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moonchildreads · 10 months

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small town

Chapter 21 - Far from Over

IN THIS CHAPTER: High school rumors, two really awkward talks, and Eddie makes plans for the future [6.0k]

WARNINGS: suggestive themes (very mild, just a misunderstanding with wayne), very vague mention of disordered eating (one line about chrissy not wanting to eat lunch)

A/N: in case you didn't see the announcement at the bottom of the latest extra, i'm changing update days to saturdays because things are insane at work and i really need the extra day. we're halfway done with this story so there's loads to come still! enjoy the chapter <3

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I'm moving in 'cause I am getting closer I'm digging in I want it more than anything I've wanted

Sunday, June 1st - 1986

Wayne Munson had given up a lot for his nephew. He’d given up his dream job, his bedroom, and his privacy. He’d given up on having the freedom to go wherever he wanted whenever he wanted, dating (not that he was too interested in that these days, but still), the childless life he’d always envisioned for himself. And yet, if you asked him, Wayne would tell you truthfully that he’d never regretted it. How could he, when he loved Eddie like he was his own even when he was probably the reason he was balding? He carried a picture of an eight-year-old Eddie in his wallet from their first Christmas together, he had two mixtapes Eddie had made for him when he was barely 13 and still figuring out who he was and what music he liked, he had Eddie’s birth certificate and the papers he’d signed to become his legal guardian in a manilla folder at the top of the hallway closet along with a newspaper clipping from the time a photographer had taken a picture of a bunch of smiling kids at a pumpkin patch for an article, his boy’s grin the brightest of them all. No, there was virtually nothing in the world that could convince Wayne Munson that becoming Eddie’s caretaker had been the wrong choice, but when he walked into his trailer that Sunday at 6:30 in the morning and immediately tripped on a pair of shoes that had been abandoned at the door, he couldn’t wait until the moment Eddie was all grown up and would leave for greener pastures.

He bent down to grab the shoes, fully intending on throwing them down the hallway for Eddie to pick up later when he realized these weren’t Eddie’s shoes. They couldn’t have been, because for one, they were a size much smaller than his nephew usually wore, but also because they were black kitten heels with a strap and a silver buckle at the sides. These were women’s shoes, and he had no idea who these belonged to but judging by the fact that they were lying by his front door, the owner was still in the trailer. Turning on the lights, he looked around and saw something a parent never really wants to see: signs of their kid’s sex life. There was a dress lying on top of the couch, clearly haphazardly thrown, a white frilly sock next to his armchair and another one in front of the TV. Wayne took in a deep breath, fully intending to pretend like he’d gone temporarily blind, but when he took one step further into the living room and noticed the white cotton bra dangling from the corner of his coffee table he couldn’t stop the indignation from bubbling up his throat.

“EDWARD!” he bellowed, not caring if the mystery girl in his nephew’s bedroom was still there or not.

“Shit!” he heard Eddie yell, accompanied with a loud thump as the boy hit the floor, clearly startled out of his dreams.

Eddie had been enjoying a peaceful sleep - probably the best sleep of his life - when he heard his Uncle Wayne yell his name from the other side of the trailer. During the night he’d shifted from the position he’d been in when he initially fell asleep and was now currently being spooned from behind by Dottie, who jolted awake at the same time he did; her scared gasp on his neck sent him straight onto the carpet and scrambling to open his door. Bleary-eyed, he spilled into the hallway, heart in his throat and ready to fight an intruder or call an ambulance.

“Boy, get over here now,” Wayne gritted out, jaw tight.

Oh, fuck. He knows. Someone probably called the cops, he knows Dot broke Andy’s nose, shit, was all that was running through Eddie’s brain as he approached his Uncle meekly. He looked equal parts terrified and confused, and Wayne softened, remembering how skittish Eddie used to be whenever he accidentally raised his voice too much when he first came to live with him.

“Wayne, I can explain,” Eddie held his palms up, trying to control the situation.

“Look, Ed, you know I don’t care what you do and who you do it with as long as you ain’t bein’ stupid ‘bout it, but at least have the decency of not treating our home like a goddamn love motel,” Wayne said, voice lower but his tone still strict.

“Uh- what?”

“I don’t think that lady friend you got in there would appreciate me knowing what her undies look like-”

“Fuck,” Eddie flinched, but Wayne continued.

“-so please, get her her stuff and take her home so I can get some sleep, would you?”

“It’s not what you think, I swear.”

“Eddie, I don’t give a shit.”

“No, you don’t understand- it’s not a lady friend, it’s Dot,” the youngest Munson said, eyes wide begging his Uncle to shut up for a second.

Wayne looked at him quizzically for a few beats before directing his eyes to the hallway where someone was poking their head out of Eddie’s bedroom. And lo and behold, a sleepy-looking Dorothy was staring back at him with the most shameful look on her face he’d ever seen on anyone in his entire life. Wiping his face with his hand, the old man sighed and motioned for her to come out of her hiding place. She rushed forward, head bowed until she reached Eddie’s side and grabbed the back of his shirt for comfort, gnawing on her lower lip.

“Son,” Wayne looked back at him with a pointed look. “Can you please pick up her clothes before we have this conversation?”

Eddie nodded and leapt onto the coffee table, hiding the offending bra under the rest of her clothes before throwing them inside his bedroom for them to deal with later. Dottie waited in silence, wanting for the floor to open up and swallow her whole. She didn’t know what was worse, Wayne believing they’d hooked up or them having to explain that actually nothing had really happened and have the older man think they were liars. He looked at her and noticed the gauze covering her hand, frowning at the idea of her being hurt.

“You okay there, kid?” he asked, nodding towards her injury.

“Y-yeah. I… I kinda got into a fight last night,” she admitted shamefully.

“You got into a fight?” he asked, disbelief clear all over his face. “With Ed?”

“Actually yes, but that’s from a different fight,” Eddie said, coming to stand next to her again.

“Okay, Jesus,” Wayne muttered to himself. “Sit down.”

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Munson. I promise this is not what it looks like,” Dottie said, looking up at Wayne who stood on the other side of the coffee table with his arms crossed.

“You don’t gotta call me Mr. Munson, you’re not in trouble,” he reassured her with a wry smile. “Now, wanna tell me about these fights you been getting into?”

“We went to a party in Loch Nora,” Eddie explained. “Some bullshit about saying goodbye to senior year, whatever. The basketball meatheads were being assholes so Dot punched one of them.”

“This guy called me names,” she said, fidgeting in her seat. “Said some really ugly stuff, and I was so pissed I just kinda… hit him.”

“Pretty sure you broke bones, princess,” the youngest Munson said, pride tingeing his voice.

“Damn,” his Uncle said.

“He threw beer all over my clothes and I didn’t want my Dad to see me like that so I asked Eddie if he could bring me here to get cleaned up. Nothing inappropriate happened, I swear.”

“Kids, I don’t mind if it did-” Wayne started saying, but Eddie cut him off.

“Wayne, we’re telling you, she showered, I gave her clean clothes and then we went to sleep. That’s it, we just slept in the same bed,” he looked at his Uncle with red ears. “Nothing else happened.”

“What about that fight you two had? Everything alright?”

“Yeah,” he looked at Dottie and they both smiled at each other shyly. “Was just a misunderstanding, we sorted it out. I was being dramatic and threw her stuff around, you know me.”

“No, you weren’t,” she sighed. “I wasn’t listening, you had to get me to shut up somehow.”

“I mean, I could have picked up your clothes after we made up,” he chuckled, and she snorted, still a little embarrassed at the situation.

“Okay,” Wayne said, scratching his beard. “If you say nothing happened, then I believe you. But-” he looked at Eddie. “-if anything ever happens, and I’m not saying it will, but I still gotta tell you this… don’t be an idiot, son. Got you those condoms for a reason.”

“Jesus Christ, Wayne,” Eddie flinched.

“Actually, I threw them out when we cleaned his bedroom last month,” Dottie said, mortified but also holding in a chuckle. “They were kind of… old?”

“Old?” Eddie asked, his brows rising on his forehead.

“Expired, Ed. You do know those things have an expiration date, don’t you?” she said, and Wayne let out a loud chortle.

“Do I look like I knew that?” he replied, looking at her like she’d just blown his mind. “Why do you think that box was sealed?”

“Didn’t really need to know that, but I’m glad there won’t be any little Munsons toddling around here then. God knows we ain’t got the space,” Wayne said, putting an end to the conversation. “You two gonna hang out here today?”

“No, I should get home,” Dottie said, turning to Eddie. “Gotta tell my Dad I broke someone’s nose eventually.”

“We could always tell him you were defending my honor,” he joked, getting up. “That asshole threw me onto a table, Wayne, I think my ass is bruised. Look!”

“Ain’t nobody wanna see those pale cheeks, boy, pull those pants up!”

It was around 8:30 when Eddie pulled up to Dottie’s house, parking his van in the driveway just outside of the closed garage. James was already awake as evidenced by the open living room windows; he was a light sleeper and his body was so used to waking up early for work during the week that he hadn’t known what a lie-in looked like since he was in his early 20s. The teens had stopped at a bakery on their way to the house, planning to have breakfast together and maybe spend a little time away from the trailer so Wayne could have a well deserved sleep without being disturbed by their loud chatter. At the looming sight of her own house however, Dottie couldn’t get her legs to move to hoist herself out of the van. Eddie circled around to get to her side, bakery bag swinging from his fingers as he opened her door and waited for her to get out, always a gentleman.

“Okay, what’s wrong? Want me to go home so you can talk to your Dad alone?” he asked, tapping on her knee to get her attention.

He’d barely been able to look away from her while he drove, mesmerized by the fact that she was just calmly sitting next to him, in his clothes, browsing through his tapes, mumbling the lyrics to whatever Black Sabbath song was playing from his radio. She had swapped her borrowed boxers for a pair of Eddie's old sweatpants that barely reached his ankles anymore; they were too long for her and he'd rolled them up for her so she wouldn't trip when she walked, her cute kitten heels barely visible under the surplus of soft dark blue fabric. Dottie interlaced their fingers, stalling until she felt like she could finally face her Dad and tell him she’d gone all Rocky Balboa on some dude’s face.

“He’s gonna kill me,” she muttered; Eddie didn’t have to ask what she meant.

“No, he’s not. You defended yourself, it’s not like you went after the guy while he was distracted. It’s gonna be okay, I promise,” he reassured her, slotting between her legs to give her a one-armed hug.

“Please don’t go.”

“I won’t. I’m gonna be there for backup the entire time, okay?”

“...Okay.”

“Okay! Good. Wanna get out of the van now so I can give you a kiss before your Dad catches us out here like two idiots?”

Laughing softly, Dottie finally let herself drop from her seat and let him lock the van before he sneaked a hand around her waist and pushed her into himself, kissing her temple first, and then her lips. She sighed, content to be safe in his arms where no one was mad or upset for a little longer.

“Good morning, darling,” Eddie muttered against her mouth.

“Good morning, Ed,” Dottie replied, squeezing him once before letting him go and making her way towards her front door, wringing her hands nervously.

The house was so quiet it might as well have been empty, but the curtains moving softly in the breeze coming in from the opened windows were inviting and cozy, the air heavy with the scent of coffee and upcoming rain. Dottie took off her heels, leaving them against the entrance table in the foyer before hanging her purse from a hook next to the door and heading towards the kitchen. Eddie followed without hurry, the bag filled with warm baked goods crinkling with the movement. As they approached, they could hear soft noises coming from the coffee machine mingling with James’ voice, calm frustration noticeable in his tone.

“Dad?” Dottie called.

“I’m in the kitchen! No, Dad, I’m talking to Dot. Yes it’s still leaking! Yes, I know how to- you don’t have to tell me again, I’ve done it a million times before,” James looked up from where he was crouching under the kitchen sink and saw the kids enter, confusion painting his face as he took in his daughter’s appearance.

“I need to talk to you,” she said, not wanting to delay the moment any longer.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah, I just… I really need to talk to you. Like, right now.”

“Uh, Dad? Yeah, I’m gonna have to call you back, okay? Uh-huh. Yes, I’ll tell her you love her-”

“I love him too,” Dottie said, a small smile pulling at the corner of her lips at the thought of her Grandpa Ken on the other side of the phone.

“She says she loves you too. Okay, talk to you later. Bye-bye,” James hung up and eyed Eddie curiously before turning back to his daughter. “What happened to your dress?”

“Someone spilled beer on me. We washed it last night but I think we probably should wash it again,” she lifted her hand, the one that wasn’t injured, a plastic bag containing her clothes dangling from her wrist. “Eddie gave me some of his clothes so I could take a shower.”

“I can see that. You stayed over at Eddie’s?” James crossed his arms, face carefully schooled into a stoic mask.

“I’m sorry I lied. I was upset and I didn’t want you to feel like you had to come pick me up,” Dottie pulled at the hem of her Garfield shirt.

“Did you get into a fight with Jeff?”

“Not exactly, no.”

“Okay. What does that mean?”

“I got into a fight, just not with Jeff,” she moved her other hand from where she was hiding it behind her back letting her Dad see the gauze.

“Dorothy, what did you do?”

“I… I punched a guy in the face at the party?” she grimaced.

“Dorothy.”

“He deserved it,” Eddie said, pulling James’ attention to himself. “That guy, he’s- well, he’s a bully, sir. Him and his friends were shoving us, and he was saying all these nasty things-”

“Eddie, I appreciate you trying to defend my daughter right now but getting into a fight and hitting someone isn’t how you deal with things.”

“I know that, but that asshole- sorry, that guy isn’t someone you can reason with. He’s a jock, he’s been bullying us for years. He had it coming,” Eddie explained. “He’s a racist, sexist piece of trash that thinks he can get away with everything he does because he’s popular and has money.”

“I get that, trust me, I do but-”

“He called me a whore,” Dottie said, silencing them both. “He has it out for me because I told him to stop bullying my friends or else I’d tell our Spanish teacher he cheated on a test, so he said I was a slut in front of everyone to make me look bad. He would have hit me and Nancy if one of his friends didn’t tell him to back off.”

“He threatened to hit you?” James’ eyebrows rose.

“He raised his hand at us. His friends pulled him away before he could do it.”

“He also emptied an entire beer can on her head,” Eddie added, jaw tight.

“And he pulled Eddie’s hair and pushed him into a table,” she ended the story, eyes glued to the floor.

“Well, in that case… fuck that guy,” James scoffed. “Who is this kid?”

“His name’s Andy, he’s on the basketball team,” Dottie said, but Eddie was way ahead of her.

“He’s Carson Humphrey’s son.”

“Of course he’s Carson’s boy,” James turned to Eddie. “I see the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

“You know his Dad?” his daughter asked, curious about this turn of events.

“Everyone knew Carson back then. Popular, had money, shoved everyone into a locker if we looked at his girl wrong. Can’t believe Adelaine married that asshole.”

“He’s still a piece of shit,” Eddie said. “He’s one of the suits at the plant my Uncle works at. Wayne hates him, says he’s always treating everyone like trash.”

“That really does not surprise me.”

There was a moment of silence that passed between all three of them before James moved to get a mug from one of the cabinets. He filled it with coffee, stirring one spoonful of sugar into the dark liquid, and turned to the teens who were still standing on the other side of the island, awaiting judgment to pass upon them.

“You two had breakfast?” he asked, taking a sip.

“No, we left as soon as we could. Wayne worked last night and we didn’t want to disturb him,” Dottie said, wondering why she wasn’t grounded yet. “Am I… Are you mad at me?”

“Come here,” James said, opening his arm so she could tuck herself into his side. “Am I happy you got into a fight? No, I’m not. But you stood up for yourself and your friends, and I am proud of you for that.”

“You are?”

“Of course I am, honey. I’m proud you didn’t take his shit lying down,” he sighed. “Just… don’t lie to me again, okay? You could have told me hey Dad, I’m gonna stay over at Eddie’s, I’m upset and I don’t want you to pick me up and I would have respected that. You know I would have. I know you’re old enough to do whatever you want and I can’t stop you from doing that, but what if something had happened, huh? What if there was an emergency and I couldn’t find you? It’s just you and me, Dot, you gotta help me out here a little bit.”

