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munson-blurbs · 3 months

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Living After Midnight (Failed Rockstar!Eddie x Motel Worker!Reader)

♫ Summary: Being a perpetual people-pleaser meant that you were constantly putting others before yourself--particularly your parents and the eccentric guests who stayed at their motel. But when a surly and mysterious musician checked in indefinitely, he flipped your whole world on its head. (3.1k words)

♫ CW: slowburn, strangers-to-lovers, angst, drug use, parental conflict, poverty, eventual smut (18+ only, minors DNI)

♫ A/N: Thank you to my numerous beta readers, including but not limited to @the-unforgivenn, @lofaewrites, @lokis-army-77, and @corroded-hellfire, and to @hellfire--cult for the divider. I am forever indebted to y'all.

chapter one: room for one more

It was always the quiet nights, wasn't it? The ones where the only sounds came from cars barreling down Queens Boulevard and splashing through puddles left by an earlier rainstorm, or from the clock ticking on the wall.

The ones where your mind wandered until you’d thought yourself in circles, overanalyzing every last decision you had ever made.

The ones where you allowed your guard just down enough that the slightest oddity threw you off-balance—something or someone out of place.

It was during the quiet nights like that night where you should have expected the unexpected, because New York City never stayed still for long.

The evening’s sluggishness was normal; tourism always slowed in the springtime. The newest shows on Broadway were already months old, not to mention the warmer weather brought both an uptick in crime and pollen count. If out-of-towners were going to schlep to the East Coast, they’d prefer to see the cherry blossoms hours south in Washington, DC than to get mugged on the 1 train.

Business picked up in the winter months when people flocked from around the world to witness the Thanksgiving Day Parade, the Rockefeller Center Christmas tree, or Dick Clark’s Rockin’ New Year’s Eve, even though they were several bus and subway transfers away. Outsiders to the tri-state area struggled to differentiate between boroughs; it was unfortunate for them, but you counted on it to keep business alive.

The only guests who consistently frequented your family’s motel were junkies looking for a place to shoot up away from the NYPD’s watchful gaze or affair-havers who were considerate enough not to sully their marriage beds—just their vows. You were in no position to judge; their money was what kept the lights on, but it was impossible not to compare your clientele to the suits who stayed at the Marriott down the street. They wouldn‘t even allow homeless folks to sit within twenty-five feet of the building, let alone stay under their roof.

You leaned on the desk, wood grain pinching your elbows. You tapped your pencil against your textbook as you read, its margins cluttered with notes about different types of parent-child attachment styles.

Sleep prickled at the corners of your eyes, blurring the words on the page in front of you. Focus.

Secure attachment occurs when—no, you’d already read this line. Twice.

“Dammit,” you muttered under your breath, gently slapping your cheeks in a futile attempt to stay awake. Taking a full course load instead of your usual part-time was your academic advisor’s ill-conceived idea, bolstered by the prospect of an earlier graduation. In your haste, you’d neglected to consider two important factors: all of your studying now had to be done during your night shifts, and graduating meant telling your parents a truth they were unready to hear.

They were so proud of the motel, regardless of its reputation. It might as well have been The Plaza from the way your dad boasted about it. The three of you shared an unspoken understanding that you worked the front desk because paying an actual employee would put them under. Maybe if finances weren’t so tight, you could have freely admitted that your future plans didn’t involve taking over the business.

Your eyelids fluttered shut as your head rested on your book, a small puddle of drool pooling atop Bowlby’s theories.

Ping ping ping ping!

Time slowly stretched out before you, your conscious brain clawing its way out of its hazy fog. It took a beat for you to recognize that the incessant noise came from someone repeatedly smacking the tiny bell that sat on the desk.

“Hey, hello?” an impatient voice called out, jolting you from your impromptu nap. You blinked away the residual sleepiness and took in the sight in front of you: a curly-haired man, likely not much older than you were, a cigarette that had been nearly smoked down to the filter tucked between his lips. He had a patched guitar case strapped to his back and clutched a black garbage bag filled with what you hoped was clothing.

“Sorry,” you grumbled, wiping the moisture from your chin. “Need a room?”

“Mhm.” You could practically hear his eye roll: no, I just stopped by in the middle of the night for a quick chat. Fancy a cup of tea and a scone?

He plopped the garbage bag on the ground; its soft landing and the way it wrinkled told you that whatever was inside was, thankfully, not a body.

You nodded and turned around to the wall of keys behind you. There was no shortage of rooms; the only occupied one was being rented by Phyllis, a sixty-year-old self-described ‘entertainer of gentleman’ who paid double her bill in exchange for your silence.

He stubbed out the cigarette in the ashtray on the countertop, grinding it into the base for good measure. “How much per night?” he asked, digging into his pants pocket and pulling out a wallet held together with duct tape.

“Fifteen.”

The man breathed out, his bangs fanning over his forehead. “Jesus.” He fished two twenties and a five from the billfold and placed them in front of you. “This should cover me until Friday, yeah?”

Nodding, you folded the bills and tucked them into the register kept under the desk, only accessible by key because of a series of break-ins during the late ‘70s.

The man lit another cigarette as you pulled out the ledger and a pen. “Name and date here,” you said, pointing to the ‘check in’ column. He took a drag before scrawling his name on the line: Eddie Munson, 5-4-93.

“All right, you’ll be in…” you scanned the assortment of keys dangling from their hooks. The walls were thin, and this guy seemed decent enough, so you decided to spare him the theatrical sound effects of Phyllis’s room 10 endeavors. “…room 4. Make a right down the hallway, and it’ll be the second door. Can’t miss it if you try.”

Your attempt at humor fell flat, both of you too exhausted to laugh. You strode past it, clearing your throat as if dispelling the tension. When you placed the key in his calloused palm, you couldn’t help but notice that the base of each fingertip is a half-shade paler than the rest of his skin.

“Thanks.” Eddie mumbled. He tapped the cigarette above the ashtray, the gray flakes falling into a neat pile. His right bicep flexed underneath his denim jacket as he heaved the garbage bag over his shoulder, careful not to bang it against the guitar.

He scuttled out of the tiny room masquerading as a lobby, shoulders hunched from the weight of the bag and of the burdens he inevitably carried. No one shows up to a motel in the middle of the night without a story or two.

After years of greeting guests at the front desk, you liked to think you had a decent read on them. Eddie was quiet, maybe even introspective, but not necessarily shy. He was tired; no, more than that: he was worn down, like so many other people who had come through these doors.

Most importantly, Eddie didn’t seem like he'd be much trouble. He didn’t stumble in wasted and reeking of booze or fidgeting as he awaited a fix. He wasn’t shouting or poorly concealing a wandering eye or making lewd comments. He’d made pretty much no impression at all besides being a bit gruff, which was just fine with you. Your personality wasn't composed of rainbows and sunshine at this hour either.

You looked at the clock and sighed when it only read 2:17. It’s already tomorrow, you thought grimly. Just under four hours until you could walk ten feet to your room, curl up in your bed, and sleep until it was time for your afternoon class. After years of balancing school and work, you were in the last two weeks of your final semester, and then…what? You casually inform your parents that you were leaving the family business–essentially forcing them to close it–to pursue a career in social work?

That was sure to go over well.

To their knowledge, you were studying hotel management and hospitality in order to “improve the business.” That was why they’d relented when you’d asked to start taking classes, switching you over to the night shift to avoid having to hire a new employee.

What they didn’t know is that your school didn’t even offer that as a major. Nor were they aware of the acceptance letter into NYU’s Masters of Social Work program that was stashed inside your dresser drawer, hidden from sight. That was a conversation for another day when you found the strength to face their disappointment.

Chaos waited to strike until the end of your shift.

Just as you packed your book back into your bag, a familiar, skunky odor wafted past your nostrils.

Ignore it, you thought. Let it be Dad’s problem when he takes over in five minutes. But if you could smell it, so could any of the cops patrolling the boulevard. One more citation and the motel was in jeopardy of being permanently shut down, and you couldn’t take that risk.

With a frustrated sigh, you yanked open the desk drawer and reached in for a pen, instead pulling out an unopened box of crayons. A twenty-four pack of Crayola—the good kind. You plucked a waxy cornflower blue from its spot and scribbled Be back soon on a Post-It note, sticking it on the front of the desk. Grabbing the pepper spray canister from its spot next to the register, just in case, you started down the hall. Marijuana wasn’t Phyllis’s drug of choice, though it might have been one of her various gentleman suitors’, but the scent was too strong to be coming all the way from room 10.

Maybe this Eddie Munson was trouble, afterall.

You knocked on his door, firmly but without aggression. It certainly wasn’t the first time you interrupted someone’s buzz, and it wouldn’t be the last. You knew better than to go in guns a-blazing; it’s easier to catch flies with sugar than vinegar.

Eddie opened it after a moment, cracking it halfway and revealing a lit joint pinched between his plush lips. One forearm was perched on the doorframe, showing off faded ink of a litter of flying bats and a dragon-esque creature. He was clad in only navy blue boxer briefs, but his lack of attire was no surprise. Many guests were shameless, not bothering to cover the holes in their Fruit of the Loom tighty-whities and showcasing faded yellow stains on the crotch. What confused you was the elastic waistband proudly proclaiming ‘Calvin Klein’ that cut off the soft hair trailing from his belly button. It seemed absurd that he would have been lugging around any designer clothes in that trash bag, but there was no other possibility.

“Can I help you?” he asked, shaking his curly bangs out of his face. Half-lidded brown eyes scanned your form, trying to determine whether you were a narc or trying to bum some bud off of him. His window was cracked open enough to let in fresh air, which also meant that the acrid smell could easily be let out.

“You can’t smoke that here,” you reported matter-of-factly, just as you had a million times before. When he cocked a challenging brow, you continued. “Cigarettes are fine, but no weed. The police will come after us and you.”

He looked around the room, unbothered, and absentmindedly scratched at his bare chest. A demon’s head was sketched just above a sparse patch of hair. Under different circumstances, or maybe in another life altogether, you would’ve asked him about his tattoos; if they had some philosophical meaning or were the products of spur-of-the-moment decisions. You could have blathered on about the ideas you had for your own future tattoos, if you ever worked up the nerve to actually get one.

“You mean to tell me that with all of the skeevy shit that goes on around here, the cops are gonna waste their time on a little pot?” He scoffed and took another defiant pull, holding it for a few seconds before exhaling away from you.

I guess chivalry isn’t dead, you mused, stifling an eye roll. “No, but they’re always looking for an excuse to ‘investigate,’’' you threw air-quotes around the last word, “so they can bust us for more serious things, and that is the perfect one.” You gestured to the joint only to be met with an eye roll. “Look, you can either put it out, smoke it somewhere else, or you can leave. Full refund, but you can’t stay here.”

His stare locked onto your steely eyes and clenched jaw, only breaking when you’d straightened your posture to stand your ground. “Whatever,” he huffed, but he snuffed it out. A glimmer of a smile danced on his lips, disappearing nearly as quickly as it arrived. Despite its fleeting nature, it managed to thaw you enough so that your arms weren’t held quite so tight to your body, your expression less rigid. “Just trying to relax and get some sleep, like you were while you were supposed to be ‘working.’” It’s his turn to supply the air-quotes, both in mockery and as a gotcha. A teasing lilt elevated his voice, smoothing out the edge he’d greeted you with earlier.

“I wasn’t sleeping, just…resting my eyes,” you volleyed back, your smirk betraying any semblance of the tough façade you’d worn.

Eddie crossed his arms and walked over to the garbage bag of clothes. He rummaged through it for a moment before procuring a pair of gray sweatpants, stepping into them hurriedly as though he just remembered his minimal attire.

“Maybe if you chose more interesting reading material, you wouldn’t be sl—resting your eyes on the job,” he amended, gesturing to the textbook in your canvas tote bag. “Ever heard of Stephen King?”

“I live in a motel, not under a rock.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You live here?”

Shit. That wasn’t information you regularly divulged. Sure, this guy seemed harmless, but looks can be deceiving. Prime example: wearing designer underwear while using a trash bag in lieu of a suitcase.

It was too late to double back, so you nodded. “Yeah,” you admitted reluctantly. The sole of your sneaker dug into the old carpet.

Eddie looked like he wanted to say more, lips parted and eyes wide like there was a follow-up question sitting on the tip of his tongue. Before he could ask it, your gaze landed on the clock radio: six AM on the dot.

“I need to go,” you said hurriedly. Shame at your sudden shyness burned a hole in your belly. Eddie Munson was a guest; for all intents and purposes, he was a total stranger. There was no reason to be intimidated by him. “Good luck falling asleep,” you added with a weak smile.

The easy banter that had been building between you dissipated in an instant, taking his good mood with it. His goodbye was a sardonic salute, the mattress springs creaking wearily as soon as you closed the door behind you.

Sure enough, your dad was in the tiny lobby, assessing some peeling wallpaper. “Gotta fix that,” he mumbled to himself, thumbnail picking at it aimlessly. He turned around when he heard the door open and smiled when he saw you.

“Sorry, I was helping out a guest,” you rushed to explain, hoping he wasn't too anxious to find the desk left unattended.

The wrinkles in your dad’s forehead became more pronounced. “Is everything alright?” The phrase ‘helping out a guest’ could range from unclogging a toilet to calling the police for a domestic dispute.

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” you reassured him quickly, flashing an exaggerated thumbs-up. “No law enforcement necessary. Didn’t even need to use the pepper spray.” You waved the canister in your palm before placing it back.

He beamed, leaning in and pressing a kiss to your scalp. “It’s times like this where I just know I’ll be leaving this place in good hands.”

You swallowed the bile that crept up your throat and feigned a smile when he pulled you in for a tight hug. The mingled scents of Irish Spring soap and drugstore aftershave tickled your nose, and tears stung along your lash line.

If only you knew, you thought, giving him one last squeeze before you headed to your room. Disappointed wouldn’t even begin to cover it.

Your parents would never say the word aloud; they’d look at each other and heave identical weighted sighs. Their lifelong goal of a long-standing family business would vanish in the blink of an eye. Dad would pretend there was a chance that they could afford a new hire, even going so far as to fumble through the years of financial statements before inevitably throwing in the towel; Mom would force a pained smile and hoarsely encourage you to follow your dreams, even at the expense of theirs.

You shook the thought away as you trudged towards your room, sneakered feet like sandbags below you. Dwelling on this scenario had you teetering on the brink of insanity, so you’d willed yourself to focus on something else. Anything else.

Like the motel’s newest guest and his smile. The way it softened the hard lines on his face, offering you a glimpse of how he wore happiness. Something about it made you want to see him happy again.

You can’t even figure out how to make yourself happy, you thought, peeling back the starchy sheets and finally crawling into bed, much less a stranger. For all you knew, he was just relaxed because his high was starting to kick in, and not from some warming presence you’d supplied.

The sun cracked pink through the sky, visible through the paper-thin curtains hanging on the window. You had become accustomed to this backwards routine, able to fall asleep while daylight broke. It took a few extra moments this time; you were anticipating marijuana-tinged fumes to float through the vents when Eddie ignored your instructions.

It was that flicker of a smile that had you almost certain he would spark up once you’d left. The smile of someone who so naturally flouted authority that he no longer bragged about it. Yet time ticked by without a hint of evidence that he was smoking again.

Which begged the question: if the smile didn’t signify defiance, what did it mean?

Eddie Munson is definitely trouble, you surmised just before you drifted off, but nothing you can’t handle.

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jimblejamblewritings · 4 months

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Our Violent Delights Will Not Have Violent Ends: The Twilight Saga Rewrite (Book 1, Twilight) | Part 1.

Summary: Y/N Swan is just like every other girl and she likes it that way. Normal is fantastic. Normal creates a functioning member of society. Normal is the reason she moved to a small town to live with her police officer father... only to find out that she gets the farthest thing from what she wanted. \\ This is a re-write of Twilight. Basically if I had been Stephenie Meyer and wrote Twilight. I will be combining some of the movie and book and the pace will be more like the movies. Not terribly high word count like the books. We might equal one book's word count when we finish doing all four of them. Hope you enjoy!

Warnings for the Series: light violence, light angst, light smut

Warnings for the Chapter: none

Pairing: Edward Cullen x reader, Jacob Black x reader

Word Count: 3.5k

Author's Note: If there are "I" written anywhere in the story, please let me know. I'm posting this story on Wattpad in the I form so I might forget to erase one or two here. Enjoy being casted in the feature role of Bella Swan. Let's go:

A police car pulled up in front of you as you waited outside Seattle-Tacoma International. To think, only four months ago you were trying to purchase plane tickets for spring break. Only you wanted to go to New York with the rest of your classmates. The last place you were ever thinking of was Washington. The state, not even D.C.

And more importantly not Forks, Washington. But you promised your mom that you could handle this. The only thing worse than that small town for the entire year was traveling so much you might as well be homeschooled. When your mom remarried her now husband, Phil, he played baseball for the Phoenix team.

Phil’s good but he wasn’t good enough to be traded around. You thought your whole life would be Arizona. Until Florida called. And your sweet stepfather and lovingly erratic mother packed up everything before suddenly remembering you had school. So moving to Forks had been a you decision but you're not sure how good of a decision that was.

The car in front of you rolled down its window until you could see your dad. Charlie flashed a smile that you struggled to return. He’s great. You've spent every single summer with him and almost every one of those summers was in Forks.

But two months is a lot different from the entire school year. You knew only a few people that would be going to Forks High School. A pang hit your heart when you thought about your friends again. You guys promised to call but you'd probably fall out of each other’s lives anyway. But you tried to smile once more, putting your suitcases in the back of the police car and pulling on a thick wool sweater over your shirt and overalls.

As soon as you slid into the passenger seat, it started to rain — a stark reminder that this wasn’t Phoenix.

You could feel Charlie’s head keep turning to the side to look at you. Like your dad in more ways than one, the start to small talk was awkward for you. The two of you went back and forth in a silent dance until Charlie saved you from speaking about the weather.

“Your hair has gotten longer.”

You grabbed a piece of your now shoulder length hair. Two years ago, in the spur of the moment, you had shaved your head to start over. It was the moment after that you decided you would never do that again. Charlie had to suffer the period of you not being able to look at yourself in the mirror. You looked like an egg. It took dedication but your hair was now long and damage free.

