your front and grabs your breast, kneading the flesh in his hand. Desperate, clingy. He groans.

Something is shifting between the two of you and you feel a rawness coming to the surface. You remind yourself Bucky is requesting this for a reason, but he might be lost in it. In you. Then, you hear him mumble against your skin. Something you’re not sure he wants you to hear, but you give a soft coo to urge him to repeat himself.

“Please,” he moans softly. “Please.”

His hand slides down and wastes no time before slipping into your underwear, his entire hand cupping your cunt as he rolls his fingers through your folds. You gasp and let out a moan, writhing your hips when you cannot choose between moving up or down.

He’s rutting into you like a starved man, his fingers indulging in their exploration like he’ll find salvation between your legs. You open your mouth to ask him what he wants, but he rolls his fingers over your clit and you let out a whimper instead, making Bucky nuzzle his nose right below your ear.

“You’re all warm,” he mumbles and kisses your neck, your jaw – so close to your lips. His fingers are torture, so devious yet so innocent. As if he’s completely content playing with you like this for hours. Your belly flutters and tightens and warms at the sensations he coaxes to the surface.

It’s selfish, what he’s doing. This is all him, trying to console himself.

“Don’t,” you breathe desperately and roll your hips into his hand. “Don’t tease, Bucky.”

“ ‘M not. Just feeling you,” he whispers and you open your mouth to fight him on it, but then his warm mouth covers yours and the moan that spills from your throat is sinful. His tongue immediately invades you and you melt as he consumes you everywhere that he can. One finger slips through your wetness and into you and Bucky inhales the response you give him, groaning in response.

He grinds down, so do you, completely out of sync and with mouths moving desperately over each other. You cling to your pillow with one hand and bury your other in Bucky’s hair, pulling when he adds another finger and his weight keeps you from moving into him more. You whine against him, sensations at war within you when he keeps playing with you like a selfish cat.

“I’m so fucking wet,” you whimper and Bucky grunts in agreement, nibbling on your bottom lip. “Just stop playing–”

Bucky laughs then – laughs – a manly chuckle as he nudges his nose against yours. You want to cry for mercy and your toes curl when his fingers do, making you clench around him tightly. Your orgasm is being dangled in front of you like a carrot and you wonder if he just wants you to feel the way he feels. Frustrated, angry. Like he has no control whatsoever.

But what he does next goes so fast, it makes your head spin. Your body goes cold when his fingers leave you and when his body rises from yours, leaving you behind. But your hips get lifted and the pillow below your head gets snatched and shoved beneath your hips. You try to move, if only to accommodate his inexplicable actions, but your jeans are keeping you from moving.

You feel him crawl over you again and this time, you do moan at the pressure, bending your back to press up against him. He grinds down in response and you feel the pressure of the pillow against your womb, shooting tingles through your limbs when you realise what he’s done.

One of Bucky’s hands slides over yours and pins it to the mattress, your fingers automatically curling around the security of his. And it’s nice, the feeling of him engulfing you. It feels safe and warm and insanely intense. You turn your head, hoping to find him near. Your heart swells when he presses a kiss to your cheekbone.

“I want to fuck you,” he murmurs against you skin and you nod frantically, making him chuckle again. “I’m not against begging for it at this point.”

And apparently, you’re not entirely gone, since your lips curl into a smirk and your voice drops to a low purr when you tell him, “Please beg for me.”

How ironic, to beg someone to beg for you. Though, your brief confidence doesn’t falter. If anything, it is about to skyrocket.

“Come on, baby,” he murmurs against your ear, his soft lips moving against the sensitive skin. “Let me inside you. Let me make you feel good.” He sounds so genuine, so depraved and full of longing. You have to swallow down the carnal desire that crawls up your throat. You nearly choke when you feel the tip of his bare cock nudge against your folds. “Open up for me. Let me slip right in and I’ll fuck you into the mattress, okay? My mattress.”

You nearly whine, all ready to completely cave for him. And then he finishes it with a whisper in your ear, “Please, sweetheart. Let me have you.”

Yeah. Yes. Oh, yes. You mouth the words, but no sound comes out. You might be slipping outside of your body. The way Bucky sounds – his voice so deep, yet needy. You can only nod your head and squeeze his hand, rubbing yourself up against the tip of him.

“Hm, good girl.”

He slides home with one easy thrust, pressing you down into the mattress and skating his cock over each of your swollen walls. You cannot form a sound, or a thought, or catch a fucking breath. Especially not when he rotates his hips slightly and presses down even further.

You nearly choke, quiet for a long second, before you heave in all the oxygen that you can manage, “Oh my god!”

He pulls out slightly and rolls back in, keeping you full and stuffed and only nudging your spot with the tip of him. Over, and over, and over–

“That’s the spot, huh?” he pants against your ear and ruts into you further. “Right… there.” You gasp on a whine and he presses a kiss to your temple. The pillow adds a delicious pressure and you wish to put your hand there, just to feel him move in and out of you.

It’s so perfect, so sating, so much and deep and– You didn’t know it could be like this. Didn’t know it was possible to suddenly realise how screwed you are for the future. How nothing and no one will ever be able to compare to this. To him.

Your orgasm crawls closer and it feels like nothing you have felt before. Your clit is throbbing and aching and your walls are hugging Bucky like he’s never allowed to leave. Your hips tighten and your shoulders scrunch as your orgasm clamps down on you like a snake ready to strike.

“Bucky, I’m–”

He tightens his grip on your hand and latches onto your hip. “Yeah, I know. Me, too.”

You hear the strain in his voice, the hint of disappointment and you scramble to get your brain back in order. “Come in me, Bucky. Come inside me,” you rush out through quick breaths. You can’t elaborate. You just need him to fill you.

He leans back over and slows his thrusts, his breath fanning over your flushed skin. “Yeah? You want me to make a mess of you? You want proof that I fucked you deep enough?”

You let out a grumpy whine and he laughs beautifully as he drops his forehead to the back of your head. He picks up his thrusts, slow and deep and steady. His swollen cock slides over every cushion inside of you and you shudder at how sensitive your are so close to your orgasm. But it comes quicker than you anticipated. You wanted him to go faster, but with this tempo, you feel the orgasm that is coming closer might drown you.

You open your mouth to protest, to tell him to speed up, but the wave has already reached the shore and your ears hollow out.

The tremors seem to start from within as you swell with pleasure, seizing around Bucky and threatening to curl up. You think you might be grasping for something to hold onto as Bucky remains consistent through your orgasm, fucking into you with a steady rhythm and meeting you with every contraction of your high.

It is so completely overwhelming that you barely feel it when he comes, if it isn’t for the litany of beautiful moans and whimpers from him against your neck. He bites your skin to ground himself through his own orgasm and then melts over your body, pulling your hand to his lips.

Bucky quiets his own breaths to make sure he hears yours and is happy to learn how sated and satisfied you sound with your soft pants. He crawls off of you and gently tugs you over on your back, smiling as he watches you bend to his will.

Peeling off your jeans, he keeps his eyes on you, mesmerised with the sight and the feeling of having you in his bed. A feeling he had yesterday, too. Not just lust…

Your eyes peel open and you peer down at him while he strokes his sweaty palms up and down your calves and thighs. “Is this part of my ruse as a physical therapist and personal nurse now?”

Bucky quirks a brow at your wit and you feel something unfamiliar at the relaxation on him. How he seems more expressive and gentle and less guarded.

“No, this is private.”

Bucky’s eyes rove over your body and you flush with warmth, both from his words and from his assessing stare. You feel him drip from between your legs and swallow, fighting the urge to close your thighs. But Bucky, ever the trained assassin, immediately notices and lets a smirk crawl over his face.

He leans down and presses his lips to your left knee, eyes narrowing in on your cunt. “I thought I was going to have a heart attack when you told me to come inside of you.” You freeze at his words and keep a close eye on him. “I fucking knew the sight would be good, but–”

He lets out a starved groan.

You sound wary, “Bucky.”

He spreads your knees and crawls down to kneel at the foot of the bed, tugging you towards the edge. Surely, he wouldn’t–

You throw your head back when Bucky dives head first between your legs, running a flat tongue through your folds. You’re not sure if it’s the taste or simply the idea of him licking you clean of himself, but Bucky growls and hauls you closer, nudging his nose against your clit like he’ll never find anything better than what’s between your thighs.

You cannot help but bury your fingers in his hair, the wild throbbing between your legs pushing your mixed essences out and onto his tongue where Bucky drinks it up appreciatively. His fingers dig into your flesh and it takes a while for Bucky’s ministrations to have any other purpose than to taste you. But when he sucks your clit into his mouth, you tug on his hair with warning, making him chuckle.

“You don’t fight fair,” you choke out and he grins up at you.

“Oh, sweetheart, if you knew what the prize was, you wouldn’t fight fair either,” he murmurs and moans in delight as he continues his feasting. “Now how about you give me that prize and come on my tongue, huh?”

No, Bucky didn’t lose tonight.

[rincent-van-uggh]

Thanks for prompting me to scrutinise the available information further.

Good news and bad news. Good news: No one will have to move to Detroit to find an empty home. Bad news: there's a lot of empty houses in LA, which is terrible, given how many people there desperately need to live in those. And how many more are paying through the roof for an artificially scarce resource. According to the source I linked before there are nearly 5 empty houses per homeless person in LA. I can genuinely see how you might be confused by the graphics and summaries at the top of that page into thinking that the empty houses are in Detroit and the unhoused people are in LA, but it is laid out quite clearly in the "Full Data" section that both cities have empty houses and unhoused people in them. Specifically, both cities have more empty houses than homeless people.

So housing supply is still not a problem.

How does this connect to homeownership?

Rent prices determine the value of a house as an investment. An investor pays some money now with the intention that they will make that money back over time, plus extra. So in buying a house, the price is based on its value as an investment. if you're buying houses as an investment, the price will be based on how much money you can make off it in a reasonable amount of time.* Even if you are just buying a house to live in, the fact that there are people investing in houses means that the investment value impacts the price for you too.

So to respond directly to your statement "rent controls will not affect the price of buying a house": yes, they will.

If you want to buy a house, you want house prices to go down, so that you can afford one. if the price is high because of investors/landlords speculating about how much rent they can extract, then the house prices will go down if rent goes down. so whether you want to buy or rent, anyone who wants themself and others to be able to live in houses wants rent to be controlled.

All that said I suspect you are a troll the way you 1. Suggest that I think Americans would be okay with being rehoused anywhere in the USA, even across states. Despite the fact that I did not say this, you just made that up, 2. said this was me, a Brit, failing to understand your country and 3. immediately follow that up with saying that a Brit would probably be fine with being rehoused anywhere within Great Britain ** since "the longest possible distance you could drive in-country can easily be done in a day"*** i.e. doing the exact thing you suggested I was doing (talking about a foreign country without considering how it differs from your own). Which is a shame. It would be nice if this were not the case. but I enjoy talking about this topic regardless, and you have genuinely prompted me to engage more with it, which I appreciate. Hence why I am replying anyway.

*this is also why landlords will almost always charge the highest rent they can. The price they bought the property to was based on how much rent they could expect to extract. If they choose to extract less than that, they are losing money on their investment.

**the fact that unhoused people from London are being housed in Birmingham (a city that is less than an hour away by train) is scandalous actually. due to infrastructural and cultural reasons that is just not a reasonable distance from their origin, especially given the number of empty houses in London.

***suggesting that 14 hours isn't that long is a very very foreign mindset. for cultural and infrastructural reasons no one would consider it reasonable to drive 14 hours. with a trip that long you are either specifically doing that as a challenge, driving from the top to bottom of the country, or you are horrifically stuck in traffic.

Homes are expensive because of landlords hoarding them for profit, not because of regulations.

[lesser-mook]

50 Cent Turns on Democrats

Migrants my ass, if they here illegally, fuck em.

If you did the process legally, welcome home.

More so,

If Capitalism is so goddamn bad, WHY is EVERYONE coming here then? This is how you know Communism & Socialism are full of goddamn shit , or at least? The people trying to turn countries into that. Those that talk the loudest about why Socialism works, are usually saying that in a Capitalist paradigm where their benefit is due to Capitalism, not the crap they’re preaching.

Mfs want you to believe being an American Nationalist is a bad thing,  Socialism should take over America..... or how about INSTEAD of the Socialists in America complaining, why not simply get the fuck out and go to a socialist country.

But here is where they stay anyway, why? People are full of shit.

Let them do their thing, let us do ours, these people trying assimilate America need to stop trying to morph us into something we're not. Just like you wouldn't go to China and tell them to become Capitalist: Reason number one, cause you know you wouldn't get away with that shit. Which tells you enough by itself.

Their Government will shut yo ass down, they can control the internet, thus they control the language, they control who sees the content, sounds a lot like Youtube. Coincidence? Oh yeahh, definitely. (Doesn’t smell like assimilation to me, no definitely not.) Sounds ideal doesn't it.

The Chinese are under lock & key, but you want to tell me what America would be better off as? While speaking freely online in a Capitalist country? 

Fuck. Off.

Live in America, then go to China with the same energy, give it 10 years, send a postcard and tell us how great it is.

If yer gonna complain about America, then face the issues concerning specific policy, not just an economic methodology because bitching and moaning about America gets you likes or makes you sound like you're ahead of the curve, when you’re just theorizing at best.

Point being, on policy--

 Why are we handing out resources to migrants that we're not giving to black people in Section 8 who need better environments for their American born babies or homeless that are shitting under Bridges, living in boxes, freezing to death.

Then NewYork has this policy going on where the inner city is being designed to be as anti-homeless as possible, to where benches are welded & have spikes on them to make homeless people feel pain if they sleep on them, even the sidewalk is off limits.

SO you don’t just give them opportunities to not be homeless or any of those empty ass buildings the city is NOT using, buuuut yer handing out free plane tickets & money to fucking migrants, who likely didn’t come here through due process????

What the fuck makes them so special?

How are AMERICANS  already here being treated no better than animals, living off low wages/tips  but invaders get handouts. What the actual fuck.

That sounds like Capitalism failing, but in reality, politicians on THEIR level simply need to take care of their own first. That’s it. It’s really that fucking simple.  

(Cause word to the wise, every nation has it's own problems regardless of what system they're using. If you know of a country with ZERO problems? Point us in that direction.  Or better yet, WHY aren't YOU living there already? )

We need that conversation being had more than college bums theorizing socialism is the answer when migrants are RUNNING FROM socialist /communist governed nations.

Getting a Passport, getting on a Delta flight and getting the fuck out of America is frankly, not that difficult.

Streamers for example, who champion socialism, WITH MONEY might I add, still won’t leave and remain here. 

Funny how that works.

If capitalism was really that shitty, the people that propose America should become communist/socialist, wouldn’t stay in America and they would fucking leave to a nation that already upholds their idea of ideal economy.

I repeat, they won’t leave. Because they’re all full of shit.

The world ain’t small, but thanks to the Airline system. It’s not as big as it used to be. The people wanting socialism have zero fucking excuse.

And on top of that, I repeat, WHY IS EVERYONE clamoring here & other Capitalist regions like the U.K, if Capitalism is so goddamn bad.

So sick of the gaslighting from mfs who hate America like a funky Ex-Girlfriend, won’t pledge, post pictures of themselves flipping off the land they stand on, “Capitalism, Reeeeee!”, have definite opinions, ready to debate pointlessly, and yet their ass is glued to American soil anyway.

[jocrude]

The Pitfalls of YIMBY-ism: Notes on a Freddie DeBoer article.

https://freddiedeboer.substack.com/p/the-more-density-we-build-the-more Some additional comments on this insightful article by Freddie DeBoer about Yimbys and the “just build” idea. Please read that article first, or don’t I can’t really stop you. Another shortcoming of YIMBY-ism and the "just build" mentality is that by aiming to petition developers to build more, it places its hope for combatting the misery of the working class on the bourgeoisie, rather than directly through/for the working class as an organisation. Realistically, how would you get the developers to build for you? Well, through political action. Now, if you want to take political action against homelessness, high housing costs, and just the general bullshit of being someone who must cough up their hard-earned cash to live like a human and not on the street like a feral animal: a.) You could spend your time as a political organiser organising tenants to fight for themselves for things like lower rent or housing first programs, which has the benefit of utilising already-existing resources rather than relying on new development (more on this later) and, most crucially, building the discipline, experience, consciousness and fighting power of the working class as a class for itself. History (of the labour rights movement, civil rights movements, etc.) has shown us that this is a highly effective, tried-and-true method for improving the conditions of the poor and the working class. b.) Or, you could organise to ask for more buildings, more development, which, in a capitalist economy, would come from the bourgeoisie and probably increase their profits. And of course, the bourgeois exist as bourgeois if/insofar as they generate a profit and minimise loss. If, in this era of great economic decline, the notoriously tight-fisted bourgeoisie would be so charitable as to provide workers housing, it would naturally entail all manner of cost-cutting, hidden costs for tenants, and other fuckery. Do we want houses or flophouses? A working class that fights for itself or a working class that is dependent on corner-cutting bourgeois vampires? Naturally, some would say "well, why not do both?" Am I making a false dichotomy? Political organising is like a second job, that you do without receiving any pay. Lord knows people who can organise even one political action are in short supply, and even if there were people committed/superhuman/masochistic enough to do two at a time, they would be splitting their commitment and brainpower and will between the two. Whole-ass one thing, don't half-ass two things. I also mentioned new development vs existing development: In many cities, there are more already-existing empty homes than homeless. And note also that often in these cities housing is often still very expensive. In places like here in Australia the housing bubble is just about all that keeps us from having the economy of a third-world country (not as much hyperbole in that statement as you might expect!), every capitalist is rubbing their hands raw to keep it pumped full of hot air. There is much more to housing costs than Supply And Demand™️.  How do we know that more development will translate into lower rent? More development translates into nothing but more development. And where does this development happen? And how? Knocking down perfectly good houses for high-density shitholes? Building on the green belt, as if the environment isn't fucked enough already? Near airports, factories, would mentally vulnerable populations benefit from heavy metal poisoning? And do our builders really need *more* silicosis? More at 7, only on Brass Eye. Finally, some would say, "well, the bourgeoisie will fight tooth and nail against anything that empowers the working class. It would be easier to ask for new development than to take the housing from them." Then why isn't the latter happening? I’ve seen tenant unions greatly increasing in popularity, whereas before 2020 it seemed a foreign word even to many leftists. I've seen armed leftists in America preventing evictions in their community. I have not seen any leftists, armed or otherwise, succesfully soliciting new development from the bourgeoisie. Perhaps that is for the best. https://anarchistnews.org/content/why-we%E2%80%99re-against-%E2%80%9Cmutual-aid%E2%80%9D This is a semi-related read about some of the points I bring up. The title is provocative but it's very good.

