#baby bears in alaska
Video
Alaskan Brown Bear Cubs - Lake Clark National Park, Alaska by Ursula Dubrick
Via Flickr:
Baby brown bears playing - Lake Clark National Park, Alaska
#bears#baby bears#baby brown bears#alaskan wildlife#bears in alaska#baby bears in alaska#outdoors#lake clark national park#alaska#brown bears#Ursus Arctos#flickr
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Folks, it's Friday, and guess what...
🐻 FAT BEAR WEEK CONTINUES!!!! 🐻
(The little fellas above are some of the cubs of Fat Bear Week, courtesy of Katmai National Park and Preserve.)
Get your vote on over at: https://explore.org/fat-bear-week
(Voting opens at 9AM Pacific/12PM Eastern)
Meet the bears in this year's bracket: https://explore.org/meet-the-bears
Hooray for fat bears! 🥳
#fat bear week#fatbearweek#bears#grizzly#grizzly bears#katmai national park#katmai#alaska#alaska brown bear#friday#friday bear#outdoors#wildlife#cute#animals#cub#bear cub#grizzly bear cub#baby bear
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Ahh yes Oregon, our local gay beaver boy whale exploder. I wasn’t sure what color to make his hair so 🤔 I just slapped this one on and called it a day. Someone gotta hide his packs tbh. Anyways I thought this design went hard, who want him 👻 he probably wears contacts because beaver eyesight is terrible both at day and night and are nearsighted, just a thought
This is my very accurate rendition of the 1964 Alaska Good Friday Earthquake, because although devastating I do think it’s a little silly Washington was completely fine meanwhile Alaska Oregon and Cali all went thru it 😌
#They found Alaska absolutely devastated and was like BREATHE BRO BREATHE (did not help what so ever and all the screaming got him confused)#I forgot. What Mother Nature looked like so bear with me#anyways i think beavers are real cute like have you heard what a baby beaver sounds like??? adorable#wttt#welcome to the statehouse#welcome to the table#ben brainard#wttt fanart#wttt headcanons#wttt fan art#wttt alaska#wttsh#wttsh fanart#wttt california#wttsh california#wttt oregon#wttsh headcanons#wttsh alaska#wttsh oregon#wttsh washington#wttt washington#wttt mother nature
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FROM : oliviertsf - Mama grizzly ferrying her three cubs across the river in Katmai Nal Park, Alaska
https://scooby-doo-exploration.tumblr.com/archive
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Please watch this. And retweet this! Its really important
Can't believe people like this would do something so horrible. This is gonna make everything worse if it gets the okay, and idc if you a small account or don't even post anything! But it helps. So help me spread the word of this
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The bear family going grocery shopping
From left to right
Klutzy, Herbert, Alaska, Yura, Henry, and Baby Chloe
Henry belongs to @probablyok1
Yura belongs to @askviolasblog
#club penguin#herbert p. bear#alaska nomura#yura elise bear#henry bear#baby chloe#art#my art#traditional art#fanart#oc#other friends' ocs
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I’m going to be 30 in a few days! I have a post drafted up for the tweetrs, because IDK, I’ve always written either a letter to myself, to be received on the next birthday, or a “here’s the past few years or year in reflection! :)” list to mark these occasions. But it’s so strange to think about being thirty, this big ass number that’s always felt terribly abstract to me!
Dyslexia means that numbers are mystifying as a concept even at the best of times! My idea of my late 20′s has always largely been defined by $$$, and when I haven’t kept it entirely fiscally focused, it’s been to fret over the looming concern that I’ll have an aneurysm like my mother at that age, or a heart attack, or stroke - because her family is very, very healthy, obviously. Other than that.. it’s not quite a concept I’ve ever managed to give a shit about?
A realisation brought to the forefront by the fact I’ve had several people try to commiserate with me over the fact they’re hitting their 30′s, or they’re hitting their mid-thirties, and they still don’t “feel” like an adult. Emphasis on try to commiserate, because.. can’t relate, lol, I’ve felt like I’ve been an adult since I turned twelve. Never really sure if it’s a class difference, a race one, or just very different upbringings, but turning 18 didn’t particularly change much in my life, except amp up my health problems and force me to finally learn what the fuck a credit card is. Turning 25 didn’t change anything, except start to finally settle down a lot of emotional volatility. And 30 is just.. shrug emoji.
It just seems like it should be such a big deal! People are like “oh, what’re you doing for your thirtieth?”, and it’s like.. well, same thing I do every birthday, I suppose? Talk to people, work on something I enjoy, and try to sleep in? I’m not even clear on how I would make this into some Big Deal Brouhaha emotionally, and I absolutely detest Big Deal Brouhahas at the best of times, so I’m not particularly tempted.
Just my usual “hmm, am I properly conforming? why am I not conforming, and is there an issue here that I should course-correct?” head-tilt, haha.
#d. rambles#in my teenies my initial plan was to move to alaska and become a vet for $$$#and then hoard money and move to hawaii in my 40-50's#but then I realised alaska does NOT make the dosh I had incorrectly estimated#and that Hawaii is WAY BEYOND THE DOSH I WOULD NEED#and also alaska is full of bears and hawaii is full of ocean#baby mar would be fucking sickened by my current lack of dedication to aggressively pursuing money at all costs#but baby mar didn't know hawaii has flying cockroaches and giant centipedes#so baby mar would just have to live with their fucking disappointment
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Rant // TW for car accident, feeling down, minor injury,
excessive whining, vlogbrothers youtube video reference, beautiful old tacoma met its untimely end and i’m being ridiculous, should just be grateful everyone was alright but thats not enough i must ruminate all night even though sleep would be very good
i am sad and upset because someone not paying attention totaled my truck that i was very attached to and now my independence feels like its been stolen from me but i feel bad for being upset because the person who pulled out in front of me was very stressed and they didnt mean to hurt anybody. not sure if their rear driver side door ripped off when they rolled or when i hit them but their dog ran away scared and it took a whole group of folks half an hour to find it. kind people passing by stopped to help, an old high school friend came and gave me a hug, my ex boyfriend up the rode came to pick me up, it was all so hopeful. a sad day and a very reassuring one. but it seems i’d only just forgotten about old wounds that made me terrified of driving or being in a car and now i think they’re back for some more torment. this is so cute for me. just being dramatic because everyone is okay. my foot is hurt from braking before smashing my front end in and being trapped there but mostly i’m actually mourning in earnest the loss of my dearest most reliable and nonjudgemental friend, a white 2001 toyota tacoma. extended cab. with a winch and an arb bumper and a matching canopy and stupidly big tires for such a little truck. haha still laugh about that and not be sad soon hopefully. little things break my happiness and that is a personal failure sure but my happiness is still broken and no one can take that away from me. jokes aside im suicidal lol and survivor’s guilt over a vehicle you accidentally personified that’s 1 year older than you is not something they tell you about in high school health class. can you tell it was my first? worked 6 days a week for a year at the closest full service restaurant i could ride my bike to to save up enough for such a beautiful thing and it took just about 3000000000 times shorter of an amount of time for it to all be over. i always felt a little sad when i put a sticker on the topper window in case it didnt live on forever with the truck. dang it dude. makes me think of when hank green said something like: “its much more difficult to build than it is to destroy,” but thats not what thats supposed to mean i dont think. anyway was that him or somebody else and he was quoting them? sorry if i love hank and john. i don’t have a dad ok let me have this one thing! ok its just that i couldn’t escape when i was dealing with a lot of not awesomeness at home or otherwise before i had the ability to drive myself wherever i needed to be and now that’s over for a bit and its not a good time of year to do that. alaska is very cold in the winter and my mountain bike does not suffice in the snow and ice. also fat biking sounds miserable no offense fat bikers you are valid. also south central alaska is not a very walking friendly place! also also, i just love that truck like a person. so stupid that i couldnt protect it and give it the long happy life it was entitled to. it has been in my very dramatic opinion the only stability i have had ever had and it’s comforting that i made that happen for myself but just as opposite of comforting that someone could unintentionally just take that away in the span of some seconds. hope none of you read this and hope youre all well and wearing your seatbelts always. <3 love and hugs. not sure if adding the pictures is a good idea or not since i know anything i see about a car accident makes me sick and i dont want any of you to feel the same❤️ :/ if you have questions or want to see pictures dms are open 🦦
#any happy things or warm advice welcome#i love you#please wear your seatbelts always.#and buy a fire extinguisher if you dont already have one#keep a spare around just in case!#that reminds me carry bear spray when its recommended too!#alaska is actually weirdly scary a little boy got mauled last week in my town#baby’s first car accident
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North To The Future [Chapter 6: Self Esteem]
The year is 1999. You are just beginning your veterinary practice in Juneau, Alaska. Aegon is a mysterious, troubled newcomer to town. You kind of hate him. You are also kind of obsessed with him. Falling for him might legitimately ruin your life…but can you help it? Oh, and there’s a serial killer on the loose known only as the Ice Fisher.