“Yeah, I’ve tried to stop using heat completely. Except the blow dryer.”

While starting small talk might have been difficult, once Charlie and you were talking no one could get you to stop. The conversation was still going as the car passed the ‘Welcome to Forks’ sign that should have read population: too damn small instead of an actual number — and even when we got out of the car and into the house. Your room wasn’t terribly different from other summers but you noticed drawers and wardrobes that weren’t there before. You guessed when one permanently moves they suddenly need storage for their things. Charlie even cleared more bathroom space.

That was probably the one thing you hated about this house. One bathroom. Someone should have slapped the architect that ever suggested this… and then slap the builder that followed through anyway.

You only unpacked the bare essentials for the next week or so. The rest could be slowly unpacked as time went on. Charlie helped for a few hours before doing his shuffle he does whenever he’s uncomfortable. All he could say was okay before leaving the room.

Even though you two can talk for hours, he’s still awkward to his core. You supposed that you should be happy as a teenager that he doesn’t hover. He never has. You used to think it was because being a cop made him busy all the time and he just developed the habit. As the years went on, it became more apparent that it was just his personality.

A car honk right outside the window caught your attention. You looked through the glass to see an orange pickup truck and some of the only two faces in town that were familiar to you. Your feet carried you out the door before you were even aware until you crashed right into a boy with hair longer than yours, roughly your height, and only a few months younger in age.

“Woah, Y/N/N, slow down before you hurt yourself. You know you can't be trusted on your own two feet. I'm surprised you're still standing right now or is it just because I'm holding you up.” Jacob said as he gave you a smile.

“Whatever, dick."

"Whoa, Y/F/N. Language when you're standing right in front of me," Dad interjected but he didn't look that offended.

"Sorry... Hi, Billy.”

“Hi, Y/N. Glad you’re back and here to stay. Charlie wouldn’t shut up about it since you told him.”

Your dad rolled his eyes. “Keep talking and I’ll roll that wheelchair right into the middle of the road.”

“Not before I ram you in the ankles.”

You and Jacob’s dads abandoned you to play fight in the road. You couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight.

“I’m glad to see they’re still behaving like that.”

“Oh, yeah. Days go by and nothing’s different. It's getting worse with old age actually, I'm convinced that's why Mom is always on business trips… So, do you like your present?”

You turned to face Jacob. “Hmm?”

He patted the truck just as your dads came back. Your eyes went wide and your lips twitched until they formed a large smile.

“Are you serious? This is perfect! Dad, you didn’t have to get me a car.”

Charlie shrugged. “I work late sometimes and thought that your personal autonomy was very important.”

He’s trying to sound like a parent that actually read the child psychology books. The why he bought me a car didn’t matter. It was the fact that he just did. A truck didn’t exactly fit my aesthetic but something about vintage ones totally did.

"Don't worry, I worked on it myself. Everything's perfect," Jacob said.

"You did this? By yourself now? Jake, what the heck. That's crazy you're doing it on your own now. Why are you so amazing?"

Before anyone could actually answer you, you whipped open the door and sat inside. You remembered this truck very well from playing in it since you and Jake were four. Billy had this thing for at least seventeen years. The first thing you noticed were the new leather seats. They were pink instead of gray. The second thing you noticed was the engine’s sound. Smoother than it had ever sounded before.

Jacob opened the passenger door, hopping in to show you how the car operated. He was a genius at fixing cars and trucks. You wouldn’t be surprised if he owned his own mechanic shop some day.

“And that’s it.” He patted the steering wheel. “If anything breaks, let me know.”

“Thank you! God, I’m so glad I have one recognizable face at school.”

“You’ve only been missed two summers. Did you already forget I don’t go to Forks?”

“Right.”

Jake, like most of the Quileute kids, went to a high school on the reservation in La Push. People weren’t as judgmental when they all shared something common. There they could wear their hair long, tell folklore stories without getting made fun of, or try speaking little words here and there of Quileute so the language doesn’t die with their great grandparents.

All things you would have loved to be part of or just sit on the sidelines and observe. Maybe you should have complained to Charlie until you went there. Now you couldn’t leech off of Jacob and had to actually make friends on your own. Disgusting.

Your sentiments didn’t change as you got in the truck and headed to school. You were assigned a parking space the moment you transferred. Unlucky you, you were stuck in the front parking lot.

So much for leaving to go get a better lunch than whatever grub they were going to serve at the cafeteria. Charlie worked too much to even think about asking him to get you something. And you couldn’t ask him to cook either. He’s not really shit at it. It's just his taste buds suck. So unless you wanted to text him a specific lunch menu each Sunday, it was Russian Roulette of lunch. That was too much work. Charlie thinks salami and grapes belong on the same piece of Nutella and butter toast.

When you finally found the parking space, after three circles around, you turned off the engine and found a bunch of eyes greeting you. Lots of them. That’s what being the new kid in a small town gets a person. The eyes stopped staring once you got out of your truck — they needed a face to match the name Bella Swan.

“Nice ride,” a black boy in a red hoodie said as he nodded at your car.

“Thanks, just got it.”

“Cool.”

You didn’t exchange any other words before you entered the building. You stared at the paper schedule, trying to memorize classrooms and the stupid tiny map in the corner. An arm suddenly tapped your shoulder.

“You’re Y/F/N Swan, right? Our new girl.”

You turned to your right to see an Asian boy with a black polo shirt and the most emo haircut you've seen in a while. You took a double take at his outfit and then at the outfits of your peers around you. Suddenly, you were feeling terribly overdressed.

Your thrifted Burberry monogram poncho doubled as a blanket that you would inevitably need because it sat on top of a long sleeved black mini dress. Was it impractical for January in Washington? Probably. But fashion made everything work. At least you had worn snow boots.

“Yeah. It’s just Y/N by the way.”

“Just Y/N. Got it. Well, hi, I’m Eric and your eyes and ears of this place. Anything happens and I know about it. If you need a tour guide, shoulder to cry on, or lunch date then I’m your man.”

Eric made conversation naturally, no small talk in sight. Kind of like Jacob. You chuckled. “I’ll take a rain check on the lunch date but I do need to find room 33C.”

“Let me lead the way.”

He started to lead you down the hallway and to a set of stairs. “So, why move to Forks?”

“I’m not a baseball girl.”

Eric snapped his fingers. “Perfect tagline for your spread. I’m the editor-in-chief of the paper and you are front page news.”

“Oh… Just the front page right? I mean I don’t mind the paper but more than two pages and I’ll transfer.”

“Got it. Spread killed, feature only. And here’s your stop.”

“Thank you so much.”

“I’ll be back for whatever other classes you need to find.”

True to his word, Eric came back and led you to all my morning classes, including the dreaded P.E. You didn’t hate exercise. You just hated whatever wasn’t pilates or a Jane Fonda workout. Besides, you were never good at P.E. anyway. The testament to that was the gym teacher thinking you should do the volleyball exercises with some of the other girls.

You flinched as the ball came towards you. It didn’t go back over the net. Instead, it hit my calculus desk partner, Mike Newton, in the back of the head.

“Sorry!” you yelled as you sped away to hide in the locker room until lunch period.

Mike seemed to forget about it when lunch came. He talked your ear off all the way into the cafeteria. You had forgotten that a small town wouldn’t be like Phoenix. Everyone wanted to talk to the new kid. Whether they were friends or not was yet to be determined. But Mike was a gentleman. He pulled out your seat for you.

“Thank you.”

“My pleasure, Madame.”

Eric laughed. “Mikey, glad you met my girl Y/N.”

“Oh, your girl?”

“Excuse me, my girl. We even bonded over cars,” The black boy from earlier rubbed your hair in fake affection before pulling the chair out from under Mike.

“You’re so dead, Tyler!” he yelled as they ran after him.

The two girls at your table gave a mix of a laugh and a scoff. A girl with a chunky pink headband slid over a juice carton from her tray.

“Sorry about that. It’s like kindergarten all over again, isn’t it? You’re the shiny new toy. Hi, I’m Jessica by the way.”

“Oh, almost forgot,” the other girl with glasses picks up a camera. “Smile!”

The flash blinded me for a moment. “Woah.”

“Sorry, I need some candids for the spread.”

“The spread is dead, Angela,” Eric said in an oddly defensive tone. “Don’t bring it up again… I got your back, babe.”

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped from your throat. Eric left, leaving you, Jessica, and Angela at the table. Angela set her camera down.

“Great, now what am I supposed to do about filling up the rest of the newspaper? I can’t do another editorial on teen drinking. It’d be the third time.”

“You could always run a psa on eating disorders,” you tried to offer an option. “Or um… padding on the swim team?”

The other girls looked at you and for a moment you thought you said something completely wrong but they began laughing. You caught bits of the conversation as you focused on my food: some of the guys bragging about their sizes that seemed totally fake, speedos fitting improperly, and wondering if they only pad for school pictures.

Going back to the conversation, a glimpse at the window caught your eye before you could speak. Five people walked like this school was a runway.

“Who are they?” you asked.

Jessica dropped her fork on her tray, ready to tell you everything. “The Cullens. Dr. and Mrs. Cullen’s foster kids.”

The names were ones you couldn't remember hearing while visiting over the summers. They were either new kids or never came around La Push. One thing you couldn’t deny was that they were all attractive. And the shorter girl had wicked fashion sense. She strutted by like the rest of them in her thin and flowy white maxi skirt with a chunky black sweater and heels entirely too high for you to ever try wearing. You felt almost entranced just looking at them.

“They’re all like together,” Jessica continued. “Rosalie, the blonde one, yeah she’s with the big one, Emmett. Like a thing.”

“Jess, they’re not actually related,” Angela quickly interjected.

“Yeah I know, but it’s still kinda weird that they live together, don’t you think? Anyway, the small dark-haired girl Alice is with Jasper. He’s the one that always looks like he’s in pain. The two blondes are actually siblings, Mrs. Cullen’s niece and nephew or something like that.”

“Dr. Cullen’s like this foster dad matchmaker.”

“Maybe, he’ll adopt me,” Angela said.

You chuckled. If Dr. Cullen was such a matchmaker then you’d have to tell Charlie goodbye.

“What about him?” you motioned to the last guy left. He walked ahead of his foster siblings like he was the leader or something.

“Edward? Totally hot, supposedly single. No one here seems good enough for him. Don’t waste your time. Like I care, just don’t waste your time.”

“Trust me, wasn’t planning on it.”

You knew that Jessica could have a skewed perspective. Maybe something happened between the two of them but Angela seemed to agree with her. This Edward probably was nothing but bad news and trouble.

You dared myself to look at their table again. Your eyes squinted when you saw their trays. Nothing looked touched. When you looked up, all five of them were staring at you. You whipped your head around and didn’t dare look back again until after lunch.

Thankfully, the classes you had right after lunch didn’t have any of them… until bio class. The teacher, Mr. Donoghue motioned for you to sit at the only empty seat that happened to be next to Edward. You nodded and began moving to the chair. A chill ran down you spine and you shivered as the chill pierced your back. Edward stiffened up at the same time.

You scowled as he held his hand over his mouth and nose. You had taken a shower, put on nice perfume, lotioned, and wore nice jewelry. There was absolutely no way you smelled. His hand stayed over the lower part of his face the entire class period. Even when he had to hand over material, he pushed them to you with a pencil. The moment the bell rang, Edward was gone. Good riddance.

Mr. Donoghue signed the last spot in my slip saying you made it to class successfully and now you could give it to the receptionist. You paused in the doorway after seeing someone’s back but it was too late. The receptionist had seen you.

“Just a moment, dear.”

The person with the back turned around to reveal a troubled face. He grabbed his coat. “Never mind, I’ll just have to endure it.”

You rolled your eyes, handed in you slip and went to your truck. Edward was a total douche. Yet you couldn’t shake the feeling that we’d be seeing each other more often than you’d like. Probably more often than he’d like as well.

Charlie wasn’t finished working when school was over but had enough time for a dinner break. His friend, Waylan, brought takeout from Subway. You didn’t remember Waylan very well. He left for most of the summer each year to visit his kids and grandkids that left Washington. You all moved stuff around on Charlie’s desk to clear space so you could eat. You had a Spicy Italian sub while the two of them ate BLTs. The two of them shared a different sentiment about the Cullens when you asked them.

Unlike the kids at school, they had nothing but praise. The Cullens weren’t weird but mature and well-rounded teenagers. And Dr. Cullen was the best surgeon they’ve had… and he stayed past one year which is an accomplishment. Certain jobs like doctors and lawyers always come from out of town. Most leave after one or two years, not able to handle the slow pace of this green and gray town.

Soon, Charlie and Waylan talked in the most stereotypical old man fashion that you had actually checked out of the conversation. Your cellphone rang as you grabbed a potato chip from the small bag that came with your sandwich.

“That’s Mom, I’m gonna take this.”

“Tell your mom I said hi, Y/N/N.”

You nodded as you walked away.

The next day at school, Edward wasn’t there. You had planned to confront him and find out what his problem was when he didn’t even know you. You weren't exactly popular back in Phoenix but no one had any issues with you. Never.

However, his siblings were there. Not that you were going to approach them. Your problem was their brother not them and you weren't trying to make enemies in such a small town. You watched them walk into the building as you leaned against your truck. You turned when something hit your back.

“Y/N!”

You laughed as you looked at the Twizzler on the ground. “Seriously, Tyler? How dare you waste good food,” you said as you grabbed your bag and walked over to where the kids you met yesterday were all crowded around what you assumed was Tyler’s van.

He shrugged. “I would hardly call Twizzlers the peak of fine dining.”

We all walked inside at the start of a bell ringing. The day had been pleasant without your science partner. And the next day was the same when he didn’t show up again. And the next day until the entire week had gone by without Edward showing his face.

Your first week of school was lucky. You had missed any torrential rain. But you couldn’t say the same for that Monday. The only thing worse than rain was rain when it was below freezing outside. Your front steps were covered in ice. Your phone rang as you closed the house door.

"Hey, Jake... First week done, somewhat a success. Hey, when is Spring Break for you guys? We should totally start coordinating now if we want to try and leave town."

Despite being careful as you talked, you must have stepped incorrectly because before you knew it, your butt had gone down the last three concrete steps leading away from your door and to your driveway.

“Woah, woah, Y/N/N. Are you okay?” Charlie asked as he helped you up.

“Yeah, just fine, Dad. Ice isn’t exactly helpful to the severely uncoordinated.”

“That’s why I got new tires for you. The old ones were getting pretty bald.”

“Thank you.”

You both high-fived before getting into your respective cars and leaving. It felt like you were already used to the routine of Forks when you pulled into your parking spot and found yourself automatically going to Tyler’s van. You sat with Jessica, Angela, Eric, or Mike whenever you had class and swapped snacks with Tyler in between every morning class because your lockers were right next to each other. And the group always walked to lunch together.

“Salad or Sandwich… Hello? Earth to Y/N?”

You blinked to see Jess snapping her fingers in front of you. “Sorry.”

“We wanted to know what you wanted? The lines are backing up so we’re splitting up and tackling stations.”

“Nice, divide and conquer the cafeteria.”

“The Vikings got nothing on us.”

“As long as the only thing we’re conquering and pillaging are those sandwiches.”

“Absolutely. They might have had great hair but I'm not interested. So, ham and cheese, turkey, or those stupid cucumber ones that no one likes?”

“Hey, I like them!”

Jess laughed and walked to her designated line. Mike and you were in charge of gathering everyone’s desserts and soups. Three wanted brownies and three wanted chocolate chip cookies, four wanted tomato soup and two wanted chicken noodle. You all wanted saltine crackers. Every now and then, you looked over your shoulder at what made you stop in you tracks. Edward was back.

And your biology class was the first class after lunch.

(part 2) ...

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#twilight fic #twilight #bella swan #edward cullen x reader #edward cullen x black!reader #edward cullen #jacob black x reader #wolf pack

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alexyskinnerstories · 1 month

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Bella's Aunt - Ch. 1

( Airport Outfit)

I've arrived in Forks Washington from New York it was a long flight everyone got off the plane and headed inside to airport building I walked to the baggage area and got all my luggage I left the area and headed to the front of the airport I made it to the outside I look for my brother I couldn't find him I grab my phone and was about to call him when I heard my name being shouted I turned and see my big brother I smiled while tearing up I ran over to him leaving my luggage behind once I got close I jumped in his arms hugging him tightly he does the same we both were sobbing I hear some people saying sweet things about us Charlie tries to put me down but I hold on tighter and shook my head he just sighed and left me to cling on him he walked over to my luggage and started walking back to his cruiser I don't know how he managed to do that but he did got me in the front seat of the cruiser then he put the luggage in the back of the cruiser he drove from the airport to his home once we've arrived a sigh fells from his mouth I was confused on why he suddenly became upset I was about to ask what was wrong but he spoke first

Charlie: Bella isn't here I was hoping she would so I could surprise her with you being home I guess she's with her boyfriend and his family

Me: It's alright Charlie we can still surprise her call her and tell her that she needs to be home by dinner time and that's something important

Charlie: That's a great idea sissy I do it when we've got you relax how you're boys doing why didn't they come with you?

Me: Their mother wanted to spend one more with them and I allowed it for two more days or if they want to come earlier or for more time the house I bought here is being finished being renovated it should be done in a few days and then I'll move in

Charlie: Oh How are things going like in the co- parenting I haven't heard any updates about it not after you won full custody of them

Me: Yea sorry about that it was busy after that I had to move my apartment I had got to live at the time then I had to deal with the move them to a different high school and then also doing my online course after that I had graduated with my third degree and the boys are in their last year so when they come they may go to Forks High School or Quileute Tribal School I don't know yet

Charlie: That was a lot maybe you should send them to forks high Carson and Camron with be with Bella she's gonna start her senior year next month and they can watch over her

Me: Alright I'll think about it but why would they need to watch over her

Charlie sighed and breathed in deeply speaking with venom about is Cullen boy that Bella is with currently

Charlie: It's her boyfriend I don't trust him one bit he doesn't give off any good vibes he is always at the house or taking Bella her and I don't spend much time together his always interrupting our time together and taking her away and she changing like her personality and style it seems like he manipulating her she becoming more like his sister Rosalie it all just seems weird and she's been wearing makeup and it not only on her face

Me: So you're telling me you believe that he's manipulating her, abusing her, and molding her to be like his sister

Charlie: Yes that's what I believe is happening.

