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arcticdementor · 3 years

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I was talking to Sarah yesterday and I had a revelation I think is worth sharing.

Let’s begin at the beginning. About a month ago, Instapundit posted this.

Now, I’ve been thinking of the rise and fall of civilizations lately. I can’t think why it’s been on my mind. It’s a tale as old as time—a civilization emerges, establishes a new worthwhile order, the good things brought forth by said order soften up the people maintaining it, the softening turns to decadence, and the decadence gives way to the barbarians, who clean the slate. Where would you say things are lately?

…

In short—the federal government of the United States of America has become impotent at almost all good things.

Expanded out—There is no start to its talents. It cannot maintain its borders. Since the “election” it doesn’t even try. No surprise there. It cannot maintain friendly relationships with allies—as our recent screwing of Britain on our way out of Afghanistan shows. The “leader” of the “free world” could not be bothered to pick up the phone for our closest ally. Speaking of Afghanistan, it can’t win a war. It can’t even lose gracefully. In fact it fucked up leaving so badly some people are entertaining that it intended to fuck it up, because how the fuck does somebody above the age of six not notice that pulling the military out first and the civilians out second is not even a remotely workable strategy? Resulting in leaving millions of dollars of equipment—and—excuse me, what? Millions of dollars of dollars in the desert? Fantastic.

It makes self sabotaging and idiotic choices to stymie its own domestic oil industry, while accepting a pipeline not from Canada, but one that’s a joint Russian-German venture instead. Which means the problem, contrary to any environmentalist whining, isn’t the pipeline—it’s the pipeline with a friendly country. Big surprise— its only true interest in the environment lies in international agreements that hamstring us while doing nothing to China, the world’s largest polluter. It either can’t be trusted on energy production and the environment, or is trying to get it wrong.

It can’t manage its economy. What could have been a “V” shaped recovery has been turned into an “L” shaped one. What could be contributing? Paying people to do nothing? Rampant inflation? Meanwhile all the dumbasses running the country can think of is spending several billion more dollars that don’t exist. The country has infrastructure problems for a fact, but they’ll only acknowledge that to the extent of cynically plastering the word on an “infrastructure” bill which is in fact just a far Left wishlist that largely ignores actual infrastructure, in the hopes people will be dumb enough to support it because it has the right label.

And on.

What aptitudes does it have besides taking money, trampling civil liberties, and ignoring constitutional laws at gunpoint? News flash, dummies: We don’t need peaceful protestors incarcerated without a trial. We don’t need the weight of the federal government turned to the problem of violating states rights because Texas passed a law Biden doesn’t like. We need military egresses that look like they weren’t planned by Bozo the clown and an economic plan better than something China would design for us as an attempt to permanently sink the country. Is there anyone at all in DC who can provide that? If not, is there anything useful they can do? I’ll wait.

…

This is what decadence looks like. When the government stops even attempting competence because nothing and nobody that currently exists can replace or displace them so who cares about results? When comfort and plenty have become so common, been taken for granted for so long, that the question of utility or even basic sanity isn’t even distantly considered. When it’s assumed that self-harming policies that will obviously damage the country won’t really matter because nobody has ever known a world without America and fundamentally has no idea how the present day came to be. When the country’s most educated start chasing bizarre and unimaginably stupid ideas on economics that boil down to “inflation won’t happen if you double the monetary supply by printing money, if only you just believe hard enough”. In fact, when education stops being a means to greater insight, more useful abilities, and a better life, and becomes a cult devoted to the kind of idiocy that can survive only with strenuous censorship, the tenets of the cult being treated by the indoctrinated as a collection of sacred mysteries and deeply-thought paradoxes— while to those not similarly trained it is self-obviously a collection of contradictory and self-serving lies.

Verily, decadence is here. We can infer that what comes next is the barbarians. And we have options. Mexican illegals? A heady mixture of poverty-stricken Marxists who have never known a system that wasn’t corrupt, functionally lawless, and devoted to the tenets of voting oneself rich; and outright criminals with lives like “a demon’s resumé”? Perhaps radical Muslims? By sheer numbers worldwide they’re the most likely option. The Taliban just got a huge infusion of cash and a big boost in morale. In a few short days we’ll know whether they’ve arranged a thank you gift for Zho Bi-Xen and his kleptocrat marching band to commemorate his intended pull-out date. But even if, and God I hope, they have not, we can expect an uptick in terrorism and quite shortly. Or perhaps China? The Middle Kingdom would laugh at being called barbarians, but I call genocidal communists like I see them. Mao was morally three steps below a pig and Xi has enough power to aspire to greater depths. As is I wouldn’t dream of feeding a pig Mu Shu Xi due to the great risk of poisoning the pig.

But there is a barbarian group not considered. Us.

Hang on. Before you balk, listen. Look again at what these idiots are selling as the fruits of civilization. Defenses of pedophilia and urinals as art. And more, too—sterilization and disfigurement of teenagers in the form of sex changes. Black supremacy as a panacea to made up threats of white supremacy. Books nobody reads, movies nobody watches, paintings that exist only to launder money—even the ones not made by Hunter Biden.

What good person would not be proud to be considered a barbarian by these miserable, over-decorated Faberge people? I’d be mortified if they agreed with me! So they think I’m a sexist or a racist or whatever. Fine. They do not use these words to mean the same things I mean, so it’s a pointless argument, and they are now officially beneath my explaining myself to them. When the people who are calling me names are so morally opaque that the Taliban can make devastating critiques of them just by referencing the foundational works of their own gender studies programs, I’m done caring about the names. Fine. I’m what you think is a racist. I’m what you think is a sexist. But you think a lot of very stupid things, and as the curtain continues to draw back on the carnival of madness that’s been behind the scenes the entire time it’s occurring to me that what you think and reality overlap so seldom that the only time not to ignore you is when I can ridicule you. If that is your civilization, someone hand me a pointy horned helmet.

…

Yes, this is a moment of peril, but also opportunity. See in your country what every hostile group listed above sees in it—the makings of great civilization, along other, less stupid lines. All of it guarded by weak, fat, stupid people with no will and no self-belief. Take that mindset and go forth.

Get involved in your local systems. There is an old prayer for God to make ones enemies ridiculous. Congratulations to whomever was still praying it. Your prayers have been answered. Will you tell me that you cannot defeat these people? People who lose casual debates to terrorists not on principle but on basic facts?

…

You can’t reason with them so don’t bother. Recent events have made it clear you may as well try to talk sense into a three-day-old mackerel. Just confront them with their own stupidity so that people who see the inevitable video understand what this is about, and don’t feel that you are too good to shout them out of the room. You’re the barbarian, remember? Not like the nice civilized people with their gender-queer Tik-Tokers pushing vaccine propaganda. That means you’re excused from conversations with morons. Don’t bother trying to find common ground. Look at where they’re standing! Do you want to try to find the midpoint between that and reality? Silly. Pointless. Send them back to their walled online gardens to whine to their equally stupid friends about the barbarians.

Can we take it back from the ground up? I don’t know. But hey, it’s got to be worth a shot. Join the fun! Find some friends and locate a low-hanging political event to raid. When was the last time you went to a town hall for your town? Isn’t just a part of you curious to know whether your local county commissioner starts by declaring her pronouns? Wouldn’t it be wonderful to see someone like that made very uncomfortable? You can make that happen. You can probably do it within the next month. Bring a few friends! Or a few dozen. Some of the people reading this probably were afraid to do that kind of thing for fear of losing their job. The Biden economy might have freed up some of your time. What have you got to lose now? More importantly, the way things are going, are you going to lose it anyway if things continue as they are? Think on it.

#thomas kendall #sarah a hoyt

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stone-man-warrior · 3 years

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February 25, 2021: 12:52 pm:

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The old “Stalking Order Trick”.

It never works.

It’s getting old though. This is the fourth time.

They do this when I report terrorism.

Instead of stopping the terrorism, instead of granting an interview to talk more about the terrorism, they send these two actors from Hollywood dressed in sheriff outfit, to hassle me, scare me, make me go into the controlled environment at the courthouse. Last time I was at the courthouse for this same terror scenario, Joe Satraini was portraying a Bailiff, attacked be with a sword in the courtroom, and was killed or injured in defense, then, I went home afterwords.

The reports of terrorism is answered with more terrorism, what you see there happened moments ago, the paper is still on the front porch, I did not open the door or invite the SAG terrorists into my home.

The one on the right looks remarkably similar to one of three men who claimed to be Secret Service, US Army, and FBI representatives who came to my home about this same time last year, I wrote about that, it’s on this account somewhere from the day it happened. I referred to them as “The Three Bozos” because they each had ID indicating that they indeed were from the agency’s mentioned, but were wearing casual street clothes. That one on the right looks like the “FBI” representative from that day, who was wearing a black leather or fake leather jacket that day. That one was dressed more “down town“ in the leather and slacks, while the other two Bozos were dressed for cutting some fire wood, in flannel and blue jeans.

That day one year ago, the NAMM Winter Music Industry Trade Show had just ended, or was under way, my assessment was that the three were musicians, disguised, came to kill me for my Medicare status to perpetuate my prescriptions with help from Paine Specialists of Southern Oregon in Medford.

So, that looks like the same guy there on the right, is dressed as Josephine County Sheriff Deputy today.

That other one on the left did all of the talking, said my neighbors went to the courthouse to file a “stalking order”.

Co-incidentally, my swollen leg with internal burning sensation is so bad today and yesterday that I can barely walk, I cannot feel my right foot, it’s as if it’s not there, except that my right foot feels frozen, is very painful, but like a club on the end of my leg ... hurts bad, is frozen cold, and when I try to walk it’s as if I have no foot to stand on sort of feeling from the poison gasses that the people who filed the stalking order have been poisoning me with by blowing the gasses into my home through the weep holes in the windows and cracks around the doors, forced through the weatherstripping they ruined years ago, and the gas is also blown through the laundry dryer vent, and condensation vent for the heating unit. and down the chimney with a long extension tube made of fiberglass folding tent supports.

The coincidence is that I am having trouble wearing socks to warm my foot, the sock is hindering the circulation, makes it feel colder, so, I tried a different sock. I put on one black sock, and one white sock on the other foot while trying to find one that will help warm up my frozen painful foot, but nothing is working.

I put the black sock on, and just a short time after having one black & white sock on my feet, the black & white shows up, within about an hour or two. There must be a camera inside my house for that to have happened, or, someone saw through the window that much about what I am wearing on my feet.

That is how terror is done, they will say my foot hurts because it was cold out when I was stalking the terror army in the neighborhood.

==========================================

3:53 pm:

This asshole right here:

https://twitter.com/POTUS/status/1364984502133657602

This fucking guy here:

https://twitter.com/POTUS/status/1365019986104836109

That one, on the left of the screen there:

https://twitter.com/POTUS/status/1365032380705087488

It’s a symbolic snuff movie.

You need to watch the signer, there are two signer’s, one is the guy the signed the contract to kill me, and the other is the one who is using church gang signs to say there is a snuff movie online somewhere.

Savvy sleuths could find the web address where a series of live murders took place today, that’s my call on that Joe Biden terror snuff pay-per-view infomercial from the @POTUS Twitter account today.

Most likely at a “Voyeur” website where cameras are arranged in a house, and everyone thinks that the people who live there do that for free intentionally just for you to watch. Reality is that an advertisement from @POTUS can say when and where the web site for a live steaming snuff murder is to take place online. It all happens within a short time, the camera feed is changed from the actual location via blue tooth temporarily, and the snuff video feed is inserted into the Voyeur website, where no one is ever there anyway, is just a cat and dog running around in a recorded loop. Club members are invited to watch.

Hint: If the Twitter account says: “He/Him”; “She/Her”; “They/Them”; “We/Us” or one of a few other “Pronoun‘s” that are described better at Whitehouse.gov “Contact Us” web site, are all “Club Members” and know where and how the find access to the “Voyeur” URL’s. Don’t report terrorism to the White House, that is one of the most dangerous things a person could ever try to do.

Try 376 Jackpine Dr., 97526 for the source of today’s Presidential murder fetish and baby raping entertainment study.

The thing that makes all of that worse is that Joe Bides in only a place holder for Ann Wilson and Roger Waters, who are the people who are really running the activities of the White House and Congress, and it’s all done from a place called Kauai Ranch in the state of Hawaii.

There is no Joe Biden any more. The videos are all from his Vice Presidency time, edited by Hollywood movie professionals to fool you.

Below are some of the parts to the hit order commanded on Twitter yesterday to have those fake deputies come to do a snuff set-up. Maybe they were supposed to cart me over to Chartrand’s at 376, or to the usual torture center next to my house at 520 Jackpine. I may have fouled up that attempt when I showed that I had a camera.

There are still many other scenarios in place as mentioned in other entries on this account.

Yesterday, the Monroe terror cell saw that I was unable to walk to the mailbox because my leg is hurting so bad, that I was limping and the pain got worse as I walked towards the road, so I turned around and walked back home because of the affects of the constant poisoning the Monroe’s and others are subjecting me to. So, they saw I was injured, and am an easy to capture prey, and Twitter arranged the hit order as a result, having had Monroe’s confirmation that I am hurt bad, can‘t get to the mailbox, and am limping in pain.

This is the first parts of the hit order from yesterday.

Here, Paski’s shirt has a hole in the side. That is representative of me, the victim marked for take out. They have not decided how to do the hit yet, just the order to to a “Tiger Woods Hole in One w/Leg Injury on the back of a Grand Jury notice in the mailbox”

https://twitter.com/ABCPolitics/status/1364637337045590017

This is not well known in circles outside of Hollywood DC terrorism, but I know what that spiral staircase is, that is a “Mitt Romney & The Mormons at Red Rocks”, is the same as “Allah & The Virgins at the Hollywood Bowl” terror comm. That puts Mitt Romney’s signature on the hit at my house.

There is a lot talk about “The Saudi King” in today’s 2-25-2021 WH Press Briefing, and all of that is about Mitt Romney. There is way too much more to add here, I should not have to solve my own murder, I need an interview from US national security and some medical attention.

https://twitter.com/NatGeoTravel/status/1364590974400421891

This below means: “Old Knowledge came out of the China Hutch” means old Christian secrets are exposed, is specific to Heroin use and Heroin driven terror soldiers. Ultimately the “China needs to be hidden away, deleted” is what that is presented on Twitter for.

https://twitter.com/CNN/status/1364762178079842306

This one is simple: “Stone Take Out”

https://twitter.com/CNN/status/1364621187238793218

There is more I need to find, I am having trouble finding Psaki’s Wardrobe change yesterday where she took off the dress with the hole in it, and put on a black & white dress with a Chevron Print Design feature on the bust of the dress. That is when the means to do the hit at my house was decided to me a “Black & White Sheriff ‘Shove Ron’ Build Back Heart Attack, Better American Rescue Plan” (Ron Howard’s Master Class Signature went on the hit order at that time.)

There is much more, dozens of ingredients to the hit order with those two deputies as the set-up and potential carry out order operatives are available to find on Twitter over the past 24 hours, and, are also contained in Music Industry Promotional Email today from Kramer, Robert Keeley, Eastwood Guitars, Premier Guitar Magazine, Vintage King Audio, D’Angelico new York, AMS, and Zzounds Music, all of them have put a signature onto the Twitter Presidential command to kill me and take down this account, is all still active and ongoing.

I need to find the Psaki Wardrobe Change from yesterday to the black & white “Shovron Dress”, and add it here.

What are the odds that it’s still on Twitter? There were multiple tweets from a variety of major news networks, I think they have all been deleted because it’s too easy to see that it’s a “Shovron“, and Ron Howard does want to go to the gas chamber for Treason for having directed the World Trade Center Collapse in 2001, and, the others he was working with who directed and took part in the attack at the Pentagon that day, also don‘t want to face a firing squad in Texas for their participation in the treason, and Ron is going to sing like a little Twitter Bird, live, at 376 Jackpine on a voyeur channel, when the real police find him.

Ron‘s friends will do it for free, coming soon, to a war theater near you.

There is no where to go Ron.

Either the real police find you, and you get the gas chamber, or, your friends at the Pentagon find you, and they make it hurt at the One Hour Martinizer at 520 Jackpine.

That was a bad idea Opie.

=====================

Twitter, says, that FOX news says, that Mitt Romney says, that all of the GOP is signing the contract on the hit to kill me at my house:

https://twitter.com/FoxNews/status/1364533033806663684

This is all because I asked the White House to send some help. I informed of the mass murders, again, to the White House ... I think I have made about ten or twelve official reports to the White House over the course of time since Gearge W. Bush was president, and have made at least two tries to reach each of the US Presidents since Bush, they sent confirmation of receipt. Obama sent a little bug that deleted the email receipt, and Joe Biden sent the exact same one, but I still have the receipt the White House sent, last time I looked. They all want to play stupid, as though they did not recieve any important news about US Takeover by a Canadian terror army the uses poison gasses to kill the US Citizens so the Canadians can replace the US citizens.

The reason for that, the reason that the WH won‘t send help is that everyone of the elected officials in DC and all of the State Governors were all “elected” by Canadians who are using the names of millions of murdered US Voters.

All of the US Government was elected by murderers, who are also impostors.

That is why there has been no help sent to stop the terrorism.

911 Emergency Phone Service is manned with Canadian terror soldiers and SAG actors who are waiting there to dispatch assassins to anyone who reports terrorism, murder, poison gas, etc.

Same at FBI.Tips.Gov. It’s manned with terror soldiers. When I make a report there, assassins come to my house to kill me.

I have made a dozen or so attempts to get help from FBI. I called a few times, and was attacked by state police who filled me with tasers. The taser guns have two darts, they used the two darts, then went back to the squad car to get another taser gun, and shot those two darts at me when I telephoned FBI.

I went to FBI in Medford in Person twenty years ago, that did not work for getting any help when the terror army was murdering the Fourth Graders at Manzanita Elementary School by taking the students on one-way feild trips, the buses returned without any kids on them. I think I remember Celine Dion was on one of those buses to animal park in Eugene or Salem Oregon area.

no one will help.

The celebrity women are too pretty, and they serve the terrorism by distracting any real police that might do an investigation. no one is going to arrest Celine Dion, even if she is on the bus where no students returned from the field trip.

That is the kind of services that SAG can provide to the murders. As long as Antonio Bandaras and Vanna White are around, there will be no investigation, just a hotel room by the hour is all that will happen for entertaining federal investigators.