Chapter warnings: Language, alcoholism, addiction, murder, discussions of sex, mild violence, ominous foreshadowing.
Word count: 5.5k.
Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.
Taglist: @elsolario @meadowofsinfulthoughts @ladylannisterxo @doingfondue @tclegane @quartzs-posts @liathelioness @aemcndtargaryen @thelittleswanao3 @burningcoffeetimetravel @b1gb3anz @hinata7346 @poohxlove @borikenlove @myspotofcraziness @travelingmypassion @graykageyama @skythighs @lauraneedstochill @darlingimafangirl @charenlie @thewew @eddies-bat-tattoos @minttea07 @joliettes @trifoliumviridi
Please let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist! 💜
For the past two decades, there has been someone living just above your family’s heads—someone as real as any of you, someone with ideas and dreams and idiosyncratic jokes—waiting to be freed from that dusty and unspoken-of cardboard box. Yet in a sense, he was with you all along: a whisper in the walls, a ghost who only roams once everyone else is asleep, a shadow that nudges open doors and leaves cold pockets of air to be stumbled unsuspectingly into. Your mom makes chocolate chip cookies with the same recipe he taught her twenty-five years ago. You’ve always liked Queen’s A Night At The Opera because he used to dance with you around the living room while the album played; it was also the first cassette tape you bought when you started driving. He carved the little wooden bears on the shelf in the study, the umbrella stand by the front door, the salad servers your mom only uses on special occasions. You learn all of this and more as you read the journals of the man who gave you twenty-three chromosomes, pieces of your eyes, skin, hair, voice, blood, fingerprints.
Jesse doesn’t feel anything like a parent—your dad is your dad and always will be, nothing can change that—but he does feel like a friend, someone you’ve known for so long you can no longer unravel where their memories end and yours begin. You can picture things exactly as he describes them. You laugh at his sharp, sardonic humor. And you can feel, in some impossible and yet unmistakable way, mourning when he recedes for a while like low tide. He will make routine notes for weeks, months, and then disappear for just as long. There are gaps that swallow up summers, winters, Thanksgivings, Christmases, New Year’s Eves; there are black holes that your mom’s faith must have drowned in. Sometimes his entries are mere reminders: Deb’s birthday next week, car needs new transmission, agreed to anniversary trip to Anchorage, dinner w/ Dale on Thursday. He did not scrawl these on the kitchen calendar where they could be seen by his family or his friends. He did not want anyone to know how little he could trust himself to remember.
You have no one to share these revelations with. Your parents could not bear it. Your friends would not understand. You can’t even fathom trying to explain the journals to Trent, what they are, what they mean. Bewilderingly, the only person you can imagine sharing them with is Aegon. But you don’t talk to him anymore. You can’t talk to him anymore.
A fourth body is found, this time in Moose Lake: Brandon Knight, thirty-one, a hydrologist, married with a toddler and another baby on the way. The Juneau Police Department is increasingly desperate for tips. They reveal that footprints left in the vicinity of the crime scenes indicate that the killer might wear size 12 L.L.Bean boots, although it’s difficult to know for sure since park rangers, hikers, hunters, and ice fishers of the non-homicidal variety frequent the lakes as well. It hardly matters. Practically half the men in Juneau wear size 12 L.L.Bean boots.
November dissolves into December, the snow falls, the nights grow long and treacherous like fangs.
~~~~~~~~~~
“Babe, babe, can we get Godzilla?” Trent pleads. You’re standing in the middle of the Action aisle at Juneau’s sole Blockbuster. “Babe, can we please get Godzilla?!”
“Okay,” you concede, but with a condition. “Can we get The Mummy too?”
“Ohhhhh.” Trent grins suggestively. His arms snake around your waist. “Two movies, one night, huh? You don’t want to get rid of me.”
“Maybe I just really like The Mummy.” You’re half-joking, but that means you’re half-serious too. In truth, you aren’t sure exactly how you feel about Trent. Sometimes you think he’s sweet and supportive and refreshingly uncomplicated (that’s a polite way of saying not very bright), sometimes he annoys you with his boisterousness and his immaturity, sometimes he’s useful to have around when heavy objects need to be lifted, sometimes he’s just there. On balance, he is a relatively pleasant distraction. Trent has an apartment on the other side of town—a much nicer apartment than Aegon’s, though you try not to compare them, what a catastrophic error that would be—but you usually invite him to your parents’ house instead. They like Trent, they’ve known him your whole life…and you like the idea of your parents always being just a few rooms away, of having an eternal and effortless excuse to send Trent home when you decide he’s overstayed his welcome.
“Yes,” Trent agrees enthusiastically. “Godzilla and The Mummy.” He grabs the Godzilla VHS in the plain blue-and-white Blockbuster box from behind the display case: green, scaley, mindlessly reptilian, a large nuclear-blast red eye. You peek behind The Mummy’s display case. There’s nothing there. All the copies have been taken.
“No!” you groan in defeat.
“They’re all gone?” Trent checks the surrounding movies in case someone restocked The Mummy in the incorrect spot. “Damn, sorry babe. Guess your taste in movies is just too good. Someone else had the same idea.”
In the next aisle over, there is a shrill and familiar sound. It’s Kimmie giggling. You round the corner to find her and Aegon wrestling over a VHS box. It’s playful, it’s adorable, it’s honestly pretty nauseating.
“Oh, hi!” Kimmie cries when she spots you, grinning. She tries to yank the VHS out of Aegon’s grasp but fails. He’s wearing a green flannel shirt, light-wash Levi’s, his gifted parka, and black Converses (far from a size 12, you note). He has also frozen completely. He’s gawking at you and Trent, dismayed and speechless. You’re an unwelcome intrusion. You’re a nightmare he can’t wake up from.
“Hey, guys!” Trent says obliviously. “Sup?”
Kimmie points to the VHS. “I’m trying to convince Aegon to put that back and get Titanic instead.”
“You poor bastard,” Trent tells Aegon, smiling. “What is it?”
Now Aegon is determined not to look at you. He stares down at his Converses instead, kicking at the dull blue carpet, running his free hand through his messy white-blond hair. “The Mummy.”
“No way! That’s what we were searching for!” Trent turns to you. “You should fight him for it, babe. Arm wrestle or thumb war or something. Trial by combat. Pokémon card battle.”
“Rock paper scissors,” Kimmie suggests. “Or, better yet, you can just have it.”
“Do you want The Mummy?” Aegon asks you, holding up the VHS. Your eyes lock; it’s the first time you’ve spoken directly since Thanksgiving, the first time you’ve really seen each other. And it’s the most unnerving feeling, because he’s a stranger and yet so familiar: the deep oceanic blue of his irises, the pale slopes of his cheekbones, the way his hair is forever falling into his face. You think of how few times you ever got to touch him. You think of how Kimmie can touch him always, anywhere.
“No.”
“Seriously,” Aegon says. “You can have it.”
“Trent wants to watch Godzilla anyway,” you say, much more dismally than you intend to, and then quickly add: “I’m okay with that, it has Matthew Broderick, he’s a stud.”