Me: Alright I'll get them into Forks High and have them watch over her and I'll get them to come here in a week in a half

Charlie: Thanks sis I appreciate it

Me: No problem brother family is forever and always

We made it to Charlie's house and brought my stuff into the house Charlie put my thing in the attic where my room is he came back down the stairs and told me that he's gonna call Bella to come home at dinner time and make sure he says Edward couldn't stay he sent me to freshen up before dinner come around I nodded and headed upstairs to my bathroom

* Tiny time Skip *

I finished my shower and walked out of my bathroom I walk to my closet and pick out some clothes I text Charlie to say am cooking dinner and that I need him to the grocery store and get the ingredients I gonna make Salmon stuffed with spinach and parmesan cheese with shrimp and spinach alfredo I got dressed and went downstairs I see Charlie about to leave

Me: Hey Charlie do you have any AB here

Charlie: Yeah there's some in the very back of my closet in the safe the code is momma's birthday

Me: Thanks Char I make sure to depose of them before Bella gets home

Charlie: I'll be back as soon as I can sissy

Me: Alright Char see when you come home

Charlie leaves out of the door and drove off I immediately ran to his room and go to his closet and open the safe I grab three bags and down the first two I go to the living room and watch Netflix I watched a show called Charmed I start the show and slowly drink the last bag

* Time skip*

I was on the twelfth episode when I heard a car pull up I could hear two voices I quickly set the bag on fire and coated the scent because I could only hear one heartbeat I walked outside and leaned against the door frame I looked in the car see Bella talking to her boyfriend

* Bella Pov *

Edward just pulled into my dad's driveway and began to tell me that he'll be coming to see me at night I nodded and looked down gathering my stuff suddenly he spoke again

Edward: Bella who is that

I was confused I looked up and turned my gaze to where he was looking I gasped and quickly got out of the car and yelled for my auntie Annabeth I ran to her screaming her name I finally made it to her and crash into her crying into her chest she hugged me tightly rocked us left and right we pulled from each when we heard someone clear their throat.

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

^ Fake Blood I Repeat Fake blood^

#reqs open #black reader #x reader #x black reader #the originals #werewolf reader #Twilight #Klaus Mikaelson #elijah mikaelson #gxg #esme cullen x reader #esme Cullen x oc #g!p reader

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rom-e-o · 8 months

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Among the Leaves (NSFW)(Constance/Ebenezer fic)

Fall is here. A themed drabble is in order.

Ebenezer takes his first ever 'holiday' off of work and goes to the English countryside with Constance. Without the prying eyes of coworkers and family, the two use the opportunity to catch up on quality time.

This is an explicit, 18+ story. Minors, I ask that you DO NOT INTERACT.

The story is under the cut. Enjoy!

The sweltering London heat finally boiled over in early September. By the third week of the month, the leaves were golden and the air held a telltale crispness.

Gentle zephyrs that smelled of cinnamon and apples funneled down the country roads, each one gentle enough to send petticoats and top hats for those who weren’t cautious.

Constance adored windy weather. It allowed her unbound hair to whip about and blow freely, a sensation she found liberating and cleansing. Her dress, low-cut and made of spearmint linen, danced around her legs with every step, adding to the delight. Ebenezer, dressed in breeches and a simple white shirt, walked alongside her with a chipper gait. In the rolling hills outside the city limits, they were anonymous. Not a banker and socialite – not a scandal for retired folk to gossip about over tea. They were just another couple, stealing embraces and lingering glances, amidst the red and ember-colored trees.

“It’s gorgeous out here,” Constance said, looking around the golden fields that seemed to stretch in every direction.

“Yes, it’s a different world from the city,” Ebenezer agreed. He looked more handsome than usual, she thought, with his hair slightly windblown and his face lit with golden light. He had an almost boyish glow that she hadn’t seen around him yet, thanks to the city’s low ceilings and reliance on gas lamps.

As if reading her mind, he closed he eyes and basked in the autumnal calm. Tipping his head back, he inhaled slowly. “Serene. Quiet.”

Her cloak danced upon her heels with every spritely step, the tassels heavy enough to crunch the deadened leaves that her heels boots missed.

“It reminds me of home.” Her voice was almost ghostly, as if she was uneager to disturb the quiet that enveloped them.

“New York?”

“Yes,” she said,” Oh, don’t get me wrong, London is beautiful in the winter. But…New York in fall. Tarrytown. Hudson Valley. It’s something transcendental.”

“I believe you,” he said, taking moving his hand from her elbow to twine their fingers. “Washington Irving waxes beautiful stories of the area."

“Oh! You’ve read Irving?”

“I hadn’t before I met you,” he confided somewhat shyly, “But once we started courting, I wanted to know everyone I could about where you came from.”

The woman found herself grinning in pure excitement at the romantic confession. He’d kept that venture a secret from her.

He continued, albeit somewhat bashfully, “I found his works in a local bookshop. They are…quite popular this time of year, and it makes sense – the Dutch settlements. Fields of fragrant grain. The orchards. Throwing cinnamon chips atop crackling tavern fires. Lovers walking together on foggy nights amidst the gravestones. It’s all very autumnal and American …delightfully so.”

She flushed and nodded. “Yes. That last one is particularly dangerous, I must say.”

The two were a mere half-mile away from their temporary abode for the coming weekend. It was a small cabin with a hitching post for the horse and a small well out front. It was a comfortable lodge, and in the British countryside, finding their way back would not be difficult. Nonetheless, being out too late would be unwise, and both knew it.

“I can see why,” he agreed. “The stories and legends of the American wilderness are exciting enough for me, thank you very much. I’ll leave its true secrets to those knowledgeable enough to keep them. The prospect of getting spirited away by some ghostly Hessian soldier is, frankly, not an experience I’d like to entertain with you, dear. No offense.”

“Erudite and logical,” Constance teased. “None taken. I have no intention of getting spirited away on this very lovely afternoon. I quite like your company.”

He chuckled. “A very agreeable statement, my dear.”

Pausing momentarily, he snuck a quick look over his shoulder to peek at the road behind them. He squinted his icy eyes, as if trying to peer into the distance as much as possible. The moment Constance observed this behavior and tried to follow his gaze, he turned back her with a smirk. With the gentlest of shoves, he nudged her against an oak tree off the path until her back was flush with the bark.

There, he kissed her hard, tipping her head back so their mouths could meet fully. She reciprocated eagerly, hands roaming up his band, fingertips pressing into his back and through the flimsy material of his shirt.

She tugged the fabric tucked into his breeches free so she could slip her hands beneath the material and caress the skin of his bare back. Flanks of long, lean muscle met her eager fingertips. His towering, 6-foot-4 frame was impressive and weighty against her, but not in an unpleasantly smothering way.

As she did that, Ebenezer rolled his hips against hers, earning a thankful moan in return. He reached down to lift one of her shapely legs and wrap it around his waist. After it was secured, his hand skimmed up her skirts and past the edge of her stocking, exploring the tops of her thighs. Her skin quickly warmed under his skilled touch.

“Ebenezer…” she husked, eyes glassy as their kiss became more physical. Their bodies swayed and rutted together until even the flimsy barrier of their thin clothes was too much to bear.

He pulled back long enough to ask a breathless question, resting his forehead against hers. “D-Do you want to…”

Connie nodded eagerly, the heat in her lower belly too persistent to ignore. “We can use my cloak.”

Their hands tangled and they darted into the woods like excited teenagers. It took a few moments to find a clearing that was concealed by trees but was even enough for them to sprawl upon.

Ebenezer carefully unlaced the cloak from her freckled shoulders before laying it on the ground, smoothing it like one might do with a blanket before a picnic. Once he was satisfied, he turned around to see the pleasant sight of Constance already unfastening her dress.

When the fabric pooled around her ankles, she took great pleasure in drinking in the amorous expression on his face. The glow from before was this present, softening his features even further. With deliberate slowness, she slipped her hands over her ample breasts and down her corset, nails pulling and tugging the laces until she could remove it, her smalls and her stockings in one motion. The entire time, he never broke her gaze away from his.

When she rose again, Ebenezer’s gaze smoldered like twin diamonds.

“My gods,” he breathed, standing slowly and moving to her. He took her bare hips in his rough hands and pulled her close. “Look at you.”

She shuffled under his gaze, hands drifting behind her back.

“What about me?” she asked sweetly, tilting her head so her copper pooled over one shoulder.

“Bathed in this golden light…you’re like a sun goddess,” he breathed, his breath unsteady as his grip upon her tightened. “My goddess.”

The possessive lilt to his voice made her swoon, and she was suddenly very thankful for his arms being there to hold her.

“Well, Mr. Scrooge, don’t keep a goddess waiting,” she tried to tease, but her voice vacillated too much to sound as coquettish as she desired. They’d done this routine of teasing and flirting many times, yet her blood pounded with excitement as if it was their first time.

Judging by her lover’s matching smirk, he felt similar. “Mm. Eager, are we?”

“Well, it’s not very gentlemanly to leave me standing alone and nude without company,” she reasoned, crossing her hands over her breasts for playful emphasis.

This made his chest rumble, laughter as warm as summer thunder thumbling forth.

“You have a very unique idea of what a gentleman should do,” he said.

Despite his vague reply, he didn’t hesitate un unlacing the remainder of his shirt and tossing it aside. The action tousled his hair further, and as he pushed the silver-straked coif off his face, she was struck yet again by how damnably handsome he was. With his lean muscle from years of survival to his broad chest, covered in a spelt of salt-and-pepper hair, he was nothing short of a human Adonis. Then there was his face ... maker, his face. A strong Roman nose and sculpted cheekbones that could cut diamonds, nothing was as incredible to her was his icy-blue eyes. They glittered like mica in instances like this, when he stared at her as if she was the most precious being to him in the world.

It was her turn to ogle him as he unlaced his breeches and kicked them off him his socks and shoes.

He was all long-legged, toned glory. A trail of dark hair ran from his chest and down his belly, all the way to the reddened erection between his legs. His cock was already half-mast, heavy with arousal against his thigh, a clear pearl of liquid appearing at the top. She wetted her lips at the sight, suddenly desperate to take him into her mouth.

However, this occasion wasn’t the time for the lengthy foreplay that both could stretch on for hours. They had to be fast, less they be discovered by some unsuspecting travelers or merchants off the road. That scandal would follow them back to London easily.

With urgency that bordered on primal, Ebenezer closed the distance between them and wrapped two strong arms around her. She followed his lead, feeling him dip her into a kiss that forced her to cling onto him to prevent her from toppling over. The effect made their bellies and chests rub together. Her breasts, already heavy with desire, practically burned as his chair hair scrubbed her nipples.

Ebenezer lowered them both onto the cloak, with Constance laying supine beneath him.

They continued to kiss, moaning ang gasping as their hands roamed each other’s bodies. Relief flooded her when his hands finally lifted to her breasts and gave them a squeeze, helping to ebb some of the tension she’d felt buzzing in her nerves.

Arching her back into his hands, she was rewarded for her keening with the swipe of his deft tongue across the sensitive tips. She cried out from the pleasant combination of warmth and wetness. Her legs opened without a thought, already seeking his familiar girth to fill her and bring her to the edge of ecstasy.

After savoring the womanly musk of her breasts, he kissed a path down her stomach, hands moving down to cup her ass. With a hand on each cheek, he began to massage the flesh in circles, easing her body open further and further.

“E-Ebenezer, please, just…”

“Not yet,” he replied, kissing her belly button. Gods, she could feel his breath against her quim, already hot and eager and dripping for him.

She bit back a moan of frustration, for she knew that the delay of pleasure was all for a good reason.

Ebenezer was many things, but among the long list, he wasn’t a selfish lover. When it came to making sure his woman was satisfied, he wanted to know when he finally slid into her that she was wet and ready for him. Friction would be smooth, and his approach would be slow until he found that perfect spot inside her that milked the prettiest trembles and screams. Then, and only then, would he ferociously pick up the pace and drive into her, making sure to tilt his hips at the angle that kept her screaming for more.

Even when they’d first laid together, knowing she wasn’t a virgin, he’d treated her as such. He carried her to bed, taken her clothes off, kissed her slowly, savored the taste of her clit against his tongue … all of it to make sure that she was trembling and aching for him by the time they could finally come together in a moment of glory.

“I’m ready,” Constance said, hips lifting off the cloak and swaying. “Oh, please…love, please…”

Ebenezer was weak to her pleading, especially when she called him pet names.

“F—uck, do you have any idea how you look when we're together like this?” he whispered, moving his lips back up her sternum so he could whisper in her ear. “Once we get back to the cabin, I’m throwing you on that bed and making love to you until you can’t walk.”

She moaned loudly, her entire head tipping back at the sound of his promise. “Oh, please…yes!”

“Another beautiful sound,” he said, lips caressing her forehead as he placed a kiss right between her brows. ‘You, begging for me. It’s so hard to not give you what you want…”

“Please, Ebenezer!” she practically wept. Lifting a leg, she shakily wrapped it around his waist to bring his hips down. Feeling his tip right of her entrance, pressing inside slightly, made both release a collective sigh of yearning.

“A-Are you certain?” he stuttered.

She nodded. “Yes.”

With a roll of the hips, he slid inside, and … it was perfection. His cock filled her so perfectly. He wasn’t too big or too small. He knew when to speed up his pace, and when to slow down and keep her teetering on the edge. Best of all, he knew her body and knew what made her scream.

When he bucked his hips and arced right into the spongy G-spot on the roof of her sheath, her entire body went as taut as if she’d been seared by electrocution.

“Y-Yes, right there!” she begged. Her other leg shot up to cradle his body, his narrow hips fitting perfectly between her trembling thighs.

Platitudes fell from her lips as he continued his steady rhythm. With one hand supporting her lower back so he didn’t drive her too hard into the ground, he rutted into her with the same desire he felt the first time they’d slept together.

The entire time, he whispered comments into her ear: about her beauty, about how good she felt, about how lucky he was to share these moments with her. For a man who fancied numbers more than words, he was an incredible poet.

When she finally came crashed down from her high a minute later, her spine kinked and she dug her nails into his skin. He growled in pleasure, a smirk never leaving his visage as he watched her beautiful features spasm in bliss.

“There we go,” he commended, hands combing through her coppery strands. “That’s a good girl. Just like that.”

Tears in her eyes from the power of her orgasm, she let out one last cry as she felt her body close around his cock like a hot fist.

As he went to pull out and finish outside of her, she kept her legs locked around his waist, keeping him in place.

“S-Stay inside…” she begged, hands flying to squeeze his shoulders. “Finish in me.”

His eyes softened instantly, then glazed with the telltale signs of happiness. “M-My Constance, a-are you…are you sure?”

Again, she nodded. “I’ve never been more certain.”

This certainly of her love for him and confidence in him as a potential father to her children…it was too much. His brow furrowed as a surge of pleasure shot through him, and he shifted his angle to thrust back inside her.

Constance let Ebenezer move her body as needed to find the perfect angle that would apply to best pressure to his cock. Once he found it, she saw his eyes practically roll back.

“I-I love you…” he stuttered, already breathless after just two thrusts. On the third, he laughed and practically collapsed. “Connie, I love you so, so much.”

She nodded, her heart swelling with each beautiful declaration. “I love you, Ebenezer…my Ebenezer…”

The last of his restraint snapped, and with a growl, he shuddered and filled her with a hefty load of his seed. He frantically pumped his cock as deep as he could, filling her until droplets seeped onto the cloak below, before he let out an exhausted sigh.

He slumped beside her, a sheen of sweat covering his chest and forehead. Wiping the moisture away, he rallied himself for only a moment before he rolled atop her and kissed her again.

“You’re my radiance, my map to grace…” he said, rambling breathlessly. “I-I…could not be without you. I’m sure of that.”

It was a somber declaration, and it made her ribs go soft.

“I can’t be without you, either,” she said. “I’ll make sure we’re never apart. I never want to be taken from you.”

“I would perish before allowing that,” he whispered. Again, he reached down and twined their fingers.

Constance smiled and rolled into his embrace. She wrapped the cloak around them as a partial blanket for the moment.

“Well, perhaps we should hurry back then,” she teased. “We don’t want the ghosts to come out, right?”

He flattened his chest so she could use it as a pillow, which she greatly appreciated. As she nestled herself into place with a smile, he rolled his eyes.

“If there were any specters lurking in the trees, I’m quite certain we scared them off,” he said. Then, a beat later, he added, “Or … I hope.”

Constance giggled. “I hear no rattling chains.”

“Don't tease.”

She giggled and glanced up at him.

“I won’t let the ghosts take you away,” she promised. “After all …”

A hand drifted to her belly.

“Who knows what the future has in store?”

The two decided to stay in each other’s arms as they drank in the sunset in each other’s arms. With each passing minute, Scrooge dropped another tender kiss upon her, never wanting to let her go.

Thankfully, as long as the world around them stayed as calm and tranquil as this…he would never have to.

Tag list: @quill-pen @crimson-phantom-designs

#scrooge 2022 #scrooge a christmas carol #scrooge netflix #scrooge x oc #oc constance dogoode

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alaskashigh · 6 months

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i’m currently driving around in a toddler car so whens the best time to write silly headcanons then now? (Or I get silly ideas when i'm outside doing dumb things so here's some funny things while I have the motivation.) Illinois has definitely driven around his cities in one of those pink toddler cars. He went through a fast food driveway and got a buncha laughs by employees and customers, but was later kicked out by the manager. Bummer. California once went full blown Karen on a In-N-Out manager (damn these managers wildin) because he was exhausted. He was too embarrassed to go back so he ended up going to a new In-N-Out entirely. Florida and Lousiana once taped a bluetooth speaker onto Connecticut's back without him knowing. Everytime he would walk the two would play the Pirates of the Caribbean theme song. It drove Connecticut crazy for a few hours. One time Arkansas and his kids were outside trying to get rid of a wasps nest, his kids decided to be idiots and hit the thing down with a bat. Wasps were everywhere, kids were screaming and fleeing the scene, it was chaos. Arkansas made a mental note to never let his kids deal with something like that ever again. New York and California like to hangout in stores or outside a bunch, and so there was this one time they decided to run around Walmart at 12 in the morning. They ended up knocking an entire aisle over and got kicked out.