[tenthgrove]

500 Followers Celebration!!!: Part 1 (La Squadra Backstories)

Hey! Thank you so much for 500 amazing followers! Every single one of you mean so much to me!

Part 1 of this celebration is, as the title suggests, my headcanon backstory for each of La Squadra. As some of you know I was at some point in the process of writing a full multi-chapter fic on this, but since that unfortunately never came to fruition beyond the first couple chapters, here is a shortened version of the stories that were originally planned.

Part 2 is going to be a little something I wrote a while back but never felt brave enough to send to more than a few people. That will be seeing the light of day soon. ;)

Risotto

Risotto Dante Nero was born in a small, poor farming village in Sicily, somewhere in the vicinity of Catania. His parents were a young, dysfunctional couple who weren't ready for a kid in the first place. Seeing their newborn son had 'evil' eyes was the last nail in the coffin for them, and they gave the baby up to his paternal grandmother when he was only days old.

Despite being shunned by his family over the aesthetic defect, Risotto was able to form a close bond with his older cousin, Domenico, who would eventually move in with him and his grandmother after being disowned by the family himself. Domenico helped Risotto find friends, and was the main reason why the next few years were the happiest in the young boys life.

Unfortunately, Domenico was struck and killed at age just 19 by a drunk driver, a millionaire from Milan who on top of his intoxication, was driving incredibly fast. Risotto never recovered from the grief; his personality was altered drastically and he eventually dropped out of school. His grandmother indulged him in his revenge fantasies, believing that he would never seriously carry them out. This proved the biggest mistake of her life.

At age 18 Risotto left home to hunt down Domenico's killer. Despite the years of preparation he was in way over his head and was eventually forced to make a deal with Passione for the resources he would need to break into the mansion and not get caught. But the newly initiated mafioso found that revenge did nothing for his grief. Now, he simply had nothing to work for.

Risotto fell into a deep depression for the next two years, doing his duties as a low-ranking soldato for Passione but feeling utterly empty inside. It became so dire that after becoming injured in a fight with a stand user, he welcomed what looked to be his impending death.

But Risotto did not die that day, being saved by an associate of the gang and rushed to hospital. After hearing word that Risotto had defeated a stand user, Prosciutto became interested and approached Risotto for help with a hit he had been assigned to. Risotto agreed and Prosciutto developed a liking for the young man. A few months later, when Prosciutto was tasked with forming a specialised squad for assassination, he remembered Risotto and requested he become the team’s captain. Risotto was put through at once for receiving a stand, and was seated at the head of the brand new La Squadra di Esecuzione.

Prosciutto

Maiale Crepuscolo was born the daughter of a powerful Don in Naples, and his much neglected wife. Raised in luxury, he came to resent his callous father, especially when the man continued to behave adulterously despite his wife’s failing health. The death of Mrs Crepuscolo was a huge blow to her 16 year old son. It was around this time that Maiale discovered his male identity and chose a new name for himself: Prosciutto.

Mere months after the death of his wife, Don Crepuscolo married his pregnant mistress, a young woman by the name of Loreta. Despite the circumstances, Prosciutto and Loreta got on very well together, and the young man confided in her about his transgender identity, to be met with her full support. Any faith that Prosciutto may have had in his father before was immediately lost when Loreta was thrown out onto the streets by her new husband, along with their infant son Pesci. His sole reason for doing this was that he had become tired of her, and the baby's crying.

Without his father’s knowing, Prosciutto continued to wire Loreta and Pesci money through his hefty allowance, and counted down the days until he could graduate highschool and become eligible for his mother’s inheritance. The very day he gained access to it, he cut his father off for good.

The next few years of Prosciutto’s life were the best. He went to a prestigious university to study politics and afterwards found work as a journalist. With his father no longer an issue, he medically transitioned and upped the money he was giving to his half-brother and former step-mother. Everything was going perfectly.

At age 24, Prosciutto received a visit by members of Passione, who informed him they had annexed his father’s gang and killed him. As much as Prosciutto insisted they had been estranged for years, the men maintained that Prosciutto was still considered a threat, and could only be allowed to live if he joined the gang. Worse, they threatened him with Pesci’s life. Prosciutto knew he had no choice.

Over the next few years, Prosciutto worked his way up. By age 27 he was granted the privilege to develop a stand, and was quickly pushed into the assassination business as a result of its deadly power. At that time, Passione had no designated assassination team, and individuals ordered to carry out hits had to go running around for volunteers if they needed help on a mission. This is why Prosciutto had sought out Risotto.

When the order to form a hitman squad was given, Prosciutto was initially primed to become the captain. However, he was strongly against taking this role, as Loreta was starting to show signs of chronic illness and Prosciutto wanted to make sure he could still take care of Pesci if it became necessary. Tasked with finding an alternative, Prosciutto initially approached his old friends Sorbet and Gelato, who had been part of the squad sent to confront him after the death of his father and had kept in touch out of pity. The pair were cleared to join the team, but were not trusted by the team’s superiors to become captain. And so, Prosciutto turned once more to Risotto.

Sorbet and Gelato

Sorbet and Gelato could not have been born in more different circumstances, the former in absolute poverty, and the latter in comparative privilege.

Sorbet’s mother was by no means a bad woman. It was just the case that through her crippling addictions and mental illnesses, she was in no means equipped to care for her 6 children, forcing Sorbet, the eldest, to pick up the slack. Though he loved his siblings the young Sorbet resented this role and was easily tempted by a street gang at age 12, who offered him escape from his miserable life through drug peddling. Sorbet began to drift from his family more and more. He soon disappeared from school, and became completely estranged from his mother and siblings.

By age 17 Sorbet had developed a reputation in the gang for ruthlessness, and was approached by its leader to carry out a number of assassinations. He soon became the group’s designated hitman, and was paid generously for the role. He was still however, functionally homeless.

Gelato was born to an upper-middle class family in Minsk, Russia. The youngest of four boys, his parents had been hoping for a girl, and their resentment only grew when it became clear the young Gelato was both autistic and ADHD. He suffered from extreme emotional neglect.

When Gelato was 13, the family moved back to Italy where his mother was from. Though he preferred it here, the problems with his family continued and Gelato was eventually kicked out at just 17 years old.

Following the word of a friend, Gelato made his way to Naples and found work running an illegal bar for a street gang in exchange for a room to sleep in. The same gang, incidentally, that Sorbet was working for. The two first exchanged words when Gelato found Sorbet beating up a patron who had been abusive to him, and decided to join in. Within weeks, they were lovers.

One night, while Sorbet and Gelato were asleep upstairs, the police raided the bar. In a panic, Gelato shot two, and Sorbet took out a third. The fourth got away. Knowing they would be hunted, the pair begged refuge from their gang but were denied. They were not a powerful enough syndicate to deal with something of this size. And so, with only each other, Sorbet and Gelato fled Italy.

They were on the run for two years, passing through just about every country in Europe at least once. As a means of surviving, they took on assassination contracts from local gangs and became very skilled, but of course this only turned up the heat to catch them. Eventually, it got too much, and in a final desperate bid to avoid capture, the pair went back to Italy to plead their gang to reconsider.

What they found now in charge of Naples was not their gang, but Passione. A capo by the name of Pericolo listened to their story, and agreed eagerly to dissuade the police from pursuing them in exchange for their loyalty to the new gang. Sorbet and Gelato agreed at once, and developed stands soon after.

Formaggio

A Naples Boy through and through, Formaggio was born in the central city to a large, loving family. Owing to their poverty, all the aunts, grandparents and cousins lived in one house. Although many were part of the mafia, it was always stressed to the children they were under no obligation to choose such a life. Nonetheless, many of them still did.

One night, Formaggio’s eldest brother Miguel sneaked off from the house, telling nobody but Formaggio. His goal was to seek initiation into Passione. The young Formaggio pleaded to come as well, but was told he was not ready yet. Miguel returned a couple of hours later, carrying a metal arrowhead. He told his brother that something unexpected had happened, and he needed to go now, but it was vital Formaggio told nobody of this meeting. He promised it would all be worth it in the end.

Years passed, and Miguel did not return. Then one day- a hastily-written letter, addressed solely to Formaggio. In his final message, Miguel apologised for the absence and announced that he did not expect to survive the next few hours. However, if Formaggio wanted the answers to all that had transpired, all he needed to do was recover the arrowhead that he had last seen Miguel with all those years ago. Most likely, it would have been returned to where he found it, address enclosed. Saddened and eager to understand what had happened to his brother, Formaggio followed the instructions and broke into a heavily guarded warehouse. He found the arrow, just as Miguel had said, but failed to understand how this could solve his problems.

Formaggio looked for a way out of the warehouse, and was suddenly set upon by the guards. He ran for the exit and tripped, impaling himself on the arrow. Little Feet came forth at once, stunning the guards. Not wanting to deal with whatever that was, they called in Risotto and his newly built execution squad, based nearby, to deal with it.

Fortunately, the assassins’ skills were not needed. In spite of the circumstances Formaggio met the assassins with charm and cooperation. Risotto phoned his superiors to see if killing the man was really necessary, and they agreed it wasn’t, provided Formaggio became Risotto’s business. An agreement was reached, and Formaggio was inducted into the hitman squad. It would take two more members for Formaggio to piece together what had happened to his brother.

Ghiaccio

Ghiaccio was dealt an awful hand in life. Poor, and with parents that hated him, he had little respite as a child. He was autistic, but never diagnosed, and had visual impairments that were never addressed. His fondest memory was of a bizarre couple he met as a child, a dark-haired, dour man and his blond lover, who kept him company after his mother walked away from him in anger at a shopping mall. She came back, unfortunately.

When Ghiaccio was 15, a frantic knock sounded at his door while his parents were out. Answering it nervously, an equally frantic man stood on the other side brandishing an arrow-head. He introduced himself exhaustedly as Miguel and begged for shelter- he was being chased.

Before Ghiaccio could answer a squad of men burst onto the porch and attacked Miguel, dragging him out of view. Ghiaccio was thrown to the ground and told in no uncertain terms to speak of none of this to anyone. It wasn’t until later he realised the arrow had accidentally slashed him.

At that time, Ghiaccio’s soul was not fit to manifest a stand, but it was close. And so, Ghiaccio began to suffer the slow, agonising fate that some in his position fall victim to, his half-manifested stand slowly sucking the life from him. His parents didn’t even have the heart to call a doctor.

Two months into this agony, Ghiaccio heard something outside his room. His parents. They were talking about what to do if he died. He’d had enough. He snapped.

And so, Ghiaccio’s soul reached the point where it was strong enough to bare a stand fully, after having already partially manifested one. This unheard of situation created a stand with no physical form, but unspeakable power. A surge of ice broke out around the house without Ghiaccio even meaning it to, killing his parents at once. His sickness gone, Ghiaccio got up from the bed. What the hell had just happened?

Convinced he had lost his mind, Ghiaccio fled, but left a trail of unexplainable events behind him. Realising they were dealing with an unaccounted stand user, Passione had Ghiaccio hunted down and propositioned to join them. Terrified and with no other idea of what to do, he agreed. With a stand like this, there were only 2 options: La Squadra and La Unita. La Unita had no interest in an impulsive teenager, so Ghiaccio was sent at once to La Squadra.

The group was reluctant to house a teenage boy as an assassin, but took him in nonetheless. Formaggio was grateful for the crumbs of information Ghiaccio could give about the fate of his brother. Sorbet and Gelato couldn’t shake the feeling they’d seen the boy before somewhere.

Illuso

He was an only child. There was nothing particularly wrong with his relationship with his parents, but nothing particularly right either. There just… wasn’t a connection. They were a middle class family, well to do but nothing special. An arrogant boy, Illuso struggled to make friends, though he did become somewhat close with a boy in the year below him named Formaggio, for a short time.

When Illuso was 15, his parents came to him with a proposition. A distant relative of theirs was in possession of a large castle, but could not pay for its upkeep any more. The man had asked if Illuso would be interested in becoming a live-in caretaker, to be paid less than industry standards but still a lot by the standards of a 15 year old boy. Illuso agreed at once, and moved out of his parents home in a matter of days.

At the castle, his loneliness only grew. The place was closed to visitors and had no inhabitants apart from his new employer, who even then only lived in the castle 4 days a week. Illuso thought he was okay with this life, but the effect on his psyche was indisputable.

Then one day, the castle had a break-in. Illuso was accosted by a young man named Miguel, who had been squatting in the cellar for days and believed the castle was abandoned. The pair came to an understanding, and Miguel proposed that in exchange for his silence, he would give Illuso something amazing. He pricked him with the arrow.

Thrilled with his new power, Illuso agreed to keep Miguel’s existence a secret and the pair co-existed for many years. Illuso learned that Miguel had stolen the arrow from a gang named Passione, after discovering its power and making the decision to take it on impulse. Passione is still hunting him, hence the need to hide.

But eventually, they found him nonetheless. Illuso and Miguel tried their best to fight but it was an uneven battle. Miguel fled with the arrow, chased by one half of the attacking squad, leaving Illuso to deal with the other half.

But against all odds, Illuso survived, using his stand to eliminate the attackers one by one. Eventually the last attackers gave in and fled, The next people sent to confront Illuso came with a deal: join Passione, and all will be forgiven.

Despite his stand’s power, Illuso’s superiors disliked his attitude. After a few months of being thrown between teams, he was saddled with La Squadra.

Melone

The middle of three children, Melone was born to an upper-working class family in Florence. His parents were eccentric-academic sorts, who encouraged Melone and his sisters to act without regard for social convention. Though intelligent, Melone was never quite top of the class due to his inability to stay on task. Still, he got into a decent university and had plans to become a gynaecologist.

In his second year, Melone was approached by a poor couple seeking antenatal care for their pregnancy. As they explained, they were in a gang and could not go into public care for fear of their identities as criminals being discovered. They pleaded Melone for whatever rudimentary checks he could provide, just so they could have some assurance their baby was okay. Melone agreed, and met with the couple several times.

Over the course of the next year, Melone gave similar services to a couple more women who were recommended to go to him by the first patient. It was only a matter of time before the university discovered what he was doing, especially once he started stealing equipment to improve the quality of his examinations. Melone was expelled and referred to the police, but one of his patients got Passione to bribe away his charges. Unfortunately, this put him in their debt. Melone told his family he was simply going away for a while.

Melone languished around in Passione for a while. Though he did receive a stand, its lethal capabilities weren’t immediately clear, and so he remained in the lower ranks. His main respite was the bar scene, in which he got to mingle with many of Passione’s members from different squads. It was through here that he met Illuso, Formaggio and Ghiaccio of the execution team, and formed a friendship. Through them he even formed links with the group’s leader, Risotto.

The team were eager to help Melone advance to a better position, and aided him in exploring his stand. Eventually, he discovered how lethal baby face could truly be, outshining everyone’s expectations. Risotto was pleased to welcome him into the team.

Pesci

By the time Pesci was 13, it was clear his mother’s illness was terminal. Initially reluctant to involve him around the team, Prosciutto increasingly allowed Pesci to stay with them while his mother was at the hospital, since there was nowhere else for the young boy to go. As much as everyone tried to comfort him, he was terrified.

Two years later, it was clear Loreta was in her final weeks. Pesci dedicated as much time as he could to being with her, sleeping at her bedside more often than not. It was here that he first felt the strange occurrences begin. It would be subtle at first, the peculiar feeling of his mother’s heartbeat in his hands as he drifted off to sleep. It was comforting, then. It assured him his mother was still alive. Then, it got weirder, a long string extending from his fingers and into his mother’s chest. He thought he was just sleep deprived.

When the fateful day came and Loreta’s heart monitor stopped, Pesci felt a surge of panic. Desperate to find some proof this wasn’t really happening, his stand burst forth from his body and shot its hook into Loreta’s chest. Unfortunately, it was all for nothing. Loreta was dead.

As Pesci held the rod in his hands he realised this was far too real to be a hallucination. He could sense everything, the fading metabolism of his mother’s body and the vibrations in the floor. As the nurses confirmed the death, they could not see it. Why couldn’t they see it?

Prosciutto came into the room. With one look, Pesci knew that his brother could see the rod as well. He panicked and ran.

Prosciutto tried desperately over the next couple days to get in touch with Pesci. He knew exactly what had happened- clearly the boy had summoned a stand from the anguish of his mother’s death and had freaked out in confusion. That’s all completely understandable, but if Pesci isn’t informed of what his new power means soon, he could get himself into serious trouble. Especially if Passione found out.

And so, Prosciutto set off with Risotto to hunt Pesci down, eventually finding him at a run down park near his childhood home. Prosciutto comforted him and explained he knew what was happening, but if everything was going to be okay, he had to go with them.

[reiven2017]

Delicate steel.

Chapter 3.

Lately, she felt worse than usual and listening to the words of the teachers, Rachel knew that she should listen, or at least not be distracted, but all she had the strength to do was just slowly watch from the side as her brain turns off and her soul leaves her mind. It was a strange state of emptiness. If only old death would mock her, taking away, then returning life and watching it as if it were a scene from a TV series. Rachel just snorted at the flow of bad thoughts. But no matter how much Roth tried to deny reality, reality did not want to leave her and Raven had to admit to herself that after unsuccessful attempts...she's getting worse.

Rachel barely flinched when the disgusting ringing of the school bell reached her ears and shivered again, shifting in her chair. It was chemistry, this subject had never caused Raven any problems or not ligaments, but now she frowned at the barely completed test and in one quick movement shoved it into the pile of others, wondering what would happen after. The figure should not worry Rachel much, but for some reason she felt like a fool.

Raven clucked disapprovingly at her behavior, attracting the attention of some people. If she's going to keep whining, she should at least wait until she gets home. She looked around the audience, stumbled upon the fact that half of the class had safely left the lesson, and the other was intensely discussing the test and finding nothing interesting for herself, pushing her chair back with a creak, began to collect things.

For some reason, this action aroused the silent interest of her classmates. They gave her a close look and Rachel was sure that she heard the word "Mouth and strange" several times in their sentences, but decided to keep it to herself, only smiling with one corner of her lips at this. She was quite calm in such situations. Rachel never tried to have communication with someone and this was the norm in her behavior, even when it caused disapproval from society, she simply allowed people to call herself a country. The only mistake in the conversations at the last school made much to be desired and left some scars on her, so Raven with firm confidence did not want to repeat this. Rachel winced wearily, feeling a subtle tingle in her temples and she stopped in the doorway of the classroom.

Of course, we didn't need Rachel Roth's migraine for a full ass.

======

The road to the house took no more than half an hour and Raven breathed a sigh of relief when she saw a white fence in front of her and a strange garden gnome who reminded her of a homeless man. She slipped through the fence, hoping that she did not fall under the attention of her very sensitive neighbor, Mrs. Rogers, who considered it her civic and even heroic duty to monitor every plot standing on the street. Rachel glanced at the windows in the neighbor's house, noticing that the lights were not on anywhere and mentally thanked God for such luck.