“Just take the movie,” Aegon snaps, offering it, his outstretched arm bridging the gap between you.
Your voice turns sharp, cutting. “I couldn’t possibly deprive you of your ideal date night.”
“No, really, I can get Office Space instead. I love that movie.”
“I don’t want your pity VHS!” you explode.
“Well then I don’t want your pity parka!” He rips it off and throws it on the floor. You glare at each other across a laden silence, surrounded by Romance movies that you wouldn’t mind tossing into an open flame. Trent and Kimmie are dumbfounded. A Blockbuster employee peeps tentatively into the aisle and then scurries away.
“Aww,” Trent says sorrowfully, breaking the quiet like glass, like ice. “Are you guys not friends anymore? Are you actually fighting?”
“No,” you and Aegon say almost simultaneously. You grudgingly accept The Mummy. He puts the parka back on. You pretend everything is fine, badly, like a soon-to-be-divorced couple does in front of their children. Then Aegon grabs a copy of Titanic off the shelf and slings an arm around Kimmie; and if any part of her was suspicious, it evaporates into a rose-gold haze of triumph and infatuation. They mosey away together towards the Comedy aisle, presumably to locate Office Space.
Trent chuckles and, ever horse-like, flips his hair out of his eyes. “You two are definitely fighting.”
“No, we’re not.”
“Look, I get it. Aegon’s a mess. But he’s a very talented mess, so you’ll have to learn to tolerate him. You can’t run him out of Juneau. He’s Boat #27’s frontman. How would I replace him?”
“Resurrect Kurt Cobain,” you murmur bitterly.
“Huh?”
“Never mind.” And then you ask with curiosity that you wish you didn’t have: “When’s your band’s next performance?”
Trent beams, proud like a good father. “This Thursday.”
“And what’s the song selection?”
“Can’t tell you.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
“You are not loyal,” you say, climbing onto your tiptoes to link your hands around the back of his neck. Strands of his hair—mane?—catch between your fingers. You smile up at him, feeling very very little. Vanishingly little. Excruciatingly little. The irony of you calling him disloyal hits you with alarming force. “Why can’t you tell me?”
“Because I genuinely forgot the name of it. I’m learning the drum part before the lyrics. It’s something by The Offspring, I remember that. Aegon picked it, he usually picks the songs.”
“The Offspring…” Punk rock, angry, unpolished, chaotic. Yeah, that sounds like Aegon. “Interesting. I can’t wait.”
Trent plants a kiss on your forehead. When he touches you, you are never struck by his gentleness, his carefulness, any illusions of ethereal liberation. He’s just flesh. He’s just weight. “I can’t wait to get back to your house and watch Godzilla.”
You check out your movies at the front counter, adding a bag of popcorn and a box of Buncha Crunch. Through the Blockbuster’s windows, you watch Kimmie and Aegon walk out to her custom-painted pink Land Cruiser: illuminated by murky streetlights, cold wind in their hair, their fingers intertwined.
And an hour later, when you’re sitting on your bed in pajamas watching Godzilla and Trent tries out resting his palm on your thigh for the first time…you let him.
~~~~~~~~~~
“He’s a freak,” Kimmie says, blushing behind her Miller Lite. She’s watching Aegon as the band finishes setting up; she’s a little spellbound, a little shocked…and Kimmie is not easily shocked. “A total freak. Like every position imaginable.”
“Okay, thanks for sharing,” Heather replies, glancing anxiously at you. “Anyway—”
“Like, it’s unreal. Very enlightening. I did not know my legs could bend that way.”
“Kimmie, please,” you beg, flinching away from her. You ply yourself with apple-flavored Bacardi Breezers like antivenom. Dale has officially switched over the soundtrack from Shania Twain to holiday music. Wham!’s Last Christmas booms from the speakers.
“Boundaries, Kimmie,” Heather says. Joyce—who tragically miscalculated the number of pages left in her latest fantasy novel and has therefore resorted to purchasing a newspaper from the vending machine just outside Ursa Minor—shakes her head with disapproval but no surprise.
“I always tell you guys about my boyfriends!” Kimmie whines. “Always, always, going all the way back to kindergarten when I kissed that kid Jason under the monkey bars! And then Ms. Butler told my mom that if she didn’t get me under control I was going to end up pregnant by eighth grade. Yet here I am, proudly not impregnated.”
“And we’re all very relieved about that,” Joyce quips from behind her newspaper.
Kimmie appears to be sincerely distressed. “You’re the people I vent to, you’re the people I want to share things with!”
Heather raises her eyebrows, exasperated. “Yes, well, you don’t need to share everything.”
“He’s exactly what I needed,” Kimmie says, undaunted, gazing at Aegon again. “Nothing serious, nothing complicated, lots of orgasms. And now that my mind is more clear, I can figure out things with Brad. I think I might miss him. I’ve heard he’s super jealous, maybe I’ll call him in a few weeks. You know, once the Aegon situation runs its course.”
Because Kimmie’s life is just one long line of men waiting to get their turn to take her to dinners, movies, scenic hiking trails, Blockbusters, bedrooms. That’s what it’s always like for main characters, right? You don’t want a long line of men. You only want one. The wrong one. “Cool,” you mutter, little more than a whisper. You wonder if in the litany of details that Kimmie feels compelled to share she will mention the track marks on Aegon’s arms. Maybe he told her not to talk about them; maybe she didn’t notice them at all. They’re not really something that would fit into her worldview. They’re serious. They’re lethal.
Kimmie continues: “And thank God we’re compatible sexually because otherwise, he’s honestly kind of depressing. All he wants to do is drink and watch the X-Files. It’s soooo boring.”
“Wow,” Heather contributes tonelessly.
The band is almost ready. Like a gazelle, Kimmie skitters off to the bar to buy another Miller Lite. She’s wearing an extremely cute pink satin dress and matching heels. You can’t hate her. She’s myopic and frivolous and oftentimes frustrating, but she’s also one of your best friends. She has been for as long as you can remember. It’s hard to cut something like that out of you; it’s like excavating a vertebrae or a rib.
“You okay?” Heather asks sympathetically.
“I’m going to jump off a roof.”
“No, you aren’t.”
“Yes I am. I’m going to climb those steps and go up to the patio and jump off right now.”
“This bar is a single-story building. I think you’d live.”
Lyrics from The Distance come back like daylight, recurrent and inevitable: She’s hoping in time that her memories will fade. “Maybe I can hit my head hard enough to give myself amnesia.”
Heather pivots. “How are things with Trent?”
“It’s fine. Trent’s fine. Nothing more, nothing less.”
“You don’t feel the compulsion to regale me with completely disturbing and unnecessary details of your sex life? Not that I’m complaining. I really don’t want to know about my brother’s mattress skills. Or lack of mattress skills. I’m not sure which would be worse, honestly. Is he hung like a horse? He looks like he would be. Wait, don’t answer that. I don’t want to know.”
You drain your third Bacardi Breezer. “I can truthfully say that I have nothing to report.”
“You haven’t…?”
“Nope. Not even close.” You look over at Trent, who is warming up at his drumkit and banging blissfully on the toms. He waves, drumstick in hand. You raise your empty glass bottle in reply. Aegon notices this, narrows his deep blue eyes, glowers at you. He has certainly embraced the punk rock aesthetic: white T-shirt, black leather jacket and pants, combat boots, his hair gelled back off his forehead. He has a safety pin pierced through the lobe of his right ear. It does not look professionally done. “He never even tried anything with me,” you tell Heather. She knows you’re not talking about Trent anymore. “We kissed once. Literally once. And it wasn’t even a hot sloppy kiss, it was like…like…I don’t know how to describe it. Quiet. Calm. He never asked for more than that from me. And now he’s spending five nights a week twisting Kimmie into a goddamn Auntie Anne’s pretzel.”
“That doesn’t mean he never wanted you,” Heather says softly.
“Really? Because it definitely feels like he never wanted me. Not in the same way, at least.” Not as badly. Not as hungrily. Not enough to let me fix him.