“I’m sorry. I promise you I was safe, we stayed at Eddie’s all night. Mom’s dress was gross and I was so upset, I just… I don’t know. I didn’t want you to see me like that,” she mumbled.

“It’s okay, honey. Nothing a good wash can’t fix,” James muttered into her hair. “Ed?”

“Y-yes, sir?” he looked awkward as hell, avoiding staring at them while they shared a tender father-daughter moment.

“You want some coffee?” the older man asked, but Eddie understood what he really meant to say. Thank you for being there for my daughter when she needed you.

“I’d love coffee, thanks. We, uh- We got donuts on our way over if you want some.” Thank you for letting me be there for your daughter; here’s a peace offering.

“Which kind?”

“A dozen. Half glazed, half with jelly,” he smiled.

“Atta boy,” James grinned at him, and the tension in the kitchen dissolved to nothing.

After breakfast, Eddie helped James fix the leaky sink in the kitchen while Dottie put a new load in the washing machine, her Mom’s baby blue shift dress finally on its way to normalcy. From the laundry room next to the kitchen she could hear what were possibly the two most important men in her life talking like they were family, and in a way, she supposed they were. Whether Eddie and her stayed together forever or not following recent developments, she knew he would always occupy a big space in her life, and she was grateful that her Dad was so accepting of him. Once Eddie had left, she’d most likely have to give James a full rundown of what had happened at the party and how she’d ended up at his trailer instead of going to Jeff’s house, but she wasn’t afraid of him getting mad at her anymore.

Officially not in trouble, the teens retreated to her bedroom to hang out while James finished up his morning routine. He came out of the bathroom after a shower, dressed up in his cozy Sunday clothes fully intending on going downstairs and lounge around until lunchtime when he walked past Dottie’s room, the silence coming from behind her almost closed white door startling him. He’d heard them talking animatedly all morning, had Eddie left already while he was in the shower? Peeking inside, he saw the two teens asleep on top of the comforter, Eddie spread out like a starfish and Dottie curled into a ball next to him, her pillow on the verge of falling to the floor. James watched his daughter turn in her sleep towards her friend, the soft cushion finally hitting the rug with a barely audible thud, her head perching on Eddie’s arm and her hand resting on his chest. He would have laughed at how her sleep-addled body had betrayed her if he hadn’t seen Eddie shift to accommodate her new position better, turning onto his side to drape an arm around her middle and pulling her to him, his leg tangling with hers. He snored once as he settled and they both carried on sleeping like nothing had changed, but James knew without anyone having to tell him, that everything was different.

With the heavy heart of a Dad watching his little girl slip away from his fingers in order to grow up into the wonderful woman he knew she’d become one day, he closed her door again and headed downstairs, trusting that the boy who held her like she was precious cargo when he was unconscious would do exactly the same while they were awake.

Monday, June 2nd - 1986

“So is it true? Did you really break Andy’s nose?”

“For fuck’s sake, Fred, I think people in Indianapolis couldn’t hear you. Wanna ask a little louder?”

By lunchtime, Dottie was already tired of people coming up to her and asking about Andy while the boys in Hellfire were having a lot of fun scaring nosy students away. Nobody was denying the general story - how could they when half of their senior class had seen the fight go down - but as the rumor spread like wildfire, the specifics of it all were becoming more and more convoluted. Some said she had punched him because Andy had tried to slip a roofie into her drink, others said that she hit him during a lover’s quarrel, and her personal favorite was that she’d actually been upset over him getting a better grade on a Spanish test than she did and went psycho on him. Her friends were stuck to her like velcro, arguing that they were worried that someone in the basketball team would try to retaliate but it quickly became evident that they were keeping their distance when during her AP Spanish class on third period, Andy sat as far away from her as possible, a butterfly bandage decorating the bridge of his nose.

Nancy told her one class later during AP Research that Andy’s nose hadn’t actually been broken, but that he was probably still going to be sporting the white bandage and a purple eye during his prom pictures. The damage was superficial, which is why the basketball team was so willing to pretend like it hadn’t happened, particularly after their teammate had been so ready to punch two girls much smaller than him in front of their entire year over what seemed to be a mere misunderstanding. Much to their chagrin, their need to protect one of their friend’s girlfriends was very unneeded, as evidenced by the fact that Chrissy greeted both Dottie and Eddie with hugs and big smiles in the hallway when they crossed paths. No one wanted to fight the freaks on Chrissy’s behalf if she wasn’t going to play her role as the damsel in distress.

“Get lost, Benson, we’re trying to have lunch in peace,” Gareth told him, shooing him away with his hand like Fred was a bothersome fly.

“Good luck I wasn’t talking to you then, Coleman,” Fred said, turning again towards Dottie. “Come on, Dot, aren’t we friends? Just tell me what happened, Nancy won’t say shit.”

“You’ve never called me Dot in like the three months I’ve known you,” she said, pointing at him with her lettuce-filled fork.

“No time like today to start, huh? So why did you do it? Did he really try to feel you up?”

“That’s a new one, hadn’t heard it yet,” Dottie looked at Jeff across the table from her and he snorted. “I hit him because he was being rude, kinda like you are being right now.”

“You’re absolutely no fun, did you know that?”

“I’ve been told. Now scram before I punch you too,” she smiled at him sweetly.

“You’re spending too much time with the weirdos. Drop by the newsroom before you leave, got your final stack,” Fred said, finally relenting and going back to his table.

“Okay, I know you’re upset about it but you gotta admit that punching a jock on the nose is a really cool story,” Dustin laughed. “Best part is that he can’t even do anything about it because he’s too embarrassed everyone saw him getting hit by a girl half his size.”

“Yeah, that’s… not the pick-me-up you think it is, Dus,” Dottie sighed. “I’m just tired everyone keeps trying to talk to me about it.”

“Look, you’re only gonna have to deal with it for two more weeks and then you’re out of here forever,” Mike said. “No one will care anymore after the holidays start.”

“Speaking of being free from this hellhole,” Donny said, tapping the table excitedly. “Are we still on about the summer jobs thing?”

“Absolutely, yes,” she nodded. “I wanna save up as much as I can before Michigan.”

“You two getting summer jobs?” Jeff asked, curiously.

“She’s gonna cover for my sister while she’s on her pregnancy leave,” Donny explained.

“Aw, man, you two are gonna work together?” Gareth complained. “My Mom got me a job at the fucking supermarket, one of her aerobics class friends is a manager or some shit like that.”

“You gonna be a cashier?” Jeff said, laughing when Gareth nodded. “You can barely do basic Math, who’s the fuck is trusting you with money?”

“Shut the fuck up,” he threw his straw at his friend.

“What are you gonna do, Jeff?” Mike asked.

“Dunno yet, might walk some dogs again to get some cash before college.”

“Aren’t you allergic to fur?” Dustin frowned.

“Cats.”

“Ah.”

“Does anyone know what Eddie’s gonna do?” Donny wondered.

“What do you mean what’s he gonna do? He already has a gig,” Gareth said, mouth full of mushy carrots.

“You really think he’s gonna keep selling weed after graduation?” Jeff said. “I bet he’s gonna ask Dave for a job or something.”

“Who’s Dave?” Dottie asked.

“He owns The Hideout. He’s known Eddie for years, and he’s always saying he needs a bartender. I think Ed’d be good at it.”

“Who knows. Doesn’t seem like he’s too interested in a job anyways,” Gareth shrugged, but Dottie knew that wasn’t true.

As the conversation kept going and Dustin talked about his summer camp and being reunited with his girlfriend, Dottie stared at Eddie’s empty chair at the head of their table and wondered how they were going to navigate the changes in their relationship if they were both about to have completely different schedules.

“I’m telling you, Chris, it was something straight out of a fucking movie.”

“It sounds like it!”

Eddie and Chrissy were hanging out in the woods, enjoying what was probably going to be their last time together at their spot. Hellfire was officially on hiatus and cheer practice had ended last week, so there were no more reasons for them to stay after school on Friday evenings, and thus no more secret smoking sessions would ensue. Still, when Eddie opened his locker to find Chrissy’s note asking if he wanted to have lunch with her at their table, he took the opportunity to update her future Maid of Honor-Best Woman-Whatever That Shit Was Called on his developing love life. Yes, he wasn’t actually supposed to be telling anyone what had transpired after they’d left the party, but he figured that letting Chrissy know wouldn’t be too bad considering how much help she’d been providing to him all along.

“I’m really proud of you, Eddie,” she said, pushing a cherry tomato around her little Tupperware container. He’d noticed she wasn’t really eating but didn’t say anything about it; maybe she didn’t like the salad her Mom had packed for her. “You put yourself out there even if it was scary, you set goals and worked hard to achieve them, and now you’re about to graduate while dating the girl of your dreams. You must feel so relieved everything turned out great.”

“Actually, it feels weird,” he admitted. “Like, all this time I was psyching myself for it, y’know? And I thought it was gonna be this huge thing once it happened, and it was! But… I feel, I don’t know, calm? Like for once in my life I’m not just waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

“That’s great. I’m happy she makes you happy. I’m happy you’re both happy!” she smiled, reaching across the table to grab his hand. “You’re really cute together, and you deserve to feel loved.”

“Yeah,” he laughed, a little out of breath. Dottie loved him. Dottie loved him. That was gonna take some time to get used to. “Anyway, enough about me being a fucking softie. What’s going on with you? What happened after we left?”

“Nothing much,” Chrissy shrugged. “People kinda went back to their own stuff, it was pretty normal. Jason and I got into a fight on Sunday though.”

“I’m sorry. Did we-”

“No, no, it’s okay. He was being an idiot,” she rolled her eyes. “Everything is fine now. He was… well, he asked me if there was anything going on between us.”

“What? Us as in like, you and me?”

“I know, right? So weird. Apparently Andy told him you were, like… being a perv about me at the party?”

“Fuckin’ Andy, man.”

“You can say that again. But really, it’s fine now. He calmed down after I told him I had it on good authority that you liked Dottie.”

“You told Jason Carver I had a crush on Dot?”

“No, I told Jason Nancy told me you had a crush on Dot,” she giggled. “He didn’t ask anything else after that. Every time I bring up girly gossip in front of him he mentally checks out.”

“Yeah, no, that seems reasonable. No sane man likes girly gossip.”

“You love girly gossip.”

“Who said I was sane, sweetheart?” Eddie grinned.

“Ugh, I’m gonna miss this! I’m gonna miss you!” Chrissy groaned. “My Mom’s gonna be looking at me like a hawk all summer.”

“Lie to her and come hang out with us. We’re probably gonna be at the lake most of the time, it’s hot as hell and none of us has a pool,” he said, munching on his last bit of sandwich.

“I’d love to go but I don’t wanna say yes and then flake out on you. She’s… overbearing when she wants to be. And I need to start training for the preseason so she’s gonna be on my ass all the time. She already ordered my new uniform, she’s insane,” she let her head fall onto her arms.

“I bet Dot can help you out with that. She won’t suspect too much if you’re going out with another girl, right?”

“Maybe,” Chrissy said, not putting too much faith into the idea. “I need to figure something out though because I think I might freak out if I can’t smoke anymore.”

“Actually, I kinda wanted to talk to you about that,” Eddie scratched his neck awkwardly. “I’m not gonna sell anymore after graduation.”

“Oh? Why not?”

“I don’t want Callahan to bust me again now that I’m 20. Hopper didn’t give two shits about it but that asshole is gonna tell Chief Powell, and I think he hates me,” he crossed his arms over his chest. “But I can give you the number of this guy I know, I’m gonna buy from him too probably.”

“Okay, that sounds good. Can we, like, buy together though? At least the first time. Until I know he’s not, y’know, a murderer or something,” she laughed nervously.

“Yeah, we can go together,” he smiled. “Can’t go until a week after graduation though. Gotta take a pee test and I don’t wanna risk it.”

“What’s wrong? Are you sick?”

“No, I… I’m applying for a job.”

“Are you serious?” Chrissy beamed at him.

“Yeah! But I don’t wanna jinx it, so don’t ask me anything about it until it’s a done deal,” he said, lifting a finger at her in warning.

“Okay, okay, I won’t. But that’s so exciting, Eddie, oh my god!” she got up from her seat and went to hug him. “Look at you, being all grown up and stuff! Who are you and what did you do to my Eddie?”

“I’m still here, haven’t gone anywhere,” he smiled, leaning into the hug. “Just decided to stop dicking around for once.”

It occurred to Eddie, once he was sitting in his English Lit class after lunch, that he owed much of his recent maturity to the girl sitting next to him. Dottie was playing with the rings on his fingers as they relaxed at the back of the classroom, a boring movie playing during their last period to fill up time while their teacher tried to finish grading all the finals she had in front of her. He pulled her hand up to his mouth silently, not wanting to attract any attention towards them, but no one cared. Half of the class was asleep anyway. He kissed her injured knuckles over the colorful band aids he’d gotten for her, and she smiled at him, eyes soft and heart soaring.

“Thank you,” he muttered; she looked at him inquisitively but he didn’t say more.

When his lips pressed to the inside of her wrist, she understood what he had meant: thank you for believing in me. Thank you for loving me. Thank you for being here. And when they were finally alone, hiding away in what was now known as their clearing at the edge of the lake, he told her he believed he couldn’t have gotten to where he was without her and she replied that all she’d done was to simply return what he’d given to her since the day they’d met, which was kindness, understanding, and above all, a whole lot of love.

taglist (comment below or send me an ask if you want to be added!): @munsonology @kurdtbean @every1lovesanunderdog @eg-dr3amer3

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delphinidin4 · 9 months

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A video script aka I have no editing skills

[Our scene opens with a view of a craft table with various supplies strewn across it.]

[Female voice, very bright and cheerful throughout, like a particularly expressive kindergarten teacher]: Good morning! Welcome to our mystical cursing of Donald J. Trump. What better way to practice The Craft... than through arts and crafts!

[Voice continues brightly:] Please note! None of the following constitutes a physical threat against Trump or anyone else. We, the makers of this video, sincerely hope that Mr. Trump continues to be physically healthy so that he can stand trial and be found guilty by the US justice system, and legally punished and humiliated as he so richly deserves. This is not a physical threat: it is a metaphysical threat, a mere expression of our wish that Trump face justice for all his alleged crimes.

[Pause]

Now that THAT's over...

[Hands pick up a large pair of fabric scissors and snip them in a surprisingly threatening manner]

Let's make a poppet.

[Tiny intro screen with a little dootle of theme music. Title card:]

Cursing People!

With your Friendly Neighborhood Witches

[Edited together clips of someone cutting things out of felt, embroidering, sewing them together, all while singing tunelessly.]

[Brightly]: Okay! Our poppet is almost done. As you can see, he is in a black suit. His head is orange, and I have sewn his tiny ugly face on him. Also, please note his teeny hands! [Shows embroidery of tiny hands.] You may have noticed that this poppet is bald. Well, of course he is! It's Donald J. Trump! But we'll give him some fake hair.

--short montage of crafting--

[Cuts to an image of the felt poppet with bright yellow yarn sewn into the top of his head.]

[Dramatically]: Now I'm gonna use something that has never been used on Trump's head before.... [Brandishing] A comb!!

--short montage of crafting--

[Hands comb out the poppet's hair into an ungodly mess]

There. That looks about as realistic as his terrible toupet.

But! This poppet has not been stuffed yet! [Hands pull out a bag of cotton stuffing that is labeled "Self-importance"] We're going to fill this poppet with self-importance. Because God knows, that's the only thing Trump is full of. After all, he certainly doesn't have guts!

[Hands pick up a bit of stuffing.] Hey, Trump! Get stuffed!

--short montage of crafting--

[More tuneless humming]

[Poppet is now overstuffed and entirely sewn together, slightly clumsily. This appears to be intentional.]