Mrs. Rogers was a plump lady, in the very, as she herself said, the dawn of strength and energy, with a rather fancy nachos on her head resembling a poodle. She had narrow blue eyes, but she always looked at everyone with a squint that seemed from a distance it was only two blue stripes. She had a button-up nose, like the most aristocratic lady, and she always kept white gloves on the belt of her floral dresses. In general, she was such a not very kind, but very curious woman with an overestimated sense of elegance and royal chic. So when Mrs. Rogers saw Rachel on the eve of the party in shabby jeans and a stretched T-shirt and Oh my God!without a bra, it seemed to the girl that she was declared war without any warning.

For this reason, now the Mouth was trying very hard not to catch her eye. She didn't care much about this woman's opinion, she always felt like talking to her during an interrogation and wondered if other people had the same thing, but it was easier to get around the problem than listening to an hour-long monologue about how Lady should behave.

Rachel darted across the yard just as quickly, almost hitting a flower pot and killing lilies, when the front door finally closed behind her. She cast a frown at her sneakers, with the remaining pieces of earth from the battle with the lilies, and was reaching to take them off when she heard her mother's voice coming from the kitchen. - Ria, is that you? She heard her mother talking to Ben in the kitchen, too quietly for Rachel to hear, but enough to arouse suspicion and the girl mentally tensed. From the kitchen there was a variety of different smells of food and it was quite strange for an ordinary Friday. Rachel finished with her shoes and was about to dive to the second floor, annoying herself on the topic of why her mother was so prepared, when the doorbell rang behind her, and voices were heard on the street. She could recognize this voice from a thousand others.

Oh, no.

Mrs. Rogers.

Raven was ready to literally howl with despair.

Angela came around the corner in time, dressed in a blue dress and with perfectly smoothed brown hair, which was a rarity, and clicked disapprovingly at her daughter's martyred expression. - Don't make such a plaintive look, honey, yesterday I told you that I invited our neighbors to our house for dinner. - Rachel stupidly patted her eyes looking at her mother. Mrs. Roth's eyes narrowed menacingly. - Just don't you dare say that you forgot. Raven batted her lashes again, but her mind was still racing.

Oh, yes, that day you decided to listen to Rachel Roth.

- We will talk about this topic again, young lady. - her mother finished sternly, and Raven realized that her death was close and was willing to at least die at the hands of her own mother than from the chatter of Mrs. Rogers. Angela pulled a smile to her ears, rushed to open the door to the guests. Rachel wearily lowered her gaze to the floor and her eyes involuntarily widened. Hands.

Fuck.

Rachel continued to pick at the vegetable stew with her fork, remotely listening to the conversations of adults. It had been an hour since their friendly neighborly gatherings and Raven was ready to personally dig a secret passage with a spoon to escape. At first, she received a contemptuous look from Mrs. Rogers, then she found out that Mr. Rogers was quite silent and neutral in his behavior, which Raven immediately liked, the next shock was that this woman has a child and even more, the same age as Rachel, and this gave way to a conversation on the topic " They will become friends!".

Raven lifted a despondent gaze from her plate and looked at the opposite side. Amelia Rogers. Yes, if Rachel imagined her neighbor's child, then everything was not so sad in her thoughts. Her curly blonde hair was pulled back into a tight bun and tied with a pink bow, a white cardigan, a mint knee-length skirt from probably Grandma Raven's time, and shoes. A set like from the TV series Poirot for some flower seller whose husband died on the same flowers. Not that Raven was the one who judged people by their clothes, but she judged by Mrs. Rogers. She carefully watched how Amelia sits, sometimes says something quietly, and then buries herself in her plate. Rachel couldn't stand it. Mrs. Rogers didn't even stop watching the girl as she ate.

Probably in my mind calculating whether she holds her elbow at the right angle.

The thought made Rachel chuckle softly, and she immediately regretted it when Mrs. Rogers ' narrowed gaze fell on her. Raven swallowed hard. She was ready to sink through the ground even if only to avoid the beginning tragedies from this look.

- Mrs. Roth, I heard from Amelia that your daughter has become one of the best students in the school in such a short time. - Rachel appeared, or she heard the teeth of this stone woman grinding. She cast a quick glance at Angela, who was smiling broadly like any mother, pleased with the praise of her child, looked at Amelia sitting in front of her, holding her breath, and mentally groaned. This was the beginning of a great tragedy.

- Yes, Rachel can be proud in this regard. Studying has always been quite easy for her. Raven smiled tightly at her mother, hoping that everyone present would believe this, but she continued to watch Mrs. Rogers carefully from under her brows. She looked sternly at her daughter, pursing her lips, seeming to accuse her of something that was clear only to them, and Rachel frowned. And what was that just now?

- It's wonderful, it's great when children spend time studying. Angela would have liked to put in a word, but Mrs. Rogers continued sweetly without paying attention to her. - Although, when I first saw Rachel, I did not think that Amelia meant her. - The woman smiled sweetly, covering her rather unpleasant words and sipped her tea as if nothing had happened. - Jeans, a split T-shirt and hair...I will always be categorical against an unnatural hair color and I could not even imagine that this girl would overtake my daughter over the past few weeks. Raven was sorry she hadn't put laxatives in her tea. She looked at her mother, who was taken aback for a moment, not knowing how to react to these words, but then she caught herself and tried to put a friendly tone in her voice. "Rachel, honey, would you be so kind as to show Amelia your room?" At the sound of her name, Amelia jerked her head up and looked at Rachel for the first time. Roth thought she saw a flicker of interest in her eyes. Rei nodded dryly to her mother and did not even look at the guests as she left the table. Raven waited for Amelia to follow her before leading her to her room on the second floor.

As soon as the door to her room closed, Rachel wasn't the only one who breathed a sigh of relief. - Fuck. 

Fuck.

Raven did not immediately realize that these words came from the mouth of that sunny girl Amelia. Who had not uttered a word at the table under the gaze of her mother and who was now sitting impressively cross-legged on her bed. Amelia continued in a tone that didn't match her outfit at all. "Sometimes?" Raven arched a questioning eyebrow at her, receiving a short laugh from the girl in response. She shook her head thoughtfully, and then smiled wryly. - Okay, always. - Amelia.. - Amy. Call me Amy. I can't stand being called Amelia. after a pause, she added cheerfully. - I feel like a flower in a flower bed. Raven smiled with one corner of her lips. She liked Amy better than Amelia.

Amy stood up, her eyes caught on the poster on the wall and smiled.

- I'm glad to find someone in this hole who appreciates the Rolling Stones band. Amy Rogers is always at your service. she held out her hand to Rachel in a friendly gesture, and Roth returned the gesture. She smiled wryly, looking at this handshake, but inwardly shuddered with panic and mental pleading. Her heart began to beat faster, and Raven swallowed hard, unlike Amy, her palm was not so perfect. Raven hoped that this would go unnoticed by her new friend.

- Rachel Ariella Roth. But you can call me Raven. - she saw a playful smile flash across the face of her new friend.

- Wow. I thought they called me shit. Rachel rolled her eyes at this comment, her palm remained in Amy's grip and she still felt the tension in the muscle from this contact. She noticed how Amy was carefully examining her from head to toe, lingering on Raven's hair, which was scattered around her shoulders in disarray, and was already ready for another portion of ridicule.

- And to be honest, the hair fell off the heads. Is it pink? Or purple? My conservative maman will probably allow me to paint mine only in the next life. -  Amelia continued cheekily, releasing her hand from her mouth and from her grip and sitting down on the bed again, tucking her legs under her. Raven hoped that Amy didn't hear her soft sigh and glanced at her palm, crossed her arms over her chest. She swallowed convulsively, thanking God that everything was fine.

- It's not paint. Raven cleared her throat, and Amy stared at her questioningly, eager for an answer. Rachel already mentally regretted that she continued this topic, and did not say her usual "oh,yes". But to some extent, she really liked Amy, which is already difficult to do, especially considering that they have only known each other for a couple of hours and it will not be possible to return their words. - I was born with this hair color. - Cool. Amy said in surprise, but immediately grabbed the phone when the melodious symphony of the bell rang. Raven smiled to herself. She was sure that Mrs. Rogers had chosen the bell. Roth saw a flash of displeasure on Amy's face and she made a displeased grimace at Raven. - Yes, Mom...I got it, okay, I'm already going down. - Amy dropped the call, muttering something else into the phone with displeasure, and Rachel could almost feel how she swore so dirty. Amy jumped to her feet deftly, straightening her skirt and straightening up, smoothly walked past Rachel. - Well, what? Do I look like my maman? Amy asked, twirling her eyebrows merrily. - No...and this is good. - Amelia laughed. - I like you, Raven. - she said honestly, and Raven stared at her stupidly, having no idea how to react. - It was nice to meet you, I hope I'll see you at school tomorrow? 

 Rachel smiled softly at this and nodded curtly. Amy seemed satisfied with this answer, and with a parting wink at Raven, she headed for the exit. Just as she was leaving the threshold and closing the door, Amelia suddenly stopped and nodded at the box in the corner of the room. - And what happened to the mirror? Rachel swallowed dryly and suddenly felt like she was running out of air. - I squeezed my mouth out of myself, and bit the inside of my cheek, trying to show something like a smile.

======

Last night, she found herself really looking at her figure in front of the mirror. Her skin became several shades lighter, even having a natural dead pallor and convinced that there was nowhere else to go on white, Rachel looked at herself in the mirror with mute surprise, noting how ghostly and angular her body had become.

Not that she considered herself an ideal of beauty before, no, Raven was normal, and her hair was quite abnormal, it was a riot of colors from the roots to the tips, but now it was strangely frightening to look at her body and not recognize it in the reflection of the mirror. Her numerous tattoos contrasted so vividly with her skin that they seemed to glow with black funnels and Rachel was unable to understand and determine the time when her body became alien to her.

The girl gently ran her fingertips along the curves of her body, circled the roughly protruding collarbones, followed the bone on her wrist with her eyes, and with a contemptuous grimace, pulled her hand away as if from fire. It was painful, scary, and completely unexpected to look at myself.

It's disgusting.

The sarcastic voice of reason sweetly reminded her that this was her handiwork, it was only her own fault, bothering and bothering her every day, it seemed with the sole purpose of driving her crazy and Rachel got angry. Her fists clenched involuntarily, and her knuckles turned white from such pressure, and in the dry silence of the night room, the wet sound of blood drops hitting the tile was cut through. Raven looked down at the floor and bit her lip, feeling the salty taste of tears and tried her best to restrain the plaintive moan that was ready to break from her lips as emotions one by one flooded over her. She frowned, opened and closed her eyes, squinted and threw her head to the ceiling, as if trying to bring back tears from shame, from guilt and excitement, from a caustic feeling of euphoria, but she continued to feel stupid. Oh, Gods, she was so stupid. What happened in the past should not matter in the future. She kept repeating it to herself throughout the whole evening, like a memorized mantra.

And she almost  believed it, picking up the fragments of the bloody mirror from the floor.

[crystalstar8]

Knights of the Night (ch. 5)

Chapter 5

Ch 1, ch 2, ch 3, ch 4, ch 5

https://archiveofourown.org/works/29139240/chapters/71536491

pairing: Jungkook x oc

genre: vampire au, college au, twilight, romance

word count: 1,942

warnings: blood (obviously), kidnapping, child kidnapping, needles, France

notes: vampires, vampire au, college, college au, so many twilight references, blood, needles, kidnapping, children, homelessness, dance, ballet, flashbacks, romance, slow burn, probably no smut, idk yet tho, France, French things, attempted genocide, inaccurate French history, bisexual main character, @strawberriewithchocolate-blog @mozy-j  @daechwitad-2​

summary: Catalina starts college in a small town all the way across the country. She doesn’t know anyone and isn’t exactly looking for friends. She just wants to focus on dance. But when she meets fellow dance major, Jimin, and adventurous, fellow freshman, Jungkook, Catalina ends up discovering a whole new side to the small college town; one that is dangerous but oh so enticing...

               “Come downstairs and meet our new friends!” said Hoseok.

               Catalina’s eyes widened when she saw the person coming around the corner upstairs. He was bookmarking the book in his hands and closing it. As he walked down the stairs, Catalina took in his sharp, intelligent eyes, his full lips and otherwise soft features. His hair was styled delicately over his forehead, his shoulders were broad, his chest was big, even under his sweater and…

               Catalina knew those thighs.

               Jungkook choked beside Catalina and nudged her.

               “Thighs,” he whispered. Catalina nodded.

               “We saw you in the souvenir shop the other day,” said Catalina. “I’m sorry, uh, my name is Catalina.”

               “It’s nice to meet you,” Namjoon said with a smile, his dimples appearing. Catalina blushed. He was way too gorgeous. “Yeah, Hoseok and I stopped there on our way into town the other day. I think I remember seeing you two there.”

               “Oh! You guys work at the souvenir store!” said Hoseok. “I knew you looked kinda familiar.”

               “Yeah, we’re only there on the weekends,” said Jungkook. “We’re only gonna be working for the season.”

               “It seems like an interesting job,” said Hoseok. “You’ll get to see all the tourists.”

               “You guys are all students?” asked Namjoon. Catalina, Jungkook and Jimin all nodded. He asked them about their majors and what kinds of classes they were taking, which they happily answered until Catalina caught a glimpse of the time.

               “Guys, it’s three am,” she said. “We should probably head home.”

               “Oh jeez, we have that stupid French class at eight tomorrow,” said Jungkook.

               “We won’t keep you then,” said Taehyung. “Classes are important.”

               Taehyung walked them all out, through the front door this time, and the three friends began making their way back to the car.

               “Well, that was interesting,” said Catalina. “We didn’t die, so that was cool.”

               “I thought they were all pretty cool!” said Jungkook. “I mean, still a bit weird, but cool.”

               “Taehyungie wants me to teach him how to play video games,” said Jimin.

               “He wants you to teach him?” Jungkook asked with a laugh. Jimin smacked his arm.

               “We’ll be learning together,” said Jimin.

               “That’s so cute,” said Catalina. “You already have a nickname for him. Anyway, I have a question: why the hell were they all so attractive?”

               “I was thinking the same thing!” said Jimin. “It didn’t make any sense! Like, normal people don’t look like that. They were way too beautiful.”

               “We’re normal people though,” said Jungkook. Catalina and Jimin looked at him in confusion. “I mean, we’re hot too. Sometimes people are just hot.”

               “We’re like, normal people hot though,” said Jimin. “Those guys were like…gods or something.”

               “Yeah, way too pretty. Perfect skin, perfect hair, all charming,” said Catalina.

               “Red eyes,” Jimin mumbled.

               “Okay fine, they were unusually pretty,” said Jungkook. “I’m just glad we got some awesome footage today. I can’t wait to dump this.”

               “Okay, well don’t do it tonight, because we do have class tomorrow morning,” said Catalina.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

               Catalina was running again. Always running. Her feet were bare and her lungs burned. The concrete beneath her feet gave way to metal grating. Her footsteps clanged and echoed here as she made her way through the tunnels. She glanced behind her. It was dark, but she could see a set of red eyes approaching her, almost glowing. These eyes weren’t the ones she was used to. These were mean. These eyes looked at her like she was prey. The man who the eyes belonged to walked, as if it didn’t take much effort to chase after her. He had a sickening smile on his face.

               Catalina needed to get out of these tunnels. If she could get back to her friends, they’d protect her.

               “Here, kitty, kitty,” the man said, his voice mirthful. “Don’t you know trespassers get eaten, little kitty?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

               “I don’t remember what he looked like, but I remember what he said,” Catalina said to Jungkook as they made their way to the library. “He said, ‘Don’t you know trespassers get eaten, little kitty?’ Just like in your story.”

               “That’s creepy,” said Jungkook. “He had red eyes though? Was he one of those guys from the house?”

               “No, definitely not,” said Catalina. “I remember thinking about them, and you and Jimin, and thinking that I needed to reach you guys because you’d keep me safe. This is the first time I could remember so much.”

               “I wonder what these dreams mean,” Jungkook said as he opened the library door for her.

               “Thanks. Yeah, I have no idea,” said Catalina.

               “Maybe they’re prophetic,” said Jungkook.

               “God, I hope not,” Catalina said as they approached the table. Jin and Jimmy K were both sitting there, textbooks open.

               “Well, well, well,” said Jin. “Look who decided to finally show up today.”

               “You don’t have to greet us like that every time,” said Jungkook as Catalina laughed.

               “How are you guys today?” asked Catalina.

               “Now that you’re here? Fantastic,” said Jimmy K with a wink.

               Catalina blushed and said, “Okay, that’s enough, captain.”

               Catalina and Jungkook sat down as Jin began their tutoring session and Jimmy K studied silently beside them.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

               “So, game night,” said Jimin. “Do either of you know what to expect tonight?”

               “Nope! I’m just excited to sit around and eat,” said Catalina. “Take a right up ahead.”

               “Where? There’s no driveway, oh wait,” Jungkook turned into a somewhat overgrown driveway, hidden by the woods. “Also, we have a premier to watch!”

               “They’re gonna love it,” said Catalina. “Jimin, did you have fun yesterday?”

               “I did! Hoseok is a really good dancer,” he said. It’s been a week since they broke into the house and met Taehyung, Hoseok, and Namjoon. Yesterday, Catalina and Jimin had invited Hoseok to a freestyle session in the campus studio. He was happy to join them and show off his moves. They all ended up teaching each other different styles, but it was mostly Catalina and Jimin asking Hoseok to teach them the pop and lock style he was so good at.

               Jungkook’s car pushed through the heavily overgrown driveway until they reached cobblestone, which led right up to the mansion. Catalina closed her phone map and said, “Well, it’s good to know there’s an easier way up here.”

               “Yeah, I thought we’d have to keep hiking up those rocks every time,” said Jungkook as he put the car into park. The three friends piled out of the car, arms full of snacks, wearing their comfiest pajamas. The porch lights of the mansion were on, illuminating Taehyung as he opened the front door.

               “Welcome!” he shouted. “Did you find it okay?”

               “Yeah, Hoseok texted us a route,” said Catalina.

               “You guys and your fancy telephones,” said Taehyung. He let them in and they all took off their shoes. “So, we were thinking some board games tonight. Or card games. Or a game Hoseok described to us called Pictionary. Or we can just chat. Or-“

               “Tae, that all sounds great,” said Catalina.

               “Right, sorry,” he chuckled. “Here, follow me.”

               They followed Taehyung through a few halls before entering a cozy lounge. Big plush couches lined three walls, a flat screen tv was mounted against one wall and a low coffee table sat in the center of the room. Hoseok and Namjoon stood up from the couch as they entered. The smile fell from Taehyung’s face.

               “Where’s Yoongi?” he asked.

               “He said he wasn’t in the mood for game night,” said Namjoon.