Bar patrons are gathering around the band: Kimmie, Gary, Matt, more of Trent’s meatheaded friends, a sprinkling of University of Alaska students, dreary middle-aged locals. That will be me someday, you think. Sitting in this same place with these same people watching the same meaningless events transpire day after day after day until I’m six feet underground. Dale is observing the band from the bar, washing pint glasses.
“We should go up there too,” Joyce says, displaying an iota of interest that is bafflingly out of character. She folds up her newspaper and stuffs it inside her sensible messenger bag. You and Heather accompany her and join the audience; when Rob spies Joyce, he stops plucking his bass and smiles. She smiles back, rather shy and secretive.
“Fascinating,” Heather says, and Joyce elbows her in the side. “Ow!”
Aegon takes one last swig of his rum and Coke and then taps the mic. “Test, test.” He sways drunkenly. His eyes scan the room, sharpening when they pass over you. He’s more jagged and angular with his hair slicked back; he looks ready for a fight. Kimmie squeals and claps. There are more applause from the crowd. You and Heather cheer for Trent. Aegon roll his eyes, so quickly most people would miss it. “Hi, I’m Aegon, and we are Boat #27. Tonight we’ll be performing one of my favorite songs. It’s called Self Esteem, a synonym for self-respect or dignity, which are things that certain people present this evening could use more of.”
“Oh, burn!” Trent says. He plays a ba dum tss on his drumkit, eliciting laughter. He is entirely unaware that Aegon is looking at you. No one else seems aware of it aside from Heather and Joyce.
“Fight, fight, fight!” Matt shouts. More tipsy laughter, more clinking glasses. Kimmie whoops and jumps up and down in her pink heels. When the band starts playing, she whips out a lighter from her purse and waves it around in the air. Rob is more animated than usual; he’s enjoying the feisty bassline. You try to keep your eyes on Trent—who is flipping his hair around more or less constantly, ready to run the Kentucky Derby—but they wander back to Aegon. He’s strumming his jade green electric guitar frenetically. He’s more than just channeling the requisite angst and aggression of punk rock. He’s pissed, he’s furious.
Aegon half-sings, half-screams the post-chorus, glaring right at you: “When she’s saying, oh, that she wants only me, then I wonder why she sleeps with my friends!”
“Oh, he’s dead,” Heather growls.
“When she’s saying, oh, that I’m like a disease, then I wonder how much more I can spend…”
You flee to the bar to get another apple-flavored Bacardi Breezer. They don’t even taste that great; you wish you didn’t crave them. “You okay, kid?” Dale asks, peering down at you from beneath bushy eyebrows. He sets another glass bottle on the counter and pops off the lid.
“I’m fantastic.”
“Not impressed with the talent of our local rock band?”
“Not impressed with one of them in particular.”
Dale chuckles, content to stay out of the drama, and ambles away to restock the pint glasses. You gather up courage like roses pulled from a garden thick with thorns. When Boat #27 has finished their song and accepted high-fives and back slaps from the audience, you go to confront Aegon. He sees you and whirls towards the front door, plotting his escape. Heather is standing there with her arms crossed, face fearsome. Aegon bolts up the staircase that leads to the rooftop patio. You follow after him, rage and hot blood pounding in your ears. You sprint out onto the snow-covered roof and slam the door behind you. Aegon leans unsteadily over the side of the building, contemplates jumping, thinks better of it.
“What’s wrong with you?!” you shout at him, your words turning to fog in the air. It’s freezing outside, and neither of you have your parkas. The sky is dark, clouded, starless. The full moon is a blur of dim silver light.
“Nothing, I’m amazing, I’m having the best two weeks of my life, obviously.”
“Why would you do that?” you demand. You’re trembling all over, and not just from the cold.
He shrugs, infuriatingly flippant. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket. “Do what?”
“The song, Aegon, why would you harass me with that song?! You know, the one about me being such a slut despite the fact that you’re literally sleeping with my friend—”
“Who says the song was my idea?”
“Oh, shut up! I know you picked it. Trent told me you almost always pick the songs.”
He sighs dramatically, cynically. “Well, if Trent told you…”
“Why are you suddenly so obsessed with Trent?!”
“I’m not obsessed, I’m just understandably a little confused because you were so adamant that you didn’t like him romantically and that he wasn’t your type—”
“He’s not!”
“—And then the second I’m out of the picture you’re, like, all over him, all the time, and you’re here together, and you’re inviting him to your house, and you’re showing him off to your parents who from what I’ve heard freaking adore him, and you’re having these cute little movie date nights, and he’s calling you babe, and, oh by the way, I hope you enjoyed fucking while watching The Mummy, that was my congratulations gift to you both, you’re welcome, thanks for ruining that movie for me forever.”
“I haven’t fucked Trent!” you yell at Aegon.
“What?” He blinks a few times, letting it sink in. “Really?”
“Really.”
“Wait, wait, wait.” He looks like he’s trying to do math in his head; he looks like he’s realizing that he made a grave miscalculation. “You and Trent…you’re not…like…you’re not serious?”
“Nowhere close to it.”
“…Why?”
“Because I don’t like him enough.” And then you add, because you feel like you should: “Yet.”
“Oh.” Aegon is stunned; but more than that, you think, he is pleased.
“But I guess you like Kimmie plenty.”
“Oh,” he says again, less pleased this time. He stares down at his combat boots and stomps on icy clumps of snow, avoiding your eyes. His mouth twists into an odd, introspective frown. “Yeah, Kimmie’s fine. She’s fun. She’s…she’s more similar to my usual type.”
“Wonderful,” you pitch at him. “Great. I’m super happy for you.”
“Well you don’t have to be a bitch—”
“And guess what? Even if I was sleeping with Trent, that’s not something you get to have an opinion about. Because you spend your entire life crawling from one random girl’s bed to the next, so you’re not exactly Mother fucking Teresa and I’m using every shred of my self-control to not hold that against you. I think the absolute least you can do in return is refrain from trying to publicly humiliate me.”
He nods, chewing his lower lip. He waits a while before he replies, collecting his thoughts, slowing his breathing. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that, you didn’t deserve it, I’m sorry.”
“I sort of accept your apology.”
The wind roars, clawing cruelly through your hair. It even tears a few strands of Aegon’s loose. He looks at you, all over, starting with your boots. When he gets to your face, he turns away. “It’s a compliment, you know.”
“How is you screaming at me and calling me a slut a compliment?”
“Forget it.”
“You still owe me $300 for fixing your dog.”
“Okay! I’ll sell a kidney!” He storms by you and disappears back inside Ursa Minor.
Downstairs, Heather is pacing the floor and eagerly waiting for you to return. Back at the booth, Joyce is deep in conversation with Rob. Trent is sitting at the bar and chatting with Dale about his bygone days in the Forest Service. And for a second, it feels like you’re seeing double, that Dale is just Trent in twenty or thirty years: brawny, rugged, straightforward, with his glory days long behind him and no thoughts for the world outside Juneau. There’s a jolting feeling, like hitting the brakes so hard the line of the seatbelt leaves a bruise. I’m trapped here. I really, really am.
“Oh, hallelujah,” Heather says. “I was about to come up there. I was worried the Greek boy had strangled you and was dragging your lifeless body into the wilderness.”
You shake your head, distracted. “He wouldn’t hurt me.”
“Maybe not physically.”
You shouldn’t have reminded him about the money; now you regret that. It was low, it was motivated by spite. You don’t really care about the money. You don’t want to deprive Aegon or Sunfyre of anything. “I think I need a change of scenery.”
“Want to walk over to Taco Bell?”
“I was thinking more broadly, but that will work for now. Should I invite Trent?”
“I mean, yeah, obviously,” Heather says. “He’s sort of your boyfriend. Right?”
Right? You suppose he is. You fetch Trent from the bar. Heather collects Joyce and Rob from the booth. Then Kimmie trots over to the amassing expedition, her heels clicking on the hardwood floor, her crimped hair beginning to fall flat, a fresh Miller Lite in hand.