We don't want him to run away before his court date! So we're going to make sure by sewing his feet to the ground. This will also stop him from running for office. Please note: I am using a WHIP stitch: not a RUNNING stitch!

--short montage of crafting--

[Poppet's feet are sewn to a felt background.]

Now obviously, there is something missing from this depiction of Trump. I'm sure you've noticed. No, not his balls: he never had any to begin with. No, what he's missing is... His enormously over-inflated ego! [Hand pulls out a small balloon.] Blue--for boys!

--short montage of crafting--

[Balloon is blown up, and someone has written "EGO" on it in permanent marker.]

Of course, you know what happens to overinflated egos. And I have just the thing.

[Hand pulls out an ENORMOUS, 9-inch-long pin.] THIS is an antique hatpin! Back in the suffragette era, sometimes men would grope women on public transportation. They called them "mashers". Women realized they could defend themselves from these mashers with judicious use of their enormous hatpins! Of course, this caused a sort of panic in the newspapers, with all these stories about these HORRIBLE women who were DEFENDING THEMSELVES from SEXUAL ASSAULT with the only weapons available to them. Today, this hatpin is going to represent women's ongoing DEFLATING of all this world's mashers and (alleged!) rapists. So may Trump be utterly humiliated in a public forum! Ready???

[Hand grabs the hatpin like a knife and stabs this balloon, which pops loudly. Evil cackling.]

--short montage of crafting--

[The remains of the burst balloon have been sewn to the poppet.]

As you can see, I put his ego where his heart should have been.

--short montage of crafting--

Now. What do we want to happen to Trump? That's right! He needs to go to prison until the end of his natural life.

--short montage of crafting--

[Poppet is sewn down onto the background with black ribbons that are made to look like prison bars. Poppet is now entirely trapped on the felt.]

Now there is one final thing that we want to happen to Trump. He needs to be utterly and finally humiliated in the court of public opinion in a way that even a delusional narcissist like Trump cannot deny.

[Camera zooms out from the poppet to show that it is lying on the grass, and there are a circle of feet standing around it. No faces are shown throughout the entire video.]

This is a gathering of local witches and magic-users of all genders and backgrounds. We hereby express our utter contempt of Donald J. Trump and all the bullshit he stands for, and our hope that he is entirely publicly humiliated. ...Witches: Are ye ready???

Witches: Aye!!

Narrator: Ready..... SPIT!

[The entire circle of witches spit on the poppet until it is entirely covered in saliva]

[Narrator puts on rubber gloves. Brightly:] Safety first!

[Narrator gingerly picks up the poppet and stuffs it into a nearby public garbage can, carefully removes gloves, then dusts off her hands.] So mote it be!

--Fin--

#witch #witchy stuff #spells #spellcasting #trump

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w1llow-th3-w1sp · 2 years

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So, it’s about that time where I’d take down my faux locs, they’ve been in for 2-3 months now. However, I recently underwent a severe life change where I had to end a longtime relationship with my partner of 5 years on the 2nd of last month. To add to that, I’m basically homeless. I’ve been severely depressed, and not great with my self care, but I’m actively working on taking care of myself again and picking myself back up. Because I don’t have the space or resources to do a full wash day and treatment, I’m in the process of redoing this style. I redid the perimeter yesterday, which already makes me look 10x better. I can pull it back again without my new growth making me look insane. Over the next couple of days, I’ll work on the center. Ideally, I can leave them in for another 3 months. This gives me enough time to find a home, deal with legal stuff, and hopefully have a plan in place to get a new vehicle. Also, it gives me enough time to get my emotions in check because if my hair wasn’t in a protective style right now, I wouldn’t be taking care of it properly. I’d be raking through it with a comb and throwing a wig on it.

On a more positive note, I’m so happy to see my growth! I remember when my nape was nearly bald from over processing it with relaxer. My hair always fell into a “bob” shape because my nape was so broken and brittle. Now, my nape area touches my shoulder blades! Pulling it forward, it touched the center of my tattoo, which is below my collarbone!! I am glad that I clipped my ends before I installed these, I believe that it helped a lot. My hair was easily detangled and manageable despite all of that buildup. I have been moisturizing and greasing my scalp which has also been helping. I will admit that I haven’t been doing it as often as I’d like, but I have moisturized at least 3 times over the course of a month.

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lionfanged · 4 years

Text

dabs, but in 24

#insert that clip from the spongebob movie of them all pointing at king neptune and screaming bald #but instead theyre pointing and violently screaming old #since i have to suffer adding on another year to my existence u are all legally obligated #to send me photos of ur cats #if u don't have a cat any cute cat photo off of the internet will do thank u #▲ ↠ ♛ ❛ the chicken wizard ; wizard of all chickens┊✧ OUT OF CHARACTER

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quirklessidiot · 3 years

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title : cigarettes and parfaits [3] pairing : older!nanami kento x younger!reader [13 year age gap, ft toji fushiguro] Genre: romance, fluff, slice of life, josei, angst, comedy, strangers to lovers au

Summary: you’re pretty sure you’d remember marrying a man 13 years older than you, right?

Warnings: alcohol, smoking, mild smut, y/n making stupid decisions, everyones a human-au so yeh non-canon stuff and everyone’s happy (periODT) i keep forgeting to add that this isnt beta-rread..all of my stories arent so yeah shshs Notes: ah, i feel like this story will be lengthen more than 8-10 chapters shshshs i wanted to add a little spice anyways thanks for all the comments uwu ily all!

Masterlist || taglist || [prev ; next] [updates; every saturday!]

“Y/N-chan!!!”

You cringe in embarrassment as soon as you hear that awfully familiar and cheerful voice, you could barely remember this man and the events that transpired the night before but here he was, acting like your new best friend. You weren’t even sure if you wanted to go here but you needed clarity. Surely you didn’t just legally marry a man at an Izakaya out of all places last night?

“Oh, you actually did marry him.” Gojo Satoru proclaims as soon as you take a seat across him, he gestures around his face, “I could tell by your whole, ‘I hope this guy is messing with me’ face. You have it, signed and sealed. Even got the cute matchy rings that I had one of my assistants delivered.”

You pale at the thought of his assistant coming in with a silver ring. Wasn’t he sober? How could he not have stopped you two from doing something as reckless and stupid as this? Weren’t older men supposed to be more responsible than this?

“Why the hell didn’t you stop us?” You groaned, burying your face in your hands, embarrassment painted all over your features.

“I was just as drunk as you two.” He confessed, scratching his head, “probably even more drunk but anyways back to the topic in hand, I only remembered it when the same assistant came in and congratulated me about it. It’s good I had your number on my phone before you two bailed.”

“So you don’t really remember?”

“Bits and pieces.” Gojo grinned, this guy was a maniac, how did the serious man you met just this morning have friends like this? You probably wouldn’t even last long, “I did call Nanami-”

He’s cut off by the rough sound of someone pulling a chair out, you immediately jump on your seat when you realize it’s Nanami Kento, the guy from this morning. The man you had recklessly married!

“This better be some prank you’re pulling, Satoru.” His voice was anything but kind that you almost wanted to hide behind Gojo’s back.

“Hey, hey.” Gojo raises his hands, “Don’t look at me. I didn’t force you into anything and stop scaring your poor little partner.”

Nanami snaps his gaze towards you and you notice how his eyes soften just a bit when he sees your red ears and your eyes looking away from him, “You better call Geto and fucking fix this, I refuse to bother this young-”

“It’s fine.” You cut him off, still shy and red, “It’s...fine...I just…Please don’t think I’m burdened by it. It was technically my fault for even agreeing immediately.”

Nanami clenches his jaw and turns away, “Nevertheless. L/N-san’s young. I hope to not be such an uncouth man like you.” he retorts, voice sharp as he eyes the white-haired businessman up and down. Gojo, seemingly used to it, rolls his eyes behind his dark shades.

“Maybe you guys should try it out.”

The blonde man looks like he’s about to smite the white-haired man out of existence yet Satoru remains oblivious to his friend’s gaze, “Don’t ya think so? It will take a while for those divorce papers to settle in so why don’t you two go out and get to know each other? Who knows…” he sing-songs the last part and Nanami is so close to chunking his briefcase towards the tall businessman, not even caring

“Ah, he’s not exactly wrong, Nanami-san.” you try to calm him down, placing a small hand on his broad shoulder.

“Don’t tell me you’re actually listening to this idiot’s idea.” Nanami replied, gaze narrowing.

“Not really but you have some problems I can help you out on and I have problems that you can help me out on...Of course, the last say is on you...”

“Told you I actually had a brain.” Satoru piped in.

“Shut up, Satoru.” he quips, then turns to you, “I’m thirteen years older than you, L/N-san. I have two high school kids that could pass off as your siblings, and-”

“Well, I technically did marry you.”

“You were drunk.”

“Doesn’t exactly really excuse it.” You laugh nervously, “The whole divorce process usually lasts up to a few months, some even takes a whole year. I could help you out with the boys and I can use you to ward my family off from moving back home.”

Nanami is quiet for a moment, actually thinking about it. Weighing the pros and the cons, not only would you be able to help him out but you’d also be able to get Gojo and blind-dating out of his back.

There really wasn’t anything he could loose, really.

“Or you two might fall in love.” Satoru teases, making Nanami throw him another side-eye, as if saying ‘I dare you to say another word.’

It’s a Thursday today and Sukuna absolutely loathed Thursdays apparently because it reminded him of Mondays, Tuesdays, and Wednesdays. They all were far from the weekend Everyone seems to be happier than usual though. Maybe it was because you were there teaching some basic shit at the board or something.

“...and if we transfer this here and change the positive to a negative, you’ll end up having five as your answer.” You smile, placing your chalk down, “Does anyone have any questions?”

Echoes of no’s resonated throughout the room.

“Alright then, let’s end the lesson here so you guys can have an early lunch. I don’t think an assignment is in order since many of you were able to get a perfect score in the activity awhile ago.” You winked. A couple of whoops resonated throughout the whole class right after.

As the kids shuffle out of the room of the class, Sukuna remains behind. The ojisan had cooked them something delicious this morning and he wanted to eat it in peace without that pesky Nobara grabbing a share from his bento and Yuuji’s annoying babbles about horror movies with his best friend Junpei (the only one who was really bearable was Megumi, really)

“Sukuna-kun?” you called out, snapping him out of his small trance, “Are you alright?”

He notices a glint of worry in your eyes, he had to admit since his transfer here last Monday, you were the least annoying teacher in the academy the blue-haired professor in Japanese literature was absolute shit since he loved to tease him a lot and that bald-headed teacher in science who looked a lot like Mike Wazowski was an annoying twerp who loved dawdling in him and Yuuji’s business and you were kind of good at your job. Not only did his idiot of a brother stop coming to him and their ojisan for help in math but he could actually do the worksheets right and get an actual decent grade at it.

“Yeah.” he roughly replies.

“That’s good.” You smiled, he watched as you bind their worksheets together and clip them in utmost delicacy, “You should head to the cafeteria now, I heard they’re serving milk bread today.”

Without saying anything more, you left the room, leaving him there in the silence.

Well, the Christmas tree idiot was right.

You kind of had a motherly aura on you and it didn’t even look forced.

No wonder, everyone in this room was whipped for you despite your subject being a pain in the ass.

“You look like an idiot.” You mumbled as you slapped Mahito’s hand away in annoyance, your workmate wiggling his eyebrows like the little shit he is.

You completely forgot you did have someone like Gojo Satoru in your life and it was one of your co-workers, Mahito, a Japanese literature teacher who was too nosy for his own good.

“You’ve got a ring on your ring finger and a mailman comes in and gives you an invite for Zen’in Toji’s fortieth birthday.” he whistles, “Even Jogo-sensei gossiped by the water cooler awhile ago, saying that you had eloped with the man. Not that I’m judging you or anything...”

You choke on your saliva, clearly thrown off by the backhanded comment. That darn bald-headed fool that looked like the green eyed monster from the DreamWorks cartoon, he sure needed to lay off the gossip and actually focus on his job as the head of the science department, “You’re not denying it.” Mahito stated, narrowing his eyes in suspicion, “Why aren’t you denying it?”

“I’m not dating Megumi-kun’s father.” You grumbled, finishing up your paperwork, “That man is off limits.”

“Right,” he drawls on sarcastically, “...because you have a strict rule against dating hot older men with money.”

“I also teach his kids and his cousin…” You deadpan.

“We don’t even have a rule against that.” He retorts, rolling his eyes, “If we did, Hanami-sensei would’ve been fired a long time ago.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“And you’re so secretive. If it isn’t Toji Zen’in, who’d ask you out?”

“Hey, I do have a man.” You huffed, “and he’s very kind and considerate...”

The image of the tall and lean man sleeping next to you slowly wormed its way back from your memory and you feel your cheeks start to flush. Good god, what were you? twelve? How embarrassing.

You needed to get that image off of your head, it wasn’t right.

It was all temporary, anyways and he doesn’t even see you in that sort of way-

“Yes, I’m Sukuna and Yuuji Itadori’s guardian…” a very familiar stoic voice could be heard from the nearby table, cutting your thoughts short. Wait, were you so head over heels for the man that you started imagining him here? Yuuji and Sukuna’s guardian? Wait a minute.

All color drained from your face as you snap your head behind you to find the same man you were imagining.

Oh no.

Oh no, indeed.

There stood Nanami Kento in all his glory; crisp suit, stoic face, and eyes laced with mild worry.

“...L/N-sensei is Sukuna-kun’s adviser, by the way. It would be best to discuss this with them.” Akari somberly informed the man, turning to your direction. You don’t miss the shift of expressions when he sees you standing there.

Your mouth parts and you know you look like gawking fish trapped in a small aquarium.

“Akari-sensei’s looking at you with the new hot daddy.” Mahito mumbles next to you, eyeing him up and down, “Definitely wonder where all these old men come from these days.”

You were only half-listening to your co-worker because your head was all over the place, just what were the odds that he was the guardian of the new transferee’s? Just how awkward would everything be? Why did it even have to be at this school out of all places?

Never ending questions pop out of your head as you approached them, “Good afternoon, Nanami-san.” Your smile comes out very stiff and awkward while you hold your hand out for him to shake, clearly there was no memo on how you were suppose to act around your sort-of-fake-husband-whos-kids-you-actually-taught.

Nanami reverts back to his stoic expression as he clears his throat, “Yes, good afternoon to you too, L/N-sensei.” he greets, maintaining a straight-laced tone.

“Akari-sensei says that Sukuna has been quite...rude...in class…” you try to rack your brains up to describe his kid.

“Your son literally pointed out that the history lesson I was teaching was fake and that I should study again so he could get his tuition’s worth.” Akari looks clearly perplexed and ready to throttle the boy if it was legal. You had to admit, Sukuna went overboard with that insult.

You knew how passionate Nitta was about her job and what Sukuna just said to her was like a big ‘fuck you, you suck.’ to her.

“I’ll be sure to talk to him about this,” he sighs, bowing down, “I’d like to ask for forgiveness for that, the boy is a good and smart student-”

“Nanami-san, the school not only cares about grades but character as well.” Akari Nitta sighed, cutting him off, “I’ll let this slide once, if he does that again, it goes on the record.”

You internally bit your cheek, still trying to process everything that was going on.

“I understand. Thank you for that.”

“I’ll walk him out, sensei.” You immediately say soon after, wanting to have some alone time with him, “Let’s go, Nanami-san.”

You walk right next to him silently, some students peerlessly glancing at the tall blonde next to you but you were too immersed in thought to notice the stares, “Nanami-san?” you ask softly as soon as you reach the exit.

Nanami Kento looks at you, his eyes still laced with a bit of worry, “It’s okay.” you silently comforted him, “Just talk to him calmly.”

“That’s not the problem.” he sighed, “I just didn’t expect that the person I married would be the boy’s teacher.”