               “Who’s Yoongi?” asked Jimin.

               “He’s our other roommate,” said Namjoon. “He’s been tired these days.”

               “He promised!” Taehyung pouted. “He told me he’d come to game night.”

               “Let’s go find him then,” said Hoseok.

               “I’ll go with you!” said Catalina. “I really want to see the house.”

               “Me too!” said Jimin.

               “Me three,” said Jungkook.

               “Okay, Tae tae, Namjoon, you two stay here and set up a game. I’ll give these three a tour,” said Hoseok. They dumped the snacks onto the coffee table and followed Hoseok out of the room.

               He led them through the massive house, through rooms so grand, Catalina wondered how big this house actually was.

               “This is the library,” said Hoseok. The room they were in was enormous. The ceiling was cavernous and domed and the bookshelves towered high.

               “This is an impressive collection,” said Catalina.

               “I know, these guys do love their books,” said Hoseok. “They’ve been collecting for years I guess.”

               “I’m sure,” said Catalina.

               Hoseok then led them through several hallways then showed off his bedroom. His room was so unlike the rest of the house, it felt like stepping into another world. Everything was bright and colorful, there were brand posters all over the walls and an impressive shoe collection beside the closet, which was open and showing off an array of colorful clothes. Hoseok then took them on a walk through the conservatory. There wasn’t much growing right now. It was mostly cracked marble and empty pots.

               “Maybe we can fill this room with plants next summer,” said Hoseok.

               “I garden with my mom every year,” said Jimin. “I’d love to help.”

               “That would be very nice,” said Hoseok. “This house deserves to be put back together again. It’s just so pretty.”

               He then led them back through the house. As they walked the halls, chatting about their classes and classmates, Catalina could hear the faint sound of a pipe organ.

               “Ah, he must be in the auditorium,” said Hoseok. Catalina’s eyes widened.

               “The auditorium?” asked Jimin. “You guys have an auditorium in here?”

               “With a pipe organ?” asked Catalina. Hoseok chuckled and rolled his eyes.

               “I know, right?” he said. “These guys are so dramatic. I guess they’re used to a certain lifestyle and they’re all rich for some reason…I mean, back in collage, I was happy when I could afford a cup of ramen in my one room dorm.”

               They followed the sound of the pipe organ until they came to the auditorium. The three friends gasped as they entered. The auditorium wasn’t huge, but it was incredibly elaborate. When Catalina was about twelve, her mother had taken her to a show at the Detroit Masonic Temple. This auditorium reminded her of the Masonic Temple auditorium, all carved wood and velvet seats. Up on the stage was a huge, ornate organ. The pipes lined the walls near the ceiling, emitting long, haunting notes. A man sat at the organ, hunched over the keys.

               “Yoonie-boonie honey-baby!” Hoseok shouted in his loudest, cutsey-est voice. The man at the organ stopped playing. Hoseok skipped down the aisle and hopped up onto the stage. “We have visitors, come meet them!”

               The man turned around slowly to look at them. He was just as beautiful as the other residents of the house. His eyes were dark red, just like the others, catlike and tired. His round face was pale, his lips in a slight pout.

               “I thought we weren’t having humans at the house,” Yoongi said. Hoseok laughed loudly, slapping his knee.

               “We’re all human here, so I’m not sure what that means!” said Hoseok. Catalina and Jungkook laughed along with him as Jimin just looked at them with wide eyes. Yoongi seemed like an interesting character. “Come to game night with us. I miss my honey-boy Yoonie bear.”

               Yoongi stood up and looked down at Catalina, Jungkook and Jimin from the stage.

               “It’s nice to meet you,” he said. “Will there be food at game night?”

               “I brought salt and vinegar chips,” said Jimin.

               “I brought chocolate,” said Catalina. Yoongi pointed at her.

               “A woman after my own heart,” said Yoongi. “I’ll come.”

[jj-ktae]

Papers, III

Title : Papers Pairing : Park Jinyoung x Fem!Reader Genre : Victorian Era, Romance, Fluff, Angst, smut-ish, Words : 4881 Summary : In the merciless 1850′s, Park Jinyoung finds solace in tiny pieces of paper and their owner.

Will be updated every Wednesday at 9 p.m CEST. (I will probably have to change the schedule because of tumblr.)

Thank you @jaebeomsmullet​ for the amazing banner ! 

Prologue - I - II - 

III, 

You feel odd. Your encounter with that gentleman is still printed into your head, the words repeating and causing a whirlpool of unusual anxiety.

Why did he sound so indignant? What caused such a hatred toward rich people when he obviously studies in an expensive school?

Maybe he is one of these rebellious kids, preaching peace and equality around the country. You’ve seen them in your neighbourhood, all kind and sweet with people like you who “are as deserving as the rest of the population”. They are usually from wealthy families and try to fight for what they think is right.

Maybe he is studying while fighting inequalities.

Vivienne quickly kills your theories as soon as you go back to work the next day. No one seems to mention the incident, even though you both came back home feeling paralysed from shock. You thought you were going to be yelled at, but it is like nothing happened.

“Aunt told me there are students who aren’t rich. It is now common for rich people to do charity.” She explains. Her arms are getting sore from the intense scrubbing in the offices but she works harder, eager to get it over with. “She mentioned it is usually directed toward homeless children.”

You stop sweeping the solid oak floor, head tilted to the side. “These people help random children in the streets? Why would he hate them, then?” It doesn’t make sense, this gentleman sounded like he was about to burst.

“I thought so too…” Vivienne continues, before taking a deep breath and stretching her arms. “but then Aunt said these actions were not made upon real kindness of heart.”

You aren’t surprised.

You finish working quietly, your mind troubled with theories about who that gentleman could be. Your peacefulness isn’t as lovely as what you predicted and upon realising your mind cannot forget about him, you enter yet another room.

--

Jinyoung is unable to erase the memory. It is so unlike him to lose his temper. He knows himself, he knows he can be choleric but control had always been his strongest weapon, especially in that jungle they call society.

At the same time, he hates having to keep himself composed.

“That is a very barbaric way to greet a young lady.” Jaebeom utters. He lifts his head to peak at his silent friend before leaning against the wall.

Jinyoung snorts, eyes opening to find a rotting ceiling. “You are unbeatable at consoling people.”

“You tend to function with admonishment. If no one tells you where to stop, I’m afraid you’ll end up killing someone with your hatred, Jinyoung.”

Jinyoung knows. His anger is swelling along the years, probably because with age comes realisation. What was unfair back then is unbearable now. He turns around abruptly from his spot on the dirty couch, his face aiming for Jaebeom’s composed presence. “She looked exactly like we used to when we were frightened of being beaten to death. You should have seen it, how she was expecting me to destroy her whole existence with the back of my hand. Is this what life is supposed to be about?”

Jaebeom thinks for a minute and almost seems moved; he knows too much about that fear he has yet to exorcise.

But he shakes his head, too slowly to announce he is going to agree. “Only us are responsible for our fortune. No one is going to take us out of here. Charwomen and maids have enough to do, they do not need you to add to their misery.”

“How are you suddenly taking everyone else’s side?” Here it comes again, the wrath. Jinyoung has no idea how it became to uncontrollable.

“Jinyoung, I am on your side. I, too, have been beaten, have lost my parents, have been trying to survive. No one else understands you better than I do. Jackson has been working for us and all I can do is watch him kill himself and for what? Look at this room, look how disgusting it is. Nonetheless, we cannot hate everyone. We can blame the rich if it pleases you, but we cannot hate the poor for following them. We are on our own already and I don’t want to end like a recluse.” Jaebeom parts from the wall, his hands now into the pockets of his stained jacket. “Hatred is going to destroy you more than it will build you.”

He pats Jinyoung’s shoulder before leaving.

From his spot on the dirty furniture, he closes his eyes again as he hears his friend utter about the bread being mouldy again.

--

“I will definitely pay you back for your help! Thank you!” Vivienne has other things to do today. She mentioned her aunt being very sick so you decided to stay and finish cleaning in her place. Only a couple of offices are left so it shouldn’t take long. You are thankful for that; your back has been in pain for the past weeks.

It happens a lot when the weather is humid.

Being a charwoman is hard, but it is easier than any other occupation available. It is convenient for you don’t have to meet with anyone but your direct superior and it is quiet. The school is always empty whenever you arrive, making the tasks more peaceful and bearable.

That is, until someone makes a scene for no acceptable reason.

Come to think of it, it is ridiculous for someone to be mad at you for not despising the rich. How did he expect you to react? Doesn’t he know how easy it is to maim one’s life? You brush the thoughts away when you’re finished. It’s a little mistake bound to never happen again. Everyone has their own worries and you have plenty already.

After all, there is so little you can do to change things.

You feel your bones crack when you stretch lazily, your neck now stiff and hands burning from the strong detergent. You are thirty minutes away from bed and board - it sounds less pitiful that way - and you cannot wait.

The evening is moist and warm, adding to your damp skin and tearing shivers down your spine. You grab your holed cardigan, letting it swipe the floor as you pass the big wrought-iron doors and stop when you find him, again.

He wears no sign of resentment for his face is relaxed, lost even. He takes a few steps toward you when he finds you staring.

“Good evening.”

His voice is deeper than you remembered, but you don’t have the time to ponder on his tessitura. Your hand hurriedly goes to your stained dress in order to bow respectfully. You don’t know who he is and you would rather not risk it a second time.

He seems to have quite the bad temper.

“There is no need for such greetings.” He stops you mid-way, a careful hand prompting you to abandon the useless movement. “I am of the same...social standing.”

You blink at him, Vivienne’s words echoing at the back of your head.

“Is there…. anything you need?” You try carefully, your face straight. You cannot let the incident affect you.

Jinyoung looks around the building, expecting to see your friend arrive and silently hoping she would come just a bit later. “I wish to discuss...about our previous encounter. Do you happen to have time to spare?”

He seems too careful to be that gentleman who almost barked at you. Still, you don’t feel like pushing him away. Despite all the commotion, his eyes captivate you whole.

You nod, turning around when these same orbs appear to be restless and looking for something.

“My friend is already gone.” You explain, sensing he might be looking for the person who is too familiar to be a mere workmate.

Jinyoung nods, reacting quickly before someone walks by. “There is a garden, this way.”  He takes a step back and nods toward an empty bench between trees; the one you oftentimes find when your legs hurt too much to walk back home just yet.

He lets you lead the way, his hand into his pockets and looking prudent.

You sit without waiting, the thought of him being of same class enough to erase all plans of acting according proper etiquette. You see he doesn’t mind, or probably doesn’t care for he sits slightly away from you, his legs and arms now crossed. He leans and turns, his face now on full exposure and absorbing all the clouds’ hues.

He is surprisingly gracious, even wrapped into miserable clothing.

“I would like to ask for forgiveness. I didn't mean to be such a brute and speak so harshly. I lost my temper. If anything, I am relieved you are the one I have been corresponding with. Before you ask, I knew it was you as soon as I saw the way you were looking at the notes.” He begins, his tone steady.

“Why do you...speak this way?” You ask. He seems awfully polite for someone of the same background; god knows how uncommon it is for the lower-class to be so conscious of each-other.

Jinyoung doesn’t understand. “How do I speak?”

“Like I am of high upbringing.”

“What is a high upbringing?” Jinyoung cannot help but ask, his face now genuinely confused.

You sigh, not grasping the situation. “I am poor. You can speak comfortably.”

“I am only respecting you. Everyone shall be addressed with respect, regardless of upbringing or whatever you want to call it. Do you not agree?”

It doesn’t surprise you. You’ve heard enough of him to understand his intentions. It matches with his previous words and actions. This gentleman can’t abide this society.

“I do. I do but it doesn’t matter nor changes anything.” You answer, turning around on the bench to face him.

Jinyoung hums, before the hint of a smile blooms on his usually stern features. “It just did. While I am sure no stranger ever treated you with respect, it just happened. How does it feel? Do you not want it to happen every day?”

“It is unusual. I am not sure whether I feel comfortable or not.” You admit, quite amazed by his tricks.

“I wish everyone would. Do not misunderstand; I am no idealist but I wish for things to change.” Jinyoung continues, his arms now relaxed as his hand finds his cheek to let his head rest on it. “It is why I acted the way I did. My passion is bigger than my brain.”

You chuckle at the comparison. Passion is something you’ve lost long ago. “You’re not the regular type of student.”

“When I see my fellow classmates, I can definitely take it as a compliment.” Jinyoung hoped for a serious conversation. He had prepared a ton of sentences, full of apologies. Now everything is gone and he is left with only himself and your rather composed self.

“But, what makes you so different?” You question, eager to know more. Maybe it is because he looks and sounds mysterious.

Jinyoung hesitates and takes a proper position on the bench, before clearing his throat. “Background. It makes a big difference and it is not a story you wish to hear but I am willing to share if you do the same.”

You nod, adopting the same posture on the bench. You have all the time you need.

--

This gentlemen’s name is Park Jinyoung and he is an orphan. It is the first sentence he uttered when he recounted his story. He probably left a lot of gruesome details aside but it looks detailed. From the burning of the building where he lived to how he ended in coal mines like every kid. He mentions a man who paid for a couple of the kids’ education as the reason he ended here, before explaining how he wishes to become a famous writer. He is smart, brilliant even, from the way he speaks to how he expresses his emotions.

He looks nothing like the enraged gentleman in the amphitheatre.

“When I put that first piece of paper under the table, I was convinced I would correspond with another boring and over-mannered student.” Jinyoung finishes, glancing at you.

“I might not be as entertaining.” You admit, eyes glancing back but unable to hold the same intensity.

“What is entertainment anyways…If anything, I am glad it was you.”

You freeze, the mere thought of being sufficient to anyone enough to block your every joint. No answer leaves your mouth, but Jinyoung doesn’t need any.

“How about you share your story now, art student?” He even jokes, his smile building wrinkles around his eyes.

You cough.

Jinyoung listens, looking really absorbed when you explain how your father left your family when you were a kid. You try to say as much as you can think at the moment. It is difficult to gather the information but you succeed, deliberately keeping some things to yourself and mentioning only the bearable details too. This gentleman doesn’t need to know everything right now, he has enough to be able to leave the stranger zone, but too little to be a confidant. You refuse to admit you are actually ashamed of sharing the darkest part of your life.

Jinyoung isn’t surprised. He lets you finish and claps his hands two times, speaking about unlucky people and misery. He insists on walking you home and you agree. He who was so out of reach earlier is now close at hand and relaxed.

And as you expected, you enjoy his company.

Jinyoung does, too. He was supposed to find you and apologize before disappearing but his literary personality brought him beyond borders. He doesn’t try to explain it, not in the mood to resolve the enigma.

Deep inside, he knows.

You are leaving when he stops you, his voice slightly quivering as he asks for another encounter. You tell him that he knows where to find you and he promises to show you something at school the next time he sees you.

When Jinyoung gets back home, he greets Jaebeom with a smile. The latter is surprised but not shocked.

That night, he lets them eat his share of food.

Sleeping is impossible despite your level of exhaustion. The evening repeats, endless and replaying Jinyoung’s careful composure. You let it invade you, captivated and curious to know more about him. You fall asleep to him and his unexpected ideas about a world where no one should suffer.

--

“Vivi, stop saying such nonsense!” You don’t want her to imagine things. Vivienne is into romance and fairy tales so it is normal to see her squeak in delight when you tell her what happened.

“Are you going to see him again? When?” She is ecstatic, her agitated hands doing a poor job covering her high-pitched voice. You shake your head, unable to find the answer to such a simple question.

You don’t know when he will find you again. You know nothing about his whereabouts but he knows your schedule and that makes it all extraordinarily exciting. You are almost eager to head to work in hope he will appear magically, at any corner.

But for a whole week there is no sign of Park Jinyoung. Even though you walk back home with heavier steps, even though you stay longer than usual, he is nowhere to be seen.

Maybe it was just common courtesy. He did act like quite the gentleman so he probably wanted to make it up for that first encounter. That must be it.

“Patience is a virtue.” Vivienne speaks one night upon arriving where you live. “He will show up.” she seems confident with her tiny smile as she leaves you by your door. She has obligations she cannot postpone.

“Y/N?” You hear when you close the door, a heavy smell filling your nose. You rush toward the voice, gasping when the horrifying scene appears before your eyes.

“Mother, what happened?” You almost cry, kneeling in front of a bleeding woman. Her face is soaked with tears and her body is so rigid it is almost impossible to make her move.

“A rough...client.” She speaks through gritted teeth, her split lip painting a red line on her chin.

It happens sometimes. Your mother would come back abused and hurt.

“Why don’t you stop, mother? You don’t have to- You don’t-” your tears are heavy with remorse when you find her, gasping for air that isn’t going to rip her probably broken ribs. “I can do it; I will do it so stop working there.”

She glares at you, looking more pitiful than threatening. “Do not think about setting a foot in that nightmare ever again. I will not let my daughter...sell her body.” She finishes, torn between rage and sorrow. “I am sorry for not being able to give you what you deserve.”

“It’s fine, mother. It’s fine.” You help her lay down properly and sit by her side, not reacting when she mentions she wasn’t able to bring money today.

It is the darkest point in your story. You like to think you can live with the thought of your mother working in a brothel but you don’t. She always does her best to show you a positive side of herself, celebrating when she brings enough money to buy two miserable sausages and silent when younger prostitutes are preferred to her company - leaving her without a single coin. She never talks about her occupation in hope it’ll be forgotten in the middle of hardships but you see it; you see the blood-stained fabrics and hear her cries deep in the night.

It is a common occupation. Prostitution is the easiest way to have sufficient money and a lot of young ladies and women resolve to work into brothels. The ones who wander the streets alone never end well, their encounters ending badly more often than not. Therefore, brothels are so busy; no one wants to sell themselves without any sort of support.

But for what? Brothels do not care about their workers; the women are abandoned when deemed useless and fired without any consideration. You hate that world, you hate how easy it is to lose all humanity for dirty money.

You have to survive although it hurts is what your mother said while taking your place in the brothel. She gave her dignity away upon seeing her daughter deprived of her innocence and ordered you to find a proper occupation.

She must have had enough of you coming back smelling like alcohol and tobacco, limping until your body would crash on the floor, shaking. You were never mad at her, it was your decision, as stupid as it was. You feel guilty now, guilty for letting her take your place and deteriorate her body even more.

“I will bring something to eat tomorrow mother, I will be paid.” Your income is ridiculous but it is better than nothing.

She answers incoherent words, her head lifeless on the dirty bed. You look at the blood stains on her dress and close your eyes.

You hate it here.

--

Jackson is exhausted. He walks with difficulty, his cough getting worse with every night he spends at the mine. He cannot attempt his training sessions anymore but he jokes about it being useless and not worth his time. He also refuses to let Jinyoung or Jaebeom go, pretending he prefers working there anyways.