“Want to go to Taco Bell with us?” you ask her. “I know it’s not your favorite, but I figured it would be rude not to invite you. You could probably bring your beer. I don’t think the employees get paid enough to try to stop you.”
“Ugh. Yeah, I guess I’ll go if everyone else is.” She spins around and shouts to Aegon, who is guzzling down another rum and Coke: “Hey, babe, want to go to Taco Bell?”
“Um,” Aegon begins. You glare at him. Joyce glares at him. Heather really glares at him.
“Yeah, totally, come with us!” Rob says, shattering the awkward lull.
“Bro, you have to come to Taco Bell!” Trent agrees from where he stands behind you. And then he squeezes your shoulders; be nice, he means. His hands are so large, so powerful. He clamps down on your flesh more roughly than he aims to, maybe even hard enough to bruise. You have to smother a reflex to step away from him. A shudder rocks down your spine.
Where did THAT come from?
Aegon sees this. It’s only an instant, but it seems to stretch on forever: he studies you, something moving under the blue of his eyes, wreckage beneath waves, shadows behind frosted glass. “I’ll go.”
“Yay!” Kimmie trills, joyful and tipsy, hobbling over to wrap him in a blundering hug.
The seven of you bundle up in your parkas, hats, and mittens and venture over to Taco Bell. You give Trent your order and then go with Joyce and Kimmie to shove some of the tables together and furnish them with plentiful napkins, plastic forks, straws, and packs of hot sauce.
You can hear Trent up at the counter: “Hi, can I get six steak tacos, a Nachos Supreme, a Gordita…uh…oh yeah, two large Mountain Dews, and…uhhhh…I think that’s it.”
“You want Cinnamon Twists,” Aegon tells him quietly.
“Oh yeah! Thanks, bro. I totally forgot. And two orders of Cinnamon Twists.” He pulls his wallet out of his back pocket to pay. Aegon starts ordering next. Heather is still glaring at him.
It takes all three Taco Bell employees to bring the trays of food out to the rearranged tables. You’re sitting next to Trent, of course, with Heather on your right. Aegon and Kimmie are directly across from you; Kimmie has indeed smuggled her Miller Lite into the Taco Bell. Rob is merrily eating his way through a small mountain of 7-Layer Burritos. Joyce has laid her newspaper flat on the table and is reading the Entertainment section while taking occasional, dainty nibbles of a Fiesta Taco Salad.
“Why don’t you guys have a fourth band member?” Heather says as she bites into a quesadilla. “Who am I supposed to enjoy a sizzling, doomed romance with?”
“Gary is single,” Kimmie offers.
“I can’t fuck Gary. He looks like Paul Giamatti.”
“Babe, babe!” Trent complains to you. “Stop hogging all the nacho cheese!”
“Sorry,” you say. You abandon the nachos and focus on your Cinnamon Twists instead. Aegon sighs moodily, looking around the Taco Bell dining room for something to occupy himself with. The last time the two of you were here, you were reading each other’s palms; he was telling you that you wanted him so badly it was eating you alive. It still is, you realize with horror. Oh my god, when will this end? How does this end?
Livin’ La Vida Loca comes on the Taco Bell speakers. “Hey, it’s Ricky Martin!” Trent announces cheerfully. “Just like your posters, babe.” He points to you. “She has, no lie, probably eight different Ricky Martin posters on her bedroom wall. It’s an addiction.”
Rob grins. “Yeah, that’s probably who she’s really thinking about every time you come over.”
Trent laughs, polishing off the Nachos Supreme. Kimmie tells everyone about how you used to cover your high school notebooks with celebrity photos cut out of magazines: Prince, Tom Cruise, Jon Bon Jovi, Cyndi Lauper, George Michael, Madonna, Sigourney Weaver, Princess Diana. More laughter, pure-intentioned yet unwittingly cruel. Aegon is the only one who doesn’t join in.
“It wasn’t about them,” you object. “It was about something, anything, beyond Alaska. It was about having some connection the outside world.”
“And look where you ended up,” Kimmie says with a bubbly, tipsy smile. “Back where you belong, with all your best friends. And we’ll do everything together. We’ll be at each other’s weddings, our babies will grow up together, one day we’ll be those old people at Ursa Minor yapping about the good old days.”
Trent beams and rests an arm across the back of your chair. Aegon sighs again. Joyce buries her face behind her newspaper. The front-page article is about how Microsoft has just hit a market capitalization of over $600 billion and is therefore the most valuable company in human history.
“Hey,” Aegon says suddenly, reaching across the table. “Can I have that?”
Joyce is confused. “What, the newspaper?”
“Just the front page. Yeah, that one. Thanks.” He takes it and loudly crumbles it into a ball. “Anyone got a lighter?”
“Um…” Kimmie roots around in her purse and produces one. She flicks it to life, the pink glitter on her fingernails sparkling. Aegon holds the paper ball over the flame to ignite it. Once it catches, he sets it on the table and watches it burn.
A Taco Bell employee, maybe seventeen years old, tentatively approaches. “Sir, you can’t start fires in here.”
Aegon picks up his large Mountain Dew and—making unflinching eye contact with the employee—dumps the entire cup onto the charred remnants of the newspaper page, extinguishing the blaze.
“Thanks,” the employee mumbles before retreating back behind the counter.
Everyone gapes at Aegon, mystified…everyone except Trent. He’s busy unwrapping his six tacos. He takes a bite of one and then lobs it away. “Goddammit, these are chicken, not steak! Didn’t I say steak?!” He brings his fist down on the corner of the table. The whole edge snaps off, a section of laminate about six by three inches. You don’t realize that you’ve yelped out loud until your six companions whirl to look at you.
The person you look at, strangely enough, is Aegon. There is no anger on his face, no annoyance; you could almost forget that Thanksgiving ever happened. You’re the only two people in the room, in the world. It’s an infinite second in which you understand each other perfectly. The expression on his face is not just shock, not just revulsion…it’s fear. And then he swallows it: whatever he’s thinking, whatever he’s feeling. With effort, he pulls his eyes—wide and darting, rattling with panic—down to the damaged table. He covers his mouth with both hands.
“Oh shit.” Trent chuckles nervously. “I’m sorry, guys.”
“Jesus Christ, you’re the Hulk,” Rob jokes, his voice shaky.
“We’re definitely going to get banned from Taco Bell,” Heather moans, rubbing her temples; and only then does everyone truly laugh.
Once you’ve all finished eating—and Trent has given his most profound apology to the three wretched employees of the Taco Bell, grim like Victorian orphans—you walk back to Ursa Minor’s parking lot together. Trent has one arm tight around you. Aegon keeps glancing at you like he wants to say something; you can see him out of the corner of your eye. You are careful not to look at him again. You don’t want Trent to notice. You don’t want him to catch on to what has already happened, what you undeniably want more of.
“Watch out for the ice,” Heather warns everyone, a true mom friend.
“I’m going to break my neck,” Kimmie says, wobbling in her pink heels, clutching Aegon’s forearm. “I’ll just try to step in Trent’s footprints. I’ll follow them all the way to the bar. They’re big enough.”
Trent grins at her, then announces smugly: “Size 12.”
#aegon x you#aegon targaryen x reader#aegon ii targaryen#aegon targaryen#aegon ii#aegon targaryen x you#aegon targaryen ii x reader#aegon targaryen ii#aegon x y/n#aegon x reader
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today i discovered febuwhump, and idk how many of these i will write, but i wrote one for today.
so here’s a short fic about bucky and clint for the prompt “difficulty breathing.” it’s not particularly whumpy, so i’m not sure it qualifies, but we’re all doing our best out here.
if anyone has any requests for the other prompts, send them in.
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They lose Bucky in Alaska, which is bullshit, because Clint warned everyone that they should’ve let him stay home. “Fucking Alaska,” he says, to no one, to the inquisitive squirrel in the tree he passed half a mile back. Alaska, so close to Russia that it used to be Russian territory, snow-infested, grizzly-riddled, bleak, brutal, cold. Alaska.