You sweat drop, “Aren’t you worried about talking to Sukuna? I mean, he literally just disrespected a teacher and you said that he and you weren’t in good-”

“It’s easier to talk to him about that rather than…” he paused, showing his ring, “this.”

You blinked.

Seemed like Nanami knew what to say about the little attitude problem his son had, “So you must be used to this?” you asked, “Him disrespecting the teacher?”

You notice the shift of expressions on his face, you had only known this man for a few days so far but he was starting to get easier to read. His eyes shed more emotion than his face, no wonder he likes wearing those funny sunglasses a lot.

“It’s something I’ve scolded him over a couple of times,” he gruffed, trying to dance around the subject, it seemed like he had such a soft spot to the point where he had a problem with disciplining them, “At times I believe it’s just because he’s way too smart for his age. The boy has read history books for fun when he was a kid and solved quadratic equations to prove that he’s better than me when he was ten.”

“It still doesn’t give him the free pass to say things like that to a teacher”

“I know,” he acknowledged, “I’ll be sure to give him a better scolding-”

“No, you see. This is why he thinks he can get away with it. He isn’t afraid of you. You’ll only probably tell him that you can’t do that.” you frown, crossing your arms, “You do know that not all sensei’s are as nice as Akari-sensei and he could get in trouble for that even more in the future, right?”

Silence lingered between you two for a moment and suddenly you realize that you must’ve said something way off the rails.

“I..” you turn red, embarrassed by the sudden outburst, “That was too much, wasn’t it?”

You look at him directly in the eye, the worry-filled ones are now replaced with a softer gaze. God, he really needed to stop looking at you like a kid. It would only make this set-up more awkward!

“No,” he mumbles, “It...It wasn't too much…”

“Oh.” you cleared your throat, flustered and looking away from his face, “Well, okay then goodbye then Nanami-sa-”

You needed to get out of this conversation quick.

“Kento.”

Your gaze snaps directly towards him, clearly taken aback by the correction.

“What?”

“We’re technically married now, right?” he softly corrected, “Call me Kento.”

“Oh,” You uttered again, this time softly. You looked down on your shoes, it seemed like the floor looked really interesting now, “Then bye-bye, Kento.”

“Bye Y/N.”

He leaves you standing there, cursing yourself because of your erratic heartbeat at the way he says your name in that voice. First name basis? okay, totally normal for sort-of lovers, right?

taglist [if crossed out, i can’t tag u ; - ;]

; @coldbookworm ; @frankenstein852 ; @neavil ; @shephard17895 @kristineyoshaii ; @airybnb ; @okachansenpai ; @amortentiaxo ; @rinvtaro ; @franko-pop ; @kozutenshi ; @kaldoesthings ; @moonlitdabi ; @chococroissant ; @bleepop ; @kaldoesthings ; @moonlitdabi ; @chococroissant ; @pettybroccoli ; @nixxona ; @kiyoo-omi ; @omibaby ; @bokkunto ; @peccobagnaia ; @sangwoahbigbussy ;

@Kurok1717 ; @hcn421 ; @shinhiromi ; @airybnb ; @katshuya ; @atsuhaya

#jujutsu kaisen imagines #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen headcanons #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk imagines #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento x you #cigarettes and parfaits

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kurtty-drabbles · 3 years

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The mysterious Death of Charles Xavier Part 2

N/A: A bit more set up for this story.

@dannybagpipesarecalling @kurttyfamily @tieflingteeth

The chippering birds are singing loudly on the bare branch of the tree near Maximoff´s household. One girl wearing a purple cloak and spreading towards the woman at the entrance of the house- the woman is wearing scarlet and is holding a teacup hovering in the air- and hugs said the woman. “Miss Maximoff, guess what? I got accept into the school!’

Kitty is beaming as she’s holding the letter of acceptance. Wanda Maximoff hugs the girl, her hand is gloved with velvet red and once the hug is broken, the Scarlet Witch titled her head. “School?”

Kitty beams and explains in one go, without needing to breathe, what really happened, and then takes a moment to breathe. Wanda blinks at the explanation.

“I see, let’s drink tea and talk,” Wanda set the table-one can see the magic items and even feel the charm itself. Kitty is familiar with going to this place, however, Kitty never saw the Darkhold...too advanced and too dangerous.

“So, from what you told me, you want to go to Hellfire School to solve the mystery of Charles Xavier´s death, ok, may I ask why?” Wanda asked curiously as the young pupil is tying up her hair in a ponytail at the last minute.

“Well, I...” she is cut off as a strong wind flips her hair, she looks around to see a new person in the room. “Oh, hello Mr. Maximoff,” Kitty greets him. Pietro rolls his eyes-it´s possible to see the corner of his mouth twisting in a smile- and speaks to the girl.

“I told you to stop calling me that, Mr. Maximoff makes me feel old...and I already have white hair,” he mentions his hair as proof of his words.

Kitty nods sagely. “Ok, Mr. P”

Wanda chuckles at that. Pietro sighs.

“Well, it’s better...and you what you two are talking about? magic stuff?” Pietro asked interested and resembling a curious puppy. Wanda shakes her head.

“Actually no, we´re talking about Kitty going to Hellfire School,” Wanda explained cautiously. “The school where Prof X was murder,” she raises her eyebrows and gesture to Kitty Pryde.

Pietro takes the hint. “So, let me get this straight, you wanna solve another mystery?” Pietro asked, and Kitty nods mutely. “Of course, here we go again, ok...did you know Prof X´ house was a school before the Hellfire took over?”

Kitty denies and now is giving undying attention to Pietro.

“Yeah, the Hellfire used to be a school for all mutants, well, he had a group of mutants called X-Men...Scott was the leader,” Pietro snickers and Wanda gives him a pointy look at him.

“After the death of Prof X, yes Kitty he was called like that, the X-Men disbanded, and re-grouped in other places,” Wanda pipes in calmly.

Pietro grimace now. “Our sperm donor was friends with Prof X,” he looks a bit revolted, “or maybe more than friends when the bald man died...our sperm donor cried like we never saw before, nor we´ll,” Pietro added somberly.

Wanda nods. “Yes, Magneto was so distraught by Prof X´ death...he even tried to take the school to honor his “friend” death," Wanda takes a sip of his cup of tea. “Then, by the intervention of law, Madelyne Pryor got the acquaintance of the school,”

Wanda can see the gears on Kitty´s mind working.

“But, what about Jean Grey? Should she be the one to be the heir? I mean, Prof X had a son ....who rejected him, the school in several ways, even legal ways,” Kitty remembers that story and has the clips saved on her pen drive.

Pietro interjected. “Well, yes. But Jean and Maddy are twins,” Pietro seems to want to make a joke and Wanda shakes her head. “Anyway, Maddy was made the heir for reasons we do not know...and then she and Emma created the Hellfire school, a place for mutants who are real genius!”

kitty blinks remembering this story. This time Wanda scoffs.

“Emma is a bitch,” Wanda replied and Kitty is shocked by the choice of words. “Sorry Kitty, but, she is....we have a bad history. Anyway, it was her idea to make this school so...exclusive,” Wanda is clearly not pleased.

Pietro nods in agreement. “She’s also one of the few telepaths who are powerful enough to hold the title Prof X left open,”

“And to make our sperm donor back off, say what you will about Emma, but she’s truly strong to make Magneto think twice before anything, few have this...privilege,” Wanda replied cooly.

Kitty nods. “And how the body was found? I mean, Prof X is/was a powerful telepath... I find it hard to believe he was murder in the traditional way,”

Pietro and Wanda sent a look to each other.

“Kitten, look, is already too late to say how dangerous and morbid this all is, again, not your first mysterious death nor will be your last...but, Prof X had many secrets, made many enemies...his death is not truly investigated,” the twins talked together.

Kitty holds her tongue to not say how funny that was.

“I know...but like you two said, together! I had to do this once again,” Kitty states conventionally.

Wanda sighs and then speaks. “You know, Reeds tried to solve it...”

Pietro shakes his head. “He’s that smart and I bet he knows what happened but refuses to share it,”

No one argues against that.

Kitty holds her letter. “Well, guess I have to be smarter than him,” she jokes. “and yes, I´ll solve the case,”

“Just be careful, Kitty, those students are scary smart, one of them, moon girl is so smart she...created a dino,” Pietro exclaimed perplexed.

Wanda chuckles. “You have a twin you is a witch. This surprised you?!”

“Wanda, have you made a T-Rex? No, I don´t think so,”

Kitty watches them bicker for some time.

_________________________________________________

Cameron is a rational man, at least, he truly hopes he is. When his daughter develops magic and mutation well, the man was freaking out, but, thanks to Terry, his dear wife, the man got a grip and did the right thing.

This, however, is a matter they both need to discuss quickly as possible. “Terry, listen, I have a friend in New Orleans, he has a house for rent, we can go there...Kitty can study in that School of magic in New Orleans, We can live there,” Cameron suggested.

Terry’s lips are now a thin line. “Look, we´re jumping horses here, your job...how that would work?”

Cameron raises his hand. “We have a filial in New Orleans, I can be transferred there,”

Terry is biting her lips now. “Yes, but the legal process would take a while, plus, we never enter contact with that school, Wanda told us, remember? That New Orleans magic school has time to accept new students...and I think we´re far behind,” Terry responds worriedly.

“True, but I was thinking...maybe Scarlet Witch could...you know, open some door for Kitty,” noticing his wife’s gaze, Cameron amends. “Look, I´m not happy with any of this, but, do you want our daughter to be the sole magic user here?”

Terry blinks.

“I´m a muggle, ok, but even I know Kitty must be lonely here. She’s the only witch in this area, is involved in dark mysterious and well, is the only witch too young to join a coven,” Cameron replied.

“Oh...but she has so many friends, does she needs witch friends?”

“I don´t know, again, I´m a muggle, but, wouldn´t hurt...Kitty can be more close with her magic side, it feels as if we´re trying to force her to choose one side,” Cameron states.

“All paths lead to Hellfire School then, and I hate it, I don´t want them to bully her...look, our daughter may not be magic, but, those kids...” she trails off.

Cameron nods slowly. “I´m afraid too, but let’s be real, what option do we have here, we once tried to lock her in her room to stop her from tangle her in dark mystery, and...we found out her former principal is Satan,”

“Mephisto” Terry corrected.

“Yeah, so...let’s try a new approach, maybe this is just the typical ‘’rich dude is killed for money’’ and will be bored, hey, sometimes rich people kill each other for money, not for Satan,”

The door slams and the two adults jolt.

Kitty enters the house. Still holding the letter. “Mom, dad...”

Terry just hugs her daughter, “tell me, do you want to go to this school?”

Kitty nods.

“Promise to call us?”

Kitty nods.

“Then...fine...guess we have no choice, but, look is temporary, you heard me, temporary!”

#kitty pryde #kurtty #kurt waggner will show up #kurt waggoner #kurtty yet #the maximoff are good twins #not twincest here #wanda and Pietro aren´t fans of Magneto

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onisiondrama · 3 years

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"taking accountability" April 30, 2021, Speaks - James announces he is going to use jump cut editing again so he can keep his videos short enough for Twitter. - He started making Youtube videos because he wanted to help people and make a positive impact in the online community. He thought he had good ideas and millions of people agreed. Eventually, millions of people turned on him because he's a shitty communicator. He trolls too well. People believed he wasn't trying to make people laugh when he poured kombucha on his head. - A lot of Youtubers say they want to take accountability, but they make stupid excuses for why they're a piece of shit. James Charles recently made a "taking accountability" video and blamed all of his problems on teenagers who can't legally consent. He points out James Charles in California where the legal age is 18. He says Shane Dawson was caught doing terrible things and blamed it on his childhood. - You're supposed to take accountability and not make excuses when you make a "taking accountability" video. When you're not caught doing anything or didn't confess, you don't have to take accountability because you didn't do anything. - He wants people to know the difference between people who take accountability and people who are full of shit and make excuses for shit they were caught doing. - Says if you don't know his story, he was blackmailed by an adult (Sarah) because she threatened to destroy his life he he didn't sleep with her. He slept with her and she destroyed his life anyway. She said she was joking when she said she would destroy his life even though she destroyed his life. That means it's clearly not a joke. She apologized twice for raping him and admitted to it on a livestream.

"The Video My Liar Ex Forgot Existed... WHOOPS" May 1, 2021, Speaks

- He says Sirius XM is the shittiest service on Earth. He bought a car with Sirius XM and they called him 20 times asking if he wants to sign up. He keeps hanging up because he doesn't want their shitty radio. He says he thought spam calls were illegal. He tells telemarketers to get a different job. - He says there's a video of him speaking poorly to someone he dated (Shiloh), but it's not him talking. It's him as the Joker and he's dressed as the Joker. If people told you this, it would debunk their case. He speaks to Harley Quinn the way Joker does all the time. His ex says it's real because she's out of her fucking mind. - He says if you don't believe him, look at these bloopers after she was fake crying. He again points out they're dressed as Harley Quinn and the Joker. [He plays the clip where he makes silly noises and asks Shiloh in a silly voice if she's going to cry and if she's going to be super sad. She laughs with watery eyes.] - He says feminism is a lie. He says it's a mechanism to make you believe what she says and he can't say anything back because you deplatformed him. He says a lot of women know feminism is a lie, which is why a lot of women are anti-feminists. Those women are woke.

"Everything Is The Man's Fault" May 1, 2021, Speaks

- James says this is probably going to be a controversial video, but it's the truth. Society will hate you and you'll die a horrible death, but one day people might look back and realize he was telling the truth. Just like him with Shane Dawson. - He dated a chick (Shiloh) 10 years ago and she did a documentary trying to convince people he was a cult leader. - She said something in the doc that didn't happen the way she said it did. He says when he fucks up his hair, he shaves his head. It's what he always does. She agreed to have half of her head shaved as part of a prank. She wanted to look like Skrillex. Problem is, she had really poofy hair, so when she shaved it it was like [he makes a poof sound while gesturing his hands away from the left side and top of his head.] He says it (the hair) didn't make sense. If he was in that position he would shave his head and start over, so he proposed that idea to her. She agreed and they shaved her head. - To prove she didn't look ugly bald and he was still attracted to her- there are people all over the world who are beautiful and bald, like some people from Africa who shave their heads. He points out they were both adults. He says he slept with her after she told him she should shave her head. (Why is he changing his story in the same video? I thought he suggested it?) He shaved her head because she told him. He said he was caring about her feelings (I think he's referring to sleeping with her after?) and he wanted her to not feel ugly, but nobody cares. - He says he guesses if in the future a woman asks him to shave her head, he should duct tape his mouth and throw himself in a cage because everything he does is seen as a threat. If they say yes to something, you can't trust them because 10 years later they might say they didn't want a haircut they told you to give them. - He says that's the current male position. If you're a Youtuber and someone wants to date you, get your stuff surgically removed. Don't bother dating because later on they'll say you're a monster for giving them a chance.

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seraphvvm · 5 years

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before i watch moomin

im gunna hop on the bandwagon here and list off my knowledge and assumptions on the characters based on art, other people talking about it, a few clips ive seen, and skimming a wiki page or two

moomin

little gay man

The Moomin ™

kinda stupit but thats okay..

hes baby

in denial that he and snufkin are boyfriends probably

pushover

snufkin

gay anarchist

tazed a cop

dons his Straightsona when the need arises

weed

also in denial he and moomin are boyed friend

leaves during winter when the moomin hibernate

comes back during spring

sometimes hes bald???

creacher

little my

goblin

older than snufkin?

snufkins half sister

legally cannot say fuck, but gets 👌 this close to it

onion

moominmama

stern but soft

probably cooks good

moominpapa

????

childhood friends with the joxter

used to be a troubleaker probably

the joxter

feral father

has rabies

ive seen a lot about him bein a hunter?? but he cant read???

snufkins deadbeat dad

gets pegged by mymble

also weed

fancy feast

some kind of forest trixter. too lazy to use his powers

too ticky

lesbian creacher

sniff

third wheel cock block

#sans.txt #moomin #moomintroll

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howwelldoyouknowyourmoon · 4 years

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Sun Myung Moon’s lost Paraguay Eco-Utopia

▲ Sun Myung Moon and Hak Ja Han visited their Puerto Leda mansion only once.