==========

5:38 pm:

This part here takes the Psaki involvment to Angela Merkles doorstep, then, it takes another step to D’Angelico Guitars of new york.

Today’s WH Press Brief included Psaki saying “There is a Range on the Table”. This Tweet says the range is between -24 and 18, is German, is nation wide, if think about what the tweet really is suggesting, nation wide is the message, German is the nation. The Range is on the table, that cannot be good. Go listen to Press Secretary Jen Psaki for yourself from today, that press brief was live as the sheriffs came to my house, they had a live view of what I was doing on my computer as I was arranging the photos, getting them from the hijacked Yahoo mail, and saving them after putting the Stone Man stamp on them. The people at the news brief commented about the label I used as I was doing that in Microsoft Paint and commented live in code of that, as it was not expected that I would put a water mark on my photos so Monroe can’t easily steal them to change the story.

https://twitter.com/bbcweather/status/1364595973717123077

Jen Psaki’s Wardrobe change videos that were available yesterday at the same time when she was also wearing that blue/purple dress with the hole in it are all purged in classic Google fashion.

The hole in the side of Paski’s dress means “Pay-Per-View”. The “ShoveRon” Black & White dress she changed into videos are all gone, not available to see on Twitter today.

The terror nieghbors are coninueing to release airborne poison gasses right now and all day. My symptoms are worsening.’

My vision was nearly perfect this morning, but now I can barely see, Monroe’s are still blowing the poison gasses into the ambient air and around my house.

Do your own math.

It’s no wonder why there are no reports of real terrorism anywhere other than on this Tumblr account, no one can survive unless they have the kind of knowledge that I do, that the nitrous gas is flammable, but this other gas that causes the circulation problems and rash, and leg swelling, I don’t think is flammable.

I suspect A-1 Exterminators on 7th Street in Grants Pass to be a source of the so called “Boutique Gasses” the terror army has developed, and also “Blue-Star Gas” on Pleasant Valley Road across from the Moose Lodge in Merlin Oregon located on the rail road track that comes by on Russell road.

That train has been running at odd hours, is way off the usual schedual, and has been nearly silent when it has been going by since the time I made the terror report to the White House and is likely the source of the poison gas I am experiencing the poor vision and leg circulation symptoms from. The train tracks are less than 1600 feet away from my house. They use gas tanker cars to release gas along the track, and they have special vehicles that can ride on train tracks, then ride on paved roads to disappear into freeway traffic, refill, and start over again in Merlin at the rail crossing at Pleasant Valley Road next to “Blue-Star Gas” which is labelled as a propane dealer, has a lot of pressure tanks for carrying airborne gasses.

This looks like orders to use the rail road to release gas in the neighborhood.

https://twitter.com/ABC/status/1365105999896408067

The poison gas symptoms on my leg have increased from swelling at the right foot and shin area with a substantial very itchy rash on my shin and calf, to both feet are swollen now, I can’t feel my foot on the right when I try to walk, it feels icy cold on my foot, is burning intensity all inside my whole right leg, and the rash on my shin is making tiny blisters that pop and ooze a clear liquid. There is no where I can go for medical services.

US Citizens cannot get medical treatment in COVID USA. It’s a slaughter, not a virus.

US Population is being snuffed out like bugs in a jar, by the government that was hijacked by terrorists long ago. They have been taking over hospitals for decades in preparation to roll out Corona Virus, where “boutique” poisons make the symptoms as Twitter promotes the fear and concern that makes the people go to the hospitals where Ron Howard kills them on camera, and Nancy Sinatra casts a look-a-like replacement from Canada.

Betty White and Tom Hanks do the hosting at the awards celebrations, while Metallica and MegaDeath play as the musical guests at the events.

==================

When someone reports terrorism and points out who the murderers are, all the murderer needs to do is claim that the person is stalking them, and in the courtroom the Judge always sides with the plaintiff on that, and the defendant who needs to reach help to stop the murders is ordered by the courts that they are no longer able to use the name of the murderer publicly.

That is one of the ways the courts serve the terrorism, they can make sure that the murders name is not spoken, revealed, written, or otherwise mentioned. Meanwhile the terror murders continue while the eye-witness is persecuted, held captive in their home, forced into silence and ultimately killed and replaced by a SAG or Canadian terror operative.

The courts will effectively force me to delete this whole account with that stalking order if I am told not to say the names of the people who are killing me with poisons, shooting at me daily, holding be captive for decades.

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7:51 pm:

As it stands right now, these listed items below are some of the pre-arranged scenarios that are already in place for a “Ivanka Trump Opportunity Zone attack on a Jesus Gauntlet”

This Gauntlet is planned with events all in place for an attempt to kill me, all include set-up for a frame of some crime they will say I did, and all include the author of this account is not harmed. Instead, it will be said the someone else was killed, and a stand-in replacement will take control of this account. The way it sits right now, the account is set-up in advance for a court ordered deletion, where my replacement look-a-like will delete the account because the Judge ordered it due to so many mentions of so many terror soldiers and terror leaders all over the world.

The “new me” will just access the account controls after I am killed by a rock star bailiff in disguise, and no further mention of it will be made after that.

USA will lose.

Terrorism and murder, slavery and captivity will prevail.

Court day for stalking order.

Groceries at the Walmart.

Drivers License renewal at Beacon Ave DMV. They will say I need a vision exam for corrective lenses.

The Eye-Doctor Visit is one I need to survive.

Then, back to the DMV again if I survive the Eye-Doctor.

Dr, Visit at the terror SAGClubMed fake doctor at Pain Specialists of Southern Oregon,

Walgreen’s if I survive, if not, the Rock Star Bailiff picks up my prescriptions increased to “MAX: Maximum Allowable per Medicare Part-D Rules” so that SAG Musicians can get high on a disabled guys medicine.

There is a day I need to go to JP Morgan Chase Bank every year, the bastards know that I need to do record keeping, and created a situation where I must go to the Chase Bank rather than do any other way of doing the record keeping I am required to do, Carpenters Union participates in that one every year, and they want their share of the loot when I am killed also. Los Angeles Carpenters Pension Trust specifically.

Centurylink has those trenching markers out front, so I have to survive that when the start digging.

There is Grand Jury they say I am forced to participate in. That is really just for the successful assassin to go check in with the sheriff office and Courts when they kill me, but also they do take out work at both places.

The Pacific Power Corporation Asplundhe Tree Service Power Line Easement Inspection and “Standing Dead & Proximity Trimming” event at my house is in place if I survive some of those other “Jesus Gauntlet” scenario’s.

that makes nine or ten major events that I need to survive and a few small ones.

So, that, plus survive the usual daily attacks and poisonings.

And worst of all ... I need to get my mail out of the mailbox, walk down my driveway past the Monroe’s terror cell, and make it back to my house alive during that time frame, and beyond that if I am able to survive the Jesus Gauntlet this next two months or so.

So, fair warning, I am not likely to make it through these pre-arranged Ivanka Triump Opportunity Zone murder scenario’s. Each one of those listed events has at least one written screenplay to use as a basis for the attack plan. The screenplays have all been done thousands of time by the terror cells who run the murder scenario’s. They have it down to a science for killing most unsuspecting US Citizens who simply are trying to run some errands, do some shopping, deal with some banking, go to a doctor appointment, or were roped into having to appear in a court hearing. Most don‘t make it back from the mailbox at the end of the driveway.

==========

8:41 pm:

Trending on Twitter now:

It’s a command order from Google high command (Vatican Choir; Amp Guru; Kauai Ranch Members of “The Green‘s of Olde Three Ply” terror cell; and the Pope) to do a “Ben Hur” or a version of that one movie about Jesus I forget what it’s called, or, “Faces of Death” (That one has been in discussion all day coded into the Twitter news stories from most of the Verified Accounts I read. Go look for the photos in news today featuring famous people making funny faces, means “Jesus Face Toast”, translates to “Christian Cinema” “Krysten Sinema” today)

The “Christian Cinema” command order is to produce a wicked snuff movie, one that is equivalent of the one they made at north Valley High School in around 2003 - 2004 or so, when the students were forced to do a Olympic Style Competition, were killed at the various events, each event was transformed into some kind of medieval contraption at the Decathlon ... it was forever known as the “Decapathon” by the surviving students at the school. The movie is called “The Making of Ben Hur” I am pretty sure, is composed of about 200 high school students being horribly murdered with machinery all disguised as part of the Decathlon track & field events. The people that made the movie had very expensive professional movie making equipment including the kind of “Rabbit Cam” that are used at a Dog Race Race Track, the thing the dogs chase after around the track, is on a rail. That was used at the “Hurtles” event, where the “Hurtles” were regular hurdles fitted with blades that spring out as the running high school student tried to clear the obstacles on the track at the Junior Varsity Football Field at the school. The students were laying in the track with severed limbs as that rabbit went around from victim to victim to get the best angle for the movie that was produced that day.

I am talking about dead high school students here, and the movie that was made of their murders.

no one cares about US High School Students, or disabled people, or elderly people in the care homes who cannot possibly defend against James Hetfeild when he is killing them to get high on pain meds.

Christian Cinema (Krysten Sinema) is a unpleasant thing to see this evening on Twitter.

Do you remember the final scenes of Braveheart? On that stage where he was disemboweled? That is a real thing that is done in Oregon when people are tortured at 520 Jackpine next door to my house.

So, Twitter is still Tweeting, that means no help is ever to come to Oregon, or anywhere, they are going to keep doing the slaughter, and keep making movies of the murders.

Trending on Twitter: “Christian Cinema”

https://twitter.com/search?q=Sinema&src=trend_click&vertical=trends

=============

9:23 pm:

In other news:

This thing here reminds me of my visit to the Dole Pineapple Plantation in Hawaii. I think it’s close to the Maui Isthmus. There is a maze/labirynth there sort of like that snow maze there.

At Dole, there are assassins that shoot at people in the maze from tower sort of structures that are in there. The shooting does not start until the marked victims are deep in the maze, it takes about an hour to make it out of there.

Also, that trap door I sometimes mention that is in the floor of the sheriffs office in Josephine County, where there is a chair that tips over, and dumps the unsuspecting sheriff visitor down into the tunnels that are below the sheriffs office and go all under the whole city of Grants Pass Oregon.

That trap door works with the same kind of mechanisms as does the table on the marble maze game called “Labyrinth”. The trap door tips over one direction, then another direction, and the victim who is seated at the sheriff’s desk is dumped into a hole under his office on F Street behind the Walmart.

The man who built that door is the same man who’s wife made the exploding statue that blew up a big bus, and a number of people who were on it, a deputy Strohmeyer, Frank Skraw sheriff of Klamath Falls was on that bus for awhile, maybe he exploded on it, some deputies from Grants Pass were on it, and some from Jackson county were also on the bus that exploded in Medford at the Sears a few years ago, February 7 2017 I think is was.

Any way, the man that built the sheriff office trap door in the floor, was Dan Fauley, former address 344 Tunnel Creek Road in Hugo area. Dan’s wife Lynn made the exploding C-4 Statue, I was supposed to have been put on that bus.

I wrote about all that stuff before, it’s all been documented for many years, no one cares.

Dan Fauley also built the remodel work that was done at the Washington Ave Post Office Facility on the corner of Hillcrest Ave. at the front entrance after the place exploded once long ago. There are no reports of any explosion happening there, but the entrance and other parts of that building did blow up. Dan Fauley did the remodel work. I think he transformed what used to be the lobby rest room into some other kind of holding pen for keeping captive victims inside of where that rest room used to be in the Post Office Lobby on Washington Ave. That place is called the “Postal Annex” by most of the older local terror soldiers and is “The Stork” terror cell HQ for this area. The name “Postal Annex” is a decoy, detour, road block, distraction service put in place by the terror army. When someone asks about the “Postal Annex” while trying to report terrorism to the Postal Inspector General in Portland Oregon, the Inspector General denies that such a place exists at all, they claim that there is no postal office facility there on Washington Ave, and that the person making the report about what they saw should contact the Oregon Better Business Bureau in Salem Oregon instead. Inspector General claims that the place is a private company and is not a USPS facility.

The Inspector General insists that the only 97526 Post Office is on the corner of 6th & G Streets in Grants Pass.

Oregon is a breeding ground of terrorism, it’s a training center, the whole state is a place where “Terror Policy” and “Models of Terror Systems of Murder” are perfected, and then duplicated, rolled out the same in other cities around the world.

https://twitter.com/CNN/status/1365158181098442752

For some perspective about how long Oregon has been hijacked, by whom, when and where killing systems were installed, and how to find the responsible people, you need only study the boat ramps on the Rogue River from Shady Cove to Galice Oregon.

Almost all of the boat ramps are installed backwards.

Most of the boat ramps are secluded, that also is part of the planning of the backwards boat ramps. That seclusion assists the terror army to take victims at the backwards boat ramps on the Rogue River. The boat ramps are all installed such that as you back the boat into the water, the ass end of the boat is directed into oncoming river flow. The boat, trailer, truck, dog, wife in the passenger seat, ice chest and fishing gear all go down river as a result of backwards boat ramps on the Rogue River. There is always a two foot tall cliff under the water where the trailer wheels are at as the boat should begin to start to float. When the trailer wheels fall off that little cliff, the boat is still attached to the trailer, and the trailer to the truck that pulls it. The current is very strong, and inexperienced boaters go down river every time with all of their stuff.

Three Boys Towing is just around the bend, in the tow truck, waiting to get word from the “Friendly Canadian Fly Fisherman who is at every boat ramp tying flies” at the side of each boat ramp, he is there with his wife waiting for tourists to launch a boat, and calls Three Boys Towing as soon as the trailer and truck are under water while using the nitrous oxide to capture the boat owner as he is trying rescue his wife, kids, boat, motor and trailer.

Three Boys gets all of that stuff out of the water, they do it every day, no problems. Then, DMV makes the necessary VIN changes after some Lithia Dodge mechanics do a cleaning, get the water out of the carburetor, and, title switch, and licensing is transferred to some other person if needed. If not, then an attack team takes all of that stuff back to the victims home to prey on their family and friends, and the terror army grows exponentially that way, in fifty states where the tourist boaters come from.

The boat ramps are state wide like that. The boat is not supposed to go ass end into the oncoming current, the ramp is supposed to go with the current as the boat is launched into the water, which also allows that the boat goes into the current to put it back on the trailer, as it should be.

It’s not the way should be though, it’s all backwards.

All of the boat ramps have some metal brackets, rebar, chunks of iron just below the surface of the water, and at the sides of the ramp, all of them have an accident waiting to happen built in to them, and the hospital never has been close by, even before they were all hijacked, so, it’s all for terror advance of Global Domination, has been there a long time at the boat ramp, installed by Kitzhaber government.

=================

11:20 pm:

Please send help to Oregon.

I haven‘t opened my door yet today, presumably that paper those fake sheriff’s brought is still on the front porch.

I don‘t know the details the fake stalking order says.

There were two time today after that when terror soldiers where hiding under my kitchen window, they are waiting for me to open the door, but that is not unusual, waiting under the window is unusual, they usually don‘t make so much noise like today, so, they wanted me to open the door. That was when the blurry vision gas was thickest this afternoon.

I am not going to get the mail until my leg feels good enough to walk on it without as bad as does now, so, no local conditions will be happening tonight.

There are no signs of helpful people, around here you get a visit from a sheriff only to make trouble, make life more difficult, to bring the victim into the bottleneck kill zone at the courthouse where the fingernail clipper is taken away so the rock star in disguise bailiff can use the sword on a unarmed disabled citizen in the fake hearing.

They don‘t do law enforcement, public safety, or national security work in Oregon.

Please send help. Please send US Military. Bring your own hospital. Stay away from local authorities.

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katedoesfics · 4 years

Text

Shadows of Hyrule | Chapter 55

The morning turned into a sweltering afternoon, but none of the Champions had noticed the heat of summer as they splashed and lounged in the lake. When they weren't racing each other up the cliff or challenging one another to diving contests, they sat against the rocks in casual conversation. They stayed in long after their fingers began to prune, getting out only when the refreshing water started to feel cold.

They sprawled out on the grass, turning their faces to the warmth of the sun as it dried their bodies. Revali dug through the cooler, pulling out the still cold beer cans that Link had stolen that morning from his father and passed them around. They enjoyed the cold beverages in quiet contemplation for a moment.

“This is a much better way to spend our last day of high school,” Revali said.

“Maybe for you,” Mipha said. “We still have finals next week.”

“We still have rehearsal,” Urbosa said.

“How hard is it to walk across a stage and get a piece of paper?” Daruk said.

Link snorted. “You’d be surprised. Revali needs all the help he can get.”

Revali threw his balled up shirt at Link, but otherwise did not retort. He moved his sunglasses from the top of his head to cover his eyes and turned his face back to the sun.

Link tossed the shirt back at him casually, then stretched his arms over his head and yawned loudly. When he opened his eyes, he noticed Mipha watching him, her lips pursed together. He followed her gaze to his bare chest, marked by various scars that had gone untouched by Mipha's healing abilities.

“I could have fixed those,” she muttered, turning her eyes away from the pronounced scars on his chest.

Link rolled his eyes and shimmied back into his shirt, feeling self-conscious now that everyone had their eyes turned to him. “Scars look cooler,” he said in an attempt to blow off her concerns.

“Even cooler when your dead,” Urbosa stated. “You’re too lax about this all.”

“I didn’t bring you all hear to talk about work,” Link muttered.

“He’s right,” Zelda said. “We needed a day off.”

“You’re welcome.”

Zelda rolled her eyes at him.

“What if Ganondorf doesn't feel like giving us a day off?” Daruk said.

“Don't jinx it,” Revali muttered, elbowing Daruk.

“Do you think he'll give me my birthday off?” Zelda said. “It's in a couple of weeks.”

“Just for you,” Revali started, “he'll make an extra special appearance.”

Zelda scrunched her nose, then shrugged. “Good. Bring it on. I'll be happy to kick his ass. Happy birthday to me.”

“I'll kick his ass,” Link said. “Happy birthday to you.”

“Bitch, you're the only one that's been gutted,” Zelda said. “You don't stand a damn chance.”

Link crossed his arms. “Not true,” he muttered, but said nothing more. He didn't exactly feel like reliving the memory of his – or Mipha's – near death experience.