They’re here chasing down some Hydra holdout, spending their free time unofficially avenging through a hitlist Steve doesn’t like calling a hitlist. Two days ago, as Clint reviewed the general typography of the situation, studied potential sightlines, prepared a packing list of all his favorite base layers, he’d said, “Maybe Bucky stays home, huh?”
And Steve, of course, had whirled around like a scandalized meerkat, and Bucky had sulked in the corner like someone just forcefed him a wheelbarrow of rancid lemons, and Nat patted him on the shoulder and gave him a look like You’re right, and nobody cares.
And now Barnes has fucked off into the wilderness, and Clint’s going after him because the others are busy Sticky Bandit-ing their way through Home Alone Hydra’s inventive series of booby traps, and Clint, because he didn’t grow up in Brooklyn or a bunker or fucking Manhattan, is somehow the designated wilderness expert on the team.
At least he’s been spared the indignity of nearly getting obliterated by a deadfall in the woods. Tony seems to be taking that incident fairly personally.
“That’s what I’m saying about Alaska,” Clint says, to the rock he’s passing. “Everybody’s got fuck all to do up here.”
Death pits, with hand-sharpened stakes. Christ.
It’s the mountains, he thinks, and the height of the trees. The way the landscape looms and shades and suffocates. Same reason so many serial killers ooze up from the undergrowth in the Pacific Northwest, like creepy little murder mushrooms feeding on death in the dark.
Clint’s from good, wholesome country, the far west of Iowa, where the land has the grace to lie flat and let you get a good look around. Not a damn thing sneaks up on you back there. But here, in the Godforsaken Saint Elias Mountains, even the air is hard to find.
The altitude sickness kicked in about three miles back. He’s got a headache like his skull’s imploding, and he keeps reaching up to tug at his coat and the layers of shirts beneath, trying to break free from the building pressure around his throat.
He hated the stupid spindly stretched-out trees until he left them, moved from forest to tundra, and then it was like the trees kept all the air with them. “Baby, come back,” he mutters, really leaning into the stupid, dizzy way he feels, luxuriating in getting dumber the higher up he gets, because the only thing up here that’s going to kill him is Barnes, and Barnes could do that at any damn elevation he wanted.
Well, maybe there’s bears. Probably there’s bears. But he feels pretty good about his odds against most of them.
Clint tries to remember which bears are endangered. One of the other STRIKE teams got in serious shit once for annihilating a nesting pair of whooping cranes during an emergency landing in Texas, and Clint doesn’t want to end up with that kind of note in his file.
Clint Barton, Avenger, known enemy to the animals.
Anyway, he’s not overly worried about the bears. He’s carrying enough firepower to crater several of them into the side of this mountain, and he’ll lie about it later if he has to, say it was whichever type isn’t endangered.
Used to be, he never lied on a SHIELD form. Since Coulson died, it hasn’t seemed to matter.
“Shit,” he says, suddenly breathless, and he slides into a crouch, chest to knees, heart beating like he’s been feeding his lungs through a straw. He wonders about his aim, about what this dizzy lightheaded feeling will do, but he doesn’t worry about it much.
If it’s Barnes coming after him, he’s dead anyway. If it’s a bear, a centimeter or two of variance isn’t going to matter much.
“What are you doing?”
That’s Barnes, of course. Appearing outta nothing, like the ghost of failed missions past.
“Fuck’s sake,” Clint tells him. And then, half-laughing, “I’m here to rescue you.”
Barnes crouches down in front of him. He’s always a little wild-eyed when the target’s Hydra, but the desperation on him now is quite the throwback. Clint hasn’t seen that kind of fear in months. “‘Rescue me,’” he repeats. “You can’t breathe.”
Clint rolls his eyes. He can breathe just fine. “Made it this far.”
Barnes nods, slow, and then tips his head. “Yes,” he says. “How’d you find me?”
Clint scoffs. It’s a real allocation of scarce resources, that scoff, but he commits to the things that matter. “Yeah, maybe you don’t need oxygen, but supersoldiers still leave footprints.”
“Barely,” Barnes says. “And I need oxygen.”
“Barely,” Clint says, just to be an asshole.
Barnes’ stern almost-scowl breaks apart, splintering with a quickfire smile, and then he’s Bucky again.
Steve wouldn’t get it. Neither would Tony. Both of them, they’ve been remade, but never unmade.
Hydra, tundra, cold. They should’ve left Bucky at home.
“It’s not that I think you can’t handle it,” Clint says. He takes a break in the middle for a quick gasp at the useless cotton candy air. “Just maybe I kinda hate that you think you have to.”
Bucky shrugs. If the cold bothers him, he’s forgotten that he’s allowed to show it. He squints toward the skyline and then tips briefly into Clint, shoulder-to-shoulder, before he hauls him to his feet. “Then let’s go home,” he says.
They should check on the others. But, judging from the radio silence and the plume of smoke rising in the southwest, they aren’t needed.
“Yeah,” Clint says, leaning into him. “Let’s go home.”
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Alaskan Brown Bear Cubs - Lake Clark National Park, Alaska by Ursula Dubrick
Via Flickr:
Three baby bears sleeping in Lake Clark National Park, Alaska
#wildlife#bears#baby bears#brown bears#Ursus#Actos baby brown bears#Alaska wildlife#Alaskan bears#Alaskan baby bears#Alaskan brown bears#Alaskan baby brown bears#baby animals#sleeping baby bears#sleeping bears#Alaska#Ursula Dubrick#Ursula Dubrick Photography#flickr
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PALS, IT'S FRIDAY. Y'ALL DID IT! 🐻
What a better way to celebrate than welcoming this adorable orphaned bear cub who just arrived at the Woodland Park Zoo! You can find out much more here or here.
Congrats to the Earl of Avoirdupois, the fattest of them all, Mr. 747 for winning Fat Bear Week. We're real proud of ya, boy. Sleep tight you enormous king.
Make your weekend incredible. Thanks for hanging out with us every week. It's y'all who make Friday Bear so special.
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Photo from Seattle's Woodland Park Zoo.
#fat bear week#fatbearweek#bears#grizzly#grizzly bears#katmai national park#katmai#alaska#alaska brown bear#friday#friday bear#outdoors#wildlife#cute#animals#seattle#seattle zoo#woodland park zoo#bear cub#baby bear#cub
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The Terrifying Ordeal of Falling in Love with Leon Kennedy
CHAPTER 7
Pairing: Leon Kennedy x Reader (female reader)
Series Warnings: Minor injuries, Leon teases reader a lot, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Drinking, Drinking followed by driving, DO NOT DO THAT THIS IS FICTION, Anxiety, Leon S. Kennedy has PTSD, Leon has an anxiety attack, Anxiety Attacks, Swearing, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Nightmares, Leon S. Kennedy has Nightmares, Cuddling & Snuggling, Probably incorrect medical talk, Strangulation in one tiny little scene, Reader's brother was a cop who was KIA, Slow Burn, Slow Build, Grief/Mourning, Christmas Fluff, Mistletoe, Fluff and Smut, Eventual Smut, Arguing, Love Confessions, Looking for Alaska is mentioned, Inconvenient Love Confessions, Penis In Vagina Sex, Dirty Talk, Dirty Thoughts, Oral Sex, Cunnilingus, Leon loves eating Pussy change my mind, Shower Makeout, romantic smut, Desperate Leon S. Kennedy, They are both desperate for each other tbh, They say I love you as they come, Scar Kissing, Enthusiastic Consent, Always pee after sex, UTI PREVENTION, POV First Person, No use of Y/N
Words: 1.8K
Author's Note: This chapter is very intense. It has descriptions of Leon having an anxiety/PTSD attack. and the reader uses a real method to calm him down! READ THIS CHAPTER WITH CAUTION.