Outside magazine by Monte Reel February 20, 2013

Full story: https://www.outsideonline.com/1913791/sun-myung-moons-lost-eco-utopia

Extracts:

A decade before his death, Sun Myung Moon—multimillionaire founder of the controversial Unification Church / FFWPU—sent a band of followers deep into the wilds of Paraguay, with orders to build the ultimate utopian community and eco-resort. So how’s that working out? Monte Reel machetes his way toward heaven on Earth.

... In addition to overseeing the church, which he said aimed to fulfill Jesus’ unfinished mission by establishing a new “kingdom of heaven on Earth,” Moon managed vast commercial interests and called himself a messiah. He was frequently accused of cult practices, in part because some of his hundreds of thousands of followers turned over very personal decisions—including the choice of marriage partner—to him. More than a decade ago, Moon told some members of his church that he wanted them to lay the foundation for a new Garden of Eden in one of the least hospitable landscapes on the planet—northern Paraguay.

Moon was notorious for attention-grabbing gestures: conducting mass weddings in Madison Square Garden, taking out full-page ads in major American newspapers to support Richard Nixon during Watergate, spending 13 months in federal prison for tax fraud and conspiracy in the early ’80s. But during the final years of his life, his Eden-building project kept chugging along well out of the public eye, germinating largely unseen in this remote wilderness of mud.

In 2000, Moon paid an undisclosed amount for roughly 1.5 million acres of land fronting the Paraguay River. Most of that property was in a town called Puerto Casado, about 100 miles downriver from Puerto Leda. Moon’s subsidiaries wanted the land to open commercial enterprises ranging from logging to fish farming. But a group of Puerto Casado residents launched a bitter legal battle to nullify the deal. While that controversy continued to divide Paraguayans, the Puerto Leda project proceeded under the radar. Moon turned the land over to 14 Japanese men—“national messiahs,” according to church documents, who were instructed to build an “ideal city” where people could live in harmony with nature, as God intended it. Moon declared that the territory represented “the least developed place on earth, and, hence, closest to original creation.”

... The [twentieth] century brought utopian colonies of Australian socialists, Finnish vegetarians, English pacifists, and German Nazis. They all failed.

So how are Moon’s followers—or Moonies, as they don’t like to be called—holding up? Hard to say. I’m aware of two other journalists who’ve seen Puerto Leda. One, a British Catholic missionary, visited after the first colonists arrived and was unable to fathom their motives. Maybe they were smuggling drugs, she insinuated in a church magazine [The Tablet December 16, 2000].

... By the time I boarded the Aquidaban, I’d begun to suspect that the National Messiahs in Puerto Leda might have no clue we were coming.

[It was a three-day journey] aboard this muggy cargo boat [in 2012].

... one man, a portly Paraguayan navy guard in military fatigues, awaits [Toni Greaves and myself] at the end of the gangplank.

“Do you have repellent?” he asks.

My skin is lacquered in a stiff coat of stale sweat and deet. “Lots.”

“Good,” he says. “You’ll see at night. We can’t even talk to each other because of the mosquitoes that fly into our mouths.”

... The building in front of us has a peaked terra-cotta roof, brick-and-stucco walls, expansive glass windows, and no fewer than five remote-controlled Carrier air-conditioning units. At the front door, a dozen pairs of leather slippers wait for us. “Very Japanese,” Greaves observes. We remove our dirty shoes and take our first steps into Reverend Moon’s Victorious Holy Place.

All is silent. Wilson flips a switch, throwing light on what appears to be a dining hall. The large wooden tables, each covered with a plastic tablecloth, could accommodate about 100 people. They are vacant.

... A few hundred yards from the guard station, I spot a sportfishing boat docked at the riverside. It’s big—about 30 feet long, fiberglass, with a prominent cockpit. I ask Mister Date about it.

“Ah yes,” he says. “Reverend Moon designed that boat himself. It was brought here from New Jersey.”

... Apparently, the True Father’s fishing jones was a deciding factor in the placement of Puerto Leda. Moon first visited the Paraguay River on fishing trips in the 1990s, and by decade’s end he was cruising down it and ordering church members to wade along the muddy banks to plant 63 signposts demarcating the land he had decided to buy.

▲ Japanese “National Messiahs” with Sun Myung Moon and Hak Ja Han (The Heavenly True Parents 天地父母님 ) on September 23, 1999.

In 1999, Moon called his most devoted Japanese followers to join him on a 40-day spiritual retreat outside Fuerte Olimpo, about 25 miles south of Puerto Leda. I’d read a brief description of those days on a church website. One Messiah had written: “It was very hot and we wanted to bathe in the water. But we could not because piranhas would come. It’s a big problem! Also there are problems with ants. One National Messiah became very sick from an ant bite. It’s a dangerous place. There are all these problems, but Father just says, ‘Ah, the purity of nature!’”

... In addition to calling for a return to Original Creation here, he told his devotees, in 2000, that “we need to build the best underwater palace in the world.”

... Near the end of their [40-days] together, Moon instructed them to build an ecologically sustainable city that could serve as a model for the whole world. The plan, such as it was, lacked specifics; not all of the founders agreed on what the city should look like. Yet they forged ahead, determined to create something extraordinary in a place where wilderness reigned.

Now, as I glance at the scene, I see huge dormitory buildings, guesthouses, and sheds for mechanical repairs. I count seven freshwater fish farms, fully stocked with pacu, a toothy species that looks like an overgrown piranha. I see no other people.

“Normally, there are about 10 of us who live here,” Mister Date tells me. “But this week six are away in Asunción. So there are just four now.”

We walk through early-morning light on smooth sidewalks, past manicured gardens of hibiscus and bougainvillea, beside an Olympic-size swimming pool. A young man hired from a nearby village slowly sweeps a filtering net through the deep end. Nothing—not a single foreign particle—seems to mar the clean blue rectangle of water. We enter a two-story communal building that resembles an office complex. I see Wilson in a small room, tapping away at a computer. We climb a stone staircase to the second floor, following Mister Date into what appears to be a rec room. There’s a television hooked up to a satellite system, and Mister Date pops a disc into a DVD player. The DVD, Mister Date tells us, explains everything.

The footage that flashes across the screen dates from 1999. We see the founding Messiahs walk across untamed wastes—the grounds where we now sit. They lay bricks in wet mud. They sand metal frames. They wash dishes in the river. They wear heavy clothing, light fires to keep the mosquitoes away, and sweat in the wavy heat. They stagger through gale-force winds.

Then, in a clip from 2000, we see Moon himself, touring the partially cleared grounds, wiping sweat from his brow, eating lunch, leaving in a private plane. The footage segues into scenes of the men working feverishly to build a luxury house for Moon and his wife, Hak Ja Han, who visited for a second and final time in late 2001.

▲ Sun Myung Moon and Hak Ja Han visited Puerto Leda twice, but only once after the mansion they ordered built for themselves was completed. They inaugurated the mansion on November 30, 2000 (above). Takeru Kamiyama is standing close to Moon, wearing a pale blue shirt.

▲ The view from the mansion.

The rest of the DVD covers more recent developments, and the highlights—set to swelling orchestral music—unfold like a training montage from Rocky. Messiahs erect the water tower. Man-made fishponds materialize on the grounds. A landing strip is planed flat by tractors. The Messiahs unload saplings from the Aquidaban, then plant them in sprawling groves. A group of about a dozen visiting Japanese students—the children of Unification Church members—help the Messiahs build a school in a nearby village. When the DVD ends and the lights come up, I’m exhausted just from watching all that drudgery. I look at Mister Date’s corded forearms, his gaunt face, his waspy waist. Every aspect of his being seems molded by toil. Even with the help of the local hires, the Messiahs labor all day, usually outside.

“It’s a lot of work just to maintain,” he admits.

The fact that only 10 men live here comes rushing back to me. The colony has actually lost population since its inception, despite all the construction. Four of the original Messiahs have returned to Japan. Only the hardest of the hardcore have stuck it out.

And this raises a couple of questions: Who are these guys? And why have they put themselves through this?

Mister Auki walks across the dining hall carrying a basket filled with whole fish freshly yanked from the river. He’s a short, balding Messiah whose task this morning, as on most days, is to catch something for the grill.

“I caught lots of piranha today,” he tells the men, his face splitting into a smile. “And also a five-kilogram pacu.”

The pacu is now part of the lunch buffet, which the four Messiahs plus Wilson, Greaves, and I spoon onto plates.

... In the beginning, the colonists hoped they would be joined by their wives (as well as many, many more followers). Every August, they invite children of Japanese church members to visit for a couple of weeks, but so far none have chosen to stay on. “My wife thinks that it is not realistic for her to move here yet,” Mister Owada says, “because we still have to raise the standard of living more.”

When I press him on how tough and lonely this must get, Mister Owada says it doesn’t bother him. Moon sanctified his personal sacrifices, promising the men that spiritual rewards would make up for their suffering. “Even if you die, what regret will you leave behind?” Moon asked the founders in 1999.

“We’re risking our lives for this cause,” Mister Owada says, his left eye twitching convulsively. “I like to risk my life,” he continues. “That is doing something worthwhile. We have continued to stick with this.”

Months later, after Moon’s death from complications from pneumonia, I will once again reach out to Mister Date to see if the True Father’s passing affects the Messiahs’ dedication. It doesn’t. They have the blessing of his widow, Mister Date says, and the ongoing feuds among the Moon children won’t affect them. They plan to work on Puerto Leda for at least another decade.

“Of course there is ecotourism potential here,” says Mister Date. We’re standing outside an unfinished three-story brick building near a shed that protects three car-size generators. Mister Date refers to the brick building as “the hotel,” but for the moment its only occupant is a stick-legged baby goat nosing around the food pellets being stored on the ground floor.

... “Why did you stop work on the hotel?” I ask.

He pauses and smiles politely. “In a small place, you can have disagreements easily,” he says. “They’re expecting us to be financially independent, but that’s not easy here.” The Messiahs, it seems, don’t always see eye-to-eye on the best way to reduce their dependence on member donations. Some want to concentrate on agribusiness and scrap the ecotourism idea. The hotel is unfinished because they aren’t sure whether opening the place to outsiders is a good idea.

▲ Puerto Leda from the air.

We walk on, past planted fields of lemongrass, oranges, mangoes, grapefruit, asparagus, sugarcane. The crops are struggling. If agriculture alone is expected to support the colony, there are some kinks to work out. The men have planted thousands of jatropha trees, which can be used to make biodiesel fuel, but hundreds of parrots zeroed in on them and ate all the fruit. During the most recent wet season, rising waters flooded many of the thousands of neem trees.

“It’s been a hard year,” Mister Date admits. “A lot of things have died because they were three months underwater.”

It’s clear that these guys have faith in miracles, and that’s exactly what’s needed here in Puerto Leda. Without one, the Victorious Holy Place seems destined to be another curious monument to human ambition and folly. But watching how hard the Messiahs work, I can’t help but admire their tenacity. The fanaticism that underlies their devotion to this cause must burn hot, but they hide it well. They’re not evangelical. They’re friendly and welcoming to those who don’t share their beliefs. They’re reflexively humble and generous and—whatever I might think of their motives—admirably tough. They’re underdogs. The kind of guys you root for.

During the last hours of my visit, Mister Date shows me something that might actually work out. “Japanese yams,” he announces, staring down at a plot of tilled soil. “They grow very large underground, up to 10 kilograms. They do well here.”

My immediate impulse is to celebrate this victory with hearty congratulations. I’m thrilled for his indefatigable yams. Maybe all the sweat that Mister Date has sunk into this plot will bear a little fruit. Maybe little victories like this can help other people in the Pantanal live richer lives. Maybe that’s enough.

Mister Date stares down at the dirt. “Unfortunately,” he says, “they taste very bad.”

... I head out toward the pool.

▲ The swimming pool at Puerto Leda.

He’s still there, the man with the net, sweeping as if he hasn’t let up since dawn. A shame: I didn’t bring any trunks. But I do have a pair of heavy cotton cargo shorts in my backpack. I walk to the dormitory and return wearing them. I ask the sweeper, “Does anyone ever use this pool?”

“Only the tourists,” he says.

The tourists? Based on a guest book I flipped through earlier, he must be referring to those Japanese students who visit every August, the occasional Paraguayan government official, and Greaves and me. ...

________________________________

Outside magazine https://www.outsideonline.com/

________________________________

Monte Reel’s Between Man and Beast: A Tale of Exploration and Evolution was published in March 2013 by Doubleday.

https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/between-man-and-beast-monte-reel/1113244445#/

________________________________

Sun Myung Moon organization activities in Central and South America

Actividades de la Secta Moon en países de habla hispana

FFWPU President of IAPP Prosecuted for Money Laundering and Drug Smuggling in US Court; may be connected to UC / FFWPU Leadership

#Paraguay #Puerto Leda #Moonies #Sun Myung Moon #FFWPU #Family Federation for World Peace and Unification #Unification Church #天地父母님

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optimusprimeagainstonision · 5 years

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Greg’s Forums

Now... I know this is a really saturated topic but I think it shows how Greg is when it comes to his fans of different races. I remember seeing an old clip of him reviewing fan submitted photos. Some of these girls had acne, scars, stretch marks, or other markings on their skin. Greg said that black women shouldn’t worry about acne because their skin is a “natural concealer”... That’s either racist or disgusting. Take your pick. He said Asian women can’t get acne, but then proceeds to show a young girl who was Asian and did have acne on her forehead then laughed about it. Greg has a very fixed idea of what his ideal woman is. A barely-legal, thin girl with blue hair and is white with flawless skin. His pressure on Kai to dye his hair constantly makes him lose hair faster. By the age of 30 or 35 Kai will be prematurely bald or balding if his dying keeps going at the pace it is. These forums need to be looked at by a lawyer and see if it counts as CP or not.

#anti onision #anti onion boy #anti o community

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marvelousbirthdays · 6 years

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Happy Birthday, sincenothinglasts!

July 10 - Daisy/Redeem!Killmonger, maybe some hurt/comfort with “Let me keep that promise” and hopefully a bit of desperation, recklessness and lot of love (revelation) for @sincenothinglasts

Written by @ozhawkauthor

An AU in which T’Challa didn’t allow Killmonger to die at the end of Black Panther. He sent him to the Jabari and let M’Baku kick his ass into shape for a while. After a year on the border, Erik has learnt a whole lot about Wakanda (and indeed Africa) he never really understood before.

When Thanos comes, Erik is the first to step up by M’Baku’s side and join the fight. After it’s all over and the Snap has been reversed (yes, I’m handwaving here) Erik joins the Wakandan outreach program. T’Challa has a special task for him… liaison to SHIELD, who are back up and running and who need to be fully up to date with the Wakandan tech now being spread around the globe.

Killmonger arrives literally in the middle of a battle as the Watchdogs attack SHIELD and try to pick off the Inhumans. He doesn’t even hesitate before wading into the fight.

Also, I couldn’t resist making it a soulmate fic :D

He wasn’t even armed, but when the massive garage door opened to reveal a fight taking place inside, Erik didn’t even hesitate. He leapt from the car before the stunned driver had even stopped it, snatched a weird-looking shotgun-axe weapon from a brother lying unconscious on the ground, and decapitated the ugly white guy who was about to put a bullet in the brother’s head.

The spray of blood which splattered across the next three ugly white guys made them freeze in their tracks, just long enough for Erik to give them a spray of lead. And that gave him some breathing room, not that he needed it. He rearmed from the dead as he moved, snatching up weapons, emptying them and discarding them when he’d finished.

It wasn’t long before the last few mutts were throwing down their weapons and begging for mercy, though it wasn’t all Erik’s doing. A couple of women had been doing most of the heavy lifting, both slight little things dressed in black. One, a Chinese woman with agelessly beautiful features, cast him a glance and a nod before moving away to start ruthlessly restraining prisoners.