Washington and Oregon have a vlog channel. One of their videos is trying different Starbucks drinks and rating them. Every drink was rated poorly, but they secretly enjoyed the drinks. (A couple weeks later they caught each other going to Starbucks. It was very awkward.) Virginia once took Massachusetts to a sweet tea festival as a joke. He almost lost his shit and destroyed the place. (Luckily Virginia dragged him out with minimal damage done to the festival) My motivation has been shit because I always push myself too much when it comes to writing fics and headcanons, so my bad that I haven't gotten to asks or posted in a bit. I actually started a few of the headcanon asks and things a few days ago, I just haven't posted them since I don't want anything to be like half-assed. I'm workin on it I swear lol

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january-summers · 7 months

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No one look at me right now. I started thinking about how the new season is going to undo one of the most defining qualities of Epsilon as an individual if that really was Tex in the trailer. Because of all the iterations of Leonard Church - Director, Alpha, Epsilon – Epsilon was the only one who managed to Let Go of Allison, to stop chasing her ghost, to be able to grow past that grief.

And then I started thinking about the fact that Epsilon is different from the two other Churches because of that, but why?

Because it was just the point in the narrative for him to get over her?

Or because as much of an impact as Epsilon left on Washington, Washington left his own impact on the AI. Washington, who was pretty social before Epsilon, who shows an emotional growth and maturity as the seasons progress, who encourages Carolina to find a balance between moving on and forgetting completely when it comes to her grief over her own lost love, York, left even the barest hint of a road map for Epsilon to have personal growth outside of his predefined Churchness.

Or because Epsilon was Alpha once, and he was reconstructed in Alpha's image, but not Alpha's image of himself. Epsilon is reconstructed in Caboose's image of Alpha. Caboose, who saw the best in Alpha and eventually learned himself how to let Church go, who, when faced with the option of saying goodbye or saving Church, chose to say goodbye even though it hurt him so much because he understood he couldn't erase what had happened even if he brought Church back.

And I feel like it matters that even though Epsilon didn't originally 'remember' Tucker, it was his mental image of Tucker who called him out on how shitty and stalkery the 'follow her down through the layers' thing was. And not just because 'Tucker's the snarky judgemental one.'

And I do enjoy the 'do we have to call them canon?' later seasons, because they continued this theme of closure and grief with (Caboose and) Carolina, except like Epsilon, she managed to confront her grief and move on. She might still love York, but she's not going to chase his ghost to the detriment of others, and she might feel like she's failed in her duty to Wash by letting him walk into that bullet, but they're going to get through it all together. She faced the thing her father did, and she did better.

I just.

Carolina said herself “Dad died when Mum did.” And yeah the Director lost himself to grief when Allison died.

Alpha was within the Meta, with Beta, when the EMP went off killing all the AIs in the Meta's head.

Epsilon managed to start healing from that bullshit.

Like, I'm pretty sure he reabsorbed the Epsi-Tex (Texsilon?) fragment he made when he did that, and that's where she went, but dude. Please. He was moving on, he had reached Acceptance.

Epsilon, who's entire identity is based on being someone else's memories, broke free from that in built script.

When Epsilon died, it wasn't chasing someone he had lost, or fixing the mistakes of his past, it was to save the people he had.

Don't get me wrong, I adore Tex, and I would love for Alpha|Church and Beta|Tex to have a happily ever after (they are way too dysfunctional for it to be considered healthy by normal standards but let them do them it's more entertaining that way) and I'm happy Epsilon's not dead anymore, but just let me lie here for a while having feels over the reasons why Epsilon|Church could do what Director and Alpha couldn't.

#red vs blue #rvb #“it's not that deep brah”#but let's pretend it is anyway #I'm back on my bullshit #epsilon #leonard church

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morallyinept · 6 months

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Shoot: Augustman Singapore, Oct 2019 Issue. Published online on Oct 10th 2019.

Photographer: Doug Inglish

Interviewer: Cezar Greif

Grooming: Mira Chai Hyde

Full interview, behind the scenes, outtakes & shoot photographs below. 👇🏻

Jett's Pedro's Shoots Masterlist

• Cover shot and original images used in the magazine.

• Outtakes and behind the scenes images.

• Full interview.

Pedro Pascal: Life before and after Game of Thrones.

Until recently, people were still erroneously addressing Pedro Pascal as Pascal Pedro. But he didn’t mind. Years of struggle in New York’s theatre scene had taught him to take things in stride. Pascal had studied drama in NYU, with his appearances on television after that limited to bit parts in Buffy the Vampire Slayer and a few cop dramas. It took Game of Thrones, playing the part of Oberyn Martell, to make Pascal a household name – at the age of 37, no less.

Since that breakout role, Pascal has been busy. Among other works, he starred opposite Denzel Washington in The Equalizer 2, played a leading role in the Netflix biographical crime series Narcos, and acted as Agent Whiskey in Kingsman: The Golden Circle. There’s more to come, beginning with the titular character in The Mandalorian, which airs on Disney’s new streaming service Disney+ this November. In June next year, Pascal is slated to appear in the next Wonder Woman movie as the villain Maxwell Lord. Clearly, the man’s career has just properly started.

When did you first fall in love with acting?

At a very young age. My father used to take us to the movies three times a week. He’d come home from work and ask if we wanted to go see something, and we would, of course, want to go. I saw First Blood, The Big Chill, and so many other films. There was one summer when my mother would drop me off at the movie theatre as though it was daycare – times were different back then.

I’d watch a few screenings of movies like Poltergeist in one afternoon before she picked me up at six. This exposure to films led to a hobby in acting that my parents were happy I had – at least I wasn’t sitting around watching cable TV all day. It occupied so much of my time and eventually turned into serious training.

Why did you make the shift?

I had to take things more seriously if I wanted to stick with it. It wasn’t just being in love with the idea of appearing in movies and on stage any more – I needed to learn to analyse a story, delve deeper into the various aspects of acting, and learn the technical side of things. What came next was getting jobs to pay the bills. Surviving as an actor, basically.

You took some time to find mainstream success. Did you ever consider quitting?

The confidence definitely fluctuates. I didn’t develop other skills, so my familiar routine was to attend auditions for jobs. One would be enough to pay for rent and food for a while, or I had to wait tables to pay for my expenses. It felt completely desperate because I was really in love with the art of acting and the idea of being a working actor.

But I always got enough work to keep going. I don’t think I would have if I couldn’t get a job in three years or something like that, but such a thing never happened. I would get a role in a tiny little play outside of Boston, or a beer commercial, or an episode of a cop show in the city.

Do you appreciate your popularity more since it came later? How do you think this has influenced the way you approach your status as a celebrity now?

I was definitely more self-assured because my habits and routines were firmly in place and felt more important to me than my newfound success. I know it’s hard for me to describe this, but I just don’t feel famous. That wasn’t part of my development when I was younger, so I came into it “fully cooked”, or maybe even overdone. (laughs) As exciting and as strange as fame can be, it just doesn’t feel as real to me as my relationships, or the fact that my backaches, or how I panic in the morning if I don’t know exactly where I can get my coffee. Those things have much higher stakes to me than the public’s perception of who I am.

Can you identify a reason for your success? Did it make sense for to you when it “arrived”, perhaps because you thought you were becoming a better actor, or was it pure luck?

I oscillate between the two. It can seem totally random, which is terrifying because anything can happen, but the randomness of it all makes a little more sense to me. But I see some clearly predestined circumstances for other people, and you sometimes have these very clear realisations that an opportunity was kept from you a long time ago because it wasn’t the right place or the right time. I guess I probably lean more towards the randomness of it all, or the simple idea that if you keep at the same damn thing, you’re increasing your chances of it succeeding.

And how do you view your breakout role in Game of Thrones now?

It changed my life, but what’s interesting is how all the silly jobs that I’ve had before this one also felt like big breaks. I was a jobbing actor by my late 20s, and I was just as excited with some seventh-tier role on some network television show because it meant that I could pay some bills.

That felt like as big as a win as anything else. It’s the same with theatre. Because it’s so hard to go from the small plays to the medium-sized ones, getting a role in the latter feels like a miracle too. I was close to becoming homeless many times in the past, and was actually staying at an AirBnB before getting the role in Game Of Thrones, so I must really thank the showrunners David Benioff and D.B. Weiss for taking that chance on me.

Has your experience in theatre helped your work in film? How do they compare?

Theatre work is like the building blocks of what I do now. From Shakespeare to something contemporary, and everything in between, I’ve done them all. When you perform the same thing eight times a week, you’re constantly reworking your role to keep it interesting, whether it’s discovering something new or discarding something that exists. It feels like training. The last time I took classes was in college – and that’s something I don’t recommend – but doing theatre work felt like staying in school, which helped. Plus, it provided medical insurance and a weekly paycheck.

Tell us more about the new Mandalorian series.

It’s taking things in a new direction. I think it’s amazing that Lucasfilm is letting Jon Favereau and Dave Felloni take Star Wars into new territories as far as style and tone are concerned, from using practical effects and digital special effects in tandem, to exploring characters out of the familiar Star Wars settings.

They’re also blurring the boundaries between the good guys and the bad guys, and I love the idea of having things in a grey area. We’re dealing with the outer reaches of the galaxy here, which means a lot of ambivalence around what is right and wrong, and the conflict between self-serving and self-sacrificial decisions and actions. It’s all very much a part of the Star Wars story. As for the character, the Mandalorian is a bounty hunter, and people pay him to do jobs. Let’s just leave it at that for now.

Christopher Nolan said he casted Tom Hardy as Bane because of how he acts through his eyes in the mask. What was it like to express everything you needed to in this role with a full-face helmet on?

Much of the work is already taken care of by the writing, which is great, as well as the visual experience that the show provides. But it was still important to me to live in the story as a person who does not show his face, so I worked a lot on the character’s body language. It feels almost like going back to theatre. I think that there’s a lot that can be told with stillness and very economical movements.

I hear that you’re a real movie nerd. Do you have recommendations for fairly unknown directors or movies that we should pay attention to?

I just saw this incredible movie called Monos by Alejandro Landes. It was amazing. And I’ve been floored by [director] Ari Aster. He’s an aesthetician that also brings out great performances, and the films Hereditary and Midsommar blew me away totally. There’s also someone who’s up and coming – Taika Waititi – who made Jojo Rabbit, that’s, in my opinion, the best movie of the year.

Jett's Pedro's Shoots Masterlist

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal shoot #pedro pascal photoshoot #pedro pascal interview #pedro pascal talks #pedro pascal augustman #pedro pascal magazine #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #pedro pascal outtake #pedro pascal behind the scenes #pedropascal #pedro pascal fandom

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lizzybeth1986 · 7 months

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Harvest Moon

Book: Perfect Match

Rating: PG

Pairings: Basil Park (m!MC) x Sage Young (f!Hayden), Basil Park x Sloane Washington, Kim Washington

Summary: It's Sage's first ever birthday! And what better way to celebrate it than a fun road trip to a place where they can see the last supermoon of the year - just her, Basil, Sloane and Kim. But this time might be a little different - because this time around, Kim knows Sage is a Match...

Word Count: 4, 099 words

Note: While looking up this year's celestial sightings would be, I discovered that 29th Sept is when we will see the last supermoon of the year. PM is set in the future but for sure I felt like it would be just extra special for me to do a similar setting for a birthday fic 😁 The events of this fic are referenced in "Saffron Sugar, Turmeric Spice"

Sage is pretty sure no one-year-old has ever had a birthday surprise quite like this one.

Though technically, there was no way it could have been a surprise. This road trip was planned and booked two months in advance, Sloane and Kim have been wanting to check out Cherry Springs State Park's dark sky view for a while, and Basil and Sage have checked the Yearly Astronomical Reference Guide on seasky.org often enough to know that the very last supermoon you'll see this year, will make an appearance on Sage's birthday.

Sure, there are people who'll wonder at the wisdom of driving five hours for a view they could enjoy anywhere in New York. But combining road trips and amateur astronomy is a family tradition. Their family tradition. A tradition the Washington women created and enjoyed themselves; a tradition both Sage and Basil both love. Because the Washingtons are their family.

Sage lets out a low, trembling sigh, and clutches her jacket closer to her body.

Were, she reminds herself, maybe "were my family" is the better phrase to use here. Would still be, if she hadn't opened her big mouth on a visit to DC last week. While Kim stood outside her door, frozen in stunned silence.

The memory is humiliating enough now to make Sage train her eyes with unusual focus outside the car window. She doesn't want to see the worry in Basil's eyes, or the pleas to talk to her in Sloane's.

She isn't sure what she'll see in Kim's, because it's been hard maintaining eye contact with her ever since that moment in the doorway - but she knows for sure whatever warmth she'd seen there before must be long gone.

On the face of it, everything seems the same. After that awkward first day, Kim seemed eager to steer things back to normal. So normal, in fact, that it began to freak Sage out.

It wouldn't be the first time someone tried to talk like everything was okay, while their stares and body language said something else altogether. Damien's wariness. Khaan's clinical interest. Winona's transparent-as-glass attempts to look away from her shoulder. The brief flash of pain in President Thompson's eyes every time she saw Sage. And while there's been enough press releases and outreach designed to change public opinion on sentient andriods....the path to real transformation is slow. And hard. And sometimes downright exhausting.

Sage is tired. She doesn't want to have to go through conversations like that again. And to have Kim - the woman she considered mom even before they met - be the person she had that talk with...would practically break her.

Better to keep off that eventuality for as long as she possibly can.

"Sage, baby," Kim says, distractedly, eyes on the road. "Which song next? Come Fly With Me, Fly Me to The Moon or The Girl from Ipenama?"

Nervous, Sage bites her lip. Kim has never had this much trouble choosing Sinatra songs on a road trip before. Still, maybe guessing why Kim would want these tunes in particular would distract her. The first one probably for the travel vibes. The second fits the theme of their trip and Sage suspects Kim would put the third one on just to get her to translate the Spanish verses again.

"Come Fly With Me for now," she says, "I don't care if it's about going on a plane and reminds me how sick and tired we all got of airplane peanuts last year - it's still a travel song."

Kim's laughter is light like a summer breeze, as she fiddles with the radio. Sloane joins her, her voice so like her mother's that they sound like double echoes. Sage can see the swing of her new earrings as Sloane turns to look at them. Bright yellow hoops that contrast so perfectly with her purple blazer, the spiral-like curls at the edges intricate and made entirely of paper.

Sage feels a glow of pride, looking at the immaculate detailing. Kim had taken up quilling as a hobby only early this year, and already her craftwork could rival any seasoned professional.

"Wonder how Dipper's doing," Sloane murmurs, suddenly rummaging inside her bag for her phone, "maybe I should give Nadia and Steve a call?"

"In the lap of luxury, for sure," Basil says, smiling.

"That dog is so spoiled," Sage lets out an unladylike snort.

Kim looks too preoccupied with the road to say anything, but no more than two minutes later the song on the car radio changes. To a song that Sage is pretty damn sure isn't a regular one on their playlist. Mama Will Bark. With its humourous whimsy, terrible dog puns and periodic howling. Sage almost chokes on her own laugh.

Her eyes meet Kim's in the front view mirror for less than a second; so belief that she's convinced she has to have imagined that Kim winked at her.

Basil and Sloane give Sage her birthday gift at the Campgrounds, just before sunset. She gasps at the beauty she's just unwrapped - A GoPro Hero 35 Black camera kit; the Creator Edition Bundle, the kind that comes with a chest mount, a head mount, a tripod - the works. It's the kind of camera that would work like magic any time, any terrain, any weather. An adventure lover's dream.

"Wow..." she breathes, her chest tight, "Fucking wow."

Behind them, Kim clears her throat. Very audibly.

Spying from beneath her lashes, Sage spots a slight smile. "Oops," she says, not feeling very sorry at all. Secret jokester that she is, Kim likes to front like she cares about the group's collective tendency to cuss at the drop of a hat, but does such a poor job of it that it's become an inside joke among them all now.

Kim chuckles. "What say we all take a small walk after half an hour?"

The three of them nod, and stuff the wrapping paper and used tapes into a bag they've reserved just for garbage, to be thrown at the sanitary dump area before they leave the premises. Basil looks around the near-empty expanse of greenery, "We could go now if you want, Kim."

A small huff of laughter. "Not yet. The moon will be out any minute now. Go put that camera to good use and...moongaze, I guess...I'll just take care of a few things in the tent."

Soon enough, the harvest moon does come out - more swollen, more rounded, more golden than the full moon they're all used to. Its colouring takes on an almost ombre tone - a light gold at the top, melting into an almost red-orange hue towards the bottom. It feels so close you could be tempted to reach out and touch it.

It wasn't like they didn't know what to expect. Sloane told them. Showed them videos, pictures, all peppered with jargon they could barely understand. Explained the science so that by the time they came here they knew that, technically, this was an optical illusion caused by the moon's elliptical orbit. They knew what a perigee was. Enough documentary nights have passed between the three of them to make the moon sound like less of an object of magic and whimsy, and more a funny little rock that orbits the earth every 28 days.

But...but seeing it up there like this, up in a sky unmarred by smog and bright lights, where on any other night the Milky Way would be laid out across the sky like a carpet of stars. And so close, that you could make out - ever so faintly - the lattice work of the craters and the fine lines that connect them. Sage wonders at the sheer intimacy of this experience; of being here, watching this, with the two people who mean the world to her.

"Yknow what," she murmurs, rummaging through boxes and protective cases and quickly setting up the GoPro, "now would be a good time to try this baby out. Like, it is my birthday."

Basil grins. "I'm game," he says looking at Sloane, "have any ideas, babe?"

Sloane looks up, nose scrunched in deep thought. "Would silhouettes take too much time? The moon could shift position too soon if we don't time it right."

"Leave that to me," Sage says, smirking. "I'm the photographer here, remember?"