Masterlist
June 2004
And I don’t mind, if it’s me you need to turn to
We’ll get by
It’s the heart that really matters in the end
Our lives are made in these small hours
These little wonders
-Little Wonders, Rob Thomas
They say that the first few moments after you wake up are the most confusing part of any day, or at least that’s what Mom used to say as her justification for never waking us up with a list of chores. We’d forget it. That statement rings clear as a bell through my mind as I peek my eyes open the slightest bit, wondering if I accidentally fell asleep in my hoodie again due to the thin layer of sweat that coats my skin. Leon got home last night, I patched him up, and then…
The scent of pine brings my attention forward, eyes finally adjusting to the sight in front of me. Leon’s slowly rising bare chest as my head rests against his bent arm, supporting his head with his hand and mine with his surprisingly comfortable bicep. Other arm slung over my waist, keeping our torsos snuggly together while our legs are tangled together. His soft snores. I thought he fell asleep on my chest. We must have shifted in our sleep. Eyelashes resting against his cheeks until they flutter slightly. Well that explains why I’m sweating so much. Man is a heater.
A blush slowly spreads across my face, growing as his eyes peel open, like the calming waters after a storm, noses brushing against each other and for a brief second, I swear his gaze flits to my lips.
“Morning.” The intoxicating feeling of his breath warming my lips threatens to drag me underwater, drowning me in the thought of his taste, his smell, his everything.
“Morning,” I whisper back, as if breaking the silence would shatter this precious moment, and for all I know, it might.
“You sleep okay? Hope my moving around didn’t wake you,” he mumbles, his own volume dropping in response. Words fly away from my mind like the butterflies in my stomach, leaving only my ability to nod. He shifts, palm now pressing against the small of my back, as if he can’t bear the thought of me crawling away. As if I would want to. Leon finally truly wakes up, wide eyes appearing for a breath of a second before he pulls back and shifts, pulling his body up into a sitting position. Away from me. He yawns, chest puffing out as his arms stretch up toward the ceiling. “Want some breakfast?” He asks, turning to look at me expectantly.
“Sure. I don’t have a whole lot though, I needed to go grocery shopping today.”
“Do you want company?”
“Love some company.”
The store isn’t nearly as full as it usually is, given it’s a weekday. The cry of a baby occasionally, a squeaky cart wheel, a stack of something falling over. All sounds I’ve grown accustomed to while here.
Leon however, is not. It’s not hard to see how on edge he is, eyes scanning up and down the aisle every few seconds, and I make a conscious effort to speed up my pace, grabbing items as quickly as possible and tossing them into the cart. His hands clench, and at a louder sound like a cough or sneeze, or even the intercom clicking on, his hands flitch for his belt. I don’t quite understand why until I realize he’s probably got his gun. As if he leaves home without it. Fingers lacing through his and squeezing, drawing his attention to me, his chest rising and falling faster than what is probably healthy.
“I’m right here,” I reassure as I reach up for a can of corn on a higher shelf. Refusing to release my hand, he grabs it easily with his other hand, placing it in the cart for me.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re also a shitty liar.” Tugging him into the last aisle for bread. “You know, you could have stayed home.”
“I didn’t want you going alone.” It finally dawns on me. He’s on edge for his own life, but also for mine. Leon silently gives my hand a gentle squeeze, placing a loaf of bread into the cart. “Anything else?” I shake my head with a small smile.
“Nope. Let’s go checkout.”
The line passes quickly, and we load food items onto the conveyer belt quickly but carefully. Leon steps up to the cashier, handing her enough cash to cover the bill while I begin to bag things, shooting him a frustrated glare at him paying for the whole thing. It seemed like he was finally calming down, adjusting to the sounds and sensations of the store. Then it went to shit.
The high pitched scream of a little girl somewhere further in surprises everyone, immediately attempting to locate the source before the sound shifts to a fit of giggles. The people around us visibly deflate, relieved at the assurance that everything was okay. I even chuckle to myself for getting so worked up, loading the last bag into the cart.
“Sir? Are you alright?” Leon.
His eyes are wide in the direction of the screech, hand resting on his belt where I assume his concealed holster is, and each muscle is tensed so tightly, I’m surprised the fabric of his compression shirt hasn’t torn at the seams. He’s not here anymore. I take fast steps toward him, his name leaving my lips as my hand comes up to rest on his forearm but he reacts faster, fingers locking tightly around my wrist, and I have to physically swallow the yelp of pain from his grip. He spins, fear soaked eyes practically pinning me beneath his stare, pupils blown, hiding the blues I have come to love so much. The cashier moves from the corner of my eye, reaching for her phone.
“It’s okay, ma’am.” I need to level my voice, or she’ll get the police involved, some bullshit investigation as to whether my roommate was abusing me or not. “Everything is fine.” I smile, burying the tears threatening to spring into my eyes. I’m not talking to her. “Everything is fine.” The grip loosens, and by the time I look back at Leon, his breath is coming in fast pants, face pointed downward as if trying to steady himself by looking at the floor, hands pressed into his pockets almost painfully. I gently grab his wrist, tugging him along with me as we step out into the fresh summer air. Leading him to the car is easy enough, his movements supporting mine before I stop, throwing everything into the backseat as carefully as I can. “Do you wanna get in the car?” I ask, but he’s not listening, eyes glazed over, unfocused. I need to get him in the car so he can calm down. Deciding to put the cart away later, I pull him to the passenger door, before practically shoving him inside and closing the door with a gentle whoosh. Driver door flying open as I clamber in, hands cupping his face, turning it toward me.
“Leon?” Nothing. “Leon, I just need you to look at me, can you do that?” Hazy blues lifting to mine, paralyzed in this moment. ‘What did they do to you?’ My heart screams. “Can you breathe with me?” A shaken head. Eyes wandering, fingers clenching almost painfully, dark crimson leaking from closed fists. He’s hurting himself. Scrambling across my center console, legs ending up on either side of his thighs, straddling his waist. Fingers grabbing his hands, unwrapping them to place them on my thighs before squeezing over them. Squeeze me. Don’t hurt yourself. Pushing his jaw up, forcing his gaze on me once more. “I know it’s hard, but I need you to try to breathe with me.” In and out. In and out. In and out. Please Leon. Please.
His breaths are shaky and rough, patchy, as if his lungs have holes torn in them, releasing the minimal air he’s taking in, but he’s fucking breathing. “Can you do something for me, Leon?” He’s not speaking, but, with eyes still locked on me, he nods.
5. “What are 5 things you can see right now?”
“You.” His voice is trembling. I can practically feel my heart splintering inside my chest.
“Good. What else?”
“Yellow of your shirt.” I nod encouragingly. “Your radio has green numbers.” Good. “The red straw of the cup in your cupholder.” One more. “Your keychain has a picture of you and your sister on it.”
4. “What are 4 things you can feel right now? Physically.”
“Your hands on my jaw.” One. “The seat under me.” Two. “My hands on your legs.” Three. “The sweat on my forehead.” Four. Good.
3. “What are 3 things you can hear?”
“Your voice.”
“Mhm. Good.”
“Birds outside of the car.” One more, Leon. “The blood pounding in my ears.”
2. “What are 2 things you can smell?”
“The car’s air freshener. It’s lavender.”
“Good nose.” I whisper, trying to bring a smile to my own face in reassurance.
“Your perfume. It’s vanilla.”
“You’re doing really well, Leon.”
1. “What is 1 thing you can taste?”
“I don’t know, I can’t-” My hands find the gum in my center console, unwrapping it and offering it to him. He opens his mouth without question, refusing to break eye contact as I pop the spearmint strip into his mouth. He chews it, the familiar flavor and texture seemingly bringing him a sense of calm.
“What is one thing you can taste, Leon?”
“My gum.”
A deep sigh of relief. His breathing has returned to normal and his hands aren’t twitching as they bounce between clenching hard enough to bruise and a tender caress. His lids are closed now, head resting back against the headrest, chin tilted up exposing the thick column of his throat. The temptation to press my lips to his pulse point is overwhelming, but I refrain, taking a few of my own steadying breaths in through my mouth as to not inhale more his cologne.