“I could take care of that problem for you,” Erik offered with a twitch of the Uzi he was currently holding. He reckoned he still had half a mag in it. More than enough for the four guys currently pissing their pants at the expression on his face.

“Thanks, but I think you’ve already helped us enough,” a soft voice said at his shoulder, and his head snapped to the side, his eyes widening.

The second woman was no taller or sturdier than the first, slight enough she looked as though a breath of wind might blow her away. Delicate features, slightly tilted dark brown eyes, and a slightly golden cast to her skin said she wasn’t one hundred percent Caucasian, but she wasn’t the colour Erik had expected the woman who spoke his soulmate words to be.

He took a half-step back in unthinking rejection, before catching himself, taking a deep breath. T’Challa would look at him with those disappointed eyes, tell him not to judge on appearances alone. He knew nothing of this woman, nothing of her life, her struggles. All he did know of her was that she was more than human. He’d seen men fall as she flung her hands out towards them, felt the ground tremor under his feet.

“Daisy Johnson,” his soulmate said, holding out a small hand. “And yes, if you read the newspapers, that Daisy Johnson, leader of the Inhumans and currently in the Saviour of Humanity phase rather than the Evil Mastermind.”

He couldn’t help a grin at that, accepting her hand in his and feeling the smallness of it, the softness of her skin.

“And you must be Erik Killmonger, only monarch I’ve ever heard of with an even shorter reign than Lady Jane Grey.”

Ouch. That burned. He winced.

“Or are you going by N’Jadaka now?”

It sounded good on her lips, not stilted or awkward the way a lot of non-Wakandans said it. He could almost get used to it, hearing it from Daisy, even though he hadn’t used the name in two decades.

He was opening his mouth to reply when the most medium-looking white guy he’d ever seen came up to him. Medium height, medium looking, medium balding, medium priced suit… seriously, he’d never seen a dude so likely to fade into the background. If he hadn’t seen the SHIELD Director’s picture, he’d never have guessed this was Phil Coulson.

“Mr Coulson.” He offered his hand to shake respectfully. Dude might be white, but according to all reports he had a pair of solid vibranium balls under that medium suit.

“Mr Killmonger.” Coulson shook his hand, smiled at him with surprising warmth. “Thank you for your assistance with that little problem. Your arrival was most fortuitous.”

“You’re welcome.” Looking around, Erik saw the big brother whose shotgun-axe he’d stolen was back on his feet, leaning on the shoulder of a slender Latina woman. “Any casualties?”

“Not of ours, thanks in part to you.”

“You’re welcome.” To his surprise, it felt good to be thanked for what he’d done by instinct. Killing in defence of the good guys? Maybe he was useful for something, after all. His chest puffed up a little higher. Daisy was smiling at him too, and that made him feel even better, as good as the first time he took that crazy heart-shaped herb, almost.

He still hadn’t spoken to her, he realised, opened his mouth again to try and speak, but the moment passed as she suddenly hurried past him to embrace another young woman, crying;

“Jemma, thank goodness you’re all right!”

“This way, please, Mr Killmonger,” Coulson said pleasantly.

“Erik,” he said, suddenly uncomfortable with the name he’d claimed for himself. “Erik Stevens is my legal name.”

“It certainly carries better associations, but we can call you by whatever name you prefer.” Coulson’s expression was mischievous. “Agent Killmonger would sound pretty intimidating, especially with the way you look, and there are times when that could be useful. Pair you with an innocent-looking young agent like Agent Johnson and you could play good cop/bad cop very effectively.”

“I’m pretty sure she’s a pretty badass cop, considering what I just watched her do,” Erik said dryly.

The corners of Coulson’s medium-blue eyes crinkled up. “Keep that in mind and you’ll do just fine with her,” he said, handing Erik a lanyard.

Once he plucked up the guts to speak with her, that is. As he followed Coulson down the passage deeper into the underground base, he rubbed the fingers of his right hand over the inside of his left elbow in an unconscious gesture.

He’d been five when the words appeared, a glimmering silver beneath his skin. His father had been shocked and resigned… after all, his own soulmate was an American, a woman he could not marry because of his closeness to the throne. N’Jobu had accepted that he would never sit on the throne.

Erik had just hoped he’d meet a Wakandan woman who would speak to him in English. It didn’t matter now, of course. Part of the terms of his pardon were his resigning forever any claim to the throne. He was no longer restricted from marrying a non-Wakandan.

Which was good. Since he’d been waiting a long time for his soulmate to turn up.

Gently, he touched the words again, hidden under the sleeve of his leather jacket. He’d been careful never to scar over them, wanting to ensure his soulmate would recognise her writing, just in case there was any doubt.

Glancing back over his shoulder just before they turned the corner, he caught a last glimpse of Daisy. She was watching him, her brow furrowed, even as she spoke with her friend.

Well. At least he’d have time to think up what he was going to say to her.

Two weeks later

“He hates my guts.”

“Of course he doesn’t!” Mack gave her a startled look. “Why would you think that?”

“He’s never spoken so much as a single word to me.” Daisy picked moodily at her fingernails, watching as Erik moved through a training exercise with May. May was overmatched and she knew it, but she certainly wasn’t giving in. Erik had to work damned hard for every fall. Stripped to the waist, his scarred skin glistening with sweat, he was sexy enough to make Daisy shiver a little with delight. Eyes riveted to his every move, she barely heard Mack’s response.

“He’s talkative enough with everyone else. Maybe he likes you, likes you.” A huge elbow nudged her ribs.

“What are we, twelve?” Daisy scoffed, and then shot to her feet as an alarm shrilled. Erik and May were right behind her as she sprinted along the corridor to the operations centre.

They’d need two teams, Daisy realised with a quick glance at the objectives up on the screens. Coulson was already making the assignments.

“May, you’ll fly in with Mack and Yoyo. Daisy, you and Erik at ground level. Motorbikes will be quickest; May can drop you from the quinjet.”

“Sir, yes sir!” Erik barked, and Daisy slid a sideways glance at him, recalling that he’d been Special Forces with the US Army for some years. His natural reaction to tactical orders, she guessed. Hopefully, he’d respect hers in the field.

As she left the centre at a dead run to head for the armory, she heard Phil speak to Erik.

“You watch her back out there, you hear me?”

“I promise, sir. I’ll bring her back safe.”

Well, at least he liked her that much. Daisy smiled slightly to herself and kept running.

* * *

Coulson barked clipped orders over the radio in his ear, and Erik acknowledged when he could. Which wasn’t too often, because he was thoroughly occupied keeping up with Daisy. She strode through the enemy base they were assaulting, waves of focussed vibration flung out in front of her as effective as a battering ram. He took to running backwards, assault rifle poised and ready, looking for the threat from behind which could take her down when her attention was focussed ahead. If he didn’t see the shooter in time, maybe his body armour could take the bullet instead, as long as he stayed close enough.

Of course, what happened was she stopped suddenly and he ran backwards into her, taking both of them over in a heap.

“What the fu…” Daisy said, and then there was an ominous crack.

“Shit!” Erik was back on his feet in an instant, spinning around in a low crouch, surveying their location for danger before dropping to one knee at Daisy’s side. There was a metal table just beside her, and he realised with horror that she’d hit her head on the corner on the way down. There was an ugly contusion on the side of her head, blood beginning to flow into her hair.

“Coulson, Quake is down,” he said rapidly into his comm. “It was an accident, she fell and hit her head.”

“Can you exfiltrate?” Coulson asked almost immediately.

“If I go back the way we came, yes. I can’t carry her and shoot my way out, though. She’s not conscious.” At least her pulse was strong and steady under Erik’s panicked fingertips.

“The way you came is clear. Fitz has full control over the surveillance and security systems; I’ll put him on to guide you out.”

“Copy that.” Slinging his rifle around to his back, Erik pulled a field dressing from a leg pocket and slapped it on the contusion on Daisy’s head. It would have to do until he could get her to Simmons and proper medical attention.

She was light as he lifted her, and he marvelled yet again at how much lethality was packed into such a small, delicate-appearing form. Her head lolled against his shoulder as he set off back the way they’d come at a dead run.

“You’re jostling me,” a small voice said as he emerged from the building, and Erik heaved a sigh of relief.

“Sorry, angel. Can’t be helped,” he said without thinking, and Daisy went rigid in his arms.

“What did you say?”

“Oh, shit.” He thought fast, nothing useful came to him. “I… said whoops, I think I’m your soulmate and this is really not the time to discuss how I’ve been too chicken to speak to you so far? How about you let me keep that promise to get you back to Coulson almost unscathed, and we can talk about it later?”

They’d reached the spot where they left the bikes, and he lowered her carefully to her feet. She wobbled; there was no way she could ride alone, and they both knew it. Throwing a leg over his bike, he reached out his hand to her.

“We’re definitely talking about this later, mister,” Daisy said as she accepted his hand and climbed on the bike behind him, nudging his rifle to the side so she could put her arms around his waist and lean against his back.

Her slight weight leaning into him so trustingly triggered the most intensely heart-warming sensation. Taking one hand off the handlebars, Erik put it over hers on his abdomen.

“We can talk about anything you wish.”

Slender fingers twisted to link with his. “Now you’ve found your tongue, we will.” She giggled a little naughtily, and her next words made him wonder if she was concussed. “Though I might have a better use for it than talking.”

(Later on, he discovered she wasn’t concussed. She definitely did have a better use for his tongue than talking).

#killmonger #Daisy Johnson #Quakemonger #soulmates

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rennyji · 3 years

Text

July 21st Morning Tweets...

---

So in the third mentioning of some of the epic Indian Mohanlal movies is the movie:“Yodha”- not Star Wars yodha or is that Yoda?!- I feel YodHa is a movie ahead of its time, and am surprised that for that time period, the creators had the imagination and budget. It’s a movie about a man who travels to Nepal and rescues one of those Enlightened bald Buddha like kids from something evil, as he is destined to be a protector. The boy is referred to as “Rimpochay” but is nicknamed “Unni Kutta” based on how his bald head reminds the main character of an egg. One of the advice passed onto Rimpochay, while they’re on the run, is, always be and look ur best. Mohanlal’s words, I believe, are to “look smart”. I think all Indians at one time or another, before America were about ironing their clothes, shaving, looking their best. I think the Brits still have this idea. To be at the risk of being conceited, when my balding fat self goes places, it’d be nice if the superficial orchestrators stopped using my cultural practices for entertainment. Whatever I am, however I am, I’m just a regular guy, minding his own business.

---

After a decade of nonsense and degrading cr*p, using some things I wanted to pass on, after literally having my senses restored from removing myself from some things, the secondary orchestrators (different from the primary) may try to sum up the entirety of their phenomena as something spiritual and magical from whats passed on a decade later. In the Bible, it’s projected that we shouldn’t judge others. Why? Because what you see in an instant of time is the amalgamation of several preceding past incidents, emotions, memories, thought process, personal interactions, and so much more…without any of that, who the h*ll are any of us to judge another…But that doesn’t apply to the phenomena…you actually “know” it’s happening vs me, that too from the beginning, middle, and end. Don’t insult words and actions that stand out in the world or our minds, by comparing a disgusting scenario as something that also stands out, based on some interesting incidents in passing. To the orchestrators, how low will you go with evading personal space for entertainment? Will you even intrude in a prayer to Almighty God for your ends? I mean what do you say to that?

---

So I admire the gentleness in most women and the femininity to their voices...but I've also come to admire strength. A decade, a decade and a half ago, with the my same appreciation for nice things, beauty, and in that spirit: beautiful women, I think, when it came to looking towards serious things like a future, I would've settled on any pretty face. After a decade and a half in h*ll, where I face off against America, their sadistic government, law enforcement, military (who like to watch you bleed before taking ur life in whatever advanced means at their disposal), the America who mislead the entire world, being against me, I have one additional criteria to nice smiles in my life partner...

I need a strong woman like in the first clip...

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7tH1FzD1YY8

-I need a woman who I can face off armies with, figurative and maybe even literal (as who knows what America will do with mind reading/mind control, and then combining it with my perspectives on religion to result in crowds being sedated rather than acting on/living the perspective).

-Note the second clip. I mean white, black, brown, East Asian translucent to yellowish tan, whatever...ultimately, I need a woman who's insightful and will able to exercise her anger and powers of communication. I need a woman of strength.

-From 300, Check out Leonidas's wife amidst the Spartan council/her speech, and how she doesn't cry when humiliated by the man towards the end, but acts accordingly to a traitor of her nation for that time...

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=15pCcwtCS

I need a woman whose gentle and fierce/a fighter. Gentle as a breeze but fierce as a storm. Also someone who will give me peace of mind.

---

So knowing the orchestrators will provoke me more if I say it, I’m gonna say I’m gonna stop with talk related to the following cr*p anyway (I.e. trying to get me to think things):

So, call me crazy, “but I detect a pattern of movement” that comes along as “what is this really about?/or is that what it is?/ as a matter of fact this/that…” in speech/conversation.

There are “other patterns of human behavior,” but this is what caught my interest.

You wanna know the truth? For the last decade and a half, I have been talking about the very thing steering you, getting you to talk, as it evolved through the years in the things it involves or it’s various complexities. I mean, list it out in terms of what all this increasingly involves…what does it for the primary (v.s. the Secondary)orchestrators when they’re horny, is to get me to go on for years about a girl… I think they try to make all of this about a girl, a stray group of kids…and hey, maybe the party school may not have been as bad as pictured-when they could’ve been managing something with the cards dealt to them (rather carelessly), from someone more authoritative… Now, for the sake of argument, I moved to another country and lived there for a year, when the orchestrators, randomly, abruptly, had family members, remove me from that country for bizarre reasons at the time. I’m back in America and the rest is history. I was being in another country like India, while being named first in programming training camps, 5 times in a row, when I, a computer science graduate from a state school, was studying/competing, among electrical, chemical or whatever engineers…what is the relevance of a girl or stray kids for that context/time period? A decade and a half later, what is its relevance? If any of you really share the sentiment of “hey bro, what is this really about?” This is about ur American government trying to complete a secret project with everyone’s help, hiding in plain sight, while what comes off as a party school in behavior in sounds, distracts everyone with sweet/wonderful things, to sedate your true reactions to an abomination, while numbing me with ECT procedures for talking about the reality that is actually transpiring, or to get you the audience to take it lightly when ur police make me walk without shoes without talking to me, or years later, gather round me again through 4 suvs… Not even Hitler and the Nazis were this cunning when they experimented on the Jews for eye color and things…and how long was World War II?according to Google, it was 6 years long, from September 1, 1939 – September 2, 1945 . 6 years for the Jews and more for me, because they don’t look as Middle Eastern as me, maybe? how long was the individual experiments on the Jews in Nazi Germany? Did it involve the world, or even that part of Europe, in its entirety? Ive learned through this decade plus of war/experimentation on an individual-that too shamefully to me i.e. one of your American citizens-“you can never trust an American. “ They’re all instruction based acts as a people. Your actions speak louder than words. Americans will stab you in the back, in their relentless actions, be it getting family members to betray you, doctors to shock ur brain, or having the police come at you in 4 vehicles.

-At this time, I’m asking the American pagan gods to leave me be…out of my mind, out of my life. Know I spit on your flags in front of my house daily and if I could uproot it from the front of my house, I’d wipe my a*s with it, for a decade of senseless torture.--…a devil worse than Hitler shouldn’t even get that much nourishment through my spit on its symbol of hatred and lack of freedom…man it’s the craziest thing…right after writing this, it felt like my mom nodded in approval. So happy she magically knew and agree. -Punish my family and me more oh esteemed (but not really esteemed) nation of nations, oh America…I’d bow before you but ummm I have sour knees…

I mean there’s that, and of course free will - I only bow before The God, capital "G".