Both Jinyoung and Jaebeom have to force him to stop.

“You can take care of him better than I will. I’ll take his place tonight.” Jinyoung says, already aiming toward the door when he hears Jaebeom begging him to be careful.

“I will try.” he answers, before leaving.

“You two shouldn’t go there…” Jackson speaks, his voice even raspier than usual. “You two have the potential to make it out of here. I have nothing but thick skin. I can do this.”

“You have to stop saying this.” Jaebeom looks mad but he is merely trying to hide his fear. “We can’t make it out of here and even if we do, we won’t sacrifice you. Stop being so stubborn and let us work, too. We won’t break.” He finishes, ignoring the flashing memories.

Jackson brings him back into reality. “Don’t be dumb. I haven’t been sacrificing myself all these years for you to fail now.  We all know I am lucky to be breathing. You two better become famous or I will haunt you in the afterlife.”

“I promise I will kill you myself if you ever joke like this again, Jackson. Just sleep, I’ll wake you up when I’m done with the potatoes.” Jaebeom orders, walking away before he starts sobbing.

Life is too messed up.

He knows he has always been the weakest one. Jackson has a strong body; he endures everything and never gives up. Jinyoung has immense willpower; his determination makes him the toughest. Unlike Jackson, he doesn’t cry.  

But what about him? He was the quietest as a kid; the one who would follow without questioning. He had the weakest body because of an accident where he fell right on his head and hurt his back in the process. He is the oldest but can barely support his own brothers. His eyes find his notebook, filled with poems he wishes to show the world. One day, maybe, he will consider himself as a man.

As Jaebeom pokes a potato he hears Jackson, way too loud to be considered in bad shape.

“You better not be thinking about negative things, I’m warning you!”

He chuckles, the tears stopping from falling into the boiling water.

“I’m not!”

--

“Hello.”

You jump, the broom falling from your hands and hitting the floor. Jinyoung is standing against the opened door, his arms crossed and a tiny wound visible on his eyebrow arch.

“Hello…” You trail of, bending to pick the fallen object.

“May I wait for you to be done with work?”

You blink, observing Jinyoung’s face which looks puzzled when confronted to your silence. He balances himself from one foot to the other.

“Are you okay?” Jinyoung insists, tearing you from your trans. You nod clumsily, barely able to answer before Jinyoung turns around to greet someone.

Vivienne appears from nowhere, sweaty and looking like she has been running around the building

“Oh- Oh! You are the gentleman from the other night!” She stops next to Jinyoung, her eyes communicative in a not so subtle way. “We are almost finished but,” she walks toward you and grabs the broom, wrapping her arm lazily around your shoulders. “I can do it by myself!”

You look at her, then at Jinyoung who snorts, looking slightly surprised to see such an upbeat person standing next to you.

“If you are free, I would like to show you something.”

“This young lady is totally free to go.” Vivienne bows, her arm now pushing you violently to make you react. “I will see you later!” She then turns around, signalling there is no way to escape your fate.

You look at Jinyoung with a timid smile which he answers quickly before taking a few steps back. “After you.” he almost chants. You thank him, still at a loss of words. You have to wake up at some point and try to hold a conversation but it is as if your brain stopped functioning.

You hear Jinyoung’s steps next to you, echoing in the halls as he proceeds to tell you where to go. The walk is silent but none of you mind; you both have issues you need to ponder over.

The school is filled with marvellous places and gardens. You never dared wandering at its heart but you couldn’t help but notice the few rooms and plants, full of flowers blooming in the thick nature. It’s an old but elegant building.

Jinyoung makes you turn a couple of times but it’s enough to take you to a new aisle, one you never set a foot in. It looks like it isn’t used because it is empty.  He takes the lead and stops in front of a door before opening it.

“It is my favourite room. I don’t come as often as I used to.” Jinyoung lets you enter, his hand revealing a big and illuminated room. “It’s the perfect time to come here.”

it is indeed. The room is filled with paintings, from the walls to the floor. Some of them are dusty, others look new. The colours are melting together perfectly and are drinking the last traces of the sun which invites itself behind the windows.

“This is where they store the paintings from the classes.” Jinyoung arrives behind you but doesn’t stop and aims for the windows. he opens the thick glass and takes a deep breath. “It is so quiet around here.”

There are only trees on that side of the school so no one walks by and Jinyoung is thankful for that. You watch him lean against the window frame, the wind sweeping his hair and for a second he looks like that gentleman in romantic books.

You join him quickly, his aura attracting you unconsciously. “Why did you want me to see this room?” you try, both glad and hesitant.

“You seem to be in need of peacefulness, just like me.” The gentleman explains, finally turning his head to find your distraught orbs. “Today more than anything, I want to pretend only I exist. Or maybe I want to disappear.” he chuckles.

“I feel the same, without the room to hide myself into.” You joke, raising a hand to hide yourself behind the last sunbeams.

“Feel free to use this room when needed. Once the school is closed you are free to wander these walls.” Jinyoung offers, his eyes not leaving your face as you start playing with the lights and their warmth.

How much of waste is it to look this stunning but to be considered like dirt.

He finds a tear falling down your cheek and it makes him speak faster than intended. “What is the matter?” he presses, leaning to arrive at your level and inspect your face.

You shake your head, observing his features and noticing a couple of tiny cuts signalling he must be shaving regularly.

“If someone were to be hurt while trying to make your life better, would you feel guilty or enjoy what you have as a token of gratitude?”

The question takes Jinyoung off-guard. It hits so close to home that it hurts for a second, the images of a Jackson wheezing and coughing already haunting. He opens his mouth, not noticing the proximity as he picks the words carefully before he ends in the same state as you.

“I would want to enjoy, but guilt would take over. Knowing me, I would be blaming the whole universe instead of doing something useful. there is so much I worry about, so much I can’t find the force to face.” He speaks words which are true. Jinyoung doesn’t know how to deal with the guilt so he fights. He haunts, in search of a new element to hate so he doesn’t end up despising himself for being so useless.

“What is worrying you? I personally don’t do any of these. I do not enjoy nor do I fight. I live through the days, ignoring the pain of my own blood which is too often spilled.”

“Is it about your mother?” Jinyoung knows this much. You mentioned living with her and your eyes are too bloodshot for it not to be about someone as dear as a parent.

He understands he got it right when you start crying. You cry so loud it almost scares him but he quickly recovers, his face turning toward the nature outside.

Unfortunately, he knows too much about the sacrifice of a parent not to understand your sorrow. “There is nothing a parent isn’t willing to do for their infant. I discovered this at a young age.”

It makes you stop crying instantly, remorse taking over once again. “I’m so sorry- I didn’t mean to-” you sigh, muffling more pitiful noises because you are being completely insensitive and complaining about your mother while he is an orphan. “I shouldn’t be so childish when there are people who couldn’t-”

Jinyoung’s head appears, almost like a whip. “Don’t. Don’t speak like you are pitying me. If you want to cry go ahead, I promise it will not make much difference. You have the right to worry about your mother and feel like you are useless. You are no dead weight though; you are alive and breathing and it is the most important thing for her. Parents want their kids breathing, let it be air or dust.”

You feel even more sorry when you hear his resilience. You nod furiously, melting in numerous tears as Jinyoung grabs his sleeve to wipe your messy face. He cleans it as thoroughly as he can, from the salty drops on your eyelash to your runny nose. He brushes your sticky locks away from your face before patting your head softly.

“Let’s leave my worries for another encounter, young lady.”

[newstfionline]

Friday, July 30, 2021

Alaskan coast 8.2 magnitude earthquake was the strongest one in decades, official says (CNN) The 8.2 magnitude earthquake that struck off Alaska’s coast Wednesday night was the strongest one since 1964, an official told CNN. The very strong quake was located about 56 miles (91 kilometers) east southeast of Perryville, Alaska, and happened around 10:15 p.m. Wednesday, the US Geological Survey said. “This event was felt throughout the Alaska Peninsula and Kodiak,” according to the Alaska Earthquake Center.

Homes lose water as wells run dry in drought-ravaged basin MALIN, Ore. (AP) Judy and Jim Shanks know the exact date their home’s well went dry—June 24. Since then, their life has been an endless cycle of imposing on relatives for showers and laundry, hauling water to feed a small herd of cattle and desperately waiting for a local well-drilling company to make it to their name on a monthslong wait list. The couple’s well is among potentially hundreds that have dried up in recent weeks in an area near the Oregon-California border suffering through a historic drought, leaving homes with no running water just a few months after the federal government shut off irrigation to hundreds of the region’s farmers for the first time ever. Officials have formal reports of 117 empty wells but suspect more than 300 have gone dry in the past few weeks as the consequences of the Klamath River basin’s water scarcity extend far beyond farmers’ fields. Worried homeowners face waits of six months or more to get new, deeper wells dug because of the surging demand, with no guarantee that those wells, too, won’t ultimately go dry. While much of the West is experiencing exceptional drought conditions, the toll on everyday life is particularly stark in this region filled with flat vistas of sprawling alfalfa and potato fields and normally teeming wetlands.

Biden orders tough new vaccination rules for federal government (AP) President Joe Biden on Thursday announced sweeping new pandemic requirements for millions of federal workers. Federal workers will be required to attest they’ve been vaccinated against the coronavirus or else face mandatory masking, weekly testing, distancing and other new rules. The newly strict guidelines are aimed at boosting sluggish vaccination rates among the four million Americans who draw federal paychecks and to set an example for private employers around the country. The administration encouraged businesses to follow its lead on incentivizing vaccinations by imposing burdens on the unvaccinated. Rather than mandating that federal workers receive vaccines, the plan will make life more difficult for those who are unvaccinated to encourage them to comply. Biden also directed the Defense Department to look into adding the COVID-19 shot to its list of required vaccinations for members of the military. And he has directed his team to take steps to apply similar requirements to all federal contractors. Biden also urged state and local governments to use funds provided by the coronavirus relief package to incentivize vaccinations by offering $100 to individuals who get the shots. And he announced that small- and medium-sized businesses will receive reimbursements if they offer employees time off to get family members vaccinated.

Mexico declares $3 billion U.S. security deal ‘dead,’ seeks revamp (Washington Post) Frustrated by raging violence, the Mexican government is seeking to overhaul the Merida Initiative, a $3 billion U.S. aid program that’s been the centerpiece of security cooperation between the two nations for more than a decade—but has failed to reduce bloodshed. Mexican officials say they have been meeting with Biden administration officials since late spring to refocus their cooperation against drug cartels and other criminal groups, amid growing concerns that such gangs are expanding their control over Mexican territory. “The Merida Initiative is dead. It doesn’t work, okay?” Mexican Foreign Minister Marcelo Ebrard told The Washington Post in the government’s first detailed comments on the discussions. “We are now in another era.” Launched during the presidency of George W. Bush, the Merida Initiative initially provided hundreds of millions of dollars for aircraft, helicopters and other hardware for Mexico’s security forces. In recent years, the funding shifted to technical aid and training to strengthen Mexico’s police and justice system. But despite the billions of dollars in aid, there has been a “huge, huge increase in violence,” Ebrard noted. Homicides in Mexico have quadrupled since the initiative was announced in 2007. Drug overdose deaths in the United States, meanwhile, soared to a record 93,331 last year, fueled by the rising use of fentanyl, much of it smuggled across the southwest border.

Something strange is happening in Britain. Covid cases are plummeting instead of soaring. (Washington Post) This is a puzzler. Coronavirus cases are plummeting in Britain. They were supposed to soar. Scientists aren’t sure why they haven’t. The trajectory of the virus in Britain is something the world is watching closely and anxiously, as a test of how the delta variant behaves in a society with relatively high vaccination rates. And now people are asking if this could be the first real-world evidence that the pandemic in Britain is sputtering out—after three national lockdowns and almost 130,000 deaths. Public health experts, alongside the government, predicted that cases would be rising in Britain at this point, perhaps even exponentially.

France Gave Teenagers $350 for Culture. They’re Buying Comic Books. (NYT) When the French government launched a smartphone app that gives 300 euros to every 18-year-old in the country for cultural purchases like books and music, or exhibition and performance tickets, most young people’s impulse wasn’t to buy Proust’s greatest works or to line up and see Molière. Instead, France’s teenagers flocked to manga. As of this month, books represented over 75 percent of all purchases made through the app since it was introduced nationwide in May—and roughly two-thirds of those books were manga, according to the organization that runs the app, called the Culture Pass. The focus on comic books reveals a subtle tension at the heart of the Culture Pass’s design, between the almost total freedom it affords young users—including to buy the mass media they already love—and its architects’ aim of guiding users toward lesser-known and more highbrow arts. Opponents accuse Macron of throwing cash at young people to court their vote before next year’s presidential election.

Europe on vacation, but vaccinations not taking a break (AP) Europe’s famed summer holiday season is in full swing, but efforts to inoculate people against the coronavirus are not taking a break. Instead, with lockdowns easing despite concerns about variants and nations looking to breathe new life into their ailing tourism industries, vaccinations are being taken to vacationers. From France’s sun-kissed Mediterranean coast to the azure waters of Italy’s Adriatic beaches and Russian Black Sea resorts, health authorities are trying to make a COVID-19 shot as much part of this summer as sunscreen and shades for those who are not yet fully vaccinated. The new drive to take shots to tourists is a way of adapting to Europe’s annual summer migration, when it seems whole cities empty of their residents for weeks.

Taliban assassinations of Afghan pilots 'worrisome,' U.S. govt watchdog says (Reuters) Taliban assassinations of Afghan pilots marks another "worrisome development" for the Afghan Air Force as it reels from a surge in fighting, a U.S. government watchdog said in a report released on Thursday. At least seven Afghan pilots have been assassinated off base in recent months, two senior Afghan government officials told Reuters, part of what the Islamist Taliban says is a campaign to see U.S.-trained Afghan pilots “targeted and eliminated.” The Special Inspector General for Afghan Reconstruction (SIGAR), in its quarterly report to Congress covering the three-month period through June, broadly portrayed an Afghan Air Force (AAF) under growing strain from battling the Taliban amid the U.S. withdrawal—and becoming less ready to fight. The AAF’s fleet of UH-60 Black Hawk helicopters, for example, had a 39 percent readiness rate in June, about half the level of April and May.

Floods make thousands homeless in Bangladesh Rohingya camps (AP) Days of heavy rainfall have pelted Rohingya refugee camps in southern Bangladesh, destroying dwellings and sending thousands of people to live with extended family or in communal shelters. Just in the 24 hours to Wednesday alone, more than 30 centimeters (11.8 inches) of rain fell on the camps in Cox’s Bazar district hosting more than 800,000 Rohingya, the U.N. refugee agency said. That’s nearly half the average July rainfall in one day while more heavy downpours are expected in the next few days and the monsoon season stretches over the next three months. Citing initial reports, the U.N. High Commissioner for Refugees said more than 12,000 refugees were affected by the heavy rainfall while an estimated 2,500 shelters have been damaged or destroyed.

Thailand sets up hospital at airport; Cambodia closes border (AP) Health authorities in Thailand raced to set up a large field hospital in a cargo building at one of Bangkok’s airports on Thursday as the country reported record numbers of coronavirus cases and deaths. Other field hospitals are already in use in the capital after it ran out of hospital facilities for thousands of infected residents. The airport, a domestic and regional hub, has had little use because almost all domestic flights were canceled two weeks ago. The quick spread of the delta variant also led neighboring Cambodia to seal its border with Thailand on Thursday and order a lockdown and movement restrictions in eight provinces.

Outspoken Chinese billionaire Sun Dawu sentenced to 18 years in prison (CNN) Billionaire Sun Dawu, a vocal critic of the Chinese government, was sentenced to 18 years in prison on Wednesday for “picking quarrels and provoking troubles,” according to an official statement posted by the court. Sun was arrested in March this year. His company, Hebei Dawu Agricultural and Animal Husbandry Group, owns farming operations in China and employs about 9,000 people in poultry processing, pet food production and other industries. He is also famous for being an outspoken critic of China’s ruling Communist Party. As part of his 18-year sentence, Dawu was also fined 3.11 million yuan ($480,000). Sun was one of very few people in China to publicly accuse the government of attempting to cover up the extent of the African swine flu outbreak in 2019, which eventually killed more than 100 million pigs in the country. In an interview with CNN in May 2019, Sun said local officials had only retested his pigs for the disease when he had started to post pictures of the dead animals online. Sun’s sentencing comes amid a growing crackdown on private enterprises in China, as Beijing attempts to pull into line the country’s free-wheeling entrepreneurs. In a set of guidelines put out in September 2020, the Communist Party said the private sector needed “politically sensible people” who would “firmly listen to the party.”

Lockdown Under (Reuters) Sydney, Australia announced Wednesday that they would be extending their lockdown by four weeks. The extension was announced with frustration by Premier Gladys Berejikilan, who stated, “I am as upset and frustrated as all of you that we were not able to get the case numbers we would have liked at this point in time but that is the reality,” during a televised news conference. Berejiklian added police would boost enforcement of wide-ranging social distancing rules and urged people to report suspected wrongdoing. The multiple lockdown extensions have turned a “snap” lockdown into the country’s longest, with many fearing another recession.

Probe into Beirut blast stalls again, leaving families fuming one year on (Reuters) Ibrahim Hoteit lost his younger brother, Tharwat, in the huge explosion that ripped through the port of Beirut last August. He went around hospitals collecting body parts, starting with Tharwat’s scalp, and buried his remains in a small coffin. Nearly a year later, Hoteit, a spokesperson for families of more than 200 people who died in the disaster, is still trying to call to account those he says are responsible for allowing the accident to happen. As Beirut prepares to mark the first anniversary of a blast that flattened large swathes of the city, politicians and senior security officials have yet to be questioned in a formal investigation. Much of the devastation from the blast is still visible. The port resembles a bomb site, and many buildings have been left in a state of collapse. Major questions remain unanswered, including why such a large shipment of ammonium nitrate, a highly explosive chemical used in bombs and fertiliser, was left stored in the middle of a crowded city for years after being unloaded in 2013.

[fandomstuff67]

I’m here with another little Destiel ficlet. But I wrote this one for my best friend @anotherdowneyfan1​ because it’s her birthday today and I wanted to do something for her since she’s so amazing and deserves the world. 

Description:

Castiel is a soldier who just returned from Iraq but on his trip home via train, a stranger falls asleep on his shoulder.

Read below or on Ao3

The train station bustled with people, some were running, desperate to catch their trains before they left, others were walking slowly, dragging suitcases behind them or clinging to their purses. There were men dressed in suits and ties and women’s heels clicked against dirty cement as they walked by. Mothers with children held firmly to the hands of their kids, teenagers laughed as they walked, and a homeless man was sitting against one of the grimy subway walls, holding out an empty can. 