Sloane rolls her eyes in a way that reminds them eerily of Alana. "I built you from scratch a year ago, remember?"

"Touché," Sage chuckles as she gets to work. The setup isn't easy, and the fact that the moon could shift position anytime makes Sage's movements almost frenetic, but just as she is about to signal to Basil and Sloane to move together for a silhouette shot perfectly set up on the backdrop of a Harvest Moon, she sees Sloane approach her.

"You're the birthday girl," she says, panting, "You should get first dibs on a shot."

Sage giggles. "Trust you to spoil me as much as you do Dipper." She makes a few final adjustments, then turns to Sloane. "You know how to work this?"

"Sure I do. I looked up at least 8 - no, 9 - tutorials!"

She lets out a belly laugh, playfully punching Sloane in the shoulder. "Show off."

Sloane has only one instruction to Basil and Sage when they finally position themselves to her satisfaction. They're already in each other's arms; Sage winding hers behind his neck and fiddling idly with the mess of curls there, Basil flattening his palms against her waist, nuzzling her nose with his.

"Kiss already!" Sloane yells.

Basil grins. "As the lady wishes," Sage barely hears the words over the rush of sensation flooding her, as his mouth descends on her top lip. She smiles into the kiss, her hands already moving to fist themselves in his shirt.

Almost a year since they first met, since that first life-altering kiss outside his apartment door. So much has happened to them since then...but still. Her pulses still race like it's the first time all over again.

Sage takes a deep, shaky breath when their lips part, her forehead touching his, not fully ready to break contact yet. She caresses his back slowly as she lets go, and she knows that the biggest, goofiest, sappiest grin must be showing on her face right now.

She calls out to Sloane as she makes her way to where she's standing. "Your turn, space princess!"

Sage lines up her shot and stands back, noting with satisfaction that the moon looks suitably large - overwhelmingly so - and still very close to the horizon. Basil and Sloane's silhouettes stand out perfectly against the backdrop; Sloane cups his face with both hands as she usually does, her shoulders folding in on themselves as she allows herself to settle into their kiss. Sage knows it's always been this way between them; sharing physical space isn't easy for Sloane, and she needs a partner who will ease her in rather than rush her.

Sage doesn't know what that feels like - she needs an element of surprise, the thrill of brief, needy kisses in hidden hallways. She's always been the more tactile one - for her, touch is comfort. And somehow, inexplicably, Basil seems to understand both their ways of loving, and enjoy it. Love it, even.

Stop being sappy, Sage shakes her head, laughing, you're gonna take the best damn pictures of them they've ever seen, just wait.

The camera captures everything - Sloane standing on tiptoe to kiss Basil, one of his hands tenderly cradling the back of her neck and the other wrapped around her, the shape of their parted lips so heart-stoppingly close as they move away. Sage has taken so many that it will probably be harder to pick the best one from the lot.

They take more pictures by the moon (Kim pops by shortly after Sage's last shots of Basil and Sloane, telling them she'll take fifteen more minutes before joining them for their walk). Sloane and Sage forming the cheesiest-ever heart shapes with their arms, making Basil laugh so much they're sure his photos will come out a blurry, incoherent mess. Spotting a nightjar on a low branch, lining the shot up so its silhouette is caught in sharp contrast to the supermoon too.

Sage wants to take other, simpler pictures: just them sitting and talking, the moonlight casting a golden glow over their faces...but she can't. She won't. Without Kim, pictures like that would feel incomplete. No matter what problems they may have among themselves, no matter what Kim would think of her...Kim matters too much to be excluded from her most personal, most vulnerable photos of this night.

Almost as though summoned by Sage's thoughts, Kim appears. Her smile seems a little tired, and her right hand seems to curl loosely into itself. A fist, but not quite. She carries a flashlight with a red filter on her right hand, the ones they all bought two weeks ago to preserve their night vision. For the first time Sage looks back at her, and when she looks at Basil and Sloane a few seconds later there is something strange about their smiles that she can't exactly place.

They're ten minutes into their walk when Sage realizes that Basil and Sloane are far behind her and Kim, seeming to take their own sweet time to catch up.

Panicking, she turns to Kim, searching her face for a mirror of the confusion she feels. She finds none. Kim is instead taking deep breaths, putting her hands in her pockets and soaking in the fragrance of the dark cherry trees nearby. Like she isn't in any real hurry either.

An invisible fist seems to close around the center of her chest. Sage can hardly breathe.

"Sit with me for a bit, Sage." Kim's voice is warm, gentle, like the handmade quilt she'd made Sloane one Christmas, that now covers the three of them in their own bed. For the first time she doesn't trust the emotion she reads into it.

Sage doesn't give much thought these days to the inner workings of her own body. Whether she has heartbeats, what causes the fizzing sensation beneath her skin whenever she gets too nervous, how her blushing (which not many notice) isn't a result of too much blood rushing to a singular place but a mechanism set in motion by commands and code. But it's times like these - when her body feels too much, all at once - that she wishes she understood better how it all worked. That she wonders why the magnitude of what she's experiencing alone doesn't cause her body to shut down.

Right now, it's just one emotion - fear - and there's too much of it firing every synapse in this manmade (womanmade? Sloane created her, after all) body.

She feels Kim's eyes boring into her as they settle on the grass.

"Sage, honey. Did I do something wrong?"

For the first time in a week, Sage looks up at Kim and actually holds her gaze this time. Those weren't the words she was expecting to hear, nor is this soft, worrying look in her eyes the one she was expecting to see. She lets out a deep, shuddering breath.

"Thought you hated me," she presses her lips together, hating the way tears form a film over her eyes and blur her vision, hating her inability nowadays to pretend she was strong when she most needed it, "For lying. For not being human enough."

The force of Kim's sudden embrace feels as powerful as a gut punch. Sage gasps at how strong Kim's arms feel, wrapped around her shoulders, engulfing her so that Sage's face is buried in the space between neck and shoulder. She breathes in Kim's distinctive fragrance - fresh herbs and warm tea - and is hit by the sudden sharp memory of the phantom figure she rarely thinks about now. The mother who hugged her just like this when her first crush rejected her in front of the whole school. The mother Sloane programmed her to remember.

"Oh, honey," Kim whispers, hands rubbing down her back in a rhythm that Sage always associated with soft blankets and lullabies. "No. No. No. Never." Her voice is soft and hoarse, almost like she's trying to hold back tears. "I could never hate you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I ever allowed you to think that."

Sage turns her head in the opposite direction towards the moonlit horizon, cheek still pressed against Kim's shoulder. It isn't Kim's fault, not really. She was trying to tell her nothing had changed. It was...it was just hard for her to believe.

She takes a few deep breaths, tries hard not to let her tears fall. They fall anyway.

When Kim speaks again, her voice is still soft, barely louder than a whisper. "I...I think I know where I got it wrong. That first day, wasn't it? Because I barely said anything."

Sage doesn't answer. There's too much she wants to say; none of it feels right for this conversation. Kim pauses for a beat, then speaks again.

"I think I wanted to take time to process. All those times I saw you crying about your mother, all those times the three of you would look at me...like there was something you needed to hide from me."

"Sorry," Sage says, giving Kim's arm an apologetic squeeze. "We were going to tell you at some point, I swear. I guess we just keep putting it off."

Kim places her hands on either side of Sage's face, raising it as if she wants to take a good look at her. Her eyes are moist too, and the pain she feels at making Kim sad twists inside her stomach like a knife. "Sloane told me you had no clue who you were until you saved Basil from a taser."

Sage nods. "I had all these memories. Huddling under a table with my mom during a storm. Getting jealous when my friends were hogging her attention," Kim chuckles a little at that one. Sage looks down before she whispers, "road trips with Sinatra on the radio..."

Kim's hands come to her shoulders now, as she shakes her head. "Sloane told me about that. All I could think of was what my poor Sage had been through. I felt like I needed to fully reevaluate everything I thought I knew about you with all that in mind. And when the time came to talk...I guess I didn't know how to actually talk about it."

Sage nods and looks away, finally understanding. Her brain is too much on overdrive to immediately respond, the words she doesn't hate me, she doesn't hate me, forming a tattoo in her head.

Kim speaks again. "I wanted to show you that it didn't matter to me...that's why I started speaking to you like before. Except...that backfired, didn't it?"

Sage sighs. Kim doesn't know about all the people who tried to pretend and then screwed up anyway, and Sage doesn't want her to know. "Maybe. But I don't know if I was ready to talk either," she says slowly, "And I can't blame you for taking a day to think."

Kim seems to search Sage's face for... something - Sage can't figure out what - before she moves away, raising her knees in front of her and winding her arms around them. There is a small, tight smile on her lips. "I guess you could say I was...processing."

For a few moments, Sage can do nothing but blink. Several times.

"Oh my God, Kim," once Sage gets it, she can't stop laughing, "that joke was terrible!"

The smile widens. "Sorry my load time took most of the day."

"No! Worse!"

Kim stares at her, all placid innocence. "Kim.exe has stopped working."

"Stop! Stop!" Sage almost punches her arm in her attempts to stop laughing, just like she did at Kim's jokes several weeks ago, and every golden, sunlit, wonderful week before that. "You're killing me here!"

Kim and Sage fall over each other, finding themselves in loop after loop of giggle fits. So much so that they forget what they were actually laughing about - they only have to look at each other before they start again.

When they're done clutching their stomachs and wiping tears from their eyes, Sage keeps her head on Kim's shoulder. Kim keeps her arm around Sage's. All the laughter is gone from Kim's voice now; it is low and measured, as if she's been practicing the words.

"It isn't fair."

Sage tenses. "What isn't?"

"That anyone would make you believe...that how you were built, should make you any less of a person."

Sage smiles wanly. It's as if all the stress and all the pain, all the fear of having to face hostility again, has leaked out of her - leaving her in a weird mix of exhaustion and bliss. She winds her arms around Kim's midsection, closing her eyes against the faint memory of doing this as a child, to a figure who feels more phantom than mother.

"I have my people," she says, "and before you ask - yes, you're one of them. I was just afraid I'd lose you."

Their arms tighten around each other. "Never," Kim says it like a vow, then tilts her head to where Basil and Sloane stand, holding hands and gazing at the harvest moon.

Sage grins, briefly dislodging herself from Momma Kim's embrace and calling out to them.

"Get here, you two! Stop pretending to moongaze or whatever. Kim and I patched up!"

"About time you did!" Basil calls back as they both make their way towards Kim and Sage.

Sage pretends to look annoyed. "We spent, like, a whopping ten minutes yapping here. The least you could've done was sneak in a good makeout sesh."

"Sage!" Sloane says, grinning and hiding her face in Basil's arm. "Not in front of mom!"

Kim laughs. "You two expect me to believe that? I've seen more than my fair share, Trudy!"

Seeing the four of them laugh together in a way they haven't all week, Sage's chest feels so full she can hardly bear it. They all stand together, switching between giggly banter about the rest of the group and gazing up at the golden moon again. They know it's the last time they'll see a supermoon this year.

Kim stops Sage just as they're all about to return to their tents, ready to settle for the night. Basil and Sage look at each other, smile, and go inside.

"C'mere," she says, taking something out of her pocket. Whatever it is, it's small enough to nestle in the palm of her hand. "In the middle of all that yapping I forgot to give you your birthday present, darling."

Sage lets out a soft gasp. In the brief but intense rollercoaster that was today she almost forgot she had a birthday to celebrate.

Kim opens her palm to reveal two large, gorgeous, teardrop shaped earrings - the quilling pattern on them so intricate it reminds Sage of arabesque designs. Even in the dark the colours dazzle: electric blue on the outside, sunset orange on the inside. The double-toned hues remind Sage so much of a fiery sunset, sinking into a deep blue sea.

"Happy birthday, honey," Kim whispers.

This work of art. One that must have taken blood, sweat, tears, paper strips, glue, tools. One that must have taken Momma Kim hours to get right.

Sage tries to swallow a lump in her throat, cursing herself for the fresh onset of tears. "For me?"

Kim lets out a laugh that borders on watery. "Anything for my girls." She steals a glance at their tent, "and boy, of course. Basil's getting a pendant. Don't tell."

She giggles; another implanted memory emerges as she holds out her little finger. This time it doesn't appear with the wave of bitterness that usually follows...this time, she holds that memory to her chest, with joy. And love.

She links her pinky with Kim's, laughing again as the older woman's eyes brighten. "Pinky promise."

They'd asked for a two-night stay when they'd made the bookings. Cherry Springs is an internationally-acclaimed Dark Sky Park, Sloane had explained back then, before slipping into what they all dub her personal "Guide to Understanding Astronomy Jargon for My Very Confused Boyfriend and Best Friend", That means a place that restricts artificial light so you can experience true darkness. The stars can never be clearer in the night sky than in a place like that! You just won't see as much of it when you have a big bright supermoon on the horizon.

Which is how they end up staying another night at Cherry Springs, soaking in the brilliance of the stars against a slowly waning moon, shrunk to its usual size. The three of them are huddled together beneath a quilt that Kim had knitted for Sloane, long before she had ever met Basil and Sage.

Kim herself has turned in for the night, early sleeper that she is. She'd kissed them all goodnight before leaving, and Sage couldn't resist tightening her arms around her so she could hold on to her warmth a minute more.

Sage marvels at how comfortably the three of them fit against each other right now: her head on Basil's shoulder, Sloane's lying sideways against his chest, her fingers idly playing with the smaller curls above Sage's neck, taking full advantage of the fact that she feels ticklish there. Sage squirms and buries her hushed laughter in Basil's arm.

Dangly, beautiful, handmade earrings - yellow and blue-orange - swing joyously against Sloane's and Sage's necks. Hugging the quilt tighter to herself, Sage begins to play with Sloane's lovely yellow hoops. Sloane returns the gesture, grinning cheekily, and Basil lets out a small huff of laughter.

They'll head home tomorrow - wind in their hair, the sun on their skin, singing New York, New York. Just as they did before they came here...but not at all the same. They will probably return louder. Happier. More one with each other than ever before.

She looks around at the two people with her, and the woman already sleeping in a tent inside. When she releases a breath, it comes out in a happy sigh.

My people, Sage thinks dreamily, as her eyes follow the long, winding, heaven-bound path of the Milky Way. My family.

Harvest moons refer to the final supermoon of the year, which usually shows up towards the end of September. It's called so because it coincides with the harvest season. This year it actually did happen on 29th Sept. Learn more about harvest moons here, and different kinds of supermoons here.

References for the quilled earrings Kim made for the girls:

I HC that Sloane likes hoops, and this is the first design Kim masters. So the one on the left is Sloane's, and the blue-orange one on the right is Hayden's birthday present.

Currently the latest GoPro in the market is the Hero 12, but since this is set in the future I've given it a different number.

Faceclaims:

Sage Young - Lupita Nyong'o

Basil Park - Eric Mun

Sloane Washington - Nelly Muse

Kim Washington - Aunjanue Ellis

Tagging @choicesficwriterscreations for FoTW and (possibly) Bisexual Awareness Week

Tagging @choicesseptemberchallenge2023 for Day 4 - Moonlight, Moon (pls ignore if the entry is too late)

Tagging @choicesprompts for Flufftober, "Birthday Surprise".

Tagging @haydenyoungappreciationweek and @sazanes for Day 5: Happy Birthday Hayden!

#hayden young #perfect match #haydenyoungappreciationweek #HYAW #HYAW 2023 #HYAW Day 5 #HYAW Day 5: Happy Birthday Hayden!#lizzybeth1986 #content: fanfic

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truthdogg · 7 months

Text

As I read the post linked below, it reinforced for me just how much media has changed in the past ten to twenty years. The post itself is a great snapshot of what’s required to understand a news story, and it demonstrates why most news media today is simply not working.

I don’t watch tv news, and haven’t for probably a decade. We have a subscription to the New York Times, but the login rarely works for me, and we’ve let our Washington Post subscription lapse. I get my news from a variety of online newspapers, npr, websites, blogs, and podcasts, and usually do an internet search for anything that sounds interesting or that I want to understand better.

This is a pretty terrible way to keep up with things. It takes a lot of time, and it requires a general knowledge of the ideological slant of the news outlet I’m reading. That means I either have to remember or look up who owns the company and who runs their editorial board, which takes up even more time.

I could save a lot of time by going to one source that not only spells out what just happened, but also tells who loses and who gains, what the impacts will be and how to process it, and perhaps even include links to speech transcripts and legislation for us to read on our own. Good newspapers used to do more of that, but they don’t anymore; instead they simply share the latest quotes about the subject at hand. (“He said this thing, she said a different thing, so you decide for yourself who’s telling the truth. What is truth, anyway?”) So now we need to piece full stories together from multiple sources, just like tumblr user @yiffmaster does above.

It takes a genuine interest in what you’re reading to spend the necessary time that on that. Otherwise all you’ll see are stories about how there’s a new hire at NLRB from SEIU and that upset somebody, or something about the Joy Silk doctrine that makes no sense on its own, or (most likely) that Biden spoke to a worker or two on a picket line somewhere but so did Donald Trump so both parties claim to support workers. It’s all meaningless individual trees standing on their own until you can step back, study, and see the forest.

That’s not to say we never get important dot-connecting well-researched articles. We absolutely do, and there are still plenty of amazing hardworking journalists, but the landscape is so fragmented that it’s hard to know where those articles will come from, whether they can be trusted, or often even how to find or access them. Often they don’t even have dates, so it’s hard to know just how outdated the information even is.

I would love to find a news source that organized its articles by topic and provided outside links. Every story could provide links to relevant info and source material, instead of offhand references. But such a broad news site doesn’t really exist among the sources I read. (TPM might get closest at times, but it’s a tiny company.) instead, an article gets published, it’s out of date a week later, and it remains the top search result for its subject matter for weeks, months or years. Try looking up what the Biden administration did to help rail workers after they went back to work at the start of December 2022, to see what I mean. It’s possible, but you have to already know what you’re looking for. Otherwise all you can find is that they let workers down by forcing them back to work, which isn’t remotely the whole story—what came after that was a very big deal.