---

In an old 300 page elaboration of a complaint, upon realizing there’s a reaction to my writing from the cars below the hill my studio apartment house that it rested on, I said “darkness thrives in the void, but always yields to lasting light.” In broad daylight, a great evil is happening. Because of modern times, American corniness to things, seeing me in the ways I’m seen, you don’t take those words with the same seriousness. Darkness thrives in the void means in broad daylight, something, by very nature against the legal system l and free will, is happening. Be warned. I even said “time immemorial with the that sentence mentioned. The flaws of human behavior date at least as far back as 2000 years, in the days of Christ. Human nature, in its flaws, continues…

My perception towards all this is through a Psalm, a priest from my old Church directed my way: Psalm 3…

It goes:

Lord, how many are my foes!

How many rise up against me!

(Literally the world is one team of conviction and practice towards me, at least through instruction following in place of what’s in the heart. In this regard, a foe, an enemy, are those who don’t heed my words and talk to me, but instead obey the instructions from the false American gods about how I allegedly want my reality, my world, to be.

Many are saying of me,

“God will not deliver him.(B)”[b]

(The primary orchestrators wants me to ponder,through a spiteful tone, in the spirit of the pagans of old: “where is your God?”)

But you, Lord, are a shield(C) around me,

my glory, the One who lifts my head high.(D)

(If I “appear ‘in forms’ of my head high”, (and don’t want ur pity in this”) know that I ur neighbor( in the spirit of the Golden Rule) am the product of a decade plus abuse. Inside is fire.

I call out to the Lord,(E)

and he answers me from his holy mountain.(F)

(The Lord directs me with seemingly ridiculous answers in places and purchases and words and actions, so that I may endure)

I lie down and sleep;(G)

I wake again,(H) because the Lord sustains me.

(Self explanatory)

-6

I will not fear(I) though tens of thousands

assail me on every side.(J)

(I.e. the world, that America’s deception and trickery, misled against me. I will not bow to the law enforcement or military or the false American gods

-or their undeserved technology - probably given to them in the same way the Greek god, Ares, screws humankind by giving them weapons ahead of their time, in the movie, Wonder Woman, so that theyll destroy each other...)

Arise,(K) Lord!

Deliver me,(L) my God!

Strike(M) all my enemies on the jaw;

break the teeth(N) of the wicked.

(After a decade plus of invisible torture, while publicly portrayed in a different, probably pleasant, light, be sure justice and vengeance are a deep desire of mine.

With some people, they truly are destined for h*ll itself. A decade plus of showing the other cheek, using words-this verse from Psalm 3 shows, from the Old Testament, that even vengeance in place of forgiveness, will be with God’s backing, in extraordinary circumstances.

In Matthew 13:41-42, our preacher of love and forgiveness, but who also speaks of bringing the sword, says:

41 The Son of Man will send out his angels, and they will weed out of his kingdom everything that causes sin and all who do evil. 42 They will throw them into the blazing furnace, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.

Not even Christ will act on the weeping and gnashing of teeth of those thrown into the fire to be burned, after great evils…as I said before, if we are the Body Of Christ, those responsible for my situation are like tumors/cancers that will be removed from the Body of Christ.

Christians, at least, from whom I’ve run into, are thinking religion is a wishy washy thing where your minds get into some drunken high.

Christianity “is” “about” peace, but also about being vigilant, alert, focused, through pursuits of the mental Kingdom of God.)

From the Lord comes deliverance.(O)

May your blessing(P) be on your people.

(The evil Americans, after a decade of realization on my part and indigestible evil from theirs, (from my Indian dialect vs the overall language: “gray-hic-an pat-Atha maha vir-thee-aid-a/do-shum…”), the Americans will not stop, despite actual cries for help from me for 10+ years - and that’s when their delusion based thinking, thinks that God will pity their cries in the eternal fire.

It is said by Christ,

In Matthew 25:40,

It is said,

And the King shall answer and say unto them, ‘Verily I say unto you, inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these My brethren, ye have done it unto Me.’

In these hard times, all I needed was a witness to tell me my conclusions on what’s transpiring are true or confirming that something is in fact, transpiring. I could’ve used that to end a decade plus of suffering and abuse. But you chose and followed the false gods, in the primary orchestrators

It is said:

In Matthew 25:35-40,

35 For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in,(A) 36 I needed clothes and you clothed me,(B) I was sick and you looked after me,(C) I was in prison and you came to visit me.’(D)

37 “Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? 38 When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? 39 When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?’

40 “The King will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.’

You inflicted this 10 year nonsense on God Himself, through the third person of the Christian Trinity: the Holy Spirit, which resides in every human and walks with them from Baptism. For the Hindus and others, I think this relates to the belief of “Atman”…

I pray that at the designated time for the end of my problem, before this world and the orchestrators and their timeline, that God will bless me with divine deliverance, with or without His true people.

---

Always bear in mind that World War II lasted 6 years, where 6 million Jews were murdered & some experimented on with things like eye color...that was by European Hitler...- -today theAmerican false gods, inMoreThan aDecade of mindExperiments,usingHumanity as itsRightHand, torment anIndian, or MiddleEastern lookingMan... Even World War II-a 6 yearSituation where @ least those Jews had privilege of humanCompany - does it compare 2 what theAmericans do, where they leave me with no one to even talk to for a decade plus, and have humanity on one side in belief/practice vs me?

---

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jessahmewren · 6 years

Text

Creative Coercion Chapter 1 of 2: Thoughts that Breathe

Written for @thexmasfileschallenge and tagging @today-in-fic

Day 14: Chocolate

-0-0-0-

“At the touch of love, everyone becomes a poet.” –Plato

-0-0-0-

He was watching her. Scully could feel the heavy heat of his eyes, the way he tracked her movements, slight as they were, as her pen moved across the page.

“Say it, Mulder.”

He cleared his throat, and while she did not look up at him, she could feel the slight disturbance in the air as he crossed his legs and leaned back a little in his office chair. She also knew without looking at him that he was peering at her intently and with the slightest glint of mischief.

“Say what,” he asked with a convincing display of ignorance.

She stilled her movements, stopping her pen on the gentle arc of a cursive “L” mid-stroke and looked up at him. He radiated warmth; from the honey-gold tint of his skin to the gentle smile that played along his lips to his open disregard for personal space, Mulder was warmth and light and knowing even on his worst days.

A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth as she relented, forgetting to be angry with him for whatever it was that was supposed to have angered her. He seemed to sense this, instincts ever acute, and his smile broadened.

“Go out with me tonight.”

The pen slipped from her grip and clattered to the concrete floor of the basement office. “Shit,” she muttered sullenly, hoping her momentary lapse of composure would dissuade Mulder from his latest entertainment: watching her squirm.

Her heart was still catching up to her breath when Mulder reached down and scooped up the pen before she could get to it. He waggled it teasingly in front of her.

“Go out with me. Tonight.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, hands protectively draped over the paper she’d been writing on.

“No.”

He appeared wounded, but she knew from their usual dance that this was merely part of the act. She narrowed her eyes at him. “What would you have me say, Mulder?”

He pursed his lips, the fascinating curve of his chin jutting forth ever so slightly. "I would have you say yes,“ he said simply. His eyes sparked with a new curiosity as he noticed her hands shielding the paper on lap. "What were you writing, anyway?”

Scully unconsciously spread her fingers in an attempt to hide her activities, shrugging her shoulders as if to feign disinterest despite the tension in her arms. "Nothing,“ she said tightly as her fingers curled over the edge of the legal pad. She averted her eyes.

It was no use. Once Fox Mulder was on the trail of something, be it person or thing, he wouldn’t stop until he was satisfied. His eyes centered on the small legal pad she now held crushed against her breasts. He was coiled, ready to spring on her, and there was a predatory gleam in his eye as he slowly approached her.

"No, Mulder,” she said warningly. "You wouldn’t dare.“

Her eyes were wide, the whites almost blue as she stared at Mulder defiantly. Secretly, he smiled, for he already knew what lay pressed against those lovely breasts of hers. The hobby she had taken as of late, a means of relaxing after especially difficult cases.

He smiled knowingly and tilted his head, looking at her. "And indeed there will be time to wonder, ‘Do I dare?’ and, 'Do I dare?’” he recited with an air of haughtiness, “time to turn back and descend the stair…with a bald spot in the middle of my hair.’” He chuffed dryly and looked at her, his eyes sparkling. “At least I still have all my hair, Scully.”

She quirked her mouth into a tight smile, relaxing a bit at his humor. "You’re hardly Prufrock, Mulder.“ But he’s never sounded sexier, she finished inwardly. She pursed her lips. "Have you been going through my desk again?”

He leaned into her space, allowing his knuckles to brush casually against the fabric of her blouse. He slipped the pen into her hand, noting the change in her breathing, how she straightened almost imperceptibly at the newness of his proximity.

“Go out with me tonight,” he said sultrily, “and I’ll keep your secret Scully.” He narrowed his eyes darkly, but failed to drive all of the amusement from them. “Turn me down again, and there will be photocopies of your latest verse on every bulletin board on every floor of this building come Monday morning.”

She scowled, refusing to meet his eyes. If she turned her head only slightly to the right, their lips would meet. He smiled to himself. Her deep frown had wrought that line in her brow that only appeared when she was thoroughly pissed off. He could smooth it with his tongue…

“I hope you know that’s cruel, Mulder,” she said to the corner of the room. “Impossibly cruel.”

He opened his lips to speak, and she could feel the faint puff of air from that movement brush against her cheek. “No more cruel than you constantly turning me down, Scully.” His lips curled into a languid smile, enjoying the effort it took for her not to turn her face into his.

Damn him, she thought. Scully sighed. Perhaps giving in to him was the best way to thwart these relentless advances and finally get some peace. She met his gaze, her nose nearly brushing his, her arms folding even more protectively over the yellow legal pad. "Fine,“ she spat out. "But don’t pick me up. I’ll meet you there.”

-0-0-0-

Scully sat in a dark alcove of the jazz club, her thighs pressing into the cool leather upholstery of the booth as ribbons of nerves alternately tied and unknotted themselves in the pit of her stomach. This isn’t a date, she reassured herself. This is two people having dinner.

The club was draped in royal blue velvet, suffused with gas lamps and candlelight and shrouded in shadows. The table she had been directed to upon arriving was a secluded corner booth situated in the back of the club; it sat in near darkness, not far from the bar but removed from the general floorplan. Despite its seclusion, Scully had a clear view of the stage where a sultry, statuesque woman sang Billie Holiday in the pale eye of a single spotlight.

Scully passed a nervous hand over her hair; it was swept to the side and secured with a simple silver clip. She wondered suddenly if she shouldn’t have taken more time with it. Her heart was racing, and she took another long sip of her chardonnay in an attempt to slow it.

Just two people having dinner who just happened to be extremely attracted to one another, she thought bleakly.

On the tail of that thought, she looked up in time to see Mulder enter through a side door, his tailored suit a dark charcoal grey. He wore no tie, and the first three buttons of his shirt were undone.

I’m screwed, she thought. He caught her eyes across the room and he smiled; it was a brilliant, genuine smile he reserved only for her. His face was tan and smooth, and his eyes were the color of chocolate.

More than screwed. She took another sip of her chardonnay.

Mulder settled across from her in the booth. He was more stripped down and relaxed than she had seen, and Scully was drawn to him.

“Thank you for coming,” he said a little sheepishly. "I wasn’t sure you would.“

She was surprised by his demeanor, by the apparent absence of his usual ease and confidence. She set her mouth. "You didn’t give me much choice,” she said flatly. “What with blackmailing me and all.”

He laughed then and motioned to a server. “I wouldn’t say it was blackmail, exactly,” he said, eyeing her, “but I will admit to employing a little creative coercion to get you to say yes.”

Her mouth quirked into a tight smile. "Creative coercion,“ she parroted. "That sounds like blackmail to me.”

Mulder only looked at her, the light from the single candle on their table playing softly against the smooth planes and angles of his face. "So how long have you been writing,“ he asked her quietly.

She dipped her head slightly, studying a stray bubble on the surface of her chardonnay. When she lifted it again, she met his eyes. "Since high school,” she said easily. "But I put it down for awhile. For a long time, actually.“ She smiled softly. "Figured now was as good a time as any to take it back up again.” She fingered the stem of her wine glass.

He nodded thoughtfully as the server arrived with his scotch and placed a fresh chardonnay in front of Scully. She smiled at him, a soft, blushing show of gratitude that Mulder instantly envied. He held the amber liquid up to the candle and watched the light refract, creating a brilliant kaleidoscope that complimented the cut crystal tumbler. He took a swig.

Scully was beautiful, always beautiful, but tonight she was even more so. His throat tightened as he looked at her, ivory skin stretched over the elegant structure of her shoulders and neck. Black lace capped each shoulder, framing her face, providing a neutral canvas for the shock of deep red that colored her full lips. It was that hue that peppered the apples of her cheeks and sparked in the deep blue of her eyes. The blush was the chardonnay, he decided, but he envied that too, preferring that his attentions rather than any libation be responsible for sullying such perfect skin.

“So,” she began, a bit unnerved by his attention and needing to break the tension between them. “Did you see anything you like?”

He swallowed hard, his eyes flitting to the lovely swell of her chest. He’d seen plenty that he liked. Plenty. Now if only–

“Mulder?“

He looked up to find Scully staring at him, a bit bewildered. "Hmm?

Her clear laugh broke through the fog of his fancy and he took another drink of scotch.

"I asked if you liked any of my poetry,” she said with a little uncertainty. “Did you?”

Mulder set the glass down heavily and watched the remaining contents settle in the bottom. "I didn’t read them,“ he said quietly. "I recognized what I was reading almost immediately and decided not to invade your privacy any more than I already had.” He swallowed. "Than I already do.“ He looked at her warmly and strangely apologetically.

She exhaled, somewhat chagrined by the amount of relief she felt, and concentrated on the smooth, steady beat of the music to temper her anxiety. Mulder had grown up with a with a finer pedigree…the last thing she needed was him critiquing her very amateurish attempt at poetry. Still, that he had exercised such restraint, such respect for her creative thoughts was warming.

"Well, she said teasingly, drawing out the vowel, "would you like to hear one?” She caught his eyes over her raised glass, a prim smile on her face.

He swallowed, looking into her deep blue eyes with some trepidation. Was he ready to hear the innermost ponderings of her heart? And what would be the repercussions of that? What if the ponderings of that heart were the tortured verses of a damaged life, words scarred by uncertainty and secrecy, for most of which he was to blame? Was he prepared to truly see Dana Scully for who she was, without pretense?

“When you’re ready to share,” he said quietly, hoping that time would be later rather than sooner. He was fiercely protective of her trust; he and Scully had run the emotional gamut in the years they had known each other. They had a partnership built on absolute trust. Mulder was skeptical of anything that might threaten that, even if it held the promise of bringing them closer together.

The server arrived with their meals; Spaghetti Carbonara for Mulder and for Scully a mushroom ravioli. Scully shot Mulder a questioning glance, knowing she hadn’t ordered and that none of the other patrons were eating. He only smiled. They ate, the smooth jazz thrumming around them, cushioning the comfortable silence between them.

Mulder had shared a handful of actual meals with Scully. Most of the food the time their meals had been in the context of work–shared Thai in the back of a surveillance van, or fast food stuffed down in their shared basement office. Every now and then they would have a quick meal in a backwater town and then it was back to chasing little grey men.

He would make the most of this night, he thought as he watched her chew, drinking in the savoring and slow way she worked her tongue around the fork. Her eyes drifted to half moons, her face relaxed as flavor exploded over her tongue. She did not swallow right away; she grew still, her mouth smooth and lips full, and then she opened her eyes to look at him watching her. In the stasis he longed to kiss her, to share in whatever enraptured her so, but instead he sat there at the little corner table, his growing erection straining against the prison of his slacks and watched Scully tip her chin ever so slightly heavenward as the morsels slid their way down her sinuous throat.