And neither did anyone else, it seemed, as the group fell suddenly silent.

“I need another beer,” Revali muttered, but when he reached for the cooler, Daruk pulled it away from him.

“I don't think so,” he said simply. Revali pulled back, but Daruk's strength far outmatched his. “We're not picking you up at the station again.”

Revali crossed his arms and sulked, turning his head away from his friends.

“What do you think it was like?” Zelda said thoughtfully, her gaze turned to the sky. “For the other heroes, all those years ago?” She smiled to herself. “Do you think they sat here, too?”

“And did what?” Revali said. “Waste the day fishing while Gannondorf terrorized the county?”

“That's what I'd do,” Link said. “Fish. Gamble. Run around naked and set shit on fire.”

“You make an excellent hero,” Revali said, rolling his eyes.

“Thanks, man.”

“Why do I get the feeling that's exactly what they all did?” Mipha said with a playful grin.

“Thank the Goddesses for the women that set them all straight,” Urbosa said.

“Let's be honest,” Zelda said. “No hero in the history of Hyrule could have done it without a woman's help. I'm proof of that.”

“This is good,” Revali said. “You're all finally on board the link-bashing train.”

“You did good for a while,” Link said. “But you were starting to lose your touch. You'll need all the help you can get.”

“Well, to be honest,” Revali started, “I've gotten quite bored of it.”

“Because you have nothing new. You're washed up, man. You've hit the end of your career. Time to retire.”

“Never.”

Mipha sighed. “Is this how it's gonna be when we're old?”

“You're assuming we're all going to still be hanging around together when we're old farts.”

“We're not?”

“I sure hope not.”

Mipha smiled at him. “But then who else will you harass?”

Revali shrugged. “I can retire and for once in my life, have a little peace and quiet.”

“You'd miss me,” Link said.

“As long as it means you will be far, far, far away from me.”

“This is nice,” Urbosa said, rolling her eyes. “This will never get old.”

*****

It was only when they glanced at their phones and realized it was nearing three o'clock when they decided to make their way back into the city. The conversation had moved on to a lighter subject, and once they piled back into the car, they were back to laughing and singing along with the radio.

When they reached the school, the parking lot was almost completely empty as most of the students and teachers had already made their way home for the evening. Except for a few vehicles, only those belonging to Daruk, Revali, and Urbosa remained. Standing beside the three vehicles, Riju waited, her arms crossed and her foot tapping.

“Way to play hooky without me!” she shouted at her sister when Link pulled up beside her. She stamped her foot, fists at her sides. “I've been waiting here for over two hours!”

“You could have walked home,” Urbosa said as they each slid out of the car. “Or called Mom.”

Riju huffed angrily. “I'm not walking to the other side of the damn city,” she said. “And you KNOW if I called Mom she would have asked where you were.”

“And you couldn't think of a good enough excuse?”

Riju narrowed her eyes at her sister. “Don't you think if I had a good excuse, I would have used it?” She crossed her arms again. “I'm done covering your ass.”

Urbosa shrugged. “Its not like its a big secret anymore.”

“Yeah,” Riju started, following her sister to the car. “About that. I translated the rest of those notes from the Gerudo. Well, Mom helped with a lot of it. But -”

“Gerudo?” Mipha repeated.

Urbosa hesitated, turning to glance at her friends over her shoulder. She caught Link's narrowed gaze.

“Gerudo,” Zelda whispered to herself, then, louder, “You're Gerudo.” It wasn't a question.

Mipha looked between them. “What's a Gerudo?”

“I'm not Gerudo,” Urbosa hissed, but her face softened as she hesitated. “I mean, I guess, a little bit.”

“What's a gerudo?” Mipha repeated.

“The Gerudo is an ancient race,” Zelda said. “I came across a few notes on them. They're a race of only women. According to Hyrule's history, only one male is born among them every hundred years. One of those men included a reincarnation of Ganondorf.”

“Reincarnation?” Revali repeated.

“Ganondorf himself hasn't always been able to return to Hyrule. Or, so I've read. It seems over the history of Hyrule, there have been other instances where others have tried to overthrow the kingdom in his stead. Believe it or not, there are those who follow him.”

“Hold up,” Daruk said. “Like, people right here, right now?”

“No,” Zelda said quickly. “I mean. I don't think so. A lot of the history of Hyrule has been lost on people. No one even knows who he is. I can't imagine he has any followers now.”

“So, what about these Gerudo?” Mipha asked. She turned to Urbosa. “What have you been translating?”

“Not much,” Urbosa admitted. “I always knew a little bit about the Gerudo. Mom told Riju and I stories of them. We knew it was a part of our heritage. But once the cat was out of the bag about all of this, Mom told us more about it. She had these old books and notes that were written in Gerudo, and she started teaching us more of the language so we could read the books. She never bothered to open them before, but she was sure there was something in there that would be important.”

“And?” Revali pressed.

“And,” Riju started, holding a finger up and grinning. “I found out that Gerudos are totally badass and if you have any hope of winning this, its to have us on your team!”

Urbosa narrowed her gaze on her younger sister. “Is that really all you found?”

Riju sneered at Urbosa. “That,” she started casually. “And something about a group called the Yiga Clan.”

“What's the Yiga Clan?” Link asked carefully.

“A bunch of wannabes who probably only want to get their grubby hands on the Triforce.”

“More of Ganondorf's minions?” Zelda asked.

“Followers,” Riju said, and shrugged. “It was only mentioned briefly. It was from a thousand some odd years ago, so I doubt its anything relevant.”

“See what else you can find out,” Zelda said. “We can never be too careful, right?”

“Guess our vacation is over,” Revali said.

Daruk cracked his knuckles. “Its for the best,” he said. “I need to punch something hard and soon.”

“Study while you can,” Zelda said. “I'm calling a team meeting this weekend.”

Revali groaned loudly as he moved to his car. “I want a raise.”

“Am I on the team now?” Riju asked excitedly.

“No way in hell,” Urbosa said as she dragged her sister back to the car.

“Well,” Mipha started, turning to get back into the Firebird. “I walked here this morning, so you can drive be home.”

Link's mind was on the Yiga Clan, but he smiled at Mipha and slid into the driver's seat. “Alright,” he said. “But we're stopping to get tacos.”

#legend of zelda #breath of the wild #fic #fanfic #loz #botw #shadows of hyrule #soh55

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psyched2b · 6 years

Text

One Touch - Part Three - Soulmate AU

Note: This is a soulmate AU that when you first touch someone, you feel tingles all over your body and your soulmate can channel different emotions through the bond. In this piece, the reader is not originally aware of soulmates.

A/N: This is dedicated to @mermaidxatxheart. You is kind, you is special, and you is important.

P.S. Feedback is always welcomed and appreciated.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Warnings: Mild panic attack(s), Description of Accident, Swearing

Recap:

Sam was the first to break, his face breaking out into a look of unease and uncertainty. “Yeah, about that...you can’t leave because you’re supposedly dead.”

Panic blossomed in your chest. Was this hell?

“Jesus, Sam. You’re going to scare her,” Bucky growls, fingers twitching, itching to smack his comrade upside the head. He then turns his attention to you, an apologetic look. “He doesn’t mean that you’re actually dead. What he means is that we ran your DNA through a database and that the only match we found matched that of a four-year-old who died in a car accident twenty years ago.”

“With your name,” Sam finished.

“I’m sorry, but what the fuck did you just say?”

You feel yourself reeling and you stagger against the wall. This is just too much, you think to yourself. Your chest feels like it’s collapsing in on itself and you feel yourself gasping for air. You lean forward, place your hands on your knees and let your head hang down. This was absolutely crazy. Your thoughts are racing, trying to make sense of this mess.

You recognized the accident that they were talking about. You knew all about it. It was the accident that claimed the lives of your parents and brother. Except, you had survived.

What kind of sick joke is this?

“Hey, hey, hey. It’s okay.” You look up, still panting, to see that Bucky was crouched in front of you, his blue-grey eyes watching you with concern and empathy. “Just breathe in, breathe out. Follow me.” He exaggerates his breathing, in through his nose, out his mouth, chest lifting with every breath.

You mimic his actions and you can feel your heart rate slow and your breaths become more even and regulated. Your thoughts began to slow down and you felt more steady.

Your mind clears and you realize something. This is all in your head.

You were in an accident. Not the one from twenty years ago that claimed the lives of your family, but more recently.

You had been on your way home from work, having just received a promotion to partner in your law firm. You were crossing a bridge over a highway when a coworker sent you a text. Distracted, you hadn’t realized that you swerved into the next lane over until a semi-truck was blaring its horn at you. Shocked, you dropped the phone and jerked the wheel in an attempt to get out of the way, but it was too late. The semi clipped your side of the car, sending your car spinning into the guardrail. The cement guard broke on impact and your car went tumbling over the side. You remember a broken piece of concrete crashing through your windshield and hit you in the head before your car smashed into the highway below.

You know that there is no logical explanation for how you could have survived. Either this is the afterlife or this is your brain trying to protect you from the trauma.

Trying to figure it out right now was futile.

You take a deep breath to settle yourself once again and you feel the tension leave your body. You brush the invisible dirt off your hands, stand up straight, and turn to face Sam and Bucky.

In an eerily calm voice, you say, “I’m good now.”

Bucky and Sam share a worried look, but otherwise, don’t question it. Sam goes over to Bucky and whispers something in his ear that Bucky gives a nod to in response, both not taking their eyes off of you.

“Well,” Sam drawls out, stuffing his hands into his pockets, “As much fun as this shindig is, I’m going to...go do...things.” And without a further goodbye, takes off out the door.

You look to Bucky, raising an eyebrow in question of Sam’s strange actions, but otherwise, don’t say anything. He just shrugs, not offering any explanation before saying, “Let’s go on a tour.”

Bucky heads down the hall, not looking back to see if you would follow.

You stand there for a minute, debating whether to follow along or try to make a run for it. Since you had no idea the layout of the building or knowledge of what Bucky’s skills were, you erred on the side of caution and decided to chase after him, catching up in just a few steps.

He leads you through the building, pointing out different areas of interest, but you aren’t paying much attention. Instead, you’re lost in your thoughts.

The one thing you were certain of is that you crashed off of a bridge and that you had hit your head. Logically, this reality that you were in was just a projection your mind is giving you in order to protect you from the real trauma. What you couldn’t figure out is if this’ was just some play-by-play of some deep set fantasy. You were never someone who had been into Marvel Comics, nor were you the type to romanticize relationships. Yet you were in New York, surrounded by bickering idiots, and had Captain America claiming to be your soulmate.

Trying to make sense of anything was giving you a massive headache.

Instead, you turn to face the mountain of a man. "So, how come Sam called you grandpa? Is that a kink of yours or something?"

Bucky stops walking, turns around to look down at you, and gives you an amused look. "He thinks it's so funny just because I was born in 1917."

What the fuck? You think to yourself, but manage to keep a straight face. "Well, you should tell me what skin care product you use because you don't look a day over twenty-five."

“Skip the ageing cream,” he comments casually, starting to walk down the hall again. “If you want to stay this fresh, I recommend experimentation by either German scientists or terror groups. Really does wonders for the body.” He pauses, tapping his chin with a silver finger, feigning that he was deep in thought. “Oh! And being frozen either in ice or cryogenically. That helps too.” He gives off a sardonic laugh, shaking his head at himself.

His response makes you pause, needing a moment to process everything that was just said. A half second later, you give a small shake of your head, clearing it. “Sounds realistic.”

Bucky comes up on an unmarked door, stopping and turned to give you a smile. “Yeah, we’re an interesting bunch.” He doesn’t leave room for you to comment, quickly changing the subject. “Do you like to read?”

“Are you implying that there are people who don’t like to?” you retort, crossing your arms over your chest, raising an eyebrow at him.

He lets out a little laugh before opening the door and gesturing you in.

You’re in awe. Never in your life had you seen so many books in one room beside in a library. Without further invite from Bucky, you rush forward to the first group of shelves and begin to peruse the section. Your eyes go over the classical literature that was sitting before you, flickering through the many titles. Glancing over at Bucky, you point to a certain book and ask, “Can I grab one to read?”

Bucky comes up over your shoulder to see what you were pointing at and gives you a look of surprise. “You want to read Animal Farm over some trashy romance novel?” he questions in a skeptical tone. You nod in affirmation and he just shrugs. “Go crazy.”

With a smile, you pull the book out from its spot and turn to face Bucky. Giving him a quick pat on the head, you happily skip over to where a group of plush armchairs are and plop down in one of them and immediately begin to read. Bucky grabs his own book from the same shelf and you glance over the cover of yours to see it was The Picture of Dorian Gray. Seems like you weren’t the only one who like classical literature.

You’re only half a chapter in when Bucky speaks up. “What do you do for a living?”

You look up from your book, quirking an eyebrow. “Are you going to ask me what my favorite color is next?”

Bucky rolls his eyes at your sassy response and closes his book, setting it down in his lap. “I am curious what life looks like for normal people.” He pauses, glancing at you sideways. “Normal being a relative term.”

His last comment has you snorting. “Yeah, who’s normal anymore these days? Normal is boring.” You dog ear your page and close the book. “I work as a child psychologist. It’s….a difficult job. Not a lot of people want to work with children just because every single child is different. Adults are arguably easier because they can articulate their thoughts and feelings better whereas children, you have to be incredibly intuitive. There are only three of us in the county where I’m from, but I had just received word that I was given funding to start a larger program…one where I’m in charge of recruiting other child psychologists, developing family groups, teaching my ways of treating these children and so on and so forth.”

Bucky was silent. When you looked up, you were amused at the awestruck look on his face.

“What, cat got your tongue?” You tease.

He shakes his head in disbelief. “Not at all, doll. I’m just...that’s amazing. I can’t believe how far we’ve come from locking up people in looney bins.”

“Primitive asses,” you mutter, pinching the bridge of your nose. “It’s still not perfect, people wanting to medicate their children at any sign of not being immediately compliant, but at least we don’t shame and degrade them.” You allow yourself a deep sigh and change the topic. “Anyways, what do you do?”

“I keep Captain America from getting into too much shit,” Bucky chuckles, getting a fond look on his face. “That man has no sense of self-preservation but, he comes from a good place. You wouldn’t believe it looking at him now, but he was a scrappy little punk back in the day. Didn’t matter, I was constantly pulling him off of guys three times his size. I always told him I looked forward to 70 years down the line when he wouldn’t be picking fights anymore. I shouldn’t be surprised that’s not the case.”

You take note of his “back in the day” story to investigate further at a later time. “Bucky, do you have a man crush on Captain America?,” you ask in a teasing tone, raising an eyebrow in mock speculation.

Bucky just laughs, “Steve’s a good guy, but he’s not my type.”

Before you could respond, you hear a knock on the door followed by a familiar face walking in.

Steve Rogers stands by the door awkwardly, rubbing his hands together in a nervous manner as he looks to you.

Bucky looks over and his face splits into a large smile. Stomping his feet on the ground, he gracefully leaps up from the couch and heads to Steve, grabbing him in a quick hug before pulling away. “Steve! Glad you could make it! I’m going to go catch up with Mama Red Wing!” He then turns to you and nods a goodbye. “I’ll see you around.” And with that, he’s out the door.

Traitor, you think, slightly irritated he just left you alone with this man who was notorious for making outrageous claims.

You’re sorely tempted to ignore Steve’s presence and just continue reading, but Steve had this pathetically soft look on his face and you find yourself taking pity on the man. “You can come take a seat, I don’t bite.” Hard.

Steve takes the invitation and walks over, moving surprisingly graceful for a man of his size and stature, and claims the same chair Bucky had previously occupied that faced you.

He sits there and stares at you for a moment in silence and you take the opportunity to check him out yourself. You have to admit to yourself that he’s a very attractive man for a delusional person. Then again, you've always been a sucker for blond hair and blue eyes. A part of you wonders what that says about you, that you created this gorgeous man and he's completely insane and supposedly your soulmate.

Steve clears his throat and gives you a nervous smile. “I imagine you have some questions?”