But there’s a workaround to all of this that a lot of Americans use to feel they have the full picture. It’s a cable network that does connect all the dots. It ties stories back into an overarching narrative, and explains to viewers how each news story reinforces its narrative. Its viewers tune in for that narrative; they know who is blocking the programs they’re told are good or bad, and who supports the other ones. It’s called FOX News of course, and it’s complete garbage propaganda. It’s also genius in how it works.

There is no good way to deprogram a FOX viewer who’s sucked in, because there is simply no alternative that fully describes the stories that they follow. They’re in an alternative universe of facts that have bits of the real world thrown in for color. The stories that multiple reliable sources do provide cannot counter that narrative on their own, because they simply don’t explain enough. If anything they have the opposite effect, because the FOX viewer is arriving with a set narrative in their mind, and the small story that simply presents arguments with no conclusions will include the argument they’re familiar with. For them to come out of that well of ignorance will require research into multiple sources that they’re simply not going to ever do.

A liberal propaganda outlet to counter it is more than useless—most people who lean left find those annoying and and no one on the right would believe a word of it.

No, what we need is news for today to be organized completely differently, almost like a current events Wikipedia. Publishing a newspaper or making a newscast and sticking them online is borderline ridiculous. They’re only snapshots in time, and without a tree of links to accompany them—perhaps via a link back to a topic main page where that tree of links resides—they often become misinformation fairly quickly.

Many news outlets have taken some baby steps toward something like this, but only with major stories (“Follow our impeachment coverage here!”), and only with their own articles. This relegates other important news (like what the Biden Admin is doing with labor) to a lesser status and keeps these outlets as news gatekeepers, and it undermines their own credibility among doubters by presenting yet another closed system.

We need news sources that are much more comprehensive and committed to providing a full picture if we ever hope to undo the damage and division that propaganda is creating here. I’d love to know if any of you have found such a thing. I haven’t.

#long reads #TLDR: news media is completely divorced from modem reality and needs a comprehensive update #us news #fake news #propaganda

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bundle-of-glitter · 11 months

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In the US there are trains only the amount of trains varies wildly from state to state and town to town. For instance, where I live, I can't take a train to school or to another destination within my town/city. I could, however, take a train to a city 3 hours away, or take a train to another state. In the city in my state that's 3 hours away, they do have a citywide tram system, but it looks like trains so they call it a light rail. In places like New York City, Washington DC, or Chicago (all big city areas) they do have trains that people use to get around as transport.

but in most places that aren't big city areas, it's a car, walking, or taking the bus (which in some places is not the most reliable option, if I wanted to take a bus to my university's campus it would take 1 hr 41 minutes. It takes 17 minutes to drive there)

there is hope though as more places are getting trains/trams at the very least in developmental stages :D!!

Do you like taking the train? Or do you have another preferred mode of transport?

Ohh in that case then it's not too different from here ig? Even in India trains are usually for long distance travel between different cities. Ofc this doesn't always apply, like there's the local trains in Mumbai which are veryy widely used in fact they're notorious for being wayy too crowded. There's also metro trains in a few, well, metropolitan cities like delhi, mumbai, kolkata, the metro in my city is still not fully constructed tho so the bus is most common. Still buses here are pretty reliable and at most only take 5-10 mins extra depending on how far you're going.

And yes i do like taking the train! I don't have a particular preference though, I just like traveling anywhere because it's fun to look outside of windows :D tho my favouritism is influenced by how rare a certain mode of transport is. Which is why travelling by metro or a double decker bus (I have only sat in one once in mumbai, I'm not aware of double decker buses being available anywhere else?) definitely holds more novelty!

#toiletpotato!

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graciellasamma · 1 year

Text

My AU of Previously On

Sup guys! As you can see on the title this is pretty much of what my version of RvB Season 15 Episode 5 “Previously On” because that episode is my favorite in season 15 because of how funny it is on their story of their retirement. If you want to know about the AU I made, then I suggest to go look at my oc “Frøy Kurenai.”

I hope you guys like it!

Grif: (groaning) Lots of bullshit, I don’t know where to start.

Tucker: Before or after the temple? If it’s before, this is gonna get NSFW real quick.

Sister: Oh yea.

Horobi: Oh God...

Izu: “Temple?”

Tucker: Ho yeah! After we captured Hargrove, we partied fucking hard! See, Chorus has this ancient relic called the Temple of Procreation that when activated makes-

Wyoming, Simmons, & Grif: WE SAID WE WOULDN’T TALK ABOUT THAT!

They quickly look at each other and Grif and Simmons quickly look away, embarrassed. Wyoming just blushed in embarrassment.

Blake: Wait. It doesn’t due as the same implies right?

Sarge: Oh it does! It was all like a planet-wide aphrodisiac! Things got real Bohemian! (knowingly) Mm-hmm!

Tucker: Yeah, y’all keep saying that! But everything felt normal to me!

Sister: Ya, it was completely normal.

Washington: Surprising no one.

Weiss: Gross!

Yang & Urataros: I wish I was there!!

Weiss & Momotaros: DON’T EVEN THINK ABOUT IT, YANG/YOU PERVERTED TURTLE!!!

Ruby: Ugh, from you Yang, I’m not even surprised.

O’Mally: Hehe, let me ease up Papa Wolf’s concern over his pup’s virginity. Once the idiot with the sword over here activated the temple. Frøy got bored and decided to play Monster Hunter on his Nintendo while hearing music with his earphone.

Jiro: So he didn’t do anything... weird?

Doc: No not at all, we just doing our business while Frøy too distracted by his game and hearing music.

Jin: I don’t get it, what are they talk about??

Horobi & Aruto: We’ll talk about it when you’re older!!

Felix: Locus was already off of Chorus by the time the planet-wide party began.

Grif is still looking away from Simmons.

Simmons: Can we-can we change the subject?

Ramon: why are you guys so nervous?

Caboose: (To Ramon) Oh, they’re just upset because they got locked in storage closet during the whole thing and Reggie and Flowers were in-

Gamma: Yes, and of course they were.

Ikazuchi, Yang, Nora, Momotaros, & Vice: WHAT?! HAHAHAHA!!!

Wyoming: THE SUBJECT. CHANGE IT.

Frøy: Hold on, I thought you were the one who-

Wyoming: I SAID: CHANGE IT.

Washington: To actually answer your question, after the war on Chorus we decided we were due some time off.

York: We’ve earned some R&R. Even Carolina, Tex, and South agreed!

Tex: When did I ever agree to th-

South: It was for the best. Clearly. (Takes a glance at Carolina)

Carolina: I thought I’d give the simple life a day in court.

Gamma: Surprising. Everyone.

Grif: No more adventure? Hell yeah, I was on board!

Butch: We were all on board.

Simmons: Kimball set us up on this isolated moon, and she built us some of the most awesome new bases, ever!

Shot of the new Red and Blue bases, which look like luxury condos.

Tucker: Everyone adjusted to the peace and quite differently. Some of us were natural!

Grif: Don’t hate the player.

Theta: Sarge got hopelessly depressed after not dying heroically on Chorus!

Sarge: Hogwash! Baseless slander!

Simmons: But you said-

~*~*~

Cut to the Red Team, including Lopez, outside their new base. Sarge walks up.

Sarge (flashback): I am hopelessly depressed after not dying heroically on Chorus! We need a new enemy...

Hearing this, Red Team quickly scatter.

Sarge (flashback): ...something to fight. Where y’all going?

~*~*~

Back in the Bases, CT looks at Carolina.

CT: Sarge wasn’t the only one having a hard time adjusting to inaction.

Everyone looks at Carolina.

Carolina: What?!

Washington: Fortunately, we found a tutor.

~*~*~

Cut to Carolina and Grif in a small ravine, Grif sitting cross-legged on the ground and Carolina standing up, looking at him as though he were a wise master. Or Yoda, maybe.

Carolina (flashback): (dead serious) Help me, Grif. Help me be the best at being lazy.

Grif (flashback): (wise and mysterious) You’re not ready, padawan.

Carolina (flashback): I can try!

Grif (flashback): No. There is no try.

Felix (flashback): (offscreen, yelled) YOU SAID THE LINE!!

~*~*~

Flowers: (narrator) The peaceful times didn’t last too long. Turns out this planet has some native lifeforms!

~*~*~

Loud thumping as Flowers, Frøy, North, Simmons, Tucker, and Grif run across the scene. We hear the sound of a dinosaur roaring.

Simmons (flashback): AHHHH, RUNNN!!!!

Grif (flashback): I CAN’T DIE AS FOOD! OHHH HOOO, THE IRONY!!!!!

North (flashback): HOW IS THAT IRONY?!?!

Frøy (flashback): HAHAHA!! I’M HAVING SO MUCH FUN!!!

~*~*~

Carolina: (narrator) While everyone debated if dying as food was technically ironic, Caboose went and made friends with the dinosaurs.

Hiromi: Why would he do that?

Grif: (narrator) Because of course he did.

~*~*~

Carolina, Flowers, North, Frøy, Tucker, Grif, Sarge, and their AIs are staring up in awe the camera, while we see the shadow of a dinosaur with a Caboose-sized figure on its head.

Caboose (flashback): (offscreen) Awww, who’s a good boy?! Awww, you are a good boy!

Felix (flashback): Holy shit!

Flowers (flashback): CABOOSE, get down from there!

Church (flashback): How the hell does he get up there without getting eaten?!

Frøy (flashback): Can I eat it?

Sarge (flashback): Tell him to fight me!

Theta (flashback): Ummm Sarge, you do know you are gonna lose that fight in a heartbeat, right?

~*~*~

Tex: And let’s not forgot, trivia night.

Everyone except Felix, Wash, Delta, Theta, Carolina, Caboose, and Donut groans at that.

Felix: Hey, you guys wanted to give me a party, and that’s what I got.

Tucker: Easy for you to say! You got all the answers right!!

Simmons: You gave us hard questions.

Felix: Are you serious? It was easy!

York: It was a trick question!!

Ryutaros: What’s trivia night?

Delta: They are like pub quiz, one of us has to ask the question that we made while the rest of us have to answer the question correctly.

Theta: We decide to make a theme on all the questions from his favorite movie series!

Tucker: Which is Star Wars by the way. (glaring at Felix)

~*~*~

Everyone gathers around for trivia night.

Grif (flashback): Anakin Skywalker.

Felix (flashback): (monotone, like church) No.

York (flashback): C-3PO.

Felix (flashback): (monotone) No. That’s a droid.

Sarge (flashback): Grif.

Felix (flashback): No. He’s not even a Star Wars character Sarge.

Sarge (flashback):............. You sure?

~*~*~

Felix: WHAT PART OF “THE MOST ANNOYING CHARACTER IN THE STAR WARS UNIVERSE” DID YOU NOT UNDERSTAND?!

Sarge: It was a trick question!

Felix: Oh come on! I gave you plenty of hints! Even Caboose got it right!

Caboose: I nearly said Tarkin because he is mean.

Frøy & Church: Well not all of us is a Star Wars nerd like you, so sorry if we don’t know all the characters!!

Felix: Oh fuck you both!! (Giving them the middle finger)

Grif: (narrator) And then DONUT somehow managed to burn down our bases!

~*~*~

Donut standing in the foreground, while the bases burn in the background.

Donut (flashback): Whoopsy-daisy!

~*~*~

Grif: (narrator) Ah-ha, why, why, oh why?!

Church: Some of them were crying, and some of them didn’t care.

Tucker: And you were one of those people who didn’t give a shit.

Church: I expected things to go wrong from the start. Don’t blame me if I didn’t help with the problem, dickhead!

Donut: (offscreen, still unfiltered) I told you, it was a simple mishap with my vanilla-satin-scented candles. Sheesh.

Flowers: DONUT! CLOTHES!

Donut: Party pooper!

Kintaros: Why is he naked?

Leo: THAT’S your first question?

Aruto: Why did you have a candle in the first place?

Wyoming: We need them to remove the stench that was coming from the kitchen.

All eyes from the Reds and Blues glared at Carolina yet again.

Carolina: I was trying to find a hobby, so don’t blame me.

Frøy: Are you kidding me?! I wasn’t able to use the toilet because of both Grif and Sister were stuck in the bathroom for weeks because of food poisoning, and the toilet clogged because of that!!

Grif: I regret ever tasting that MRE.

Jiro: I know how you feel.

Both Jiro and Ramon glared at Riki because of the stench in his room and his cooking skill.

Simmons: Anyway, we lost 80% of our rations in the fire, so these two fat-asses (looks at Grif and Sister) over here started going around and eating native plants!

~*~*~

Grif and Sister approach some wild mushrooms that glow a mysterious blue coolor.

Grif (flashback): Oh, hey there, sexy.

Sister (flashback): These look good.

~*~*~

Simmons: (narrator) Oh, and as it turns out, the mushrooms are basically crystal meth ON crystal meth!

~*~*~

Cut to Grif and Sister running by, in order, Sarge fighting a tree, Carolina fixing a Warthog, and Simmons going for a walk.

Grif (flashback): (super fast) Heyhohowyadoin’? Good?Okay. I’mgonnagoforarun. AlotofpeoplesayI’mnotfast,butI’msuperfast. Don’ttell anyybodythough,it’soursecret, Okay, bye!

Sister (flashback): (super fast) I’msofullyetIhavesomuchenergy.

~*~*~

Back to the base.

Grif: Yeah? Well, at least I didn’t spend my summer learning Esperanto!

Simmons: (ashamed) I thought “Esperanto” was Spanish for “Spanish.”

Church: Spanish is just Spanish! Me and Delta told you thst multiple times but you kept saying Esperanto is Spanish!

Simmons: I know...!

Frøy: And now you’re the only one in the universe who speaks a dead language! How appropriate!

Simmons: (sigh) Mi estas tiel sola. (I’m so alone.)

Caboose: And Freckles got a new body! He can use any bathroom he wants now!

~*~*~

Freckles walks threateningly into the scene. We then cut to a wide shot to reveal he’s hopelessly small, with Caboose and Tucker looking at him.

Freckles (flashback): (like a chipmunk) Prepare to be exterminated!

He shoots Caboose. Caboose dramatically falls.

Caboose (flashback): AHHH! Tucker! You’re supposed to be playing dead.

Tucker (flashback): (leaving) Riiight...

~*~*~

Back to the base.

Tucker: That’s right around when we tried to raise some money for new bases by selling off our movie rights!

Delta: I believe we didn’t have any-

Ruby, Jin, Ryutaros, Aruto, Leo, & Vice: You have movie rights?! Awesome!

Pyrrha: Even with my fame. No movie company has asked for me to be in any of their films.

Izuku: What rights did you own?

South: Us and for some reason Reservoir Dogs. We still have no idea why we own that.

Grif: Yeah well, Hollywood really screwed the pooch on that one.

Church: We should have burned the script when we had a chance.

Weiss: Was it bad?

Doc: Well it received positive reviews and critical acclaim. They just got us and the story all wrong.

O’Mally: Ugh, they just have to ruined my character.

Simmons: Oh, but we were rich!

Grif: And then we realized water parks were way more awesome than bases!

Carolina: So we built the galaxy’s greatest... water park.

CT: 101 on how to waste money on useless stuff, we don’t need.

~*~*~

Cut to the water park. Where all the boys even Washington jump in the air with joy. Carolina, South, and CT refrains.

Boys (flashback): Yay!

Girls (flashback): (with disinterest) Yay...

~*~*~

Ruby, Jin, Vice, Ramon, & Ryutaros: That’s so cool!!

Yang: I wanna swim! I’ll get my bikini!

Wyoming: Don’t bother.

George: What? Why?

Grif: BECAUSE OF DONUT-!

~*~*~

Mirroring the shot from before, Donut is in the foreground as the park burns in the background.

Donut: Whoopsy-daisy.

~*~*~

Grif: I MEAN HOW?! HOW DO YOU BURN DOWN A WATER PARK, DONUT?!

Delta: It is highly illogical of how he did it.

Donut walks in, now wearing his armor.

Donut: 1) Lube isn’t normally flammable! And B) I didn’t burn down the whole water park! Just the park part!

Caboose: And then we formed the best band ever!

Washington: Tucker thought it might attract... chicks.

Tucker: Which worked.

~*~*~

Cut to Grif and Tucker arguing over the name, with Caboose watching on the drum while Frøy was on the mic and while Church and Felix just standing and floating at their partner’s side while watching the whole argument.

Grif: The Talking reds!

Tucker: Mötley Blüe!

Grif: How about redmau5?

Carolina: Hey, I heard you boys are looking for a backup singer.

Tucker: Uh, yeah! Chick singers are awesome!

Grif: Can you sing, though?

Frøy and Church does a killing gesture knowing their sister’s voice.

Carolina: (confident) Can I sing?

~*~*~

Cut to the base.

Tucker: (unconvincingly) Carolina sings. So good.

Carolina: Thank you.

Simmons: Oh, and we’re definitely not hust saying that because she could kill us.

Wyoming: And break every bone in our body.

Grif: (strained) So. Good.

Tucker: I mean... Frøy wasn’t bad.

Frøy: Please stop it.

Simmons: Sarge decided to make his own enemy, so he built an evil robot army to invade our valley!

Tucker: But the robots malfunctioned and attacked the dinosaurs!

Theta & Iota: And it was the awesomest battle ever! Of all time!!

~*~*~

Cut to the Reds and Blues watching an enormous battle happening offscreen. We get explosions and roars and some flashes of red light plus a black plume of smoke coming in from off-camera.

Theta/Iota (flashback): Woah.../Wow...

Washington (flashback): I have seen some amazing things in my life, but this...? This takes the cake.

Frøy (flashback): I think I can died happy now.

~*~*~

Back to the base.

Vice: Now that is so cool!

Ryutaros: Are the dinosaurs still alive?

CT: Yeah they are, they just destroyed the robots and left. Haven’t seen them in awhile though.

Carolina: (snickering) And then Grif convinced Simmons Game of Thrones really happened.

Leo: What the heck is Game of Thrones?

Ikazuchi: A really good TV show ever!

Blake: And Grif convinced him that a fictional series actually exist?

Simmons: He explained it to me in very convincing manner.

South: And apparently, after that, we learned Simmons has a knack for-

Simmons: (panicked) Don’t say it!

~*~*~

Grif and Simmons are standing on top of the base, mirroring their positions in the first episode.