As Castiel passed the homeless man, he dug his hand into his pocket and pulled out the change he’d received after purchasing his train ticket. He stuck the dollar bills and coins into the can and the man blinked up at him in thanks. 

“God bless you.” 

Castiel nodded and tipped his cap to the man before moving over to the empty train platform to wait. He felt the eyes of a few people boring into him, but he didn’t pay them any mind. He knew why they were staring, he stuck out like a sore thumb in his military fatigues, and people never knew whether to approach him or let him be. Castiel didn’t mind either way, so he just stood with his eyes facing the empty train tracks, shoulders straight and hands clasped behind his back. 

He felt someone tap him on the arm and he turned to look at a short older woman. Her gray hair sat on top of her head in a tangled mass of wayward strands, it reminded Castiel vividly of a bird's nest. Her eyes were a little sunken but they still glowed with life, and her skin was wrinkled like old parchment. 

“Thank you for your service, young man,” she said. Her voice was scratchy and weathered, but there was a sweetness to it that made Castiel smile. 

“You’re welcome, ma’am,” he replied with a curt nod. 

The woman smiled at him and then patted his arm. “You have a good day.” 

“You too,” Castiel said. 

As the woman shuffled away, the screeching of the train slowing to a halt on the tracks made Castiel turn to see the train arriving. The doors slid open and Castiel stepped through them. 

Despite the earlier chaos of the subway station, this train wasn’t packed to the brim and Castiel found himself sitting down in an empty seat. The train filled slowly, but there were still many seats left available by the time the last passengers squeezed through the doors. 

A man collapsed into the seat beside Castiel with a heavy sigh and without any preamble, he shut his eyes and was asleep in seconds, soft snores emulating from his mouth. The train began to move and Castiel found himself watching the sleeping stranger beside him. 

He had light brown hair that stuck up a bit in the front, he was young, but not that much younger than Castiel, he would put him at around twenty-five. Freckles were splattered across his face like a dusting of snow across a barren landscape. His eyelashes fluttered with each breath he took and when the train made a sharp turn in the tunnel, his head shifted and landed softly against Castiel’s shoulder. 

Castiel bit back a soft smile as the man pressed himself further against him, a soft sigh escaping his lips. He didn’t have the heart to move the man, so he let the stranger sleep. 

It was about thirty minutes later that the man finally stirred, sniffing and blinking back to consciousness. He sat up and rubbed at his eyes and when he saw Castiel looking at him he offered him a nod. “Uh, hey.” 

“Hello.” 

“Sorry, was I…” the man blushed and Castiel couldn’t help but find it endearing. “Did I just fall asleep on you?”

“It’s okay,” Castiel reassured him. 

“Oh that is so embarrassing,” the man said as he bit his lip in humiliation. 

“It’s really okay,” Castiel said. “I didn’t mind.” 

The man blushed again and cleared his throat awkwardly. “Well, uh, I’m Dean.” 

“Hello Dean, my name is Castiel.” 

“Castiel huh?” he repeated. “So, did you just get back stateside?” Dean asked, his voice was deep and sleep-rough, it made Castiel shiver even in the hot confines of his fatigues.

“Yes.” 

“Where were you serving?” 

“Iraq.”

“Wow, I’ll bet you’ve seen some shit, huh?” 

Castiel nodded slowly. “Yes. Too much.” 

“You know, I thought about enlisting once, but then I decided against it. I couldn’t run the risk of anything happening to me, I wasn’t about to leave my little brother alone in the world.” 

“Are you always this open about your life with strangers?” Castiel wondered. 

Dean snorted as he slid down a bit in his seat, resting his head against the window. “Not usually, guess there’s something special about you.” 

“There’s nothing special about me,” Castiel said quietly. 

Dean sat up straighter in his seat and turned to Castiel, giving him his full attention. “Dude, seriously? You’re fighting for this country, I’d say that’s pretty special.” 

“That’s the only thing interesting about me.” 

“Oh come on, that can’t be true.” 

Castiel looked over at Dean and met his vividly green eyes. “I live in a one bedroom apartment by myself because I have no one left. I enlisted because I had nothing better to do with my life.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say no one, because you just made yourself a friend,” Dean said with a smile. He dug in his pocket for his phone and then held it out to Castiel. “Put your number in there.” 

Castiel stared at the phone for a moment before he took it with a small smile. He entered his number and then handed the phone back to Dean. 

“We’re going to get coffee tomorrow and I won’t hear a word against it.” 

Throughout the rest of the train ride, Castiel had a warm bubble sitting in his chest as Dean talked to him about nothing and everything. When they both got off at the same stop they couldn’t help but laugh at the coincidence, but as they officially parted ways, Castiel found himself walking the rest of the way to his apartment with a smile on his face and a hop to his step. 

****

Eventually, meeting for coffee turned into so much more. Castiel didn’t know who leaned in first or how it happened, but he remembered kissing Dean and feeling like they were the only two people in the world. The sounds of gunshots and the screams of his fellow soldiers in pain as explosions sent dirt raining down on them, faded away, and it was just Dean. 

He remembered smiling at Dean as their foreheads rested against each other, their hot coffees long since gone cold. Dean’s fingers laced with Castiel’s and they both laughed and kissed again. 

                                                   ****

Castiel’s new favorite thing was waking up next to Dean, seeing the sleep leave his eyes and the soft smile on his lips that put crinkles at the corners of his green eyes. “Mornin’ sunshine,” Dean greeted him. 

“Hello, Dean.” 

Dean laughed and rolled onto his side. “One of these days you could just say ‘mornin’ back, like a normal person.” 

Castiel grinned at him and leaned forward to kiss his boyfriend. “Mornin’,” he growled into Dean’s mouth. 

“Holy shit, Cas,” Dean gasped as Castiel pulled away. “That was the sexiest thing you’ve ever fucking said.” Castiel chuckled and kissed Dean again quickly before slipping out of bed.

                                                      ****

Their wedding was small. Castiel didn’t have any surviving family members to invite and even if he did none of them would’ve attended. But Dean’s family was there. His brother Sam, his uncle Bobby and aunt Ellen, and a boatload of cousins. 

Castiel couldn’t have imagined a more perfect wedding, and when Dean slipped the ring on his finger and said ‘I do’, he didn’t even wait for the priest to say they could kiss, he just grabbed Dean and smashed their lips together to the sound of everyone around them cheering and applauding.

When they walked down the aisle hand in hand, Castiel found himself thinking about how grateful he was that the man beside him had accidentally fallen asleep on his shoulder. Castiel had never been more happy, and when Dean smiled down at him, green eyes sparkling, Castiel tightened his hold on his husband’s hand and let Dean lead them off towards the next chapter of their lives.

[iammarylastar]

1. Alone amongst brothers.

"Cal! Hey mate where are you?" Snowballs clicked his fingers under his nose, startling him.

Bad idea. Never startle an ex cop ex Marine who hadn't slept for years.

Chris -his real name was Chris- came out of his reverie and offered a poor smile to his brothers. Obviously missing his goal to reassure his squad.

Who was he kidding?

He hadn't been here for years. For 3 years. 3 fucking years.

He hadn't been the same since he came out of prison. Since his brother, his real brother fled to Canada, to never return.

Since Oyster, his little brother killed that asshole in a bar.

Thinking about it, all this shit had started after their mother died.

Big, huge mess she had left behind.

He reluctantly came back to the world, that world without his mom nor his brother, that world where he's a useless piece of shit, forbidden to serve his country in any way.

Reverie couldn't have been more inappropriate. Living nightmare would have fit better.

"Next round on me." Jaeger announced with too much enthusiasm.

"Same?" He quirked an eyebrow at Cal, who just nodded, not bothering to say a word.

He didn't need another beer. Alcohol free. Taste free too. He'd been nursing the same bottle since he settled his ass in the bar, mind absently scratching the corner of the label with his nail.

He had been sentenced to 6 years and spent 3 at Pittsburgh Correctional Institution. He got a release, good behaviour. He'd been lucky, somehow, half of the prisoners were there because of him. Death had waited for him at every corner, but freedom hadn't tasted better.

A lot had happened in 3 years. Life had gone on whilst his had stopped behind the bars.

Snowball found his soulmate Carlo, Jaeger finally got Claire back, they married last year and were expecting their first child. Milk spawned two boys, fuck he'd been out for a long time.

Brotherhood meant leave no one behind. He had Oyster's back, he did what had to be done to save his brother from jail. Sentencing himself, ruining his own life.

He got nothing left. No wife, no family. Sure, his bros had always cared, hanging out, working out, having him in for all their kids birthdays, family barbecues, even last Christmas when Claire and Jaeger announced the good news.

They all exploded, hugging Claire and clapping Jaeger's shoulder, whooping and cheering like madmen.

He was genuinely happy for both of them and tried to ignore the stab in his guts.

For once he wanted and was in the mood to celebrate. Till his eyes landed on the blessed couple's wedding pic pinned on the wall, then spotted another showing his brothers in uniform, proudly posing with the groom.

Stab.

He wasn't there and it killed him.

Claire told him they got a seat settled in his honor and it hurt more deeply.

He had missed so many events, so many people.

Oyster.

He had spent most of his miserable life to raise his little brother -half brother but who cares?- kicked his ass every morning to have him secured at school, kicking his own ass to quit both grief and booze and pass his exams to assure them a future.

Look what future both fucked up.

If only he could have the slightest news of him, knowing his brother was fine and safe somewhere in Canada, a letter, a call, an emoji on whatever social media... but no. The cops were still looking for Oyster for Ben Daley's murder and as a cop -ex cop- he knew he and his mates have been under surveillance since day one.

Oyster had been MIA for 3 years with no chance of brightest days.

And he was left alone with nobody to care for and nobody to love.

His sentence had him kicked out from the police department, along with his staff sergeant status. No job. No rules to give rhythm to his days. No incomes but a few light works here and there in the neighborhood. The people he knew always put in a good word about him and hopefully people didn't ask for his criminal record before hiring him for fixing their roof, painting their fronts or uprooting a tree stump.

Yeah he had a lot to add to his resume: by-the-book cop, dauntless staff sergeant in the Marine corps, 2 rounds in Iraq, baby sitter and groundskeeper. Impressive.

"Man, look at this chick over there." Milk nudged him. "She's been eyeing you like she's willing to drop her panties for you."

Cal finally lifted his eyes and glanced at the girl in question. Thin, sexy, a blouse full of goodies, gaudy red lipstick, prying eyes.

Maybe he needed to get laid. He hadn't had sex since he came out of prison. His mates planned a party to celebrate his freedom and got him a working girl for the occasion but he wasn't in the mood.

He hadn't been interested in sex, not after what has happened in prison, not even a quick handjob while watching a porn. No. Scratch that. He's been forced into lame and painful wankings when his balls threatened to explode, but it was no fun at all. Far, far from it.

A slight nausea invaded his throat of the reminder and he forced the thought out.

Double sentence. If he hadn't suffered PTSD after what he did and witnessed in Iraq, then he got his trauma.

He might never use his cock again. Playground out of order. Broken.

"Nahhh... She looks cheap. Guys I don't need another blind date, you know. Your Tracy girl was crazy, she scared the shit out of me with her earlobe-licking... fetishism." Cal rubbed his earlob with a disgusting frown on his face, having all his skwad laughing out loud, wiggling all tongues out.

"Listen Cal. You need to get laid. You need a good fuck to come back to life. You're hot stuff still, you just need to pick up some gorgeous chick and have some fun! Before your dick just deceases from dehydration." Jaeger joked, hilarity ensued.

He looked around the crowded bar, tired. Tired to pretend he could be interested in that kind of date.

He didn't need a one night stand. He didn't need some cunt to fuck. He needed someone to love. And be loved in return.

Like the ol'time when he lived with his mom. Or with Oyster. He needed someone who cared.

"Thank you guys but I'm tired. I better go home and get some sleep. Need to wake up early and..."

His lame excuses got cut off by an angry Milk.

"Oh yeah, because you do have so much to do tomorrow, don't you? Cleaning up the house and walk Mrs Riley's pet? That's why you're leaving your brothers now? Cal, when are you going to get rid of this shit and be alive again? It's been 3 years already, move on for fuck sake!"

Cal didn't blink. He deserved to be scolded by his gang. He's been no fun, nothing more than a burden for them. A big piece of shit, whining about all he'd lost. Poor thing. Soon he'd lose them.

He was whining again. He's got the best friends he could dream of, people he could call his brothers, who were totally devoted to him, heart and soul.

His family. His home.

Those guys made it all easy for him while his time in prison. Paying him a visit each week, twice a week when they were off. They paid for his lawyer, his loan for the house so he wouldn't be homeless when he got out of prison. So he didn't have to break into his savings and get ruined in 6 months.

They did it in a heartbeat, without thinking nor asking for his permission. They told him it was the right thing to do. The same way Cal had them home, safe and sound after their tour in Iraq. Beside Jaeger's leg, abandoned there. How guilty he had felt, and still.

He owed them... everything.

He leant on his elbows and rubbed his face. He considered staying and trying to relax and have some fun, but his mood was definitely shitty.

Time to shake his thoughts and his big ass. He survived the war, survived in jail, he could survive this night.

"OK fuckers. But I don't want to bury my future here." He emptied his drink, slammed it loudly on the table.

"Let's get home and shake the walls!"

He grabbed his other beer and clinked glasses with his mates, and chugged it whilst his bros cheered and downed their own drinks.

"Last one at my mailbox is a loser!" Cal jumped on his feet and started running through the door.

"Ohhhh, you bastard!" Milk shouted, running after him, quickly followed by an enthusiast Snowball.

Jeager rolled his eyes and took out his wallet to pay the bill. He wouldn't win anyway, his fucking metal leg was no match for those big machines.

The three guys were messing around by the front door, playfully wrestling to pass first.

Cal jammed Milk's head in between his bulging biceps and disheveled his neat hairstyle, having him struggling even more for his freedom, grunting with rage. Snowball was stuck against the wall, the two heavy guys struggling were keeping him to head towards the door.

In a joint effort to get free, Snowball and Milk pushed Cal with all their strength until he popped out like a Champagne cork, sent flying against the wall. Just as the door opened on someone coming in.

Cal ended up glued to them, pinned on the wall, crushed against his broad chest.

"Whoah, whoah, whoah! What the hell?" A muffled voice came from underneath Cal's body.

"Holy shit, I'm sorry!" He apologized, peeling his body from a smaller and thinner one.

His hands flat against the wall, each side of a face. A beautiful face. Still blurry, he was too close to focus.

Never too close... he thought. Her smell itself made him stop.

"I'm sorry!" He uttered, forcing a step back. Finally able to focus on delicate features.

"I'm fine, I'm fine...uh, hey... I'm Jessica. " She said in a big grin as she rearranged the strands of hair away from her face.

"Nice to meet you..." She started, inviting him to introduce himself.

"Milk, nice to meet you gorgeous." The bastard spoke first, getting on Cal's business, more than happy to embarrass his mate.

"And this is Snowball" he continued, shamelessly stepping on Cal's toes and bluntly pushing him to the side.

"Ma'am!" Snowball bowed before an amused Jessica, glancing at the three boys with a smirk. "Please, accept our sincere apologies. I hope this giant idiot didn't hurt you when so roughly trying to get your attention."

Jessica let her eyes wander at the big stud's body and face, making sure it didn't turn into a stare. The man was built like a brick house, huge arms, solid chest, his short hair suggested he was a cop or a soldier, his handsome face obviously annoyed by his friends' demeanour. His gorgeous self nodding his head while pressing his so soft looking lips together. She felt her heart stop and her inside melt when they locked stares. His blue eyes were captivating and something slapped her in the face. Through his hilarious expression and attractive features, he looked so... sad and lonely. So much she wanted to pull him in in a hug and never let him go.

She forced her eyes back at the two dummies still making the show for her.

"And this!" Milk nudged his pal, "this is Chris Callahan, the man you need.

The thoughtfulness itself, well, when it's not nearly killing you, this guy is not only strong, courageous and handsome, thanks God he's also single."

Cal wanted nothing more than vanish from embarrassment after getting rid of that motherfucker of a so called best friend. On a definitive way.

But the more Milk was blurting his shit out, the more Jessica looked amused and kind of interested in him.

Eyeing him. The cutest smile on her lips. Which she bit when she finally was caught staring.

"This big sweet heart is to take darling, and you'd be a fool not to try your luck with him."

Milk got a little closer and lowered his voice "I heard he's got amazing skills, like... look at the size of his feet!"

The 2 guys barked a laugh, clunching at each other while Cam just chuckled and sighed, more uncomfortable than ever. Jessica shared the guys big laugh then winked at Cal, before glancing down to judge their size by herself.

Milk wiped the tears from his face, oh Lord he loved making fun of his mate so very much. Calming down his panting, he stepped back, still hooked to an exhilarated Snowball.

"If you want to excuse us mylady, we're up for a male race contest, where the loser will have to walk butt naked the entire week." He said, bowing out at Jessica, then stepping out of the bar with renewed loud laughs.

Cal just shifted uneasily on his spot, figuring out a way to stop looking like the dumbest guy on Earth.

"Sorry... That was... pretty awkward, wasn't it?" He shyly tried, mentally kicking in own ass to not have found something clever to say.

"Found it very funny actually, you guys made my day!" Her genuine smile cheered him up a little.

"Those guys are total weirdoes, please do not believe a single word of what they say." Cal flashed one of his best smile, pretty sure it would work for him.

"Seems your friends think very highly of you. The resume they made of you is quite appealing, you know." She made it sounds like a joke but couldn't help wondering about that nice guy, nice looking guy all in embarrassment in front of her.

And the size of his... feet.

"Yeah... Well, wait to meet them once they're not drunk and you might hear a different story." Cal shoved his hands deep in his pockets. Looking so cute.

"So... Cal, I'm looking forward to hang out with your smartass group of friends, and hear all kind of stories about you, I bet each more embarrassing than the last!" Jessica's fingers were playing with a strand of her hair against her will, flirting.

And it seemed this didn't get unnoticed, by the way Cal's stare lingered on her delicate features.

"I... I've got to go and look after those drunken asses before they get into more trouble. I won't stop hearing of it if I don't beat them tonight. It was so nice to meet you and again, apologies for so rudely bumping into you."

Chris scratched the back of his neck, torn between two options. Stay and risk to embarrass himself more and more, or leave and risk to never see her again.

"It's OK, Chris I'm fine. We would find a way to make it up for nearly knocking me down earlier. Go get them, we could meet another time. I'm new in town but I'm here for some time, let's catch up later!"

Chris chuckled, mumbled a cocky "sure!" through an enormous grin, dared to throw a wink at her before turning heels and walked out of the bar.

"I hope you lose!" She shouted at him as he reluctantly started to jog towards his mates.

"Thank you...?" Chris turned to face her again, walking backward, wearing an astonished expression. That was not the kind of support he expected.