Tags for Everything: @mermaidxatxheart @bettercallsabs @thinkwritexpress-official

Tags for One Touch: @blackcat-midnight-thatsme @kittylovesfandom @angryteapot @chonisberonica @delusional-of-love @unknownuserhasjoined @toews-a-peek @dryerpet

*Can’t tag you

#One Touch #Steve Rogers #Captain America #Steve Rogers Soulmate #Soulmate AU #Captain America Soulmate #Steve Rogers x Reader #Captain America x Reader #Steve Rogers fanfic #Captain America Fanfic #Marvel #Marvel Fanfic

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ellvie · 5 years

Text

ELVIE CROFT, twenty four years old. youtuber and ghost with the most on beloved emmy award winning netflix series ghost gallery. interests include horror movies, the 80s, halloween, and the absolute abomination that is black licorice. the smartest dipshit you’ll ever meet.

elvin tupelo croft. prefers elvie, but el is okay if you’re a close friend or family member. is extremely sensitive about the fact that he was almost named elvis after the famous musician because his dad is OBSESSED.

born in the salem, massachusetts on halloween day. descendant of an accused witch, son of an actual witch, and practices himself albeit casually. his dad is the county district attorney while his mom owns a small shop in town, so they were...lower middle class i guess. they always had enough to meet their needs, but couldn’t afford any extra spending or splurging. as he got older he’d go on to work small jobs around town, most notably as a janitor in the local movie theater. so no silver spoon or high horse here.

margo massey has been his best friend since birth. her maternal grandparents disowned her mom when she fell pregnant with margo, so elvie’s dad gave them some legal help and the rest is history. they’ve been best friends for longer than either of them can even remember, true ride or dies for life. if you don’t like margo then elvie doesn’t like you and that’s that on that. the antics of elvie croft and margo massey were famous in salem long before they were famous on netflix.

so he tried lots of different activities as a kid. he was a boy scout, he took music lessons, he was absolutely awful at tee ball, but nothing really stuck. he’s always had a lot of energy and a short attention span, so he gets bored of stuff pretty easily.

something his parents and teachers would often notice about him was that he’s very smart. he’s a fast learner, one of those annoying types who seems to just do well in school and get perfect grades without even trying? that’s him. some people have even thrown around words like brilliant and genius. tbh they probably aren’t far off, but elvie hates being called smart to the point where he?? intentionally dumbs himself down 24/7 and passes it off as a joke

ofc that didn’t stop from being mercilessly bullied all throughout school. he had braces and glasses and chronic nosebleeds and didn’t play any sports and only had one friend who was picked on just as badly so he was definitely a favorite target of his peers.

fortunately elvie has much thicker skin than most people seem to realize. he doesn’t...really care what people think about him. at all. oh so what you don’t like him. he’ll have a good long cry about it while his emmy award is getting polished. not that he’s arrogant bc he honestly isn’t. it’s just that he knows his worth and your opinion of him isn’t going to change that.

he was fifteen when the rich & snobby abernathy family bought a huge summer home in salem and he met their daughter, astrea...it was love at first sight and to this day he’s never loved anybody else or even dated anybody else. their summer romance turned long distance when she went home in the fall. they were insistent upon not letting anything break them apart and aside from about a year where they weren’t together, nothing ever did. elvie croft has been dating the same girl since he was fifteen and just keeps falling more and more in love with her.

it should be noted that astrea’s parents absolutely hate him and they always have. he didn’t do anything except come from a poor no name family, which was more than enough for them, so elvie was resorting to climbing through her window and helping her sneak out in the middle of the night so they could see each other for even five minutes. it’s a regular romeo juliet story. how disgustingly lovesick and On Brand™ for them.

a year later he started his youtube channel at the age of sixteen with margo & the camera that he got for his birthday. it’s basically buzzfeed unsolved supernatural. he’s the believer, she’s the skeptic, and they go looking for ghosts! it was an instant hit. with every video posted they were gaining subscribers in the dozens, then the hundreds, then the thousands. they weren’t even in college yet and they were already two of the most popular & beloved names in youtuber fandom.

attended nyu once they did get to college. tbh elvie didn’t really wanna go?? he doesn’t like school, so he technically studied business and was top of his class as per usual, but he was mostly just there to party and hang out with margo and finally get to be with astrea all the time. he loves her so much like i can’t stress this enough.

too bad for him bc he got DUMPED in their last year of college. astrea broke up with him and then immediately went to saudi arabia for a year. he didn’t take it well at all, but fortunately he’d be distracted soon enough.

elvie and margo were approached by netflix producers who basically wanted to turn their youtube channel into a tv show which turned out to be a really smart move because ghost gallery is a HUGE HIT. everyone’s seen it. everyone loves it. no one can seem to shut up about it. basically think of the hype around stranger things and you’ll understand how much everyone loves ghost gallery.

they’ve put out two seasons so far & are just about to start filming for season three which is scheduled for a late october 2019 release and elvie absolutely loves his show so he couldn’t be happier about it!

and now for a few other fast facts bc i SOMEHOW feel like i haven’t covered everything yet!

loves horror movies, halloween, and scaring people. by the age of twelve he was getting full grown adults to scream and run away from him in terror while he just laughed and laughed bc it was the best thing ever to him.

it’s been a running joke all his life that he doesn’t seem to be afraid of anything and who knows? maybe he isn’t.

his other major interest? everything 80s. tbh at least 90% of everything he’s ever said is an 80s movie reference, often too obscure for most people to even catch.

he’s extremely rich bc he spends almost none of the money he earns from youtube and netflix. he grew up poor enough to have the mentality that he can’t just go around wasting money on whatever he wants even though he very well could without even making a serious dent in his bank account. at worst he might impulse buy some extra candy or smth but nothing more expensive than that

they type of eccentric genius who will solve a whole rubik’s cube in .0000000001 seconds like it’s nothing and act like it isn’t even a big deal bc he’s already distracted by something else entirely. it probs gives people a little whiplash tbh

PERSONALITY: elvie is nice, but he’s not for everyone. eccentric is probably the best word to describe him. he doesn’t do things the way everyone else does. he’s extremely hyperactive and very ~out there~ which is a combination that’s just Too Much for some people. he tends to come across as either witty and endearingly charming or loud and flat out annoying. so he’s kinda terrible at making friends but it doesn’t stop him from trying. in general he’s well liked if only bc almost everyone loves ghost gallery, but ofc there are outliers so pls feel free to hate him. tl;dr he’s completely harmless but maybe a little annoying, will just ramble at you for hours about ghosts and horror movies and the 80s and assume that you’re friends because of it.

CONNECTIONS

family

maternal cousin - willow sparks and alexandra blakely (distant)

paternal cousin, constant bickering - river espinoza

romantic

wife - astrea croft

unrequited crush - open

platonic

best friend, might bicker sometimes but ride or die 5ever - margo massey

acquaintances - torrance keynes, saywer duncan, open to more.

close friends - open to several.

family friends - rosalind cox, open to more.

friends - jordan parkes, wren daily, reign monroe, sahar santini, genesis iver, ingrid larson, marialena goldstein.

online → irl friends - ginny baker

unlikely friends - eden o’ connor, open to more,

frenemies - beckley bovér, open to more.

negative

enemies - angel almeida, open to more.

bad terms - carson king, open to more.

ex friends - luna reyes, anastasia sangster.

he doesn’t tend to have a lot of enemies but whew he absolutely despises angel so if you like him then elvie probably doesn’t like you.

#× ❪ ⸰ about elvie. ⸰ ❫#this is an actual novel #anyway #this is basically a brand new intro #with his connections included #mostly filled but i figure that helps to figure out new stuff #feel free to message if you wanna plot or re plot #if you really read this whole thing #why

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galoismyhimbo · 5 years

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I'm greedy gimme me all that domestic meme with Hope and Emily

dasdjsagj AHH! ok so I don’t have a sort of domestic au for them. So this will be interesting to do with the au/non au they are in for my story LOL

how did they first kiss? Well the first kiss was technically a dare but they don’t really remember that, it was a weird night. So the first real kiss was when they reunited after the bombs dropped

who flirts more? *cough* Hope *cough* butshesreallybadatit

how did the relationship start? already answered here https://onetireddeputy.tumblr.com/post/181970099869/how-did-the-relationship-start-for-emily-and

how did they start living together? do they move? how do they choose the place? Considering they were moving from region to region constantly, they slept together anywhere they could. After reuniting, however, they did live together in a small home rebuilt by survivors.

do they have roommates? Nah…Though, Sharky does crash with them a majority of the time so technically, yes

do they get married (or equivalent)? YES. Years after the bombs, they have this small wedding. Hope wears a lace, short, almost casual handmade dress and Emily wears a dress shirt and pants, with suspenders and a bow tie cause she is a dork and she knows Hope would just adore it.

do they have kids? 👀 Yes… its a long story but Emily gets pregnant, Hope takes the child in as her own and later on the two of them raise the babe as a couple. (i have an actual story that explains why and how Em got pregnant… its v depressing so ill just leave it at that LOL)

do they have pets? No, sadly.

do they act different in public and at home? Nope. They act basically the same; both are dorky and dumbasses in public and at home

big spoon/little spoon? Emily is the big spoon because Hope can’t sleep without feeling Emily’s heartbeat

sleeping habits? Hope is a light sleeper and is prone to night terrors if Emily isn’t there to hold her. Emily has night terrors too, but as long as they sleep together they are fine.

favorite non-sexual activity? They like to have little campfires and dance to the soft music being played underneath the moonlight

favorite sexual activity? 👀👀👀 Being gentle and soft and exploring each other’s scars

how often do they have sex? Not often, Emily isn’t a very sexual person in general

what habits of the other drives them crazy? Emily drinks straight from the cartons and Hope gets real annoyed from it

how often do they fight? Before the bombs? sometimes. they would have different ideas on how to defeat the cult and being stubborn people they would butt heads. After? Not much, if at all.

most trivial thing they fight over? “did you eat the last bit of cheerios?” “….maybe” “you motherf-”

who uses all the hot water? Emily

who does most of the cleaning? hmmm… Probably Hope

what do they watch on tv and do they fight for the remote? Emily likes to watch those worst cooks in america shows because then she feels better about her cooking lmao, Hope doesn’t care for those shows and will always try to pry the remote away from Emily.

who calls up the super/landlord when the heat’s not working? If they lived in an apartment, probably Hope. And let’s just say she’ll fight the landlord if its not fixed soon.

who answers the phone? Neither, just text man

who steals the blankets? They both do honestly, its a constant tug of war when they sleep

who remembers things? Hope. She has to write down the grocery lists for Emily, which Emily forgets even that sometimes.

who does the groceries? Emily, she likes to shop. but she would never tell anyone that

who cooks normally? Emily. They are both bad cooks but at least Emily can cook a corn dog without somehow burning the hot dog and not the breading.

who leaves their stuff lying everywhere? yes.

what kind of stuff can be found around their place? Books, shoes, kids stuff at a certain point, normal stuff one would find around houses.

what do their cupboards or shelves look like? messy, they can clean it one day and the next its back to its mess

what does their closet(s) look like? Emily likes to keep her closet clean for some reason, Hope just leaves it as is; which can either be messy or clean.

what do they do when they’re away from each other? Hope will usually just relax and stuff like that, Emily will usually read a book or take a walk alone. But with a kid, if they have them then they focus on that.

do they have nicknames or pet names for each other? Emily does call Hope “my sun and stars”, Hope calls her “my moon and ocean”

how do they refer to the other in public? how do other people refer to the other? (i.e. “my partner”, “ask your father”, “dad and papa”, “how’s your wife?“, etc) They call each other “my wife”. And to their kid, Emily is “mommy” and Hope is “mummy”

who is more likely to pay for dinner? Emily

how often do they go on dates? As much as they can with a child at home

typical date night? out or at home? At home, though if there is something interesting going on they’ll go out; things like the movies and music festivals.

do they celebrate birthdays, valentine’s day, anniversaries? They celebrate as much as they can with each other.

what would they get each other for gifts? Cheap things or things they made by hand. Emily draws a lot so she’d occasionally draw something for Hope as a gift, which Hope always cherishes.

how do they spend Christmas and new year’s (or equivalent family gatherings)? They spend it with their family, which in this case is all their friends; like Sharky, Samantha, River, Marie, all the people they’ve grown to love in Hope County.

who cusses more? Hope, not that Emily doesn’t cuss a lot already.

what would they do if the other one was hurt? um, all Hell would break loose on those who harmed them

what are little gestures they do for each other? They pick small flowers they find randomly for each other. Emily will carry Hope to bed if she happens to fall asleep on the couch. Hope will

do they know how the other takes their coffee/tea? Yep, Emily likes really light coffee; so a lot of cream and sugar. Hope takes two sugars and some milk in her tea.

do they feel they see each other enough, or do they have activities that take too much of their time? They spent as much time as they could with each other before things went to shit. Now they spend basically every waking moment together.

do they friend/follow each other on facebook/tumblr/livejournal/skype/etc? Nope.

(added) morning routine? Emily does the normal routine; wakes up, takes a hot shower, dries her hair and then gets ready. She doesn’t like to wear makeup. Hope does the same thing basically, but her showers are lukewarm, which Emily hates.

how do they make up after a fight? One will usually apologize first and try to make things right but doing little things for the other. Like getting them a drink, food, a little gift. stuff like that

#ask #Hope x Emily #Hope Pillar #Emily burns #fc5 #lesbian power couple

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borisleigh · 3 years

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nityarawal · 10 months

Text

July 20, 2023

7-19-23 Testimony- Idyllwild State Park- Police report by Court Mandated Journalist/Reporter/Realtor/Mother/Lexus Owner

There was a pounding on bathroom door.

"Police!"

What's going on, I thought?

I just put in another $1 token!

"Hold on," I said, drying quickly and gathering my shampoo, conditioner and special skin regime- cut short in only 15 minutes!

"Is that your white car?" Dumb cop asked.

"Yes," I said.

"Is there a problem?"

I quickly got license in my car for him, locked doors; as he requested to run it.

I think he was blubbering lies that I didn't pay for state park shower.

This wasn't true.

I nearly asked him for a $4 refund. I was so miffed.

I showed him my "Golden Bear Pass," and he also immediately wanted to know if I had weapons in my car, clearly scared- after terrorizing me out of my women's shower room.

"Absolutely not!" I told him!

"Who issued this?" He said in disbelief confused by Green Golden Bear Pass.

This was the 1000th+ case of a court officer taking collateral with a clerk doxxing my location since 2016 divorce.

(Joan Grandizio- my boss at Free Living sold me to Schmitt & Curtis in Jan & Carmel Benson sold me in 2020-21 handyman Dennis Sketchley & Dustin (Alex Grover) aka Shane Stewart Broker Militia w/ Clark attys & Judges since 2017!)

I had just spoke to traffic court manager Michelle for Judge Hodgekins that day.

I showed cop the notes in my journal and told him to call her if he has a problem with county's and courts 4 year timeline resolving my registration issues from officer Enoche's wrongful rental car arrest with fired Triple AAA tow-driver Daniel Crabtree of Idyllwild Garage; attempted murders, rape reports through IEHP corrupt insurance, Blue Shield; life insurance scam, Dr's and social workers probate foul play on my homes.

My accountant Amy arronson scammed me on tax returns with IRS & federal banking issues Ensued in Idyllwild with PNC Bank & BBVA.

It wasn't enough to fire manager Jerry Sue Haney. PNC lost my bank records from BBVA they bought executive managers claim.

Dumb cops asked if I wanted an ambulance for my skin condition- since he interrupted my shower!

No- I told him it was due to Covid 19 officers 911 rapes!

And divorce court bigotry bribes to resist a timely cooperation of respectful divorce dissolution.

(He appeared to need an ambulance for his perversions though!)

"No- I'm not fine" I told him. "I just need dinner. My blood sugar is low & I have PTSD f/ this nonsense! Human needs!" I said knowingly & looked at his bleary eyes!

I was sweating like a pig- still hot from shower- dripping wet in my yoga clothes.

I explained that I had PTSD from similar officer abuse and that Enoche not only raped my sister Vanessa out of arrest; he bullied Jyoti on registration- AND stole my rental car with gay triple AAA driver (his casual gay lover?) Daniel Crabtree on a date at 54399 Valleyview Ave for Shane Stewart of Idyllwild Realty- before his property manager- Emily Pearson was murdered.

See receipts for payments through PNC disputes from BBVA & Wells Fargo/Amex/Fidelity fraud to IRS & Gonzalez Mexican harem of laborers and sex workers.

Much of dramas posted on tumblr & Twitter as a journalist!

Daniel Crabtree got fired from Idyllwild Garage- that's not enough. I want to dispute all Lexus tows I did with him previously to desert & LA; he milked me for black market bribes as collateral w/ faggot Sheriff he admitted- a bigot of a gay man.

Very racist and a mean mommy hater- like bosses Sheriff Bianco & Jeremy Parsons.

Charge Carmel's boytoy cop officer Dan Godsnick for foul play attempting to steal my Lexus with Carmel Benson of Idyology and murders of Adrien Denava & Leslie Wiedner of Tollgate. Whistleblowing on every bribe!

Need commissions and liens put on Countryclub & Tollgate Idyllwild homes as well as Idyology & 1067 Neptune Encinitas/Aguanga/Anza.

These are all PNC clients.

Eric Berg and I want to file disputes for Tmobile cellular reception phone not working and rapes into hospitals with Verizon thru PNC.

We want to prosecute for Rapes & attempted murders through probate real estate fraud- now that courts have another recorded testimony- and police report co-penned by me- since your officers are illiterate to write tickets or read orders on substandard 6 month grooming organised crime edu.

Pigs are way too young for ownership of a gun to bully with.

I also told Officer Bill Sallyo to arrest Shane Stewart of Idyllwild Realty & gay accomplices in militia sheriff harem/employees/slaves/drs- with his morality Police enforcing a gay agenda as Marshall Law.

If Sheriff has issue with 400+ Idy houseless they slummed against Gavin Newsom's orders in Covid- fix it.

We were all affected by his murders and robberies of our property manager Emily Pearson at 54399 Valleyview; colleagues in Aguanga/Encinitas; neighbors; and landladies.

This is a national real estate civil emergency connected to cars, kids, dmv.org scams & general federal defense fraud.

I hope Sheriff- Ranger- Police (Pig Bill didn't seem to know what he was & gloated last two) took this Marshall Law suggestion seriously to heart.

Because, now Bill's license is on the line; a breed that works for a fast buck & kink.

As a realtor of 23 years we feel all State and County Park lands in America should be run, cleaned, and maintained by civilians. They are currently dirty, functionally obsolete and mismanaged for few patrons- losing state & civilians buckets of money!

Civil servants failed constitutions. I had to warn several moms their showers might be interrupted by kinky officers. They looked worried sizing up the creepy cop.

Bill said he's a Ranger and showed off his weapons & 40 pounds of overstuffed toddler gear after banging on door claiming to be "police" for heart attack warfare effect later switching tine to ranger when I told him to get educated by his colleagues. False arrests and terrorism are a pet peeve I explained! Have Gavin send every civilian suffering courts Hardship their rightful benefits without stingy mean middle men agenting abuse!

Is Ranger Bill same fat scared officer that broke his ankle Stalking Me & Sage (Wolf Husky God-daughter) down Strawberry Creek to airbnb in 2019?

Why have cops always terrorized Idy hikers and campers/traveller's?

Is it in their job description to be ignorant fat asses terrorizing mothers?

We'd like to prosecute every officer, clerk and judge to president- that broke Governor Newsom's covid 19 tenant and car rental, lemon laws, bank, real estate, and family laws; in organized federal crimes against #FreeBritney & I.

We don't hire our service men to steal, rape nor murder civilians.

Mahalo, Thanks, Merci & Grazia,

Peace USA,

Nitya Huntley Rawal

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stereksecretsanta · 6 years

Text

Merry Christmas, @rubyredhoodling!

For rubyredhoodling, who likes BAMF Stiles (and Derek), spark Stiles, Derek comes back, and there may be just a small hint of mafia au. Season's greetings, and I hope you like it!

Read on AO3

*****

Priorities

There were hunters in his town.

Stiles sat behind his desk, picking up the plaque reading "Sheriff Stilinski," only mildly defaced by the removal of his dad's first initial, and turning it over in his hands. There had been five people who held the office of sheriff between the two Stilinskis; the first, and only one elected to the position, had been a deputy that had ties to hunters but hadn't taken part in any activities that could lead to firing or even disciplinary charges. He'd laid low long enough for things to settle down and then used his connections to mount a successful campaign to remove John Stilinski from office - because surely all of the dramatic violence in Beacon Hills had to be due to the sheriff not doing his job.