“I hurt you.” Glancing down, I notice the bright red skin of my wrist that is absolutely going to bruise within the next few hours.
“It’s fine, Le-”
“And I ruined your jeans.” His hands are off my pants, blood staining the denim dark brown, almost black where I put his hands.
“Leon, I’d rather have stained pants than for you to hurt yourself,” I confess, before cracking a smile at him. “Plus, I’m a girl. I need to know how to get blood out of pants at least once a month.” He cracks a smile. My heart stutters. “Let’s go home, yeah?” He nods, hands helping me back into the driver's seat before I start the car with a hum. His eyes follow the soon-to-be bruise on my wrist, and I can already tell that this is going to haunt him. Pulling out of the parking lot with practiced ease, I reach over, setting my hand on top of his and squeezing gently. Then it hits me.
I admitted to loving him. Only in my head, but…
Holy shit. I love him.
Leon: @house-of-kolchek @bonnibuckets @athanasia-day @muffimtv
Everything: @chaosandbubbles @kassiekolchek22 @akiramoon8088
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Fuck it I’m making a Paw Patrol human au. All of them Attend Goodway Middle School and are in 6th grade. They live in Adventure Bay California.
Marshall grow up with first responders parents his father fire marshal and mother is a paramedic. His siblings are much older then him, his brother is away in the military and sister is at university but comes home once a month. Marshall really wants to be like his parents and loves to help others and hates how his siblings baby him
Rubble is the child of divorce. He lives mostly with his dad but spends two weekends a month at his mom’s. His dad owns a construction company and he wants to own it himself when he grows up. He’s not the most athletic but he loves to skateboard
Chase’s dad is the captain of the local police. He’s a Boy Scout and wants to become the youngest Eagle Scout ever. He has a laundry list of allergies and is asthmatic. His mom is a stay home mom and is over bearing
Rocky’s dad walked out on the family when he was small. His mom remarried another woman. So he lives with his mom and stepmom. He love’s tinkling with his stepmom and is finding ways to reuse every day items. He’s afraid of water because he nearly drowned as a small child. He’s also Jewish
Zuma lives near the beach and loves to surf. He tries to surf at least twice a week. When he’s not surfing he’s skateboarding. He lives with his parents and two younger sisters
Skye comes from a large and wealthy family. Although she comes from the wealthiest family in Adventure Bay she struggles with getting her parents attention. She does gymnastics and loves it. She loves aviation and idolizes female aviators like Amelia Earhart and Bessie Coleman. She either wants to be a professional gymnast or a pilot when she grows up
Everest just move to Adventure Bay from Alaska due to her dad’s job. She’s Indigenous Alaskan and is adjusting from living in a community with her tribe to being the only Native American in her class. She loves the outdoors, skateboarding, hiking, snowboarding, boating and just being outdoors.
So here are their humans/last names
Marshall Vatroslav
Rupert ‘Rubble’ Slater Jr.
Chase Schermer
Richard ’Rocky’ Cohen-Feldman
Zuma Seaver
Skye Wright
Everest Denali
#paw patrol#paw patrol humanized#paw patrol au#marshall paw patrol#chase paw patrol#rubble paw patrol#zuma paw patrol#skye paw patrol#everest paw patrol#I know both Everest and Denali are mountains but I don’t care Everest thinks is cool both her first and last name are mountains#Skye is not related to the Wright brothers but she wishes she was
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WOE.BEGONE FULL CAST CHALLENGE
Taking on that full cast challenge I reblogged the other day for WOE.BEGONE. Here's the list I'm going to be using:
(SPOILERS UNDER CUT, SERIOUSLY, THIS IS A LIST OF ALL CHARACTERS WITH MULTIPLE NAMES LISTED WHICH MEANS IT ALSO REVEALS ANY "X CHARACTER AND Y CHARACTER WERE THE SAME ALL ALONG STUFF, DO NOT READ THIS IF YOU'RE NOT CAUGHT UP!!!!!)
Central Characters
Mike "Mikey" "Michael" "MDawg" "MW" "The Gambler" "The Bear" Walters
Anne
Matt
Christopher "Topher" "CANNONBALL" Evans
Ryan
Hunter Jeremiah "Jerry" "H" Hartley
Chris "Chance" "Blorpo"
Ryan "Shadow" "Donder"
Marissa Ng
Charlie
Edgar
Ty Betteridge
Sylvester August Baxter
Major Iterations of Central Character
Mikey
Latvia Mike
Michael
OVER Mike
MDawg
Emdubya / MW
Innocent Hunter
Mystery Hunter
H (may be the same character as Mystery Hunter)
Punished Hunter
OVEdgaR / Mustardseed
Edman
Ty Betteridge (Green)
Ty Betteridge (Yellow)
Cowboy Ty / Outlaw Ty
Recurring Side Characters
Troy
Eagle
Cole
Felix
Ravi
Boris
Kasimieras Berzina
Jamilla Gardner
Recurring Side Iterations
Texas Michael / Tex
Council Anne Who Joins Base In S7
Unknown 4th Hunter
Young Ty / OVER Ty / Arbiter Ty
Ty Betteridge (Blue)
Sly
August
Bax
Very Minor Character / Bit Character
Unnamed Flinchite Boot Sent To Kyrgyzstan
Unnamed Arbiter that Meets Mikey Before Donny's Fourth Challenge
Paul
One-Off Or Minor Iteration
Van Mikey
Alaska Mikey
Cowboy Edgar (Saved Mikey During Rugby)
Ty Betteridge (Orange)
Tier3!Michael
Sly II / Bax II
Punished Mike
Other Mikey / "Baby Mikey" (fan-given name)
OI Mikey
Lieutenant
Replacement Mikey
Replacement Troy
Animals
The Bear (OVER)
The Bear (Latvia)
Hamster 1 / Chubbums the Wondergirl
Hamster 2
Hamster 3
Hamster 4 / Princess Daffodil
Bruno
Banjo
Lucy, The Largest Cat In The World
The Bear (The Diary of Aliza Schultz)
Shadow II
Flapper
Nine Unnamed Crows
Delilah
Bluster the Gigantic Horse
No Appearances / Not Real / One Appearance, Central Role or Some Characterization
Aliza Schultz
Charles Thibbideau
Flinch AKA |=|_1/\/(|-|
John
Donny Evans
Brendan Evans
Rafael Muslani
Latif
Luis
Felix's Mother
Felix's Father
No Appearances / Not Real / One Appearance, Minimal / No Characterization
Taylor Yarmoth
Gretchen Stevensbretcher
Carol (OVER)
Todd (OVER)
Mike's Mother
Mike's Father
Mike's Boss at OVER
Southern Woman who Gives Mike The Job At OVER
Patrick (papercraft hat crewmate)
Jamie (Hunter's friend)
Harlan (Hunter's friend)
Bill (regular at the Sidewinder)
Hannah (wife or partner of Bill)
Jess (lives in Boulder, once visited by Shadow)
Two Pool-Playing Regulars at the Sidewinder
Interrupting Bar Patron
Greg (Hypothetical neighboring OVER guard)
Troy's Unnamed Boyfriend
Borissa
Dave (OI)
Samantha (Flinchite)
The Ty Spectrum
Magenta Ty (Decorated for the office party)
Chartreuse Ty
Rainbow Ty
Beige Ty (Does data management)
Aquamarine Ty
Uberpink Ty
Vermillion Ty
Vitellary Ty
Crystal Ty (Does meditation)
White Ty (Did entertainment at the office party)
Black Ty (Did catering at the office party)
Peach Puff Ty (Does tracing)
Ultramarine Ty
For those unfamiliar with the Full Cast Challenge, we intend to write a fic that is either from the POV of or otherwise examining every single character in WOE.BEGONE. For ease of use we have separated this list into categories; others taking on the challenge can exclude characters or categories as they wish, but we intend to write for every single character listed above, except for some of the "Animals" and everyone listed under "The Ty Spectrum" and "No Appearances / Not Real / One Appearance, Minimal / No Characterization".
If there are any characters I have missed, please let me know!
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