“I can hear you thinking,” Scully said rather intimately as she looked up over her empty plate. She angled her head until the candle in the center of the table cast one-half of her face in shadow. "Are you going to tell me why you coerced me into coming here tonight Mulder?“ Her eyes were warm, luminous with the satisfaction of a delightful meal and good company.

Mulder licked his lips. "Is that what this is,” he asked quietly, acknowledging to himself the low burlap of his voice, a direct result of his aroused state. He took another swig of scotch, slowly dragging his eyes away from her breasts and up to her face. "Coercion?“

She noted immediately the change in his demeanor. He was no longer the quasi-shy boy on a date; it hadn’t suited him anyway. Maybe it was the scotch, but Mulder’s eyes were dark and they glittered with a dangerous light.

"You said so yourself,” she said, leaning forward, testing the waters. “Creative coercion.”

He pressed his lips together. "Maybe I just wanted to watch you eat,“ he said. "It reminds me of a poem.” He worked his mouth, his groin twitching at the thought of that fork ensconced in her warm, wet mouth.

Mulder scooted closer to her, needing to diminish their distance, sliding over the smooth leather seats until his body was angled with hers, but not touching. He noted her curious glance, but also how she did not shirk away from him. Good, he thought. There is that at least. His arm ran along the back of seat, dangerously close to her hair. Her heart was beating double-time and it was suddenly a conscious effort to breathe.

“Don’t be polite,” he began in a low rasp, “Bite in.”

Scully pulled in her lower lip and worried it between her teeth. A coil of heat unspooled and settled in the pit of her stomach. She could feel the wetness of arousal between her legs.

“Pick it up with your fingers and lick the juice that may run down your chin,” he recited, gently moving a portion of her hair away from her shoulder, exposing it to the cool air. "It is ready and ripe now, whenever you are.“

"Mulder…” she began, already breathless, already weak, not wanting him to stop but needing him to, needing for their assigned roles to main intact.

He ignored her, choosing instead to slip his fingers beneath her hair until they rested hot against the back of her neck. "You do not need a knife or fork or spoon or plate or napkin or tablecloth,“ he puffed against her ear. His face was very close to hers, angled to her neck. Sniffing her? she wondered wildly. She felt dizzy.

”…for there is no core, or stem, or rind, or pit, or seed, or skin, to throw away.“

The tip of his nose just brushed the delicate skin below her ear, and she bit down on a gasp. Had he kissed her? No, she decided, he had not, but he was slowly driving her mad.

"That was…” she searched for a suitable adjective. “Erotic.”

He smiled, exhaling a short little amused huff, and she could feel the warmth of it stirring the tiny hairs on her neck.

“'How to Eat a Poem’ by Eve Merriam,” he rumbled darkly.

“Never heard of her,” she managed tightly. Mulder still hovered by her neck, agonizingly close to closing his lips over her throat, and all she could think of was how she wished he would.

“She wrote children’s poems mostly, like that one,” he replied, drawing out the last few words as his lips brushed her hair.

“That was no children’s poem,” Scully countered thinly, her eyes half-closed. She ached for him, the warning bells in the back of her mind long quieted. She needed his touch, the taste of him in her mouth. She wanted him sunk deep within her, hard and fast until she was sore the next morning. She needed him.

“So much of poetry is about perspective,” Mulder said, quietly withdrawing. Her body sang plaintively at his retreat, but the rational, self-punishing part of her was happy for it. He looked into her eyes. "So much of the enjoyment of poetry is what we bring to it.“

She took another sip of her chardonnay, swallowing until her hand no longer shook. She carefully placed the glass on the table alongside her empty plate, and that’s when she saw it.

Fox Mulder, angled in the booth beside her, was fully aroused.

She swallowed hard, trying to rake her eyes away from the prominent tent of his trousers. I did that, she couldn’t help but think. Me.

His face was flushed slightly, his pupils dark. He looked feral, on the verge of losing control despite his placid expression. She had seen him like this only a few times, but the engine of that transformation had never been sex, but rage. And, she admitted, she’d been wary of what he might be capable of in those moments. Now, though, standing in the blistering heat of his near-volatile passion, she wanted to be engulfed. She wanted the sun of his desire to completely consume her, to burn away every shred of who she had been before she had met Fox Mulder.

She tore her eyes away from him long enough to see the server arrive and retrieve their plates, and Mulder straightened in his seat. She was thankful for the reprieve, but she also rued it. An idea presented itself then, and before she had time to talk herself out of it, Scully had beckoned the server closer and whispered something in his ear. Mulder was intrigued; he could see the minute change in her and was certain his poem from earlier had affected her in some way.

His reciting it was a shameless attempt at seduction, he owned that, but he was also not sorry. Mulder was drawn to Scully like the proverbial moth to a flame. Being in such proximity to her for an extended period of time tonight, alone, had been the tipping point on his restraint.

A few moments later, Mulder saw that same server whisper something to the band leader who stood atop the small stage in the front of the club. The man approached the microphone, and a small beam of milky spotlight illuminated him from above.

"Excuse me, ladies and gentleman. Open Mic Night is still a few days away, but we have someone willing to contribute their talents to our little soirée tonight, so if you please, give a warm Blue Pearl welcome to Dr. Dana Scully.”

Quiet, almost polite and scattered applause spread throughout the small gathering; there were no more than twelve or so couples at this exclusive club, and they were so enveloped in shadows that Scully could only see their hands.

She cast a glance at Mulder, and for the first time that she could remember, he looked truly surprised. And pleased. His lips curled into a knowing smile as he clapped along with the others. She favored him with a shy smile of her own.

“Looks like it’s my turn.” She quirked her eyebrow at him. “A poem for a poem?”

He said nothing, but he worked his mouth in that knowing way of his and watched her stand, adjust her dress and smooth her hands at her waist. She leaned over and placed her hand on his arm. “Wish me luck,” she said huskily, locking eyes with him, close enough for Mulder to have claimed her mouth simply by leaning into her touch. He didn’t. He caught her faint perfume from before, and his throat constricted. "Break a leg,“ he choked out, but it was strained and not his voice.

Dana Scully has ruined me, he thought as he watched her walk away. She flashed him a winning smile over one shoulder.

I am happily ruined.

-0-0-0-

#the x files #txf #xf fanfic #msr fanfic #dana scully #fox mulder #thexfmasfileschallenge

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dipulb3 · 3 years

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A week of compelling and potentially devastating testimony at Derek Chauvin's murder trial

New Post has been published on https://appradab.com/a-week-of-compelling-and-potentially-devastating-testimony-at-derek-chauvins-murder-trial/

A week of compelling and potentially devastating testimony at Derek Chauvin's murder trial

Prosecutor Jerry Blackwell broke it down: 4 minutes and 45 seconds as Floyd cried out for help, 53 seconds as he flailed due to seizures, and 3 minutes and 51 seconds as Floyd was non-responsive.

Blackwell, in opening statements, said 9-2-9 were the “three most important numbers in this case.” That was the time it took for Chauvin to squeeze “the very life” out of Floyd. The revised time emerged from a review of officers’ body cameras months after May 25, 2020, police encounter.

“It’s heartbreaking to know the torture lasted even longer,” Chris Stewart, an attorney for Floyd’s family, told Appradab. “This isn’t the standard situation where an officer has to make a split second decision.”

The time difference, which has little impact on the case, was an early highlight of the closely watched criminal trial. Here are others:

Echoes of guilt from the stand

Chauvin, 45, has pleaded not guilty to charges of second-degree unintentional murder, third-degree murder and second-degree manslaughter. The ex-cop, in a suit and tie, sat at the defense table most of the week, scribbling notes on a legal pad.

In opening statements, defense attorney Eric Nelson argued that video evidence failed to fully capture the complexity of the moment. Chauvin followed his police training, the lawyer told the jury.

Nelson argued that Floyd’s death was the result of drug use and preexisting health issues. A crowd of what the attorney called hostile bystanders had distracted the officer.

Mixed martial arts fighter Donald Wynn Williams II was one of the most vocal bystanders that day. He pleaded for Chauvin to get off Floyd. He called the ex-cop a “bum” and a “tough guy.”

“I just was really trying to keep my professionalism and make sure I speak out for Floyd’s life because I felt like he was in very much danger,” Williams testified.

Under cross examination, Williams acknowledged calling Chauvin and another officer names. He yelled at them even after Floyd had been taken away. But, he said, he was not an angry onlooker.

“You can’t paint me out to be angry,” he said.

Williams was so disturbed by what he saw he called 911, he said.

“I called the police on the police,” he said. “I believed I witnessed a murder.”

Witnesses had little in common but trauma united them

The prosecution witnesses had little in common. A White off-duty firefighter. Some high school students. A 61-year-old man who broke down in tears. A 9-year-old girl. The Black MMA fighter.

But the trauma of watching an unarmed Black man die under a White cop’s knee had brought them together. They spoke of their feelings of helplessness and guilt as Floyd gasped for air and pleaded for his life.

“These words are going to be churning around in jurors’ minds and the question that’s going to come out of this is, looking towards Derek Chauvin, the defendant in this case, ‘Why didn’t you move?'” Appradab senior legal analyst Laura Coates said of the testimony. “Why didn’t this move you the way it obviously moved so many other people?”

The teenager who took the widely known bystander video testified that in Floyd she saw her own Black father, brothers, cousins and friends.

“I look at that and I look at how that could have been one of them,” Darnella Frazier said through tears.

“It’s been nights I’ve stayed up apologizing to George Floyd for not doing more and not physically interacting and not saving his life. But it’s not what I should have done, it’s what he should have done,” she added, referring to Chauvin.

Frazier was walking with the 9-year-old girl to the Cup Foods convenience store at the time of the arrest.

“I was sad and kind of mad,” the girl testified. “Because it felt like he was stopping his breathing, and it was kind of like hurting him.”

Minneapolis firefighter and certified EMT Genevieve Hansen was out for a walk on her day off. She testified that she saw Chauvin kneeling over Floyd’s neck. She wanted to render aid and repeatedly asked police to check Floyd for a pulse. They refused.

“I tried calm reasoning, I tried to be assertive, I pled and was desperate,” said Hansen, who wept on the stand at one point. “I was desperate to give help.”

Under cross, Nelson tried to get Williams and Hansen to agree with his assertion that they and others were angry and threatening.

“I don’t know if you’ve ever seen someone die in front of you, but it’s very upsetting,” Hansen told the defense lawyer at one point.

After dismissing the jury, Judge Peter Cahill admonished Hansen.

Appradab legal analyst and defense attorney Mark O’Mara warned against attacks on sympathetic prosecution witnesses.

“The defense team has to be extraordinarily careful,” he told Appradab. “If you’re losing those 12 people because of your attack … on one of the witnesses, you may never get that credibility back. This idea of throwing attacks, small as they may be, against whatever witness comes up can really backfire.”

Christopher Martin, the 19-year-old cashier who suspected Floyd had handed him a counterfeit $20 bill before the police were called, echoed the regret of other witnesses.

“If I would have just not taken the bill, this could have been avoided,” said Martin, who was a cashier at Cup Foods, where the initial call to police was made that day.

Jury hears Chauvin’s perspective

Charles McMillian, 61, described for the jury how he briefly confronted Chauvin moments after Floyd’s limp body was taken away in an ambulance. “What I watched was wrong,” he said.

“That’s one person’s opinion,” Chauvin is heard saying as he got into his squad car. “We had to control this guy because he’s a sizable guy. It looks like he’s probably on something.”

The short body cam clip provided the first public glimpse into the former officer’s perspective.

“If you really think about it, what he was really just explaining away was, ‘I would do anything that I needed to do. He’s a big guy. He might have been on drugs,’ and basically explaining away, in a very non-emotional way, the fact that this had happened to Floyd,” O’Mara said of Chauvin’s statement to the bystander.

McMillian testified as the prosecution played graphic excerpts of Floyd’s final moments. Floyd gasped that he was claustrophobic. He repeatedly said he couldn’t breathe. He called for his mother.

McMillian broke down.

“I feel helpless,” he said. “I don’t have a mama either. I understand him.”

Chauvin told supervisor Floyd ‘was going crazy’

The jury also heard Chauvin’s call to his supervisor shortly after kneeling on Floyd to explain his version of events.

“I was just going to call and have you come out to our scene here,” Chauvin told Sgt. David Pleoger in a call captured on body camera footage.

“We just had to hold a guy down. He was going crazy. He wouldn’t … he wouldn’t go in the back of the squad — “

Chauvin said Floyd became combative after officers tried to put Floyd in the car. After a struggle, Chauvin said, Floyd had a medical emergency, according to Pleoger. Chauvin did not mention he held his knee on Floyd’s neck and back.

At the scene later, Pleoger asked officers to speak to witnesses. “We can try but they’re all pretty hostile,” Chauvin responded.

At Hennepin County Medical Center later that night, Chauvin for the first time told his supervisor that he had knelt on Floyd’s neck, Pleoger testified.

Pleoger told the jury that Chauvin’s use of force should have ended earlier.

“When Mr. Floyd was no longer offering up any resistance to the officers, they could have ended the restraint,” he said.

“It would be reasonable to put a knee on someone’s neck until they were not resisting anymore, but it should stop when they are no longer combative.”

The prosecution said Chauvin pressed down on Floyd’s neck and back for nearly 4 minutes during which Floyd was non-responsive.

A pair of Hennepin County paramedics who treated Floyd said he was unresponsive, not breathing and had no pulse when they arrived on the scene.

Paramedic Derek Smith checked Floyd’s pulse and pupils, with Chauvin still kneeling on him. He believed Floyd’s heart had stopped. One paramedic had to motion for Chauvin to lift his knee to lift Floyd onto a stretcher.

“In layman terms,” Smith said, “I thought he was dead.”

At one point in the courtroom, Philonise Floyd turned his eyes away from the screen showing video of his brother on a stretcher. Philonise Floyd lowered his head, shaking it. He rubbed his bald head with his hand.

“This life changing,” he told Appradab during a break in the proceedings. “All this testimony is so hard on everyone.”

The first week of testimony has been an “emotional roller coaster,” Philonise Floyd said.

“To everybody else, it was a case and a cause,” he said. “To me, it was my brother, somebody that I grew up with.”

Floyd and girlfriend struggled with addiction

Courteney Ross, 45, said she met Floyd in 2017 when he worked as a security guard at the Salvation Army. They both were addicted to opioids, which they were initially prescribed to treat chronic pain.

Floyd was a mama’s boy who was a “shell of himself” after his mother’s death in 2018, she said.

In March 2020, she found Floyd doubled over in pain and took him to the emergency room. He was hospitalized for an overdose, she testified.

Ross testified she believed he had started using again in May 2020.

Top homicide cop says Chauvin’s actions were ‘totally unnecessary’

The final witness of the week was Lt. Richard Zimmerman, head of the homicide division for more than 12 years. He joined the department in 1985, making him the most senior officer on the force.

Zimmerman said Chauvin’s actions after Floyd was handcuffed and in a prone position were “uncalled for” and “totally unnecessary.”

The former’s officers handling of the encounter violated department use of force policy, according to Zimmerman.

Asked by prosecutor Matthew Frank if he was ever trained to kneel on a person, Zimmerman said no.

“Because if your knee is on someone’s neck — that could kill them,” the lieutenant said.

Chauvin at that point raised his head at the defense table and shot a look at Zimmerman.

Zimmerman was a signatory to an open letter in which Minneapolis officers condemned Chauvin last year.

Under cross-examination, Zimmerman agreed that an unconscious person can become combative when revived, kicking and thrashing about.

Nelson sought to show that policing has changed significantly since Zimmerman got his training. He drew attention to Zimmerman’s limited use of force experience as an investigator in comparison to a patrol officer.

Coates said Zimmerman provided the “most compelling law enforcement testimony” in the trial so far. She called it “damning.”

“It blows out of the water any notion that the officer was trained to sustain this level of force on somebody once they were no longer posing any conceivable threat,” she said.

Appradab’s Eric Levenson and Aaron Cooper contributed to this report.

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