The former deputy's hunter regime had lasted a year before he was removed from office in disgrace. Not for the harassment and humiliation of anyone even vaguely connected with the supernatural (or somewhat brown in skintone), but for having so grossly mismanaged the department's budget that the county only found out the sheriff's office had run out of money when checks bounced. The forensic accountant that was appointed as interim sheriff stayed for a month, presenting a preliminary audit and her resignation at the same time. The next sheriff had died in what was referred to as either mysterious circumstances or a hunting accident, depending on who was speaking and who was listening, followed by the fourth sheriff resigning by way of an email sent after he got into his car and kept driving after attempting to investigate said mysterious hunting accident. His family had to stop unpacking and reload the moving truck to join him.

By the time the fifth sheriff in two years had been appointed, Stiles had resigned from the FBI and come home on a mission. If his dad wouldn't leave - and he wouldn't - then Beacon Hills had to become a safe place for his dad to live, and not just within the perimeter of mountain ash and totems and runestones and every other type of protection magic that Stiles could find to place around their house. The forces of evil couldn't even see the house, but it wasn't as if his dad would agree to stay inside it forever.

If the fifth sheriff had contented herself with accepting the drop in the murder rate and number of animal attacks, she might have lasted. As it was, she had arrived one night at the high school in time to see the longest-serving deputy remaining on the force go up in flames, a number of people growing fangs and claws, another set of people shooting at everything that moved, and one Stiles Stilinski, holding a baseball bat and smiling. A few tumultuous hours later, she'd listened stonily as Scott did his best to explain things while applying pressure to the gunshot wound in her shoulder and Stiles methodically adjusted the scene to reflect the story he was dictating should be told by everyone.

One hunter had deviated from the story, theoretically supporting the fifth sheriff in her quest to find answers. Caught between what was being whispered in her ear and what she gleaned from Scott, the fifth sheriff made the mistake of finding the middle ground between them, the one thing they agreed on: blaming Derek Hale.

Within twelve hours of Derek being brought in and held for questioning, the sheriff's hunter lover was in FBI custody on multiple weapons charges, with more possible charges pending, and the fifth sheriff was implicated in facilitating the transfer of illegal weapons over state and national borders. The blood and DNA samples the fifth sheriff had forced to be taken during Derek's pre-detention medical screening were discovered to be too contaminated to use, lawsuits had been filed, and more than half of the officers on shift had called in sick.

"You fucked up," Stiles had told her when he came in, his hands empty and his clothes casual. "But you can still turn it around."

Maybe if she hadn't fallen so deeply in love with her hunter, she would have listened. If Stiles had had more time to prepare, maybe he would have been able to be more persuasive, or at least diplomatic. Definitely things would've gone better if he'd been able to get his dad to go talk to her, even if it would've meant Stiles was left talking to all the guys on the force that were spending their 'sick' day at a barbecue in the Stilinski back yard.

But, then again, the fifth sheriff thought it was a good idea to respond by threatening to arrest Stiles, so maybe not.

She had been politely asked to leave her position, and less politely invited to cooperate with the FBI into the investigation of her lover's ties to organized crime, before Stiles had finished checking his email as he sat in the police station lobby. Lingering let him give Derek a ride home when he was shortly released from custody without ever being formally arrested. The sincere, formal, and voluminous apologies delivered to Derek by the elected representatives of Beacon Hills carried more than a whiff of 'please don't sue,' and Stiles had to turn away to keep a straight face as Derek thanked them gravely for their commitment to justice.

The impression he had gotten was that they'd beg his dad to come back - they'd done it before, after all. Instead someone had the bright idea of appointing him to the job, anticipating his ten-year plan by at least eight years. Stiles had had to sit there and deal with it as his dad laughed himself sick.

And now, after six years of making damn sure his town was a safe place for all of its citizens, after everything he'd given up and everything he had lost, after a year of peace and calm, there were hunters trying to move back in.

"Sheriff?" One of the baby deputies peeked around the corner, both sets of eyelids blinking convulsively with nerves. "There's someone here to see you."

"Take five," Stiles said, putting the plaque back on his desk as he stood. "I'll speak to them."

There weren't many people in the station; Stiles was a big believer in having his officers out in the community as much as possible, and if it also kept the possibility of casualties down in case of an attack then all the better. That didn't stop all three deputies that were there, even the young naga, from making a point of having a clear line of sight to both Stiles and the visitor. "Alpha... Viel, isn't it? I hadn't been notified you were planning a visit."

"I wasn't aware I had to report my movements to the local law enforcement," the alpha said, still leaning against the wall in the waiting area and examining his fingernails. "This is America. Free country, or haven't you heard?"

"See, I was taught that good manners are important no matter where you are." Stiles swung open the pass-through, breaking the mountain ash line. "But, whatever, you're here now. Did you want to talk out here, or is my office okay?"

Extending one hand, the alpha tilted it from one side to the other, as if critiquing a manicure. "Do you get a lot of werewolves stupid enough to walk into a trap?"

Stiles shrugged and closed the station doors with a gesture. "You tell me, since you walked into someplace you can't walk out of just to have this conversation. I mean, I'm not all that interested in keeping you, but you asked."

"You think you're funny, don't you?" The alpha's claws came out and he lunged forward, laughing when Stiles flinched. "Now that, that was funny."

Waving to his deputies to get them to stand down, Stiles said, "Was there a point? Because I feel like I could probably deliver your lines from the script, and I have actual work to do."

"Does your script include the fact that I've got your pack?"

"It might surprise you to know that comes up a lot," Stiles said. "The only real question I have is whether you're working with the hunters that showed up or if they came here looking for you."

The alpha's smug smile fell and he lunged again, not feinting this time, only to be brought down before Stiles could even lift his hands defensively. His roar cut off with a crunching noise, and Stiles shuddered as something bounced off his foot. "Was that his fang? Did you break his fangs?"

"You're welcome," Derek said, still kneeling firmly on the alpha's back, one hand grinding his face against the floor. "Your dad said to tell you we're having quinoa casserole for dinner."

Stiles groaned. "You should never have told him about that spell I found to unclog his arteries. This reign of terror is endless."

"It would have taken a year off your life, if it didn't kill you," Derek said. "I regret nothing."

The alpha stopped trying to buck Derek off his back, and Stiles squatted down next to him while Derek yanked his head up. "So, you were saying something about my pack."

"They're dead," the alpha said, blood running down his chin. "You're all dead."

"Lydia's fine, she and her mom are at your house with your dad," Derek said, ignoring the alpha's muffled curses as he got pushed into the floor again. "I don't know about any of the others."

Shaking his head, Stiles said, "Bring him, he can go in the special cell while we check on everyone. And we've got hunters, by the way. Cora called in to let me know when they checked into the motel."

Derek grimaced. "I hate that place." It wasn't a new observation, but Stiles didn't feel the need to defend Cora's choice to buy and run the local no-tell establishment. Especially since it might've been partly, a little bit, due to Cora losing a bet with Stiles. Just a little bit, though.

They almost had the alpha in the cell, struggling and cursing, when the front doors blew open and distracted Derek's attention long enough to lose his grip. The alpha didn't waste any more time posturing, making a break for the closest window and ripping his claws through the deputy that happened to be in his way.

"Stop!" Scott's alpha roar did nothing to slow the retreating alpha, but it made Lewis hesitate in reaching for his radio to call for an ambulance. Derek was already kneeling next to Sams, discreetly assessing his injuries and applying his first aid training. Stiles tried to remember if there was anything supernatural about Sams that would require warning the hospital, but if there was he couldn't think of it.

Warning his people was the next priority. There were probably municipalities that did not have codes in place for supernatural shenanigans, but it hadn't made sense not to anticipate Beacon Hills being Beacon Hills. Scott was trying to demand answers, but only Lewis was paying attention to him; Stiles didn't have time to deal with it as he got a hold of Yang's shoulders, turning the naga to bring their eyes in contact. "Hey. You with us? Breathe, deep breaths, everything's fine now. You protected everyone as much as you could."

"I froze," Yang muttered, ducking his head. "Sams--"

"Will be fine," Stiles said. "And freezing was better than charging in."

The wail of the ambulance siren cut through the air and Stiles gave Yang a final nod with eye contact before moving to make sure the path was clear for the emergency crew to enter. Not for the first time, Stiles contemplated briefly whether kidnapping his dad would be a viable strategy for actually leaving Beacon Hills behind.

***

"Derek, do you think the spark is gone?"

Rolling his eyes, Derek joined Stiles where he was leaning on the hood of an anonymous dark blue Camry, significant mostly for how hard it would be to distinguish from the number of Toyotas on the street. "Stop trying to make 'Spark' happen. Deaton using a corny metaphor does not make 'Spark' a thing."

"Hey, it's a thing! It's my thing!" Stiles spread his arms and wriggled his fingers. "I didn't spend all those years in sparky magic school to be--"

"Austin Powers, really?" Derek's look of disdain would have crushed a lesser being. Luckily, Stiles was used to it.

"I need to use references old enough for you to get them, since you're practically a senior citizen." Stiles gave his best angelic smile. "Don't think I missed that you actually attended bingo last Sunday."

With a sigh, Derek said, "I go to bingo every Sunday, or did you forget that someone promised the Daughters of Thoth that we would attend to them on a regular basis?"

"Oh." Stiles rubbed the back of his neck, dislodging the collar of his plaid shirt. "I kinda wondered why they hadn't said anything, but I haven't had time to get to them."

"You can't do everything yourself," Derek said. "No matter how much you keep pretending that you can."

Sputtering, Stiles waved his arms around. "Dude! Not fair! I'm here specifically waiting for you, just so that I'm not going alone to deal with these assholes."

Derek's lips twitched. "And it only took how long to convince you not to go by yourself?"

"About as long as it took to realize I wouldn't end up having to stop to protect you." Stiles pushed himself off the hood and picked up the baseball bat that he'd leaned against the side of the car. "Although I'm still waiting for you to realize how sexy I am and agree to post-fight makeouts."

The flick of Derek's finger against the back of Stiles's neck was a brief sting, and a familiar one. "Focus."

"Right." Stiles climbed into the passenger seat, keeping one hand on his bat and the other near the release for his seatbelt. After a few minutes of driving in silence, he said, "I bet you five bucks that they ambush us on the blind curve behind Old Mill Road."

Derek took his eyes off the road long enough to glance at Stiles. "No bet. Except they may be smart enough to have one wait, pretend they're not working together so that they surprise us when the evil cavalry rushes in."

"Okay, one, the fact that you just said 'evil cavalry' turned me on just a little bit," Stiles said. "And you're totally right, they are absolutely that dramatic. Do you think we should stop early and, like, walk in? Do our own big show of 'ha HA, I am not alone!'"

The noise Derek made would've been called a huff by anyone who hadn't put the time in over the course of years to recognize it as a laugh. "You just don't want anyone to know you're driving to the scene of a crime in a sensible mid-size sedan."

"With an impeccable safety rating," Stiles said mournfully. "It's terrible."

"You'll live." The blind curve was coming up, and Derek slowed just enough to lock eyes with Stiles and share a brief nod before he gunned it around the corner. The spikes in the road made the car fishtail, but Derek's reflexes were good enough to keep the car on the road, pulling to a skidding stop just a few feet from the treeline.

Stiles stepped smoothly from the car, bat hanging loose in his grip. "You have no business in my town."

The hunter was just a little older than Derek, with hair that touched his collar and a brown leather jacket. Stiles had thought the man was a waste of oxygen when he'd read some of the reports from the official background check and the unofficial victim and witness statements from his hunting activities, but the fact that the man was tall and good-looking somehow made it worse.

"You're harboring fugitives," the hunter said, flashing a smile that made it clear he knew exactly how handsome he was. "Doesn't seem right, a lawman sheltering the lawless."

In a flat voice, completely free of inflection, Stiles said, "Oh, what a clever argument, I am undone."

"You think you're clever," the hunter said. "You got Brent all riled up - thanks for confirming you're a spellcaster, by the way, good to know - but you don't know as much as you think you do, and you're definitely not going to live to see morning."

"The only thing I don't know is why you're here," Stiles said, his grip on the bat tightening. "But I'm guessing you felt like destroying something beautiful."

The hunter smiled again. "Fight Club. Great movie."

"You'd be the type to think so." Stiles knocked the bat against the inside of his sneaker before bringing it up to his shoulder. "So, who goes first, do you go first?"

Raising a pistol he'd been holding in the shadows next to his leg, the hunter fired three shots directly to center mass. Stiles stood impassively as his protective spell took the impact that the kevlar didn't, preventing the shots from even bruising him. Whatever magical kryptonite the hunter thought he had, he either hadn't deployed it yet or it hadn't worked. "My turn." Stiles lifted the bat, dug a foot into the ground, and swung as if he was trying to send the hunter's jaw to the outfield.

The hunter had his own magical protection, but it wasn't enough; the crunch of teeth and bone was loud in the air as blood spattered onto the trees behind them. "I'd say you could still leave, but that's not an option," Stiles said, swinging the bat again, this time at the hunter's stomach. "You can still live long enough to go to prison, if you surrender very quickly."

More shots rang out, one coming close enough that it tore through the shoulder of the overshirt Stiles was wearing. Turning his head slowly from one side to the other, Stiles felt a coldness rise inside him, creeping over him and lifting the corners of his lips. "Evil cavalry's here. Let's see how that goes."

Five targets, closing in to surround him; his own backup lurking in the darkness and making sure no more surprises were hiding in reserve. Cover fire for the sixth and primary target to escape. Car behind him, partial shield, but also a risk if someone thought to light up the gas tank. Moving quickly, Stiles broke the main hunter's shoulder with a strong sweep of his bat before seizing his neck, holding him up long enough to block two shots before throwing him down towards the trees.

"Down," he heard, but he'd already stooped to pick up the hunter's gun and just turned his head to see Derek fly past, half shifted and running a few steps on all fours before throwing himself in the air and landing in full wolf form with his fangs buried in a hunter's bicep. He always tried to avoid tearing out throats during a fight but it might not matter; the chunk gouged out of the attacker's arm was bleeding so heavily that the man might not make it to the 'ask questions' portion of the night.

Lifting his arm, Stiles listened to his own breath whistling in and out of his chest as if traveling through a huge, empty cavern. One shot, two shots, pause and fire again, shift stance and fire again. Three targets now, with three down, and Stiles was still calm as the coldness blanketed everything except the calculations needed to get through the fight.

The alpha roared, leaping to the top of the car and flashing his eyes red as he looked down at Stiles. After a flicker of a glance, Stiles turned away from him, concentrating on the two hunters still firing in his direction. The alpha wasn't a threat worth thinking about, because Derek was already charging, a blur of black fur and blue eyes dripping a trail of blood from his flashing teeth.

"I'm still willing to let you live," Stiles said, not bothering to raise his voice. "Limited time offer, one time only."

He waited, his head tilted and a faint, pleasant smile on his face, until the crack of another gunshot rang out. He was tired enough that he brought his left hand up, palm flat out, to support with the gesture the spell to stop the bullet that had been aimed at his forehead. It fell to the ground and he shrugged, stretching his arms out before returning fire with the last of the bullets in the gun he'd held onto. "Okay, death it is."

Leisurely, Stiles moved to the closest downed hunter and stepped on the man's hand before taking his weapon and the fresh clip he'd been trying to load. With a wink, Stiles said, "Ah-ah, no trying to be sneaky. Either you're down or you're dead."

"Fuck you!" The hunter was struggling to get off the ground and Stiles allowed it, using the time to slam the clip in place and take the shot to eliminate the next closest target, peering out of the brush cover to attempt another attack and instead getting a neat hole between his eyes for his trouble.

The hunter at his feet managed to get a knife in his hand, lunging towards Stiles with one last burst of strength. Stiles just sidestepped and ended him with a shot to the back of the head, attention momentarily caught by the fight between the werewolves. The alpha had Derek pinned in a canine restraint position, and the coldness in Stiles flickered as he wondered whether the man had veterinary experience. It didn't last long; Derek shifted back to human form and threw the alpha to the ground in a crack of broken bones, and Stiles still had business to attend to.

The one hunter left standing wasn't firing, and Stiles moved to where the leader was rolling on the ground, clutching his broken arm and yelling for his men as best he could through broken teeth and a fractured jaw. Crouching next to him, Stiles pulled the man's backup piece from his ankle holster and placed it in his left hand. "There you go. Sporting chance, right? Can't just kill you if you're helpless - then I'd be just like you!"

"Except, no," Stiles said, standing up. "Because I didn't hunt you down. I didn't go to your home, I didn't set up an ambush for you, and I sure as fuck didn't decide to devote my life to the pursuit of genocide by targeting the most peaceful, helpless people I could find."

The cold and emptiness drained away as Stiles stood and lifted his gun. The hunter dropped the smaller gun Stiles had given him and started pleading, but Stiles fired before he could manage more than one word.

A howl behind him made Stiles turn around, just in time to see the alpha lunge at Derek, fangs bared. Stiles raised the gun, feeling shaky and almost too tired to lift it, but it wasn't necessary; Derek sidestepped smoothly and took hold of the alpha's hair, using it to pull his head back and expose his neck. The arterial spray shot over Derek's claws as he dug deep into the dying alpha's throat, almost as red as the glow overtaking the blue in Derek's eyes.

"There's one unaccounted for," Stiles said, because he'd trained himself so well on prioritizing threats that it was the first of the thousand thoughts in his mind that coalesced into speech.

Jerking his head to one side, Derek said, "Pissed himself back there. Hasn't moved since."

Stiles sighed. "Come out here. If I have to go find you, it won't end well."

"There's one on the ground that might make it," Derek said. "I'll need your shirt."

With a quick glance over Derek's naked, blood-spattered body, Stiles handed the overshirt over. "Yeah, it's a bit chilly out."

"Or I could make bandages." The last hunter crept out of the treeline, white-faced and shaky. Derek sighed as he headed to help the wounded hunter. "They get younger every year."

"Because we're getting old," Stiles said, although the hunter really was a kid. "Jesus, what are you, twelve?"

Shaking his head, the kid said, "Sixteen."

It was enough to make Stiles feel a rush of sympathy which drained the last of his energy and the chill of battle from his system, leaving a welter of confusion where there had been a clear emptiness. "Didn't anybody tell you to be home early on school nights?"

"Werewolves killed my mom and dad," the kid said. "These guys killed the werewolves, said I could help other people. Then we came here."