Simmons (flashback): Nuh-uh.

Grif (flashback): Uh-huh.

Simmons (flashback): Oh, shut up!

Grif (flashback): Seriously, dude!

Simmons (flashback): Nah, nah, no way!

Grif (flashback): Yeah, way!

Simmons (flashback): Dude.

Grif (flashback): Dude.

Simmons (flashback): Dude!

Grif (flashback): Dude.

Simmons (flashback): Dude!

Grif (flashback): Yeah, dude.

Simmons (flashback): That’s awesome! Man, I’m gonna go visit!

~*~*~

Weiss: Seriously?

George: Wow, you’re must be an idiot for falling for that.

Ryutaros: Wai! Simmons-no-baka!

Simmons: What? I can’t believe in it? Anyway, Sarge found a new enemy! One that would keep him busy for the rest of our time here.

~*~*~

The Reds are gathered outside the new base, watching Sarge walks on camera again.

Sarge (flashback): For far too long our people have been oppressed, crushed, under the weight pf ourselves! If we don’t start standing up to our mortal foe gravitty, by god who will?

Washington, Frøy, Church, Felix, Carolina, and Tex are watching nearby.

Carolina (flashback): Are we really going to let this play out?

Washington (flashback): Why not see where it goes?

Felix (flashback): This is gonna be good.

Church (flashback): Something we can agreed on.

Frøy (flashback): You both are just cruel.

Lopez is in the Warthog, Sarge nearby.

Sarge (flashback): Buckle up, friendo! It’s time we take this fight to the enemy!

Lopez (flashback): Por farvor no. (Please no.)

The Warthog goes flying off a cliff.

Sarge (flashback): Chaaaarge!

~*~*~

Simmons: But that just meant Blue Team had one more Jeep than Red Team.

Tex: Not the First time either.

~*~*~

Back to outside the base: Donut, Grif, Simmons, North, South, Wyoming, and CT are standing there, while the warthog is on fire in the background.

Sarge (flashback): Gentlemen and lady, we simply cannot let Blue Team have tactical superiority over the canyon! This means war! Red. VS. BLUE!

Lopez (flashback): (offscreen) Mierda... (Shit...)

~*~*~

Back to the base.

Tucker: That helped us realize just how outdated this whole Red Team-Blue Team thing really is.

Simmons: So, we had a meeting to debate a new form of government.

Yaiba & Naki: Oh this should to be good.

~*~*~

The Reds and Blues are facing each other outside their base, Carolina having joined the Blues this time.

Grif (flashback): I vote anarchy.

Simmons (flashback): You can’t vote anarchy, you dumbass!

Omega & O’Mally (flashback): But it fit us so well!

Flowers & Doc (flashback): No!

Tucker (flashback): Monarchy! Whoever holds the magical sword, (draws his sword) Excalibur!

Caboose (flashback): Party Paryarchy!

Felix (flashback): Jedi Order!

Frøy (flashback): Of course, you’ll choose that.

Felix (flashback): Hey, up yours Frøy.

North (flashback): Democracy?

Sarge (flashback): Military Dictatorship!

Carolina (flashback): Matriarchy.

CT (flashback): I like where you’re thinking.

South (flashback): Fuck yeah!

Tex (flashback): We can make an agreement on that. (smirks)

Church (flashback): Typical.

The girls (flashback): Hey!

Church (flashback): Not all of us are girls in this valley! Heck, most of us are pretty much a dude! Of course, it’s freaking cliche.

Caboose (flashback): Oh! How about Malarkey?

Flowers (flashback): Caboose, that’s not a type of government! It just means meaningless talk and nonesense!

Long silence.

~*~*~

Washington: (back at the base) Malarkey won.

Theta: There was also the time when Frøy built a bomb and it blew up and make a wormhole to a new universe.

Grif: And what came out was really, really, really weird.

~*~*~

Everyone is gathered up.

Wasington (flashback): This has to be one of the strangest things I’ve seen ever... Of all time.

Frøy and female Frøy are looking at each other with Church and Felix floating at their partner’s side also in their opposite gender. Both wear identical armor and have identical weapons.

Both Frøy (flashback): THIS IS AMAZING!!

Both Church, Felix, & Tex (flashback): This is a fucking nightmare.

~*~*~

CT: The destruction they caused was enormous.

Frøy: (sigh) Too bad she had to go home. I never met someone that I could have so much fun with.

Church: Thank God for that!! I don’t think I could handle another Frøy and Felix.

Felix: I could say the same for you, asshole.

Tex: I suppose to be the one to say that\, consider that I have to be the one to handle the both of you cockbites.

Church & Felix: Shut up, bitch.

Donut: Oh! And don’t forgot York and Carolina’s wedding!

Ruby: (gasp) Really?! That’s amazing you guys!

Leo: Congrats, you two!

Sakura: Omedetō!

George: Congratulation!

Ikazuchi: Mazel tov!

York and Carolina: Thanks.

~*~*~

Carolina was in a nice Cyan dress with York in a suit holding each other hands. Behind Carolina were CT, South, and Kimball while behind York were Wash, North, and Tucker while Frøy as the Ring Bearer with Church, Felix, and Tex floating at his side. In the center is Sarge marrying them.

Sarge (flashback): And now by the power vested in me, I pronounce you husband and wife. Just kiss the bribe already.

York chuckles with a grin.

York (flashback): You don’t have to tell me twice.

Before York could even kiss her, Carolina grabbed him by the collar and dipped him, he got startled by this but he kissed her back as everyone cheered. The lieutenants and feds shot their guns in the air as Donut and Jensen were crying.

~*~*~

Wyoming: And that’s when we knew who would be in control in bed.

Tucker: (chuckles) That’s not what I saw at the-

Carolina: Finish that sentence and I’ll make sure you have surgery so you be a women.

There was an awkward silence for that until Caboose broke it.

Caboose: Ah, you haven’t mentioned the dark place!

Tucker: Oh yeah! Somehow Caboose got stuck in another dimension!

Frøy: I didn’t do it.

~*~*~

Caboose is somehow in the Upside-Down from Netflix’s Stranger Things.

Caboose (flashback): Hello? Anyone there? THIS IS AWESOME!

The Reds and Blues are staring at the alphabet Christmas lights from Stranger Things.

Washington (flashback): “Neat.” He just... keeps saying, “Neat.”

North (flashback): I think he’s just excited, or he could be yelling for help if “neat” meant something.

Delta (flashback): How did he even end up there?

~*~*~

Back to the base.

Tucker: Oh, and we found Donut dead!

Nora: Really?

~*~*~

Grif and Wyoming find Donut’s supposedly dead body lying next to a body of water.

Grif (flashback): Sweet.

Wyoming (flashback): I guess it was the best day ever.

Simmons, Tucker, York, Wyoming, Grif, North, and their A.I.s are staring at a shallow grave.

Grif: (voiceover) We decided to bury him in a shallow, unmarked grave.

They look up, hearing Donut offscreen.

Donut (flashback): (offscreen, unfiltered) Aw, fiddlesticks! I can’t find my suit!

Grif: (narrator) Turns out he was just... skinny-dipping.

York: (narrator) And that’s where I got second-degree trauma. Thanks a lot, fuckface.

Donut (flashback): (offscreen, unfiltered, cont’d) Guess I’m going au natural! Nice and breezy!

~*~*~

Leo: Did you see him?

Grif: Yes! Yes, we saw him!

~*~*~

In the exact same shot from when they were running from the dinosaur, Simmons, Tucker, York, North, and Grif run from Donut.

Simmons: AAAAAHHHH, RUN!

Wyoming: DON’T LOOK! DON’T LOOK!

Grif: AH, THE IRONY!

York: I’M BLIND!

North: I’M SCARED FOR LIFE!

~*~*~

CT: But that wasn’t even the weirdest thing that happened! Wash, Grew. A bread...

~*~*~

Cut to Washington standing outside. Of course, we can’t see the beard because his helmet is on.

Washington (flashback): It’s kind of... itchy.

~*~*~

Tucker: And then this morning Grif spiked Simmons’s couscous with his meth-meth shrooms! And Sister wanted to see if she was faster than him.

Grif: You know, for the lolz.

~*~*~

Cut to the shot from the opening, with Grif and Flowers talking to Frøy and the rest of his companion that he met and brings them to the base as Simmons and Sister runs by.

Simmons (flashback): (super fast) Ihaventbeenbeenthishypersinceihadamargerita!

Sister (flashback): (super fast) FastImfastyougotabetterone

Donut (flashback): (offscreen, voice unfiltered) Anyone seen my tanning oil?

Flowers (flashback): Jesus Donut, we have guests!

Grif (flashback): Put some clothes on, for Pete sake!

Tucker appears again.

Tucker (flashback): Oh ho, Blue-Tang Clan!

Grif (flashback): The Red Kennedys!

There is a loud whistling sound, as though something is falling from a great height.

Sarge (flashback): (falling with it) SUCK IT NEWTON!

We quickly cut back to Grif before Sarge hits the ground.

~*~*~

Grif: It’s been awful! Instead of a peaceful retirement, it’s been the same damn shit with the same damn idiots!

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bouncinghedgehog · 8 months

Text

Long read from the New York Times, but compelling. Titled "Where are the Students?".

Empty seats

If you’re a child — or a former child — you know how hard it can be to summon the energy to leave the house each day for school. It’s early in the morning, and you are tired. Maybe you have a test or a social situation that’s making you anxious. Staying in bed often seems easier.

For as long as schools have existed, so have these morning struggles. Nonetheless, children overcame them almost every day, sometimes with a strong nudge from parents. Going to school was the normal thing to do.

Then, suddenly, it wasn’t.

The long school closures during the Covid pandemic were the biggest disruption in the history of modern American education. And those closures changed the way many students and parents think about school. Attendance, in short, has come to feel more optional than it once did, and absenteeism has soared, remaining high even as Covid has stopped dominating everyday life.

On an average day last year — the 2022-23 school year — close to 10 percent of K-12 students were not there, preliminary state data suggests. About one quarter of U.S. students qualified as chronically absent, meaning that they missed at least 10 percent of school days (or about three and a half weeks). That’s a vastly higher share than before Covid.

Thomas Dee

“I’m just stunned by the magnitude,” said Thomas Dee, a Stanford economist who has conducted the most comprehensive study on the issue.

This surge of absenteeism is one more problem confronting schools as they reopen for a new academic year. Students still have not made up the ground they lost during the pandemic, and it’s much harder for them to do so if they are missing from the classroom.

Losing the habit

In Dee’s study, he looked for explanations for the trend, and the obvious suspects didn’t explain it. Places with a greater Covid spread did not have higher lingering levels of absenteeism, for instance. The biggest reason for the rise seems to be simply that students have fallen out of the habit of going to school every day.

Consistent with this theory is the fact that absenteeism has risen more in states where schools remained closed for longer during the pandemic, like California and New Mexico (and in Washington, D.C.). The chart below shows the correlation between Dee’s state data on chronic absenteeism and data from Thomas Kane, a Harvard economist, on the share of students in each state who in 2020-21 were enrolled in districts where most students were remote:

Thomas Dee (absenteeism); Thomas Kane (virtual schooling)

“For almost two years, we told families that school can look different and that schoolwork could be accomplished in times outside of the traditional 8-to-3 day,” Elmer Roldan, who runs a dropout prevention group, told The Los Angeles Times. “Families got used to that.”

Lisa Damour, a psychologist and the author of “The Emotional Lives of Teenagers,” points out that parents think they are doing the right thing when they allow an anxious child to skip a day of school. She has deep empathy for these parents, she said. Doing so often makes the child feel better in the moment. But there are costs.

“The most fundamental thing for adults to understand is that avoidance feeds anxiety,” Damour told me. “When any of us are fearful, our instinct is to avoid. But the problem with giving in to that anxiety is that avoidance is highly reinforcing.” The more often students skip school, the harder it becomes to get back in the habit of going.

Aggravating inequality

I know that some readers will wonder whether families are making a rational choice by keeping their children home, given all the problems with schools today: the unhealthily early start times for many high schools; the political fights over curriculum; the bullying and the vaping; the inequalities that afflict so many areas of American life.

And the rise in chronic absenteeism is indeed a sign that schools need help. One promising step would be to make teaching a more appealing job, Damour notes, in order to attract more great teachers.

Still, it’s worth remembering that the rise of absenteeism isn’t solving these larger problems. It is adding to those problems.

Classrooms are more chaotic places when many students are there one day and missing the next. Educational inequality increases too, because absenteeism has risen more among disadvantaged students, including students with disabilities and those from lower-income households. “Studies show that even after adjusting for poverty levels and race, children who skip more school get significantly worse grades,” The Economist explained recently.

As Hedy Chang, who runs Attendance Works, a nonprofit group focused on the problem, told The Associated Press, “The long-term consequences of disengaging from school are devastating.”

Many schools are now trying to reduce absenteeism by reaching out to families. Some school officials are visiting homes in person, while others are sending texts to parents. (This Times story goes into more detail.)

It will be a hard problem to solve. Dee’s study focused on 2021-22 — which was two years ago, and the first year after the extended Covid closures — but he notes that absenteeism appears to have fallen only slightly last year. In Connecticut, which has some of the best data (and lower absentee rates than most states), 7.8 percent of students missed school on an average day two years ago, a far higher level than before the pandemic. Last year, the rate dipped only to 7.6 percent.

#student #students #education #absenteeism #inequality #aggravating inequality

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xxruinaxxmcu · 2 years

Text

What lies before us

Book 2 of a Jack Thompson X Reader Story

Book 1: What Lies Beneath

Chapter 1

Y/N was good at keeping secrets. She was excellent at it – after all, it had been her job for four years, and back then, her life was on the line every day. If she had slipped up, she would have been dead meat. She was excellent at it because she was a spy – keeping secrets was in their job description. She had no problem continuing the banter and annoyed remarks towards Jack Thompson during their working hours to upkeep the image that nothing had changed. She had no problem doing it. It was a different story for Jack. After all, his normal tone with people could often be characterised as the tone of a jerk. What was worse, Y/N had to endure the remarks of other people in the office, and as much as he liked to throw them onto the street, he couldn’t. They hadn’t done something he had not done too. At a time.

Today was such a day. Agent Lee’s vocal comment about how women simply didn’t belong in this environment, even ‘if they looked like Y/N’ annoyed him probably ten times as much as it did her.

“Good thing I make the hiring and firing decisions, Lee, isn’t it?”, Thompson said in passing, “Or did you get the bullet out of my chest?”

“Sorry, Chief.”

Y/N clenched her teeth to stop her from laughing. She didn’t know what was funnier – Lee’s voice that sounded like a bitten dog, or Thompson’s poisonous stare. When she brought the coffee to the Chief – an unfortunate job she had yet to get rid of somehow – she whispered in passing: “Try not to stare him to death. He’s said this about Marge a million times.”

He would have loved to say that she was not Peggy Carter, but he also knew that it was better to just say ‘thanks’ for the coffee.

Back at her desk, her phone rang.

“Agent L/N, SSR, with whom am I speaking?”

“Y/N!”

“Peggy?”, Y/N asked, “What a coincidence, I was just thinking about you. What’s the matter? How’s the western front?”

“The temperatures are slowly getting more bearable”, Carter said, “it’s even rained some days ago.”

Staring outside the window, Y/N noticed that it was still raining in New York. “What a miracle.”

“I made some progress on the Arena Club pin. It seems to link to the club’s city of origin, where they, at least historically, would hold their meetings in an undisclosed location. I’d imagine that, whatever the key opens, it will be connected to this place.”

“And where is the club’s origin?”, Y/N asked back, noting all the info down onto a paper, “Do you know that already?”

“That’s why I’m calling you”, Peggy replied, “because it’s not on the west coast. Imagine where the most likely location is for an organisation connected to wealth, power, and politics.”

“…Washington D.C.”

“It would appear so.”

“Fantastic. And what about Underwood?”, Y/N questioned.

“There have been no crimes reported in our jurisdiction that would match her skillset. It’s not impossible, of course, that she is around here, still, but she knows about the Arena Club. After some digging, we found out that not only was she hired to steal the pin, but she’d had relationships with at least one of the members before their… unfortunate demise through Whitney Frost.”

Y/N sighed. Catching Dottie Underwood was as easy as catching a dragon. Just, she’d argue, more dangerous for the people involved.

“I’ll let Chief know.”

“If we’ll find the time, we’ll fly over to discuss the case in depth. We just have to finish up a few things here, first.”

“Don’t worry, Peggy, we’ll not botch the job”, Y/N assured, “Though I’m not looking forward to heading into DC.”

She could hear Peggy laugh and someone speak in the background. “Tell Sousa I said hi.”

“I will. See you soon, Y/N.”

“Bye, Peggy.”

She stared at her notes, exhaling slowly. Another day, another attempt to catch a ex-Soviet child assassin.

Getting up, she pinched the bridge of her nose. The Arena Club was about as far removed from any Communist organisation she could think of. Aside from the Mafia, there was hardly any organisation more interested in wild capitalism than the Arena Club.

“Chief”, she exclaimed when knocking at his door, “Carter called. Underwood.”

She was called into the office and placed her notes on Jack’s desk. “She traced the Club’s origin to DC. And she assumes that Underwood is going after whatever it is the Club was hiding, too.”

He rubbed his eyes, studying her handwriting. “Brilliant”, he deadpanned.

“It’s the best lead we’ve got on both”, she shrugged, “and I’d really love to know that the Russian killing machine is locked up somewhere real save.”

“You want to lock her up?”, he questioned, “You have too much faith in our prison system. Unless, of course, you want to keep watch yourself.”

“You’re thinking of permanently stopping her?”, Y/N inquired, crossing her arms.

“Accidents happen”, he shrugged, “and usually, if you have a bomb on your hands, you diffuse it, not bury it under some concrete.”

Y/N scoffed: “I suppose. Do we have the clearance to neutralise her?”

“She’s Soviet. Of course we do. Executive Order 9835, remember?”, he asked back, referring to Truman’s decree on tighter regulations on Federal Agents to sniff out any Communist sympathisers, “We’re just doing what they’d want us to do. Eliminate the Red threat.”