"I may not know much about you, but I figured seeing you walk up the streets butt naked could be fun!"

Chris couldn't help the large grin taped on his face to turn into a big smile, that charismatic pant-dropping smile that had been MIA for years was finally back.

As he jogged back to his drunken brothers, in absolute no hurry, a light in heart, he felt like that stupid smile wouldn't leave his face for quite a while.

[rakanhowls]

Avenger of the Pack (Story) by DeadBabylon

Markus stepped out of the subway cart and made his way up the escalator, trying to stay ahead of the crowd of people exiting the train. There was nothing he disliked more than rush hour; all the noise, the pushing and bumping of the crowd around him, like a large organism where anyone who dared to resist the flow would be pushed down and crushed. The sooner he got home and out of the streets, the better. He had to move to this city with almost two million people because of his new job, and while the pay was good, he wasn’t sure whether it was good enough to offset the cons of the city’s hustle and bustle.

He looked at his phone, checking the map’s route towards his home from the station. Twenty minutes or so on bus, but it was better than walking, and at least he would be able to listen to some music on the way there. He looked outside the stairs to see the rain falling down the steps, and sighed as he was without an umbrella. He pulled up his hoodie, making his way up the wet steps while holding onto the handrail until he was outside, quickly moving to the nearest cover, which luckily for him, happened to be the bus stop.  He pulled the hood back and tried drying off a little, pulling some change out of his pocket to pay his fare. Not a lot of cash on him, so asking for an Uber was out of the question. A splash of water hit him from the back as a car sped past the bus stop, startling him as well as soaking his clothes from the waist down. “Ah, goddammit.” He cursed under his breath as he stepped away from the street, shaking his legs to try to get the water out, but to no avail, his socks were already drenched as well. He groaned, turning to see the bus arrive, nearly empty. The bus stopped and the doors opened, Markus leaving his fare on the collection tray before looking for an empty spot to sit, taking one right above one of the wheels. Not the most comfortable, but it wasn’t a handicapped seat, and other passengers would first try to fill the other seats. At least the inside of the bus was warm. Maybe too warm. He put his hand against the air conducts to test them out, realizing that this unit’s AC was broken. Oh well, at least he wouldn’t catch a cold so quickly. He pulled his headphones out, putting them on as he picked some of his favorite rock songs in his cellphone, turning the volume up to drown out the blaring of car horns outside as the bus joined the afternoon traffic. The wolf blood coursing through his veins granted him enhanced senses of hearing and vision. Handy for stalking through the woods in search of prey, but not so much when living in the middle of the concrete jungle. Markus rested his head against the glass, closing his eyes as he tried to focus on the drums, bass and guitar of the song playing. He could still clearly hear the movement inside the bus as it stopped to pick up passengers, the sound of people dropping their change in the collection tray, walking down the bus’s length before taking their seat. He felt a few get close and stop where he was seated, before picking another spot or just remain standing up. He figured that with the messy state his clothes were in, he probably looked like a drunk or a homeless person. He would’ve taken offense to it, but in all honesty, it felt better to be left undisturbed than having some complete stranger try to strike up a conversation about something inane like the weather. He pulled his hoodie up as the next song came on, leaning back on his seat to check his phone. The weather report, which would’ve been handy to see before he left home without an umbrella, estimated that the rain would continue through the evening, easing up into a drizzle late at night. He counted himself lucky, not having hung some of his clothes out to dry near the apartment’s windows, but then remembered he had likely left them open and would come home to find the floor a wet mess. He groaned, figuring he might as well try to take his mind off of everything that had happened today, maybe just browse the internet for a while to not think for a while, any distraction would be welcome if it could make his blood cool down. The browser opened up and he scrolled through the home page down to the news links, reading title after title, looking for something that wasn’t awful. Another Netflix exclusive was announced, a celebrity broke up with their partner, some influencer did something bad on a stream, pretty much the average garbage news he was used to seeing on the web. However, a word in the lines of text popped out in his eyes, scrolling up to read the full title. ‘Poachers kill pack of wolves in National Park’. His brow furrowed and he took a deep breath, clicking the link and waiting for the page to load. He read the news article in silence, his blood slowly starting to boil as he went over the words on his screen. ‘Authorities have reported that a pack of twenty wolves has been found skinned and mutilated within the depths of the largest wildlife reserve in the country. The Park Rangers estimate that the pack had gotten used to the presence of humans, given they were the park’s main tourist attraction. The poachers likely lured them with poisoned bait and waited for them to die before skinning them and removing the head of a few of them without struggle or firing shots that could alert the park rangers.’ He could not believe his eyes, everything about this sounded like bullshit. The park rangers likely had something to do with it, the ones that had sworn to protect that wildlife sanctuary had desecrated it for petty profit. Markus gripped his phone tightly in his hand, feeling his head starting to pulse, all the bottled-up anger had finally reached a bursting point. He pressed the bus’s stop button and got off it as soon as it stopped, walking into a nearby alley as he felt himself start to hyperventilate. There was no moon out today, though he didn’t need it to change, something he’d learned a while ago. When he was stressed out or angry beyond words like now, the wolf blood coursing through his veins called to be let out, and in the darkness of the alley between buildings, with the storm raging in the sky above, he was gonna release it. His ribcage swelled as the pressure in his gut began spreading through his body, his back hunching over slightly as his muscles began to grow rapidly, ripping the hoodie and the shirt he was wearing to shreds, exposing his feverish skin to the cold rain. He clenched his teeth as his face started to shift, large canines growing in as his nose and mouth elongated to form a lupine snout, snarling as the changes continued to spread through his body. His shoulders bulked up and his arms swelled up as the skin darkened, thick fur grew down his neck and chest, then spreading like wildfire over the rest of his body. He fell to his knees as his legs began to warp and bones twisted under the skin, bulging muscles tearing his cargo pants up to the thigh as his shoes ripped open under the pressure while his feet expanded into paws and grew sharp claws at the end of each toe. He clenched his hands tight as the lower part of his spine cracked as it grew into a tailbone, pushing the skin along the new appendage as shaggy grey fur covered it, forming a long, lupine tail. He could hear the city’s sounds much more clearly now, his senses improved nearly ten fold in this form. He opened his steel blue eyes, taking in the little light that entered the alley he was kneeling in and giving him a clear image of the dead-end street. He stood up, hands clenched into fists as he reared his head back and let out a howl, a warcry that was a mixture of sorrow and anger that mixed with the boom of thunder from above. The werewolf stood up, the rain cooling off his body as steam rose above him, and then, he looked down at his hand, opening it to let the remains of his phone fall to the ground. There was a twinge of regret at crushing the thing, before he refocused on why he’d changed. The park wasn’t so far away from where he was, and in this form, he would be faster than any rickety old bus. Tonight, there was a pack to avenge.

[antoine-roquentin]

Even more striking than the scale of need are the shifting demographics of who is eating here and why. The homeless population is getting younger, staffers say, and more likely to have children and full-time jobs. In one hour, over taco salad and Fanta, I meet fast-food employees, a former car salesman who lost his home in the financial crisis and a pregnant 31-year-old whose baby is due the same month her housing vouchers run out.

But the biggest surprise about St. Vincent’s may be the state in which it’s located. Just four years ago, Utah was the poster child for a new approach to homelessness, a solution so simple you could sum it up in five words: Just give homeless people homes.

In 2005, the state and its capital started providing no-strings-attached apartments to the “chronically” homeless — people who had lived on the streets for at least a year and suffered from mental illness, substance abuse or a physical disability. Over the next 10 years, Utah built hundreds of housing units, hired dozens of social workers ― and reduced chronic homelessness by 91 percent.

The results were a sensation. In 2015, breathless media reports announced that a single state, and a single policy, had finally solved one of urban America’s most vexing problems. Reporters from around the country came to Utah to gather lessons for their own cities. In a widely shared “Daily Show” segment, Hasan Minhaj jogged the streets of Salt Lake City, asking locals if they knew where all the homeless people had gone.

But this simplistic celebration hid a far more complex truth. While Salt Lake City targeted a small subset of the homeless population, the overall problem got worse. Between 2005 and 2015, while the number of drug-addicted and mentally ill homeless people fell dramatically, the number of people sleeping in the city’s emergency shelter more than doubled. Since then, unsheltered homelessness has continued to rise. According to 2018 figures, the majority of unhoused families and single adults in Salt Lake City are experiencing homelessness for the first time.

“People thought that if we built a few hundred housing units we’d be out of the woods forever,” said Glenn Bailey, the executive director of Crossroads Urban Center, a Salt Lake City food bank. “But if you don’t change the reasons people become homeless in the first place, you’re just going to have more people on the streets.”

This is not just a Salt Lake City story. Across the country, in the midst of a deepening housing crisis and widening inequality, homelessness has concentrated in America’s most prosperous cities. So far, municipal leaders have responded with policies that solve a tiny portion of the problem and fail to account for all the ways their economies are pushing people onto the streets.

The reality is that no city has ever come close to solving homelessness. And over the last few years, it has become clear that they cannot afford to.

Eric (not his real name) is exactly the kind of person Utah’s policy experiment was intended to help. He is 55 years old and has been homeless for most of his life. He takes medication for his schizophrenia, but his paranoia still leads him to cash his disability checks and hide them in envelopes around the city. When he lived on the streets, his drug of choice was a mix of heroin and cocaine. These days it’s meth.

Despite all his complications, Eric is a success story. He lives in a housing complex in the suburbs of Salt Lake City that was built for the chronically homeless. He has case workers who ensure that he takes his medications and renews his benefits. While he may never live independently, he is far better off here than in a temporary shelter, a jail cell or sleeping on the streets.

The problem for policymakers is that Eric is no longer emblematic of American homelessness. In Salt Lake City, just like everywhere else, the population of people sleeping on the streets looks a lot different than it used to.

As the economy has come out of the Great Recession, America’s unhoused population has exploded almost exclusively in its richest and fastest-growing cities. Between 2012 and 2018, the number of people living on the streets declinedby 11 percent nationwide — and surged by 26 percent in Seattle, 47 percent in New York City and 75 percent in Los Angeles. Even smaller cities, like Reno and Boise, have seen spikes in homelessness perfectly coincide with booming tech sectors and falling unemployment.  

In other words, homelessness is no longer a symbol of decline. It is a product of prosperity. And unlike Eric, the vast majority of people being pushed out onto the streets by America’s growing urban economies do not need dedicated social workers or intensive medication regimes. They simply need higher incomes and lower housing costs.

“The people with the highest risk of homelessness are the ones living on a Social Security check or working a minimum-wage job,” said Margot Kushel, the director of the UCSF. Center for Vulnerable Populations. In 2015, she led a team of researchers who interviewed 350 people living on the streets in Oakland. Nearly half of their older interviewees were experiencing homelessness for the first time.

“If they make it to 50 and they’ve never been homeless, there’s a good chance they don’t have severe mental illness or substance abuse issues,” Kushel said. “Once they become homeless, they start to spiral downward really quickly. They’re sleeping three to four hours a night, they get beat up, they lose their medications. If you walk past them in a tent, they seem like they need all these services. But what they really needed was cheaper rent a year ago.”

Other research has found the same connection between housing costs and homelessness. In 2012, researchers found that a $100 increase in monthly rent in big cities was associated with a 15 percent rise in homelessness. The effect was even stronger in smaller cities.

“Once you’re homeless, it’s a steep hill to climb back up,” Bailey said. “When an eviction is on your record, it’s even steeper. And even if you do get back into housing, you’re still one illness or one car problem away from becoming homeless again.”

And rising affluence isn’t just transforming the economic factors that cause homelessness. It is also changing the politics of the cities tasked with solving it. Across the country, as formerly poor neighborhoods have gentrified, politicians are facing increasingly strident calls to criminalize panhandling and bulldoze tent encampments. While city residents consistently tell pollsters that they support homeless services in principle, specific proposals to build shelters or expand services face vociferous local opposition.

“The biggest hindrance to solving homelessness is that city residents keep demanding the least effective policies,” said Sara Rankin, the director of the Homeless Rights Advocacy Project at Seattle University School of Law. The evidenceoverwhelminglydemonstrates that punishing homeless people makes it harder for them to find housing and get work. Nonetheless, the most common demands from urban voters are for politicians to increase arrests, close down soup kitchens and impose entry requirements and drug tests in shelters.

“Homelessness is a two-handed problem,” Rankin said. “One hand is everything you’re doing to make it better and the other is everything you’re doing to make it worse. Right now, we spend far more effort undoing our progress than advancing it.”

No municipality demonstrates this dynamic better than Salt Lake City. Thanks to rising housing and construction costs, the building of new homeless housing has slowed to a trickle. A plan to replace the city’s central homeless shelter with a handful of smaller, suburban facilities has been delayed and scaled down due to neighborhood opposition. In 2017, after years of demands by downtown residents and businesses, Utah initiated a $67 million law enforcement crackdown on the population sleeping on the streets of its state capital. In its first year, the campaign resulted in more than 5,000 arrests — and just 101 homeless people being placed into housing.

And there are no signs that it’s going to get better. The economy is creating new homeless people faster than cities can house them.And the worse the problem gets, the harder it becomes to solve.

“The entire system has stalled,” said Andrew Johnston, the vice president of program operations for Volunteers of America Utah, one of the largest service providers in Salt Lake City. “As the economy has improved, policymakers seem to believe that the market will supply affordable housing on its own. But if you don’t put public and private money into it, you’re not going to get it.”

Three years after she escaped from homelessness, Georgia Gregersen’s most enduring memory is how quickly she fell into it.

“I’m a waitress, I’m at home with a new baby and three months later I’m sleeping in an empty parking garage,” said Gregersen, who now lives in a Salt Lake City suburb.

Her story plays out as a series of unraveling safety nets. She had been trying to get clean for years, but the waitlists for rehab were months long. She got on methadone when she found out she was pregnant, but it cost $85 per week, almost as much as she had been spending on heroin. After her son was born she was eligible for daycare vouchers, but the never-ending paperwork — “something was always wrong or required another appointment” — meant she never actually got them.

Eventually, the cost of childcare and the stress of being a single mom got to her and she relapsed. Within weeks she had lost her job and handed her son over to her parents. Her aunt, with whom she had been staying, asked her to move out.

Sleeping outside made her even more desperate to get clean, but everywhere she turned her options were cut off. Every halfway house and detox center in Salt Lake City was full. When she applied for subsidized housing, a government official told her it would take two years just to get on the waiting list.

“I thought, I’ll probably be dead by then,” she said.

Gregersen spiraled downward in 2015, right around the time Utah announced it had ended chronic homelessness. Unlike the recipients of that experiment — most of whom required 24-hour, lifelong support — Gregersen didn’t need permanent supportive housing. She needed every other form of support to be adequately funded and available when she needed it.

“We always look to one thing to be the answer,” she said, “but I needed everything, and in concert.”

Gregersen’s story perfectly encapsulates the challenge of urban policy in a changing and deteriorating America. Truly ending homelessness will require cities to systematically repair all the cracks in the country’s brittle, shattered welfare system. From drug treatment to rental assistance to subsidized child care, the only way to address the crisis is through a concerted — and costly — expansion of government assistance.

And yet, even as homelessness becomes a defining feature of urban growth, no city in America can afford to meaningfully address it.  

“Politicians keep proposing quick fixes and simple solutions because they can’t publicly admit that solving homelessness is expensive,” Kushel said. Before the 1980s, she points out, most of the responsibility for low-income housing, rental assistance and mental health treatment fell on the federal government.

Since then, though, these costs have been systematically handed over to cities. Between 1980 and 1990, the number of low-income households receiving federal rental assistance dropped by more than half. Hundreds of thousands of mental health treatment beds have disappeared. Despite having far deeper pockets, the federal government now spends less per homeless person than the city of San Francisco.  

The relentless localization of responsibility means that cities are spending more than they ever have on homelessness and, at the same time, nowhere near enough. L.A.’s recent $1.2 billion housing bond is one of the largest in American history. It will construct 1,000 permanent supportive housing units every year — in a city where 14,000 people need one. According to a 2018 analysis, Seattle would have to double its current spending to provide housing and services for everyone living on the streets.

Smaller cities have an even wider spending gap. According to Salt Lake City’s Housing & Neighborhood Development Department, building one unit of affordable housing costs roughly $154,000. Providing a home to all 6,800 people currently accessing homeless services would cost the city roughly $1 billion — two-thirds of its entire annual budget.

“We know that it’s cheaper in the long run to provide housing for homeless people, but cities don’t get money back when that happens,” said Tony Sparks, an urban studies professor at San Francisco State University. Expanding social support and building subsidized housing require huge upfront investments that may not pay off for decades. Though the costs of managing a large homeless population mostly fall on hospitals and law enforcement, reducing the burden on those systems won’t put spending back in city coffers.

“If you know how city budgets work, everything goes into a different pot,” Sparks said. “When you save money on health care, it just goes back into the health care system. It doesn’t trickle sideways.”

But all the challenges of funding their response to homelessness doesn’t mean cities are entirely powerless. For a start, municipal leaders could remove the zoning codes that make low-income housing and homeless shelters illegal in their residential neighborhoods. They could replace encampment sweeps and anti-panhandling laws with municipally sanctioned tent cities. They could update their eviction regulations to keep people in the housing they already have.

Cities can also, crucially, address the huge diversity of the homeless population. Rankin points out that for young mothers, the most frequent cause of homelessness is domestic abuse. For young men, it is often a recent discharge from foster care or prison. The young homeless population is disproportionately gay and trans.

All these populations are already interacting with dozens of municipal agencies that haven’t been designed to serve them. Even without major new funding sources, cities could do a lot better with the systems they already have. Schools, for example, could provide social workers for unhoused students. Libraries could invite health care workers to help homeless patrons manage their chronic illnesses. Law enforcement agencies could reorient themselves around outreach and harm reduction rather than arrests and encampment sweeps.

[buckys-little-hoe]

Drunk and homeless | Platonic!Sam Wilson x Reader

Pairing: (Platonic) Sam x Reader

Summary: The Wilsons and you get drunk, so you decide to save the day.

Warnings: It’s mostly humor. Cursing, mentions of suicide, human trafficking, prostitution and mafia.

A/N: Hello! I hope you’ll enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

You grumble in the kitchen while everyone else is already sitting at the table waiting. You carefully put the meat in the hot pan and the oil splashes towards you. Cursing, you take a step back. Not your beautiful face!

"Will you be finished any time soon?" Clint asks sarcastically and you show him your favorite finger.

You’re cooking an old family recipe for your teammates. A few days ago you discovered it in a box with a lot of other stuff. Since you are really miserable in cooking, you never really wanted to cook again, but not much can go wrong with this recipe. After a few hours, you persuaded your friends to give it a try.

"I'll be done in a few minutes," you reply annoyed and get a board from the closet. Slowly you start chopping the vegetables. This guy pretty much gets on your balls.