"Aw, crap." Dropping the gun, Stiles retrieved his baseball bat and ended up using it as a cane when it became apparent that something had turned his ankle into a mass of pain at some point while the adrenaline and emptiness had kept him from feeling it. The kid didn't move throughout, not even when Stiles sank down on the front bumper of the Camry and rested both hands on top of the bat to help himself stay upright. "So, hi, I'm Stiles Stilinski. I'm the sheriff around here, and I don't take kindly to people coming to town and planning to murder people."

Frowning, the kid said, "But--"

"I'm going to stop you there," Stiles said, holding a hand up and then putting it back on the bat when the kid flinched. "The next thing out of your mouth is probably going to piss me off, and I'm tired, so. First off, werewolves are people. Second, while some werewolves are murderous fu-- jerks, so are some humans." Stiles gestured to the hunters on the ground, including the one Derek was stabilizing.

"I've heard swearing before," the kid muttered, but Stiles ignored the comment in favor of continuing.

"Thirdly." Stiles had to pause for a moment before he could remember where he'd been going with that. "If I can handle things legally, I will. I offered the chance to surrender and be arrested, and I didn't kill anybody that didn't try to kill me first - but I'm not about to be stupid enough to let someone live who's just going to come back and try to kill me again."

The kid went paler, which Stiles wouldn't have bet was possible, and stood up so straight that it made Stiles ache in his lower back just to look at him. "So you're going to kill me?"

"What? No, weren't you listening? You didn't try to kill me, I don't kill you." It only relaxed the kid a little bit, but it would have to be enough. "I don't know what I'm going to do with you, but death is currently off the table."

A shot rang out, making them both flinch, and they both turned to see Derek, still stark naked, holding a pale hunter in the air by the neck. The hunter was trying to break his hold with one hand, the other covered in blood dripping from the wound that Derek had bandaged with the ripped up plaid shirt. "Where's the fucking gratitude, I ask you? That was my favorite shirt!"

"It was an eyesore," Derek said, still easily holding the hunter as he tried scratching and kicking his way to freedom. "What do you want to do with this one?"

"Check him for any more weapons and then bring him here," Stiles said. "If he wants to die, he can off himself after he's answered some questions."

This earned him an epic bitchface from Derek, who threw the hunter to the ground in front of where Stiles sat. "They never answer questions."

"I hardly ever get to ask," Stiles pointed out. "There's wipes in the trunk, clean up a bit before you get your clothes back on."

"You clean up," Derek muttered, but disappeared behind the car anyway.

Stiles waited quietly while the hunter cursed and blustered, although he noted with interest that the kid flinched away from him and circled around to get Stiles and the car between himself and the injured hunter. At length, the hunter got himself to his feet and faced up to Stiles, holding his injured arm and looking around the small clearing. "You won't get away with this."

"Me?" Stiles tilted his head in confusion, looking from side to side as if he was on The Office or there would be someone there who could confirm what he just heard. "Are you serious right now?"

"You're building up this underworld empire, providing sanctuary for all sorts of vermin just to build an army - we're on to you." The hunter lifted his chin defiantly. "Jeff had a crappy plan, but he had the right idea, and there's others. We'll be back, and next time we'll kill you."

Scratching the back of his neck, Stiles thought about what the guy was saying. "So what you're saying is, your group went off half-cocked because you guys thought I was getting too powerful by, what, allowing people to live somewhere without having to be afraid for their lives 24/7?"

"Fuck you," the hunter said, even as he swayed and half staggered from the blood loss. "I am one, but I represent legions."

Stiles watched him as he fell slowly forward, eyes fluttering. "You realize that quote is about demons, right? You just pretty much used your last words to say hunters are demons."

The hunter twitched as if trying to get up again, but fell unconscious without managing it. His breath was becoming shallower as the bandage around his arm finished unraveling and blood seeped out. "So, Derek? Kid? Anyone feel like heroic measures? Because I'm tired, and he tried to kill me."

"It's too late anyway," Derek said, coming back around the car as he pulled a t-shirt down over his head. "If we'd gotten him to the hospital for a transfusion before he tried to shoot me, maybe. Since he wouldn't even let me stop the blood loss, he basically killed himself already."

Sidling along to peer around the car, the kid said, "He was a creepy fucker. Jeff was talking once about the birth rate and I asked if he meant, like, sterilizing, and Chase laughed and said direct extermination was quicker."

"And you didn't think to question that at all?"

"Did you say this guy's name was Chase?"

Derek and Stiles spoke at the same time, then exchanged a glance that had Derek raising his eyebrows and Stiles shrugging. "Kid in a cult doesn't question the cult, especially if there's guns. But, dude." With a wave to the corpse, Stiles said, "He was a hunter named Chase. It's kind of hilarious."

"There is something seriously wrong with you," Derek said, rubbing a hand over his face. "Your sense of humor isn't twisted, it's a spiral."

"Don't front, you love it." Stiles moved to stand up and then winced when pain shot up his leg. "Okay, not doing that. You're on body duty, I'm going to hop along into the car and start the paperwork."

Derek frowned and picked Stiles up, carrying him to the back seat before kneeling to inspect his ankle. "It's probably just sprained, but you'll need an x-ray."

"I just want a shower and my bed," Stiles whined. "Can't I deal with it tomorrow?"

"No, because you'll try to use magic to heal it and make yourself worse." Carefully, Derek helped him maneuver himself into the car with his ankle propped up, then tossed a package of wet wipes at his face as soon as he was settled. "Try to clean up. We'll go as soon as I get the bodies out of sight of the road."

"Love you too, boo!" Stiles chuckled as Derek gave him the finger without turning around, even if there was a slightly bitter edge to the humor. He settled down to cleaning off his hands and wiping his face, only to jump when a throat was noisily cleared from just next to him. "Holy crap, kid, you scared me!"

With a shrill laugh, the kid said, "I scared you?"

Stiles dragged a thumb over his mouth, trying to hide the laugh trying to escape. "Fighting is different. If I'm not in a fight, I don't need to be all..." He trailed off with a gesture towards his own face and the night outside the car.

"Scary as shit stone cold killer?"

"I was going more for hyper-focused, but okay." Gesturing to the front passenger seat, Stiles said, "Go ahead, sit down. You might as well ride with us to town while we figure out what to do with you."

Gingerly, the kid slid into the seat and even buckled his seatbelt. Stiles was starting to get fluffy kitten feelings about this child, which was going to be a hell of a thing to explain to his dad. "I don't really have a place to go? Jeff was my foster dad."

"And isn't that a scathing indictment of the entire foster system." Stiles sighed and rubbed his face with his hands, then grimaced and deployed a new wet wipe. "What's your name, anyway?"

"Noah. Noah Kowalski." The kid started to reach back to shake hands, but got tangled in the seatbelt and then pulled back after Stiles pulled the filthy wipe away from the half of his face he'd managed to clean. "Uh. I'd say it's a pleasure to meet you, but..."

Nodding, Stiles said, "No, totally understandable. Stiles Stilinski, I don't remember if I said. Noah is my dad's middle name. He's still the one everybody calls Sheriff Stilinski - everybody ends up calling me Sheriff Stiles, it's kind of a thing."

The kid didn't seem to know what to do with that, just gave a small "ah" before they fell into an awkward quiet. Finally, just as Stiles could feel the river of babble reach his lips and threaten to burst forth, Noah said, "So how long have you and that guy been together?"

Stiles choked on thin air and the words that jammed up on his tongue as his brain rebooted. "You-- he-- wha?"

"Sorry!" The kid retreated into himself like a turtle. "I was just, you know, never mind, it's not my business, I'm sorry I asked!"

With a small cough, Stiles said, "No, it's whatever, we're just not - we're not like that."

Over the years, Stiles had been the target of all sorts of pointed looks, but somehow the one Noah gave him just then managed to combine the distilled platonic ideals of all them - pity, condescension, disbelief, amusement, and indulgence were all represented in this sixteen year old's judgmental stare. "You don't have to pretend, it's not like I'm homophobic or anything. You even just said you love him."

"Lots of people joke around saying things like that," Stiles said. "And, anyway, he barely puts up with me. He'd never be-- he'd never want--" Breaking off, Stiles cleared his throat. "Anyway, yeah, nothing like that."

"It could be! He's totally into you, it's obvious!" Noah's eyes were sparkling now as he turned around in his seat to look directly at Stiles for the first time. "You could just tell him how you feel, or, or, I could help you set up, like, a super romantic atmosphere and--"

"Kid! Seriously?" Stiles kind of regretted crushing Noah's enthusiasm as he hunched in on himself again, but no way was he indulging any matchmaking delusions from a child that had probably shot at him. That way lay madness, and trying to sing along to Adele while under the influence of alcohol and/or sugar. "No Parent Trap moments, okay? Derek doesn't need to deal with that."

Crossing his arms and facing forward, Noah said, "Whatever. It's not like I care about a werewolf and some hick sheriff who murders people."

"Says the kid who--" Stiles cut himself off with an internal reminder that he was supposed to be an adult. "I've got some calls to make."

He'd barely gotten his phone out when Derek slid into the driver's seat and started the car. "I already got a hold of Parrish. Your dad's going to meet us at the hospital to take temporary custody of Noah."

"Hey, how'd you know my name? And you can just drop me off at the bus station, I'll get home by myself."

Derek made some sort of answer, but Stiles couldn't hear it over the blaring alarms in his head repeating "you fucked up, you fucked up, you seriously fucked up" in ever-increasing volume. Not only was Derek a werewolf, he was an alpha again - he'd probably heard every word they'd said, especially since he would've wanted to monitor Stiles for any signs of pain or discomfort, because that was the kind of caring, considerate asshole that had made Stiles fall in love with him. There was no way things wouldn't be weird now.

Or, maybe? What exactly had he said? Stiles racked his brain to try to remember the exact phrasing he'd used, wondering if maybe there was a chance of playing it off. Had he actually, out loud, admitted that he was hopelessly in love with Derek? He couldn't remember.

They pulled to a stop, Stiles barely noticing the lack of noise from the engine, until his dad opened the door across from him and leaned his head in. "Hey, kiddo, you okay?"

"There's many kinds of love! Love doesn't just have to be romantic!"

His dad paused for barely a moment. "Okay. So, I'm going to let you talk about that with Derek while you get your leg looked at. Good to know you're doing okay."

Hitting his head against the back of the seat in front of him seemed like an excellent idea. It was unfortunately too well-padded to knock him out, and so he was fully awake and aware as Derek helped him out of the car and kept an arm around him for support as Stiles limped his way into the ER. "Okay, Mr. Cassidy, slow down. You're overdoing it."

Stiles gave him a look of blank incomprehension, and Derek's ears turned faintly pink. "Hopalong Cassidy? Your dad's childhood hero? There's a poster in his office, Stiles, you've got to have noticed it."

"I never paid attention to Dad's westerns," Stiles said. "Are we there yet? This is kind of a little excruciating."

As he should have fully expected, Derek just swept him up and carried him the rest of the way into the ER, depositing him gently into a wheelchair the triage nurse provided. He was promptly whisked off for poking, prodding, and intense questioning about the state of his health insurance despite the fact that Scott's mom had made him a "frequent customer" card for the hospital years ago. By the time they delivered him back to the waiting room with a bandage, a boot, a prescription, and a stern lecture about not putting any weight on his ankle, he half thought that Derek might have left to deal with the fallout of the rest of the night.

Only half, though, because it was still Derek, so of course he was sitting in a horrible plastic chair, pretending to be asleep while the other people waiting to be seen watched him with wariness or fascination. Stiles suppressed a sigh, because, well, same. "Come on, Sleeping Beauty. I'm about to turn into a pumpkin."

"Stop mixing fairy tales," Derek said, stretching as he stood. "And it was the carriage that was a pumpkin, so unless you're giving out ri-- No."

On any other day, Stiles would've had about fifteen 'jokes' in a row about giving Derek a ride. For now, though, he waved a hand and said, "Too easy. Just take me home."

Derek's lips twitched, but he didn't say anything as he left to get his car, the anonymous Camry having been driven away to be cleaned and hidden away again in the depths of the impound lot. The Camaro might not have had room for him to sit in the back and stretch his foot out, but he had both standards and pain medicine. They'd make it the five minutes it took to reach the Stilinski house.

Or even the ten minutes it took to get to Derek's apartment. "This is a lot nicer than my usual kidnappings."

"You just need a better lair to take people to," Derek said. "Having to take people you've kidnapped to your dad's house really limits your potential."

"Oh, ha ha." Stiles crossed his arms and pouted as he was swept once again into Derek's (strong, dependable, sexy) arms. "Living with family is a valid life choice and a cultural norm for most societies."

Derek smirked. "Sure, Stiles. Remind me again, who made snide comments for a solid week about the Henderson pack?"

"Okay, no, there's living with family and then there's whatever sister wives, dear leader culty bullshit was going on there." Stiles relaxed into the couch as soon as Derek set him down, letting himself sink into the perfect squishiness of it. "Seriously, I am going to steal this couch someday. It's like laying down on a cloud that can hug you."

"You can have it," Derek said, sounding unusually serious. "You can have anything you want that I can give you."

Cracking an eye open let Stiles see that Derek was sitting on the coffee table, directly in front of Stiles and looking... Stiles couldn't define how he looked, just that it made him breathless and he had to close his eyes again to try to get his own heart under control. "I don't need pity."

"Good, because I don't have any," Derek said.

Stiles hauled himself to a sitting position, facing Derek and the music. "You heard the kid talking about us being together."

"I did." Derek's face was impassive, but there was so much emotion in his eyes that Stiles couldn't bear to look at him even as he couldn't tear his eyes away. "I also heard you tell him it was because I wouldn't want it."

"Didn't I also say something about people joking--"

All of the words Stiles knew dried up and disappeared when Derek took hold of both his hands, cradling them gently. "It's okay. If you were joking, if you didn't mean it that way... I don't expect anything from you."

"Okay," was a harsh, croaking whisper, all that Stiles could manage as years of half-formed hopes were crushed and died with one simple sentence. "Okay, that's fine."

Derek's eyes swept down and Stiles started to pull his hands away, but Derek held on. "No, Stiles, you don't-- You're under no obligation, if you're just joking or you really just love me as a friend, that's enough, I won't pressure you or talk about this again. That's... Whatever you want, that's what I want."

It turned out hope wasn't dead, but it hurt. "You-- what are you saying?"

"I'm saying... I guess I'm saying that I'm in love with you." Derek let out a breath, his shoulders relaxing like shedding a weight even before tightening to brace for a blow. "And that you don't have to love me back the same way."

This time it was Stiles clinging to Derek's hands, preventing him from moving away. "What if I want to?"

Derek flinched. "I don't need pity either."

"Good," Stiles said, still not letting go. "Because we are super compatible. There is no pity here. None at all. We're kind of a little famous for it."

"So we're repeating things now? That's what we're doing?" Derek arched an eyebrow, but stopped trying to pull his hands back. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that I'm in love with you, too," Stiles said. "Asshole. Do you know how long I've been in love with you? And you're here--"

Stiles glared over the hand that Derek put over his mouth, but Derek just smiled. "Now, I could let you keep talking, since I know you like that. I could stand to hear a little about how long you've loved me, since it might make me feel a bit better about how long I've been in love with you."

He stopped there, waiting, while Stiles practically vibrated with curiosity. Curiosity and rage. And maybe some anticipation. A lot of anticipation. "Or?"

"Or you could sit in my lap and we could make out. Just a little." Derek's smile was everything sinful and tempting. "Or, now that I know you actually mean it, a lot."

"Oh, I mean it. I mean it very hard." Stiles was scrambling to try to reach Derek, but somehow not making any headway. The problem was solved by Derek lifting him up and arranging them so that Stiles was not just comfortably situated on Derek's lap, his (mildly) fractured foot was supported by some pillows and the arm of the couch. "I never really knew I had a manhandling kink until now."

Derek's eyes flashed red, just for a moment. "I did."

That statement needed to be explored, because one of them owed the other a shitload of teasing over it and Stiles was pretty sure he could work out how to be the one dishing it out. On the other hand, Derek's alpha eyes went straight to the danger = hot kink he was already well acquainted with, and he'd been expressly invited to make sexual advances on the man of his dreams. Priorities were important.

Kissing Derek was a revelation, better than he'd ever dreamed it could be, because he'd never imagined the noises Derek made, could never have anticipated the electricity of Derek moving softly, desperately against him. Stiles was allowed to touch, allowed to run his fingers through Derek's hair, allowed to lose himself and moan and grind and laugh a little at himself and at Derek, because he'd forgotten about his stupid ankle and having Derek jump up and growl while still holding Stiles against his erection was just funny.

It was okay, because this was Derek, and Derek knew him. The mood wasn't gone just because Stiles had laughed, or because Derek had snorted and rolled his eyes, making Stiles laugh harder. Instead it was part of it, part of them, and they would be okay. "I love you. I do, I love you, because you're amazing and you, you're mine."

"I like the sound of that." Derek lifted Stiles so his legs went around Derek's waist and his back was to the wall, holding him up and kissing the hell out of him until he couldn't think. "I'm yours."

"Damn right," Stiles panted, giving a light tug to Derek's hair. "And you're going to stay mine. Right?"

They were in the bedroom before Stiles could think coherently again, and Derek was looking just smug enough that Stiles licked his lips and waited only for Derek to finish undressing before beckoning him closer, close enough that Stiles could nip his earlobe and whisper hotly, "After we fuck the wildness out of our system, we can make love nice and slow. I'll kiss you when you cry afterward. We'll deal with the rest of the world sometime tomorrow, or maybe the day after."

"Priorities," Derek murmured, dragging a claw over Stiles with just enough pressure to cut through his clothes without harming the skin underneath.

"Okay," Stiles said, unbearably turned on and fairly certain he was going to combust. "Maybe the day after that. We'll have time."

#rubyredhoodling #stereksanta17 #*fic17 #*gifts17

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stephenmccull · 3 years

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‘We’re Coming for You’: For Public Health Officials, a Year of Threats and Menace

[Editor’s note: This article contains strong language that readers might find offensive or disturbing.]

SANTA CRUZ COUNTY, Calif. — Dr. Gail Newel looks back on the past year and struggles to articulate exactly when the public bellows of frustration around her covid-related health orders morphed into something darker and more menacing.

Certainly, there was that Sunday afternoon in May, when protesters broke through the gates to her private hillside neighborhood, took up positions around her home, and sang “Gail to Jail,” a ritual they would repeat every Sunday for weeks.

This story also ran on This American Life. It can be republished for free.

Or the county Board of Supervisors meeting not long after, where a visibly agitated man waiting for his turn at the microphone suddenly lunged at her over a small partition, staring her down even as sheriff’s deputies flanked him and authorities cleared the room.

The letters, emails and cellphone calls that now number in the hundreds and inevitably open with “Bitch,” and make clear people know where she lives and wish her dead.

And that January meeting with Santa Cruz County Sheriff Jim Hart, after the vicious mob attack on the U.S. Capitol, when he recommended to a roomful of county officials that deputies do a threat assessment at each of their homes. Newel, who’d already been through the process, casually mentioned a New Year’s resolution to get more exercise and start walking to work. Absolutely not, Hart told her. She wasn’t walking anywhere without an escort.

Newel, 63, is the health officer in Santa Cruz County, a picturesque string of communities hugging California’s rugged Central Coast. In normal years, hers would be a largely invisible job that involves tracking measles outbreaks and STD infections, testing children for lead exposure, and alerting the public to tainted lettuce and unhealthy air. Covid has changed all that, in ways both expected and not. Newel, like health officials across the nation, has been thrust into an unwelcome spotlight and subjected to extreme scrutiny from politicians and the public over mask requirements, business closures and the extended interruption of travel and social gatherings.

Some of the dissent was understandable: the shocked response of residents asked to make unprecedented sacrifices during a time of great uncertainty. But in Santa Cruz and many other U.S. communities, legitimate debate has devolved into overt intimidation and threats of violence.

Public servants like Newel have become the face of government authority in the pandemic. And, in turn, they have become targets for the same loose-knit militia and white nationalist groups that stormed the U.S. Capitol in January, smashing windows, bloodying officers and savagely chanting “Hang Mike Pence.”

Over the course of a year, Newel and her boss, Santa Cruz County’s health services director, Mimi Hall, have seen their lives upended for reasons well beyond the exhausting workload that comes with battling a devastating pandemic. Their daily routines now incorporate security patrols, surveillance cameras and, in some cases, personal firearms.

They are public servants who no longer feel safe in public.

“When I do have days off, I don’t want to be out in the community. I’m intimidated to be out in the community,” Newel said. “I’m looking to see who might be close to me or to my car, who might be following me — looking to see if there’s any kind of situation that I might not be able to get out of or that might be dangerous to me in some way.”

***

Newel was born and raised in the city of Fresno in California’s Central Valley, a region known for industrial-scale farming and conservative politics. After completing degrees in medicine and public health, Newel returned home to work as an obstetrician. There, in addition to delivering hundreds of babies, she helped develop a lactation center, a program for pregnant women with substance abuse issues and a teen pregnancy program. After 30 years of “catching babies,” she’d planned to retire as a doctor’s wife in Santa Cruz, where her wife, also a physician, had taken a job.

The couple call themselves Central Valley refugees; they often felt unwelcome in Fresno County as a same-sex couple. With their adult children already out of the house, they bought a home in Santa Cruz and made plans to spend the rest of their lives there. Newel felt called to serve when the health officer in a neighboring county urged her to consider a second career in public health. She became Santa Cruz County’s health officer on July 1, 2019.

Newel developed an easy affinity with director Hall, who has the broader responsibility of managing all countywide medical, behavioral and environmental health programs. Hall, 53, was born in Myanmar, where her parents worked as doctors in a small hospital without running water or electricity. The family relocated to the U.S. when she was a young child. Hall has spent her entire adult life working in public health, the past 22 years in California county government. She worked in the heart of the Sierra Nevada before moving north to Plumas, a county bigger than Delaware but so sparsely populated that its county seat isn’t designated a city.

There, she said, she fought with elected officials who didn’t believe in her work. She said her children, among the few Asian Americans in Plumas, experienced racism and bullying. When Hall was hired by Santa Cruz County in 2018, she moved her husband and three kids to a seemingly bucolic home in the redwood forests of the Santa Cruz Mountains.

As health officer, Newel is part of a fraternity of greater Bay Area health officers who, since the early AIDS era, have met regularly to work on public health issues. Many of her local counterparts have deep knowledge of infectious diseases and, in the early days of the pandemic, she leaned on them heavily. In California, like many other states, every county is required to have a health officer. That person must have training in medicine, and, in emergencies, is granted broad authority to keep the public safe.

When Newel’s Bay Area counterparts issued the first sweeping stay-at-home orders in the nation on March 16, 2020, she was just hours behind in issuing one for Santa Cruz. It ordered most businesses to close and banned most travel and social gatherings. A few weeks later, in an effort to keep tourists away, she ordered the beaches closed as well.

It was a grueling time — both Newel and Hall went months without a real day off — but adrenaline-filled. They set up testing sites, organized data-tracking operations, coordinated with dozens of state and local groups on covid response and oversaw contact tracing for hundreds of cases.

And, as life-threatening pandemics go, they were off to a good start. Research suggests that lockdowns are most effective when initiated early, and that research is reflected in the Santa Cruz experience. Through June 2020, only a handful of people were diagnosed in Santa Cruz each week, and just two people had died from the virus in a county of 280,000, a fraction of the national death rate.

***

Santa Cruz County might seem an unlikely venue for menace. It’s known for its laid-back vibe and hippie communes. But it’s also a study in divergence: Multimillion-dollar estates are tucked into the Santa Cruz Mountains alongside the barricaded compounds of well-armed survivalists. Farmworkers tend to world-class strawberry fields in the southern part of the county alongside exclusive vacation rentals.

In the early months of the pandemic, the covid diagnoses mostly came from south county, among agricultural workers still tending crops and living in crowded housing. The complaints, however, were mostly from people in the wealthy beach communities, and out-of-towners deeply resentful of the highly publicized restrictions.

The pushback started with angry emails and voicemails, people who contested the beach closures, the intrusion on personal freedoms. But over time, it ventured further, into language that was personal and terrorizing. Newel remembers threatening letters that stated her address and the names of her children. Others included photographs of the front and back of her home from close range, and messages like “Look out; we’re coming for you.” The county clerk helped scrub her address from the internet.

Hall remembers obscene late-night phone calls, and a man who seemed to be casing her home. She took her cell number off her email signature.

Then came the Sunday protesters, who would surround Newel’s home with bullhorns and sirens blaring, their hostile rants making her — and, worse, her family — feel like hostages. “I’m willing to be a public servant, but I don’t think that includes having people trespass onto my private property,” she said. “I was quite worried for my family and for myself and our safety.”

Most local health officials in the U.S. are women and, as the pandemic wore on, the threats took on a clearly misogynistic tone. People used words like “bitch” and “cunt,” and made disturbing veers into sexually explicit references.

At a county Board of Supervisors meeting in late May, a young man, his voice thick with rage, accused Newel of ruining his life by closing the beaches. “You want me to stay inside, get fat, watch Netflix and masturbate?” The hearing was packed with people lobbying for a variance from state closure rules. As in previous meetings, people filmed Newel at close range. During the public comment period, they streamed to the microphone. Many removed their masks. People were visibly agitated, tapping feet, muttering swear words.

Then, a man started toward the mic, but made a beeline for Newel instead. Sheriff’s deputies surrounded him and whisked Newel and Hall out of the room, while a county executive evacuated the meeting. Feeling he could no longer ensure her safety, Sheriff Hart asked Newel to stop attending meetings in person.

In the days and weeks that followed, Hall, too, adopted new routines. She would leave work at 7 p.m., when the security guards ended their shift. On her way out of her office, she called her husband, staying on the phone with him until she was locked in her car. Once home, she checked the charge on the security cameras that provide a full-perimeter view of her home and greeted her dog, who works double time as family member and security detail.

Still, she didn’t know what to make of it all. “You’re not sure — is it really dangerous? You feel this feeling of, well, maybe we’re overreacting, you know?” Hall said.

***

Many of the people expressing the most vicious anger over the past year have histories of anti-government sentiment. There are the white supremacists, and groups with adopted militia names. The “sovereign citizens,” who view themselves as governed only by their own interpretations of common law. The people who oppose any government mandates to be vaccinated.

Still, things accelerated during the collision of Donald Trump’s presidency with the pandemic.

Membership in right-wing, white supremacist, anti-government and anti-vaccine groups was on the rise before 2020, under a Trump presidency seen as sympathetic to such ideologies and facilitated by the use of social media to draw in new adherents.

Then came the pandemic, which stranded people in their homes and transformed screens into their primary social gateways. Across chatrooms and websites, folks converged online to share grievances about perceived threats to personal freedoms. They found common cause in rebelling against closures and mask mandates and rallying around Trump. Groups that had previously protested vaccine requirements adopted militia language and imagery. Militias began organizing against health orders, and their tactics were adopted by yet more newly organized groups that formed online.

On April 17, Trump used his favored platform, Twitter, to send a series of calls to “LIBERATE MINNESOTA!” Then to “LIBERATE MICHIGAN!” and “LIBERATE VIRGINIA, and save your great 2nd Amendment. It is under siege!”

It set off a cascade of repercussions for health officials. Thousands of Facebook pages sprung up to organize against stay-at-home orders.

“They just erupted in rage at the lockdowns. [Trump] immediately undercut the credibility of public health officials,” said Heidi Beirich, co-founder of the Global Project Against Hate and Extremism and an expert on militia and white nationalist organizations. “He turned the public health sector into liars and enemies of his supporters.”

Public health is inherently not an individualistic endeavor. It’s the science of improving the health of populations, and more often than not, those improvements are of a collective nature. To bring down rates of smoking, we’ve taxed cigarettes and restricted where people can smoke. Workplaces were made safer through regulations limiting exposure to toxic materials and risky machinery. Infectious diseases are slowed to a crawl through vaccination requirements.

I never thought in my career that I would see professionals, doctors being threatened for doing their job.

Santa Cruz County Sheriff Jim Hart

It’s not surprising that health officials would become the recipients of the backlash associated with anti-government ideologies, said Jason Blazakis, director of the Center on Terrorism, Extremism and Counterterrorism at the Middlebury Institute of International Studies in Monterey. But the country hasn’t reckoned with how covid disinformation is animating those threats.

By the end of May, health leaders across the nation were quitting in droves. In California alone, eight public health officials had left top posts, including Orange County’s public health officer, Dr. Nichole Quick, who’d been given a security detail before she resigned. These were people with extensive training in public health, but also people with deep relationships in the community, the kind of expertise you can’t gain in school.

Just up the coast from Santa Cruz, the health officer for Santa Clara County, Dr. Sara Cody, was receiving so many credible threats by spring 2020 that she and her family were given 24-hour security details. A series of threatening letters were particularly disturbing. They were suspected of coming from the same anonymous author because of sentence structure, but also their “misogynistic content … and clear anti-government position,” a sheriff’s report said. One said: “You are fucking so many for no reason … you will pay a heavy price for your stupidity bitch.” Another read: “You must go no matter how you go … you stupid fucking bitch.”

Santa Clara’s sheriff’s office began investigating.

***

Sheriff Hart grew up in Santa Cruz and has been with the department for 33 years. It’s a rustic place without a lot of serious crime. Hart was aware of some members of white supremacist groups in the mountains, but largely considered them benign carryovers from a previous era. “I would always take threats, especially to myself and to some of our staff, with a grain of salt,” Hart said. “We’re in law enforcement; some people don’t like us. I get that.”

June 6, 2020, changed his thinking.

Seven months to the day before the siege on the U.S. Capitol, on a warm Saturday afternoon, a 911 call came into the sheriff’s office. A suspicious-looking van was parked on the side of a road in the mountain town of Boulder Creek, the caller said, and it matched the description of a van used in a drive-by shooting a week earlier in Oakland, when a federal security officer was killed during a Black Lives Matter protest.

Using the vehicle identification number to determine the owner of the van, Santa Cruz sheriff’s deputies made their way to his home, which was just up the road from Hall’s. There, a violent ambush unfolded.

According to law enforcement reports, Steven Carrillo, an active-duty Air Force sergeant, shot at officers with a homemade AR-15-style rifle and threw at least one explosive. He fled, hitting an officer with a car. Driving the backroads, he carjacked at least one person. The brutal episode came to an end when Carrillo was tackled by a young man while attempting to steal another vehicle.

Sgt. Damon Gutzwiller, 38, was fatally shot in the ambush, the first member of Santa Cruz County law enforcement to die on the job since 1983.

Authorities have since tied Carrillo to an active state faction of the Boogaloo Bois, a secretive and decentralized anti-government movement. Unlike many of the groups pushing back against public health measures over the past year, they are expressly anti-cop. One of their stated goals has been to infiltrate Black Lives Matter protests and cause violence that will be blamed on the left, to incite a civil war. Carrillo has since pleaded not guilty to multiple charges of murder in the Santa Cruz and Oakland attacks.

Hall immediately took down the signs from her fence celebrating her daughter’s graduation and declaring Black Lives Matter — anything that identified them — and installed more security cameras. “I started wondering, Who around me thinks this way? And how close are they?” Hall said.

Newel had a similar response: “Until that time, the threats seemed like nothing but threats. Like, oh, people might say these horrible things to me, but they’re not going to act on them. And then that one action completely changed how I thought about my community.”

Hart was devastated. He had known Gutzwiller since the deputy was a teenager. Before that day, Hart said, he realized that right-wing ideology existed but didn’t understand the level of cold-blooded commitment. He started rethinking the threats to Hall and Newel. “I never thought in my career that I would see professionals, doctors being threatened for doing their job. It’s been mind-boggling to me,” said Hart.

A month later, Hall received a chilling letter containing references to the Boogaloo movement. It began with “Hey, CUNT,” threatened her family and wished her a slow death. Similar letters had been sent to Sgt. Gutzwiller’s widow and the sheriff’s department.

Hart’s department put out a bulletin to other law enforcement, including details of the letters and information about the man they suspected might have sent them. In neighboring Santa Clara, the sheriff’s department noticed similarities to the string of letters their own health officer had been receiving since April.

When the suspect left work midday to mail yet another anonymous letter to Cody, a Santa Clara County sheriff’s deputy was tailing him, according to court records. The suspect, Alan Viarengo, was arrested and charged with felony stalking and harassment of a public figure related to the letters to Cody; he has pleaded not guilty. Detectives searched his Gilroy home and found more than 130 firearms, thousands of rounds of ammunition and materials to build explosives, according to law enforcement reports.

As the criminal case moved forward, Hart suggested that, in addition to security systems, the women acquire firearms. Hall’s husband came home with a shotgun. For Newel, who holds pacifist beliefs, it wasn’t an option. “I wouldn’t ever have a gun in my home,” she said.

That same month, adherents of a sovereign citizens movement the FBI characterizes as extremist and a form of domestic terrorism went to Newel’s home and served her “papers” claiming she’d broken the law. The same group, irate that Santa Cruz Police Chief Andrew Mills had supported Newel’s closure orders and mask mandates, left papers inside his home, on his bedroom pillow, according to law enforcement.

Throughout these episodes, Newel and Hall were still responding to the pandemic. Even as fires raged through the mountains, forcing them to evacuate their homes. Even as they were placed on furlough to make up for budget shortfalls.

When you ask Newel and Hall about the effects of living amid so much bile and unease, both say they are not ruled by fear. But they also describe sleepless nights when their spouses are out of town, and both have withdrawn from the community. Hall stopped joining her children’s school events on Zoom, afraid other parents would recognize her, and goes to the grocery store incognito, beneath a hat and messy ponytail. Newel just doesn’t go out much at all.

Since last April, 22 top health officials have left their posts in California. In December, just as vaccines were arriving, Hall seriously considered resigning. She’d gained 30 pounds and started taking blood pressure medication. She was bringing her laptop into bed every night and not spending enough time with family. Her children wanted her to quit. “There were days I just felt like, I can’t do this. I can’t do it anymore. I can’t get up tomorrow morning. I was mentally, physically, emotionally exhausted.”

She has stayed, not because she thinks things will necessarily get better, but because quitting wouldn’t make her life easier. It’d just teach people that if they’re loud enough and mean enough they can get what they want. If she had learned anything from her refugee parents, it was that she could go on, and so she must. “It’s not the idea that everything will turn out fine. It is that no matter what, you can survive this,” she said.

As for Newel, she said she’ll stick the job out because she’s stubborn that way. But she and her wife have rethought their retirement plans. “If we don’t feel comfortable being out in the community, or if we’re afraid to live here, we’re not going to want to stay,” she said. “And that’s something of a heartbreak.

This story was done as a collaboration between KHN and “This American Life.” Listen to the companion audio story here.

This story was produced by KHN, which publishes California Healthline, an editorially independent service of the California Health Care Foundation.

KHN (Kaiser Health News) is a national newsroom that produces in-depth journalism about health issues. Together with Policy Analysis and Polling, KHN is one of the three major operating programs at KFF (Kaiser Family Foundation). KFF is an endowed nonprofit organization providing information on health issues to the nation.

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‘We’re Coming for You’: For Public Health Officials, a Year of Threats and Menace published first on https://smartdrinkingweb.weebly.com/

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gordonwilliamsweb · 3 years

Text

‘We’re Coming for You’: For Public Health Officials, a Year of Threats and Menace

[Editor’s note: This article contains strong language that readers might find offensive or disturbing.]

This story also ran on This American Life. It can be republished for free.

The letters, emails and cellphone calls that now number in the hundreds and inevitably open with “Bitch,” and make clear people know where she lives and wish her dead.

They are public servants who no longer feel safe in public.

***

Hall remembers obscene late-night phone calls, and a man who seemed to be casing her home. She took her cell number off her email signature.

Still, she didn’t know what to make of it all. “You’re not sure — is it really dangerous? You feel this feeling of, well, maybe we’re overreacting, you know?” Hall said.

***

Still, things accelerated during the collision of Donald Trump’s presidency with the pandemic.

It set off a cascade of repercussions for health officials. Thousands of Facebook pages sprung up to organize against stay-at-home orders.

I never thought in my career that I would see professionals, doctors being threatened for doing their job.

Santa Cruz County Sheriff Jim Hart

Santa Clara’s sheriff’s office began investigating.

***

June 6, 2020, changed his thinking.