"Hey, be patient. Y/N tries to give us something good. ", Steve defends you and you nod with an eyebrow raised. Captain America is always right.

"Exactly." Sam agrees and you clap your hands once. The king himself has spoken!

Then you turn back to the vegetables. Your guests start a conversation that you are not interested in. During the cutting you look at your little chaotic family. Even Peter came today because today is an important event for you. They don't know, but today is actually your birthday. You don't like celebrating, which is why you almost never mention it. It’s just important to you to spend this day with your favorite people

"Shit," you murmur when you notice a burning pain on your finger. "I think I’ll just kill myself," you say a little louder now and hold your finger under water.

"There is bleach under the sink," Steve says, stretching. Of course, he knows you are not serious.

"There's a rope in the gun cabinet too, if you want to have different options." Natasha takes a sip of water and leans back.

"Don't be an idiot! Do it with style and just jump out of the window.”, Peter recommends without looking up from his smartphone.

"Do a flip in the meantime.", Vision adds and you have to smile.

You love them all so much.

You are finally serving the food. Everyone gets a full plate, so that nobody will be hungry. You just hope it tastes good.

"It smells delicious." Peter smiles and takes his plate from you. Ass-kisser.

"Thank you." You smile back and sit down. The pressure in your legs eases and you sigh. The constant standing slowly kills you. You watch intently as everyone tries.

"Mmm .. you have to give me the recipe Y/N," says Wanda after swallowing. She looks honest and you decide to believe her.

"Is that rosemary?" Rhodes asks and you nod.

"There is paprika in there too, isn't it?" Vision wants to know, because although he can't eat, he still smells the dish.

"Yes.", You answer and also enjoy the homemade food. Now you understand why your family cooked it that often.

"Hey guys!" Calls a voice that is too familiar to you and you roll your eyes. Well, that was still missing. The man in the red suit enters the kitchen and waves to Peter first. "Spiderboy," he greets him and turns to Rhodes.

"How does he manage to get in here again and again?", Natasha whispers to Steve, but he just shrugs his shoulders helplessly. You should exchange a serious word with Friday.

"I get in here because the author wants it that way.", Wade answers her question and turns his head to the side to wink at the wall. You’ll get used to it.

"Just ignore it." Peter whispers to the group and you giggle softly.

"Oh hey, I'm Wade Wilson," he introduces himself and Rhodes just nods in confusion. Then Deadpool looks at you. "I intercepted a package for you, from a certain Thor or something."

You take the package from him and read the note.

As a thank you for your last prank on Loki. Ps. You will definitely get drunk with it.

Grinning, you look at Sam. He closes his eyes theatrically. As a goddess, it's not that easy. The normal alcohol just doesn't work for you, but it looks like Thor has found a solution for you. "It's going to be funny tonight," you say honestly, and Wade gasps.

"Sam Wilson. My brother from another mother. We share the same last name. Is that coincidence or fate?” The huge red condom drops onto an empty chair and they both glare at each other.

"Coincidence," Sam replies firmly and Wade calls at the same time: "Destiny!"

"You can come along Deadpool.", You smile and nod at him. Then it’ll get even more funny.

"If he has to." Sam moans, and you just shrug your shoulders. The others look at the incident with great curiosity.

"Oh! I have the perfect idea what we could do.” Wade claps his hands and you look at him admonishingly. "No, not a threesome, which is high on my list. " He just waves it off. Sam and you sigh in relief.

"We're going to finish eating now and then we'll get ready, okay?" You go through the process and the Wilson's nod agree. Well, that'll be all.

"What did Thor send you?" Clint asks eagerly and wants to grab the package. Amused you flick his hands away.

"That's not for you Katniss." You sit down again and you slowly finish eating.

As Wade talks about his top orgies, you notice Sam's annoyed look on you. Sam and you didn’t like each other at first. You couldn't even be left in the same room. Only after a fun game of cops vs robbers you got along with him. You were a cop and you caught him. You landed on his shoulders and Natasha took a photo. Meanwhile, she had given you advice on how to make him pass out from this position.

"Please go and take the dumbass with you. We take care of the dishes. ", Natasha interrupts the red condom and Vision takes relieved his hands from Peter's ears. He sits with red cheeks in front of the empty plate.

"No problem.", You answer and reach for one arm per Wilson. You clamp the package between your forearm and upper body. This will be the best night ever!

——

With a charming smile, you wave to the cheering people and wink at the cameras. You hear the Czech word for angels from everywhere. You don't know why they call you that. The President puts a medal around your neck and you bow as best you can. Your head is booming and you are still feeling a bit sick. It comes from alcohol. Wade had left before the ceremony and you don't know where Sam is. You don't even know how you got to the Czech Republic. You were in the club with the Wilson's last night and the next morning you are awarded with the medal for bravery for stopping human trafficking in the Czech Republic.

As you understand it, you knocked out the mafia boss with Wade. You freed women and, among other things, girls. You did most of it. Wade just stood on the side and cheered you, though he is the immortal of both of you. You don't know where you lost Sam. What you do know is that you stopped trafficking and prostitution of minors in a European country and people are comparing you to an angel for some unknown reason. Even though you have the hangover of your life, you still look fabulous.

The President of the Czech Republic thanks you with brittle English and you just wave it off. Everyone would have done that, you think. Your cell phone rings and you apologize briefly. With quick steps you run into the parliament and answer the call. "Hello?" You say and raise your free ear with one hand. This dampens the calls of your fans.

"Where are you?" Sam whines and you sigh in relief. He is still alive! You already thought he was rotting somewhere alone. You would never have forgiven yourself for that.

“Wade is home and I am currently being awarded a medal in the Czech Republic. Where are you?” You ask and look around. Outside, the people are still cheering and grinning. They love you.

"I'm in Amsterdam, it looks like we tried to visit Anne Frank's house in the middle of the night and caused trouble. Now I'm sitting in the cell and you left me alone, " he explains his current situation and you take a deep breath. Holy shit. When did that happen?

"Don't worry, I'll get you out of there immediately. Did the press notice anything? "

"No, they thought we were some drunk and homeless people."

Without further ado, you write down the exact address and say goodbye to Sam with the promise to get him out of there. Then you go out again to smile at the people and say goodbye to them. It was a wild night.

——

With every step Sam whines self-pityingly and you roll your eyes. You had just landed on the roof of the headquarters, when you were already overlaid by your friends. They are worse than the media and that means something, because the journalists are like hungry lions.

"What the hell are you doing in the Czech Republic?" Clint wants to know straight away and you shrug your shoulders. If you could answer that, you would surely do it. Asgard's alcohol has it all. It even made you drunk.

"I do not know. Maybe save some life’s?” You ask as a counter question and ignore all the other questions. Clint looks at you with an eyebrow raised. He probably does not accept that. "In my defense, I was drunk."

"That's not a good excuse," Steve says and you roll your eyes again. It was clear that he would have to play worried daddy again, you are doing well and the press knows nothing of the bad things.

"It's okay, my god. Calm down everyone. Nothing bad happened. I wasn't planning to stop the Mafia in the Czech Republic. ", You reply annoyed and Sam next to you starts to laugh. You look at him in confusion.

"You don't remember anything at all, do you?" He asks, laughing at his stomach. You shake your head and peck him in the arm.

"No, I do not. Tell me. ", You demand of him and he pulls you by the arm towards his room. The others look after you more or less surprised.

After a good while you will have all the memories of yesterday evening back. First you three had danced to a club. There you started talking about Hitler, which is why you talked about Anne Frank without further ado. You all then cried on the plane towards Amsterdam to see her house in the museum. You had shouted at the security that they should let you in so that you could finally take revenge on those responsible. Since you were not welcomed there and Sam was arrested, Wade and you blamed Hitler for it. The mafia boss who was up to mischief in the Czech Republic doesn't really have much in common with Adolf, but for you the mustache was enough evidence to fly over there.

On the way you both danced on the integrated pole together with the flight attendant, who was hired especially for Stark's private plane. Wade was of course better than you, although you had proven to be very flexible. It was pitifully easy to find him and you just gave him a few fists. Strangely enough, it was terrifyingly easy to get to him, he wasn't particularly well protected. You handed him over to the police and dissolved the hidden brothels. You're a heroine in the Czech Republic, boom. That’s it. It wasn't really heroic or exciting, but it was funny. Y’all should repeat that sometime.

[justrednow]

American Idiot (movie)

LaNow I love the musical and I love both albums featured. I’m hoping that’s the plot of the movie that I believe is being produced. But also like, I’d be down for some bat shit crazy stuff a la Pink Floyd: The Wall. But you know what’d I’d be really down for. 

No one asked for this. I’m aware.

American Idiot: So, we open on good ol’ perfect Jingletown and meet the perfect town and all its hidden horror. We get to see a good amount of repetitive time pass. Seeing the struggles of the working class of America. Theres a focus on the younger generation being strung along in their parents problems. 

As the song comes ot an end, or vamps under Idk, we meet our boy Johnny. Who in my opinion should be far more like the average vague age youth. He doesn’t know who he is and we meet his ex-underground rock band dad who is kinda an asshole. but he loves his wife, and probably loves his sons. We also meet Johnny’s brother who is just back from rehab. The pair make up everything Johnny doesn’t want to be.  

Jesus of Suburbia I-III: Johnny meets up with his friends at the 7/11 and lament about life while drinking stolen beer. Johnny talks about how much he wants to run away and find his true origins in the nitty gritty of a big city and wants to know true pain. Will complains about being a part of a military family and his parents divorice, and how none of them will ever fight for their country. Tunny reveals that he brought his family bible to burn, but is reluctant to do so. He too is struggling to know who he is, but says nothing. The group is chased out of the back lot by the manager of the 7/11. 

Jesus of Suburbia IV-V: Back in Will’s empty house Heather is waiting, revealing how she’s been trying to get Will’s attention. She is once again ignored when Johnny tells the group how he scored tickets to a concert in the “big city”. This is his plan to run away and never look back, he encourages the others to come with him. Heather gives Will a positive pregnancy test, in an attempt to break up with him. instead he elects to stay home, in protest of his own broken home. 

Tunny and Johnny refuse to change their plan, unable to understand how Will can have a light at the end of the tunnel. They argue as the two get on the bus to leave. Johnny tells Tunny he forgot to tell his mom that he was leaving. 

Holiday: In the big city the pair burst into their new life. They come alive at the concert and bond with a group of anti-war protesters. Whatsername catches the eye of Johnny, but he chickens out of talking with her. They join the protesters march on a government building after the concert, watching as one of the protesters leads with a speech on the steps. He is everything Johnny wants to be. After the police arrive and the peaceful protest is broken up the pair are invited back to the home, an abandon building, of a group of protesters.

Boulevard of Broken Dreams: Johnny tells the group his and Tunny’s story, capturing the attention of Whatsername who appears to have a similar story. Johnny gains confidence as he finds that these are his people. The Big City is somehow everything Johnny thought it would be, dark and gritty. Whatsername introduces herself to Johnny but he misses her name. Sparks are flying folks. 

Tunny begins to feel left out of the party, realizing this is not what he wanted.  

Favorite Son: Tunny turns on the old TV in the place. He finds an old VHS playing of an 80s propaganda cartoon. He falls victim to the glamorous lifestyle of Favorite Son. He is drawn to the effortless power in the military life style, loving the danger and reward. He falls in love with the idea of being a hero for his people. Johnny joins him when everyone else has gone away.

Are We The Waiting: Tunny explains to Johnny his dreams of a better world. He thinks about Will, who is still at home trying to enjoy his future fatherhood. Heather, who is still trying to gather the courage to leave Will as she wants what’s best for her child but isn’t in love with him. Johnny, who is stuck in his new dream. 

Tunny, the next morning, enlists in the Army and finds that he will be shipped out within the week.

St. Jimmy: Johnny, angry at Tunny, meets a new best friend who has come to visit the squatter city.  St. Jimmy is the hard core punk god Johnny has been waiting for. He is a drug dealer with everything. Johnny shoots up for the first time with another group. St. jimmy openly welcomes him to his new lifestyle of getting everything you want. Almost everyone loves him, they worship him.

Little Girl: St. Jimmy tries to target Whatsername, as she tries to convice Johnny not to fall into the hands of drugs. 

Give Me Novacaine: Back in Jingletown Will tries to cope with Heathers decision to leave him and to keep their soon to be born child. In Johnny’s home his mother cries as she learns that he has run away. His father seems to be happy about it and tries to convince her it was just his time to fly the coop. Seeing this isn’t helping, he vows to find their son. 

Tunny is finally getting a piece of the action, he gets a huge piece in his thigh and is carried off of the field. 

Johnny has been recieving letters from his friends and burns them, quickly stopped by Whatsername who shows him another way of life. 

She’s a Rebel/ Last of The American Girls: Whatsername tells Johnny her true story and how she plots to lead a riot against discrimination against the poor. She brings him to homeless shelters where she volunteers and to protest concerts. Johnny eagerly writes to his friends about his new love. Will gets a good laugh over it. St. Jimmy, who is more or less real, has begun to feel ignored and starts spilling lies about Whatsername that Johnny dismisses.

Last Night On Earth: Johnny has never been in love until now. His father finds the ticket packages and gets on the next bus. Whatsername promises Johnny their relationship is more than just lust. Heather has her baby and Will chases her down to the hospital, begging to be allowed to see her. Heather reveals that she broke up with him because of his unhealthy habits to her nurse, Johnny’s mother. Heather promises she will never let anyone hurt her child and from outside the door Will promises the same. 

Johnny writes his first letter back home.

To Much To Soon: Finally back home, Will finally confronts Heather on her judgment of the past he left behind for her. Heather challenges how Will copes with stress and how it will effect their child's life. Heather decides if he is going to keep chasing her, she’s running away for good. She takes the baby with her. 

Before Lobotomy I/ Extrodinary Girl: Tunny is left alone during his recovery, finally receiving the letters his friends have sent him. The other injured soldiers in infirmary cry for their families left behind and why they join the fight to begin with. Tunny gets a new perspective on the war. He meets his nurse, the first person to provide him any comfort during this time and tends to his wounds. He quickly falls in love with her and has dreams about being Favorite Son saving the distressed princess from the evil bad guys. She tries to pull him out of the fantasy as it becomes more dangerous and the two bond over war trauma. They share a heat of the moment kiss

Before Lobotomy II: Tunny is sent home due to having his leg amputated. He takes his nurse with him, as they have fallen in love. He wishes his war buddies luck, and says farewell to the ones dying. 

When It’s Time:  Johnny writes a letter to Whatsername about his feelings for her and how he doesn’t know what he’d do without her. She showed him what pain can look like. For once he isn’t lost. 

St. Jimmy rips up the letter and burns it when Johnny’s back is turned.

Know Your Enemy: St. Jimmy tries to coax Johnny into doing harsher drugs, the only thing stopping Johnny from following him is Whatsername. So Jimmy convinces Johnny that she’s been manipulating him into believeing her stories and that he needs the drugs to cope with his own pain. Whatsername tries to get Johnny’s attention and is confronted with Johnny minimizing her pain in exchange for his own.

21 Guns: Whatsername finally takes the needles and pills from Johnny and shares her full story of being abused and being a victim of the streets. She begs him to listen to her and know that he doesn’t have to keep fighting. Johnny tries to listen to her but St. Jimmy lingers. 

Will finally gives into Heathers wishes and steals beer from a store. While drinking he realizes this is what she was talking about. He pours it all out. He finds out Tunny is home and commits to helping him.

Johnny’s father searches the city, he can’t stop thinking how pointless this is.

Johnny tries too convince Whatsername he feels her pain, which is why he needs St. Jimmy. Frustrated she shows him how ridiculous he is, he left a caring family and friend behind to seek out pain. 

Letterbomb: Finally done with Johnny’s shit, though she might still love him, Whatsername shows Johnny what fire looks like. She cries for the real heroes that fought for real change, not try hards just looking for a new outlet of self pity. She reveals that St. Jimmy was never real. She lets Johnny know that he isn’t the Jesus of Suburbia. If it isn’t obvious, Whatsername is the jesus of suburbia. Johnny helplessly watches as the love of his life leaves. Whatsername destroys all the pills before hopping the next bus out of the city.

When September Ends: Johnny’s father finds Johnny crying on the steps of a church. Father reveals how proud of Johnny he is. He tells Johnny about how angry he was when he was and how he just needed to find himself, which is what he assumes Johnny is doing. 

Tunny finds out many of his war buddies haven’t made it back home and never will. He cries to his nurse who promises nothing bad will happen to them.

Will thinks over how he let everyone he had slip away from him.

Johnnys mother calls her husband only to find out that Johnny will not be coming home just yet. Father heads back to Jingletown. 

Johnny thinks over how much he hated being anything like his father and now realizes that is truly who he wanted to be. he is shocked to think that his father ever loved him and wishes he would have shown it better. 

Homecoming I: Johnny packs his bag and prepares to go back home as he is the only one left. Its been a while since he and his fathers talk. He is unsure of where to go next. St. Jimmy has been in and out of his life anytime he thinks about everything that he’s learned. St. Jimmy tries one final time to convince Johnny to stay in the city. There is nothing in Jingle Town for him. Johnny appears to try and commit suicide but instead the bullet kills St. Jimmy in a rather comic way. Johnny truly has nothing left now. 

Homecoming II: Johnny reveals what the world could have for him, working a desk job with a boring wife. He hates what he sees and tries to convince himself that there is more to life than this image. 

Homecoming III: Tunny is living a dull life at home, trying to get a job but struggling due to his amputation. He wishes to be released as the nurse has got a new job and works to support them. 

Will is still crying to himself and finally decides he’s had enough

Homecoming IV: Heather is back in town to visit her parents with her new fiance and the baby. She meets up with Will, flaunting how rad her new man is. Will fails to see how he failed in comparison. Heather gives the baby to Will, loving her new life more. She wanted what was best for her baby and she could never provide that.

Homecoming V: At the 7/11 Johnny hops off the bus and finds that his friends are waiting for him. He drops his bags and runs into their arms. They share the stories of their adventures and how they never realized what they had here in Jingletown was what the needed, real cliche. Johnny reunites with his family and forgives his father. Tunny gets a job with his girlfriend in the hospital as a receptionist and a speaker. He has found his purpose. Johnny helps Will set up his house for the baby, admitting that he misses the people in the city.

Whatsername:  Johnny works as a music teacher in the school fifteen years down the line. While in a school recital he thinks he sees Whatsername in the crowd, but it’s someone else. When he gets back to his new house he pulls out his old guitar case and looks through all the memorabilia of his big adventure all those years ago. The thing he misses the most is Whatsername, the girl who he couldn’t even remember her name. 

anyways no one asked for that and I’m sorry but that was fun and I will probably do it again with a musical few people like.