Sgt. Damon Gutzwiller, 38, was fatally shot in the ambush, the first member of Santa Cruz County law enforcement to die on the job since 1983.

This story was done as a collaboration between KHN and “This American Life.” Listen to the companion audio story here.

This story was produced by KHN, which publishes California Healthline, an editorially independent service of the California Health Care Foundation.

USE OUR CONTENT

This story can be republished for free (details).

‘We’re Coming for You’: For Public Health Officials, a Year of Threats and Menace published first on https://nootropicspowdersupplier.tumblr.com/

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the-little-crime-writer · 6 years

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Beltway Sniper Attacks

At 5:20 P.M on October 2, 2002, Ann Chapman was preparing for the end of the day at the hobby retailers in Aspen Hill, Maryland, at which she worked as a cashier. With no warning, the window of the shop suddenly cracked and she felt the wind of a high-velocity .223 rifle bullet crack past her head, so close that it touched her hair. She had just survived the first attempted killing by the individual who would become known as the Beltway Sniper (so called because he seemed to use the Washington Beltway road system to move between attacks), a person who for the next three weeks would terrorize the states of Washington D.C, Maryland, and Virginia. By October 24, 10 people were dead and three were seriously injured.

_______________________________________________

Lethal Accuracy

Within 45 minutes of the shooting at Aspen Hill, the Beltway Sniper took his second shot. This time his aim was perfect-a single bullet killed 55-year old James Martin as he walked across the parking lot of a Glenmont supermarket. These incidents in themselves warranted a major police investigation, but nothing prepared the local police for what would occur the following day, Thursday October 3. Between 7:41 A.M and 9:15 P.M, the faceless sniper shot dead another five people. What was apparent was that the selection of victims had a distinctly random quality about it. They included 39-year old James Buchanan, 34-year old housecleaner Sarah Ramos, and 72-year old father of five Pascal Charlot. All had been killed in open, public locations within reach of major roadways. By the end of the day, it was not only state and Federal law enforcement agencies that were bursting into action, but also a startled urban media. Panic rippled through the public, stirred even further by the shooting of a 43-year old mother of two, Caroline Seawell as she loaded up her minivan with goods outside a mall in Spotsylvania County, Virginia. She survived, but for the citizens using and living around the Washington Beltway, casual activities such as filling the car at the gas station or using a supermarket now seemed fraught with risk.

The main figurehead of the police investigation into the murders was the police chief of Montgomery County, Charles Moose. The Montgomery County police, however, provided the command center for a particularly wide investigation that involved agencies such as the Virginia Department of Transportation, the Bureau of Alcohol, Tabacco, and Firearms (BATF) and the FBI. All pooled their forensic and investigatory resources in an attempt to find the killer before he struck again.

Timeline of a Murder

1: October 3, 2002. 8:46 A.M Sarah Ramos, a 34-year old Salvadorean immigrant of Silver Springs, Maryland, sits on a bench outside the Leisure World Shopping Centre in Aspen Hill. Ramos works several jobs, and is waiting for a bus to come and take her to another place of work.

2: John Allen Muhammad and John Lee Malvo are parked nearby in their blue Chevrolet Caprice. They have already shot two people dead in the last hour, one at 7:41 A.M and the next at 8:12. They spot Ramos sat on the bench, reading to pass the time.

3: Muhammad moves into the rear of the car, lying flat on the specially designed luggage compartment. In the rear of the trunk, he has already drilled two holes-one for the muzzle of the weapon, and the other for the telescopic sight of the gun. He now takes aim at Ramos.

4: 8:47 A.M Muhammad fires a single shot. Witnesses at the scene recall hearing a crack, then seeing Ramos slump forward, with blood pouring from her head. The .223 bullet from Muhammad’s Bushmaster rifle destroys Ramos’ brain and skull, killing her instantly.

5: Muhammad and Malvo, having taken a young, promising and innocent life, pull away from the scene. They kill two more people that day alone. Initial 911 calls at the scene report that the women has shot herself. Only when police investigators arrive do they realize that she has been shot by a third party.

Tarot Card Killer

Unfortunately, for many days to come the Beltway Sniper seem to have the advantage. At 8:09 A.M on Monday October 7, shortly after Charles Moose had cautiously reassured the public that there was no reason to keep children off school, the sniper put a bullet through a 13-year-old Iran Brown outside Benjamin Tasker Middle School in Bowie, Maryland. Incredibly the boy survived, but for the police it was apparent that not only was the sniper feeding off the media coverage, but he was also a potential child killer. There was another alarming development - the Death card from a pack of Tarot Cards was found at the scene of the shooting inscribed with the words “Call me God.” In addition to the title Beltway Sniper, the shooter was now also labeled the “Tarot Card Killer.” Radio and TV broadcasts were now filled with experts, real and professed, who offered profiles of the killer and suggestions as to how the police could track him down. Yet despite hurling huge law enforcement resources at the ease, the sniper seemed to remain elusive.

Finding A Killer

Between the Iran Brown shooting and October 22, five more people were shot dead by the sniper, mostly in parking lots or gas stations around Virginia and Maryland. The killer was also becoming bolder, more tatunting. He started to leave messages and letters around the scenes of the shootings, boasting to the police about his impunity while also making blackmail demands for millions of dollars and threatening that “Your children are not safe, anywhere, at anytime.”Yet the sniper’s confidence would actually be his undoing. In a mocking phone call to Chief Moose’s office, the sniper mentioned his involvement in an armed robbery in Montgomery, Alabama, in September 2002, during which a liquor store clerk was shot dead. The FBI pulled details of the crime, and obtained fingerprints from a handgun magazine dropped near the scene of the crime. The FBI ran the fingerprints through their national database, and found that they belonged to 17-year old John Lee Malvo, a known associate of 41-year old ex-soldier John Allen Muhammad. Vehicle license checks revealed that Muhammad owned a blue Chevrolet Caprice that had been checked during random traffic stops around the areas of the shootings over the past few weeks. (For many days during the investigation, the police had been looking for a white box van believed to be associated with the shootings, although investigations into this vehicle proved to be a waste of time.) On October 24, around 3 A.M., the blue Caprice was spotted in a parking lot in Frederick, Maryland. Within minutes, police and FBI tactical units surrounded the vehicle and apprehended Malvo and Muhammad, who both gave themselves up with surprising compliance. Discovered in a bag in the car was Muhammad’s Bushmaster XM-15 .223 rifle, which forensics later linked to 11 of the 14 shootings. Further investigations revealed that the Caprice had been modified so that Muhammad could lay across the floor of the trunk and shoot through a small aperture drilled into the trunk itself, a modification that explained the inability of witnesses to provide sightings of the shooter.

Profiling

John Allen Muhammad and John Lee Malvo were a curious pair. Muhammad was the sniper-he had served in the U.S Army for nine years, during which time he saw active service in the first Gulf War (1990-1) and became classified as an expert in M16 rifle marksmanship. (The Bushmaster XM-15 is a civilian/law enforcement version of the military M16.) Malvo seemed to have simply acted as his compliant sidekick. Muhammad was actually born John Williams, but later changed his surname to reflect on a conversion to Islam in the 1980s. His life up to the murders was a litany of emotional, marital and commercial failures. If we were to spot a final catalyst for killing spree, it may have been when his (second) ex-wife won full custody of their three children, with a restraining order placed upon Muhammad. Many people go through tough lives without resorting to serial murder. During the trial in 2003, the court found both men guilty, sentencing Malvo to life imprisonment without parole and Muhammad to death. Despite his appeals, Muhammad was executed by lethal injection on November 10, 2009.

Timeline of a Murderer-the Beltway Shootings

October 2, 2002 (Victim, none) At 5:20 P.M a shot fire is fired through a window of Michael’s Craft Store in Aspen Hill, Maryland. No one is injured.

October 2, 2002 (Victim-James Martin Age: 55) At 6:30 P.M. Martin is shot and killed in the parking lot of a Shoppers Food Warehouse grocery store, Glenmont.

October 3, 2002 (Victim-James L. Buchanan Age: 39) At 7:41 A.M. landscaper Buchanan is shot dead near Rockville, Maryland, while mowing the grass at the Fitzgerald Auto Mall.

October 3, 2002 (Victim-Premkumar Walekar Age: 54) At 8:12 A.M. part-time taxi driver is killed in Aspen Hill in Montgomery County, while filling his car at Mobil gas station.

October 3, 2002 (Victim-Sarah Ramos Age: 34) at 8:47 A.M. Ramos is shot and killed at Leisure World Shopping Centre in Aspen Hill, while seated on a bench, reading a book.

October 3, 2002 (Victim-Lori Ann Lewis-Rivera Age: 25) At 9:58 A.M. shot and killed while vacuuming her Dodge Caravan at a shell station in Kensington, Maryland.

October 3, 2002 (Victim-Pascal Charlot Age: 72) At 9:15 A.M. Charlot is shot while walking on Georgia Avenue at Kalmia Road, in Washington DC. He dies of his injuries shortly afterward.

October 4, 2002 (Victim-Caroline Seawell Age: 43) At 2:30 P.M. Seawell is shot in the parking lot of a Michael’s Craft Store at Spotsylvania Mall in Spotsylvania County, Virginia, while loading purchases into her minivan.

October 7, 2002 (Victim-Iran Brown Age: 13) At 8:09 A.M. Brown is shot and injured outside the Benjamin Tasker Middle School in Bowie, Maryland.

October 9, 2002 (Victim-Dean Harold Meyers Age: 53) At 8:18 P.M. Meyers is shot dead while pumping fuel at a Sunoco gas station on Sudley Road in Prince William County, Virginia.

October 11, 2002 (Victim-Kenneth Bridges Age: 53) At 9:30 A.M Bridges is shot dead while pumping fuel at an Exxon station off interstate 95 in Spotsylvania County, Virginia.

October, 14, 2002 (Victim-Linda Franklin Age: 47) At 9:15 P.M. Franklin, an FBI intelligence analyst, is shot dead at a Home Depot in fairfax County, Virginia.

October 19, 2002 (Victim-Jeffrey Hopper Age: 37) At 8 P.M Hopper is shot and injured in a parking lot near the Ponderosa Steakhouse in Ashland, Virginia.

October 22, 2002 (Victim- Conrad Johnson Age: ?) At 5:56 A.M Bus driver Johnson is shot dead on the steps of his bus in Aspen Hill, Maryland.

#beltway sniper attacks #true crime #true crime community #tcc #murder #serial killers #murder victims #timeline of a murder #timeline of a murderer #john lee malvo #john allen muhhammad

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fanficwriter013 · 7 years

Text

A Supernaturally Stucky Halloween - Part 1

Pairing: Stucky X Reader (Eventual)

Summary: Hunters, their lives are never easy. What happens when you literally stumblre into the world of the supernatural?

Word Count: 1607

Warnings: It’s a Supernatural!AU, you don’t exactly need to watch the show to read. Minor violence, background character deaths (if you know Supernatural it’s for the backstory). This is pretty much an intro, some snark but nothing too insane.

Parts: One / two / three / four / five /

Author’s Note: Written for my boo’s Halloween challenge, Kumi @rotisserierogers . Love you, hoe. Because I’m a wordy bitch, this has been broken into bite-sized miniparts, y’all. (Currently, 4 parts, but it’ll probably be 5 by the time I finish.)

Your life as a hunter had begun with heartbreak. But don't all hunter stories start the same? Well, your story is a little different. Your mom was a junkie, your dad had been raising you on his own after she had vanished out of the fifth go at rehab. She came back, and she came back different.

You'd seen just enough, having come out of your room to get a drink. (You were really just procrastinating that homework). And caught your mother with her teeth in your father's neck. She must have left a wake of bloody bodies on her path back here because you then saw a man cut her head off. That man had been Nick Fury, who had tried to head off your inevitability of becoming a hunter by talking his neighbor, and the local sheriff Phillip Coulson into raising you for the rest of your high school career.

Of course, whenever you possibly could you were over pestering Nick about the world of the supernatural, that you had literally fallen into. He tried to shut you down, but it had been unsuccessful. Especially after you'd met Steve Rogers, a little dork who had been more than happy to share his knowledge and correct you on the misconceptions you'd found trying to research the lore on your own. Which had become your solace as you'd dealt with the loss of both of your parents at once.

Steve visited Nick with another young hunter, he'd referred to him as Bucky. To say that Bucky thought he was cool, was an understatement. He picked on Steve just about any time you saw him. Which you were sure was a sign of aggression, trying to establish his male dominance or whatever. Even if Steve assured you that that wasn't the case.

Every once in a while, Steve and Bucky's deadbeat guardian, Alexander Pierce would show up and the boys would disappear for months at a time. They refused to tell you what he did, but you could observe the changes when they came back to Nick’s. Bucky would be throwing himself hard into the charming side of his bravado, and Steve would be quieter than usual. You had to wonder why Nick would let Pierce screw up the boys like that. But it wasn't your place.

You'd lost touch with the boys around Steve's senior year of high school. The last that you had heard from them, Steve had gotten into a prestigious art school and Bucky was going into the hunting business with Pierce. You'd opted for college as well, at Nick and Phil's insistence. You had double majored in occult history, and linguistics. All useful skills for when you would finally become a hunter.

You'd graduated from college in three years with your double major. It'd be simultaneously the funniest thing you'd ever done and also the hardest. Phil had been really supportive and you think that was partly the secret behind your success. But once you'd gotten out, gotten a real day job. You were finally able to go on hunts.

They started small, nearby. Your job had been flexible, but you still needed to get the work done. Then after a year, you got a new job that allowed you to work remotely. And you could finally travel outside of the five local counties.

Of course, now that you'd really joined the hunting world you started to meet other hunters. They all seemed to have stories of a group of hunters that called themselves the Avengers. There was an immense amount of chatter about one hunter that went by Captain America, and another that went by the Winter Soldier.

The hunters that you meet all had stories to tell of the boys’ latest conquest. Which if you were perfectly honest, which you weren't with these hunters. All sounded extremely far fetched. The two boys taking down an entire nest of vampires, killing an ancient God, taking down one of the Princes of Hell. And from the way these hunters would talk about them, you were able to infer their character and you hoped you never crossed paths with them.

Of course, you didn't get what you wanted. You were on a big solo hunt, there were two vampires terrorizing a small town just a few hours away from the place you had been staying for the month. You tracked them to an abandoned farm just outside the city limits. Unfortunately, when you'd got there it was holding only the drained victims from their latest feast.

You had scanned the perimeter when you felt a presence. You tensed, preparing yourself to cut some heads off when you heard him.

“Nothing here, Buck.” It sounded like Steve, but a couple of octaves deeper than you remembered. And the only Buck that you knew had been Bucky. You peeked around the corner, eyes falling on Bucky first.

“Well, well, well. Look what the vamps dragged in.” You teased, as you stepped out from the hall you'd been hidden in. The boys had tensed before they realized it was you.

“When did you get taller?” You asked, looking up at Steve, who now towered over you. “Last I saw you, you were just a scrawny little dork.” You teased, as Steve pulled you in for a hug.

“Still a dork.” Bucky jokes as Steve releases you and Bucky spins you into him for a hug.

“And you're still over the top, I see.” You tease him. He flashes you a brilliant smile, and you can feel his rumbling laughter.

Of course, you wound up at a bar to catch up with the boys. Bucky seemed to be on the top of his game, having gotten both the waitresses and bartenders number. In less than ten minutes too.

“Don't punch me, but I'm going to ask that question now. What happened? You'd gotten into a good art school, please tell me you at least finished it.” You ask, looking at Steve. He gave you an out of character noncommittal shrug, trying to avoid the question. You stared him down, refusing to drop it until you knew.

“Alright fine, turn off the death glare.” Steve resigns. “Yes, I did finish school. Got an amazing internship too. But that one shows up, and all ‘Pierce went on a hunt and didn't come back.’ And that's why I'm back in this.” He explains to you, and you quirk an eyebrow at him.

“Did the asshole finally meet the monster that he couldn't take down?” You practically growled, and you could see the small spark of shock in Steve's eyes.

“Don't look at me like that. Just because you never told me verbally that he was abusing you, doesn't mean that you didn't through body language. I knew.” You tell the boys, grabbing Steve's hand. You knew that Steve was more openly tactile than Bucky had been.

“You know how horrible it felt to watch you guys get happy and healthy with Nick. And then have the asshole show up, whisk you away, fuck you up, and then drop you back off? I think I threatened to kill him forty-six times. And the one time Coulson literally had to hold me back so I didn't Molotov his car as he drove off. Which that's your baby now, so I guess it was a good thing.” You ramble, stroking your thumb against the back of Steve's hand.

“Knew there was a reason I liked you,” Bucky says, giving you a soft smile. “Yeah, he's gone. We're getting better. Actually, our group helps a lot with that. All have our issues, all have our strengths and fortes.” Bucky tells you, and you give him a crooked smile.

“When you'd turn into this big softie, Barnes?” You tease, and he gives you a chuckle before taking your other hand.

“There were some circumstances that lead me to realize that we're not exactly immortal. Point being, we've both faced Death. And somehow seem to keep coming up on top. Would like to keep it that way. But in case we've worn down our luck. Teaches you to live more in the moment.” Bucky says, with a smile that suggests he's up to something.

“What he’s trying to say is that things have changed. And we’d been talking about finding you recently.” Steve tells you, his cheeks dusted with a soft flush.

“We want you to join the Avengers. You've been making some buzz in the hunter world. Think your skills could help us out.” Bucky says and were it not for the explanation you would have asked why. As it stood now, your jaw had dropped.

“I've been making a buzz, literally all I hear about are you guys. How could I possibly make any sort of noise going up against that?” The words were out of your mouth before you could stop yourself. Both boys gave you a funny look.

“There's this hunter goes in, speaks fourteen different languages, knows all the occult stuff from memory. Even the more obscure beings.” Steve says, and Bucky tilts his head at you.

“How could you not generate a buzz?” He asks, stroking the back of your hand. “So, what do you say? Become an Avenger with us.” It sounds so casual just rolling off the tip of his tongue like that.

“Don't the others. Shouldn't. Shouldn't I meet them? Don't they get a say?” You finally spit out, and Bucky laughs.

“Believe me, when I say you've been making a buzz. You've crossed their radars. They had a say in this.” Bucky tells you, and you nod.

Part 2

#rrhalloween #marvel #avengers #stucky x reader #stucky #supernatural crossover

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