Though liberally interpreted, Y/N was aware of the current climate. The White House and the Congress would have their backs. After all, they were suspecting foreign agents everywhere.

“Alright then”, she nodded, “Shooting it is.”

She was about to leave when she heard Agent Hill call her name: “L/N, phone’s ringing!”

“What is it today?”, she hissed, turning on the spot to get the call.

“Agent L/N, SSR, whose speaking?”

“Y/N?”

Y/N wasn’t quite sure if she heard right. “Jonas? Is that you?”

“Don’t ask how I got this number, I probably breached protocol more than fifty times”, she could have recognised the voice anywhere. He had worked with her in Germany – one of the few, incredibly valuable locals that worked with the opposition.

“Protocol?”, she asked, “You’re working for whom, exactly?”

“MI6, and we’ve intercepted communication from East Germany”, he spoke quickly, and Y/N knew better than to waste time asking questions. “They were discussing plans to re-establish communication with an asset in America. The pronouns used refer to a female agent who has entered the US between 1941 and 1946 and has had contact with the SSR.”

“Anything else?”

“It’s incredibly vague, but that it is of the outmost importance that this operation be kept from the Americans, and that something has to be shipped from America to Leningrad, before November.”

“Why would MI6 not contact us in the first place?”, she questioned, “Shouldn’t that be in the interest of both?”

In the background, she could hear Agent Lee barked at more junior agents to fetch him coffee, given the designated person for that was busy. Y/N would have loved to inform him to keep his mouth shut, but was too busy listening to Jonas.

“There was an order not too long ago to send these types of things to the FBI rather than the SSR. I don’t know why.”

“I think I know”, she groaned. Vernon Masters – may his soul rest in the hell he deserved. “Jonas, if you hear anything, and I mean, anything else, please find a way to contact me again. And thank you. I know this is dangerous for your position.”

“Hell”, he scoffed, “We’ve done worse. They’ll just kick me out, not execute me like the Nazis would have.”

“Still. I’ll be in touch.”

She stared at her notes. She had heard Thompson walking up to her during the phone talk and was now looking over her shoulder.

“What was that about?”

“Seems like today is Dottie-Underwood-day”, she replied sarcastically, turning towards him, “That was Jonas Bauer. He was a German resistance member and worked with me in the war. He’s now working for MI6, who apparently received the order to disregard the SSR, and direct their information to the FBI.” She pressed her lips together: “Anyways. Short summary is, Underwood will steal something that has to be shipped to Leningrad, before November.”

Thompson frowned. “Why the tight schedule?”

Y/N tilted her head. “If I had to guess, because whatever she’s stealing is quite sensitive. If I were them, I’d avoid using ships if possible. The American navy has the possibility to hunt them down, and a ship is more vulnerable than a plane. And possibly, the November-deadline has something to do with the temperature. Which would mean it’s something that is volatile to altitude, and at least partially made out of liquid or gas that shouldn’t drop below a certain temperature. That would explain the ship, and the month.”

The agents around her looked at her with a perplexed expression. Jack simply looked dumbfounded.

“Yeah. I guess it would.”

“And you know who could maybe give us an idea of what they want to steal?”, Y/N asked, dreading her own answer. Not again!

“No.”

“Yes. I don’t like it either.”

“After Dooley and L.A., I’d say going to Stark is way down the list”, Jack retorted tensely.

“Sure”, she shrugged, “Do you have any other brilliant, albeit conceded scientists on that list of yours? Maybe Samberly, if we ask nicely.”

He threw her a look, and she only grinned: “Like I said. I don’t like it either.”

“We don’t even know where Stark is. He could be out of the country, for all that we know”, Jack objected again.

“Yeah, he could”, she agreed, “but you know who probably does? Edwin Jarvis.”

He raised an eyebrow: “You have the phone number of Stark’s butler?”

“I had to be able to reach him in L.A. I naturally wrote it down”, she shrugged, “So yes. I do.”

“Great. Tell him I am repulsed by the thought of working together.”

Y/N shook her head: “Unbelievable.”

Looking up, she noticed again the gazes of her co-workers observing their interaction. Too familiar? Raising an eyebrow, she asked: “What, anyone else have something to contribute that I should relay to the butler?”

Jack frowned at his staff: “Your work isn’t doing itself, agents.”

A muffled ‘sorry chief’ emerged from the room as he left Y/N to her own devices as she now made the call to Mr. Jarvis whilst the rest of the office rejoiced that the poor agent who had been barked at by Lee returned with their coffee.

“Edwin Jarvis-“

“Good morning, Mr. Jarvis, this is Y/N L/N from the SSR. We’ve worked together not too long ago”, she said quickly.

“Yes, I remember. The Frost-incident.”

“Exactly. See, we have a development here with the Underwood-case, and what is important right now is that the Soviets want to steal something, and they need Underwood for it. I suspect it could be linked to the Arena Club. In any case, they need the item or items to be shipped from the US to Leningrad before November. I assume it’s because of the volatility of the product, which would indicate it is some sort of weapon. Does Howard Stark know anything about the sorts?” She spoke so silently that not even the man at the next desk could have understood her well, a habit she had picked up early in her career as a spy.

“Mr. Stark knows a great deal about many things, but that does not mean he shares it openly with his surroundings.”

“Well, it is very important. Could you ask him if he has ever knowingly sold anything to members, or to people close to members of the Arena Club, or if – once again – some blueprint of his disappeared? I’m sorry to bother you again, but the security of the world might be under threat here.” Y/N had the ability to use polite words, but utter them in such a way that it was clear that she did not accept ‘no’ for an answer.

“I will chase him down to inquire. It might take a while, though, I am afraid. He is currently on a yacht outside of Hawaii.”

Of course he was. She rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Well, he can dock in Pearl Harbour”, Y/N retorted dryly, “And take a plane from there back to L.A. He might need Miss Carter’s help to explore all possible links of that being one of his inventions that got stolen, or sold.”

“Yes, Miss L/N.”

“Thank you, Mr. Jarvis. And until next time.”

It had felt that it was one of these days where Y/N had repetitively run in circles from her desk, to Thompson’s office, to the coffee machine and back again. It was Agent McKinley’s turn for the nightshift, so the rest could leave between six and seven. Returning to her desk to collect her handbag before leaving, she noticed a note placed on top of it, which she carefully unfolded. She recognised the handwriting instantly – Jack’s handwriting was much neater than most would suspect.

19:15. Entrance Underground.

He always used the European way of writing time – apparently, he had been made accustomed to it in the Marine Corps. A way to avoid the a.m./p.m. confusion – a confusion Americans invented, as Y/N made the experience that not even the British subscribed to their way of telling the time.

It was 19:04 when she had unfolded the note, so she left the SSR office without wasting more time, and to make sure the two of them would not leave the office in immediate succession.

It was September – and it was still pretty warm, so walking down the streets was actually still a pleasant experience. At 19:15, as expected, both of them walked towards the underground station and headed down the street to the parking area where Thompson had parked his car.

“If I may give you a piece of advice”, Y/N said with a grin, “Next time someone makes a foul remark, don’t act like you care. You’re not supposed to care.”

“Yeah”, he grunted, “But what the hell has Lee contributed since joining the SSR? Even of the basis of merit, he should keep his mouth shut.”

“Yes”, she sighed, “But it’s not really about merit, is it?”

Jack rolled his eyes. He knew what she was saying was true. He had even said the same thing to Peggy. They’d never be seen as an equal to men – at least not by most of their co-workers.

When getting in the car, Y/N quickly checked their surrounding to make sure they wouldn’t directly be seen by another agent, but the street was empty.

“Will you let me work the Underwood case?”, she asked quietly when he started driving down the street. Jack remained silent for a while, and his face grew serious.

“You know my skills are exceptional for this kind of work”, she reminded him, knowing that it wasn’t really about her skills.

“I know that, Y/N.”

“We’re in this profession for a reason, Jack. It’s bound to be dangerous”, she replied silently, “But you can’t keep me from being involved. Having the best people on the job reduces the risks of failure. If you send less-qualified agents up for it, you’re just setting them up to be killed.”

“I understand that, Y/N, I do. But that doesn’t mean I’ll like it.”

“But you’ll let me do it regardless?”, she asked back.

“We’ll cross that bridge when it comes to it. Who knows? Maybe, by some miraculous coincidence, she’ll be hit by a truck”, he replied dryly.

“Yes. I’ve heard that’s a common way for Soviet super-assassins to die”, Y/N agreed cynically, “Right after drowning in the shower.”

......

He pulled up to the empty parking space next to the entrance of the apartment block outside the city centre. He liked the anonymity of it – he hardly knew his neighbours, because of his very erratic working hours, the travelling, and the occasional near-death experiences, he hardly had the chance to bump into any of them. It was only the third time Y/N was at his apartment, because, quite honestly, he preferred the atmosphere in hers. But his was closer to work, and that made for less commute. And for more sleep.

Whilst Jack warmed up something for dinner, Y/N was occupied with setting her hair in pin curls for the night. She always thought that this procedure made her look silly, or like a grandma. If Jack had been honest though, he thought watching her do it was actually a very personal experience. Because, unless they let you, women would not show the process to men. It signified a sort of closeness that was hard to describe.

Wrapping the curls in a silk towel to secure them, and to have a more comfortable time sleeping, Y/N returned to the kitchen area to join him for dinner. It was beef stew with potatoes, which wasn’t fancy, but it was tasty. And most significantly, he had actually prepared it in foresight, so she gave him extra points for resourcefulness.

“How is the sleeping going?”, she asked eventually, referring to the occasional nightmares she had witnessed the first time they had shared a bed not that long ago.

“You know”, he evaded, “It’s getting there.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, not truly convinced that this meant it was getting better, but decided not to interrogate him. She’d see it eventually, anyways, she suspected.

“And did you tell your mother that I am back and alive, and all is well between us?”, she asked jokingly.

“Yes.” He grinned: “But now, ma is insistent on you coming over to say hi.”

“I will”, she assured, “once we have a quiet week.”

He laughed: “Yeah – like that’s going to happen any time soon.”

Y/N got ready to go to bed, taking off her makeup, neatly folding her clothes, making those for the next day ready. It was habit – just like always having a switch-blade knife tied to her thigh. It was habits like these that had kept her alive through the war, and they were hard to shake.

She wore a simple night robe to bed, nothing like in the magazines with lavish fur, but only simple embroidery.

As she would have guessed, Jack’s nightwear style was about as adventurous as hers – a cotton button-down shirt and pants.

“Those pants have a hole at the ankle”, she pointed out as he entered the room.

He looked down and shrugged: “It’s for sleeping, right? Besides, I don’t wear pants, I wear trousers.”

“What’s the difference?”, she questioned amusedly as he climbed into the bed next to her.

“Women wear pants, men trousers. Or so my DI informed us in Boot Camp.”

“Your DI must have made this up”, she laughed, “But sure. Jack Thompson only wears manly trousers.”

She pulled the blanket up to her chin and turned to on her side, facing Jack. “Good night.”

“Night.” He switched off the lights and searched for a comfortable position. It was still foreign to know that someone was sleeping just inches beside him, but not uncomfortable. Apart from the cold feet, that was apparently something all women universally shared to torment the men in their beds. Or so he was convinced.

Jack was an incredibly light sleeper – he hadn’t been as a child, but since the war, he was incredibly sensitive to sounds. Hence, when someone knocked against the front door, it took about three seconds for him to be wide awake.

“What the hell”, he grumbled, rubbing his eyes. It couldn’t be neighbours – again, barely anyone knew him. He dragged himself out of bed to see that it was shortly after three. He trotted towards the door, only to see two figures through the peephole, whose silhouettes he could make out even with the dim light of the corridor outside. He looked behind him, hearing Y/N’s steady breathing. He prayed to God that she’d stay asleep.

He opened the door and stepped outside: “This better be important, Sousa, it’s three in the morning!”

“We thought it is important to let you know right now, as we’re headed to the airport right after to fly to Atlanta to follow a lead there”, Carter shot back at his annoyed tone.

“’A’right”, he rubbed his face awake, “shoot.”

“Stark was able to reduce the numbers of candidates down to one he finds most likely. It’s a bomb that has about the destructiveness of a nuclear bomb, but its primary ingredient is a special gas, a gas only he knows how to make. But a member of the Arena Club once saw his equations and the blueprints”, Sousa explained.

“So you suspect they’re transporting a bomb case and explosive gas?”, Jack asked back, “Of course they do. It always has to be something that explodes, right?”

“We’re trying to hunt down the scientists who could have produced it”, Peggy added, “one of them is in Atlanta.”

“Got it.”

“Jack, who are you talking to? It’s the middle of the- Oh, hi, Chief Sousa. Peggy.” Y/N walked up to the door, and though only half-awake, she wasn’t quite sure what was funnier, the disbelief on Sousa’s face, Peggy’s mixture of satisfaction and horror, or Jack’s embarrassment.

“You two keep your mouths shut”, Thompson hissed, “You understand? I don’t need this getting to my agents just yet.”

“Oh yeah? I remember there was a time you loved taking a jab at Peggy and I”, Sousa retorted with a grin.

“Yeah”, Thompson scoffed, “Then you tell me how that’ll end up for Y/N. Whatever she does then, she’ll always be seen as the one whose here because she’s got one on the chief. That was a bit different with Carter.”

“Jack, they take the piss regardless”, Y/N muttered amusedly, “and let that be my problem.”

“Well, and you know what this”, Peggy gestured at Jack and Y/N, “means. You owe me a dinner.”

“You bet on us?”, Jack asked offended.

“I bet on you not constantly having a stick up your behind, indeed”, Peggy winked, “and I think I have been proven more than right.”

“Oh, Peggy”, Y/N shook her head, “Please.”

“Anyways”, Sousa cleared his throat, “I guess, uh, I guess we’ll leave you to it, then. See you soon, Y/N. Jack.”

“Leave us to it?”, Jack repeated, “We were sleeping!”

“Whatever you say, Chief Thompson”, Peggy waved at them, “that’ll be your loss then.”

They left an amused Y/N, and a very red Jack Thompson behind, who was thankful the apartment was not lit, so Y/N couldn’t see his cheeks.

“They couldn’t have left a note”, he grumbled, stepping back into his apartment and locking the door, “It had to be right now.”

“Don’t brood”, she yawned, “It’s way too early for that.” The bed was still warm as they climbed back in.

“I brood whenever I please”, he muttered into his pillow.

“That you do.”

“Y/N?”

“Hm?”

What did he want to say? They didn’t say ‘I love you’. Neither of them had yet.

“Sleep well.”

“You too, Jack.”

......

Jack dropped Y/N off far enough so that she could make her way to the office on her own and that they’d be at least 15 minutes between them arriving.

“Good morning, Agent Wallace”, she said when entering the headquarters, “Agent Lee. Chief Thompson.”

He nodded at her, and both found it incredibly odd to greet each other after they had literally eaten breakfast together not even an hour prior.

They settled in for the day and the sounds of paper printing, phones ringing and men cussing created the unique atmosphere that was so typical for the NYC-HQ of the SSR.

“Chief!”, Agent Harrow exclaimed from the phone, “there’s an incident in a movie theatre down 31st street, it sounds incredibly similar to the case you covered not too long ago.”

“Midnight oil?”, Y/N asked confused, looking at Jack, “but Howard said-“

“Exactly”, Thompson interjected, rolling his eyes, “Harrow, Ramirez, McKinley and Wallace, you go have a look. If it is what it seems like – do yourself a favour and don’t pick up the canister.”

The three of them got on their way immediately. Y/N followed Jack into his office under the disguise of bringing him coffee: “You don’t think that’s fishy? Howard hated this invention. He made damn sure he destroyed all the material he had.”

“Could have been someone working off his blueprints again”, he shrugged, “it’s better to have a look than let the NYPD run into it and gouching their eyes out.”

Y/N hadn’t even considered what would happen if untrained policemen came in contact with the gas. Jack was right. It was the careful option.

“You’re right.”

He raised his eyebrows: “’cuse me?”

“You’re right”, she repeated with a raised eyebrow. She hadn’t spoken unclearly.

“That’s a first.”

“Like hell it is”, she grinned and left him be.

In hindsight, Y/N knew that there were just five agents left, because it was still before nine when those would come in with a longer commute. This was unusual, normally, they always wanted eight to be here minimum, nightshift and Sundays aside.

It was like in a movie with the roll broken, moving incredibly slow. The door was thrown wide open and five men stormed in.

“Hands up!”

Y/N identified the accent immediately. Eastern European. Most likely Soviet.

“Guns on ground or we shoot!!”

They were outnumbered – even if they drew their guns, they had them already ready to fire. They’d be quicker. So they complied.

“Codebreaker?”

Jack and Y/N’s eyes met. Though she hadn’t worked as a codebreaker at Bletchley, she had been trained in it. She nodded almost invisibly, and just as invisibly, he shook his head. The last thing he wanted is for them to take her, or isolate her from the group.

“I am.”

“You four”, one of the men put his rifle at Thompson’s neck, “In there!” Thompson, Lee, Michaelson and Goldberg were shoved into Thompson’s office, leaving Y/N with the five men in the main hall.

They shoved her at a desk and placed a paper in front of her.

“Watch the door. Make sure those investigating the theatre don’t get back in. Three men can handle this girl.” He didn’t know she spoke Russian.

The paper was a code of British origin. Dated yesterday. To the Americans.

“Move. Break it”, the man right behind her instructed. He was tall, about two meters, and heavy-set. The other two were significantly shorter and stockier, about 175cm.

“Yes”, she nodded, throwing a glance at Thompson and her colleagues. There it was again. This immense calmness whenever she had known in war that if she failed, she’d be dead. It was so ultimate. So clear.

She heard two of the five men disappear, manning the front entrance from the outside. She didn’t have to worry about them for the time being. She felt the cool blade against her thigh. A blade would never win against rifles, so she had to convince them to drop them.

She started to get an idea of the code that had been used, noting down the patterns to create a key. The men barraged the door to Thompson’s office to make more than sure they had no chance to get out. But given they were now unarmed, they were no real threat anyways.

“What is it?”, the tall fellow asked harshly.

“This will take a while!”, she replied curtly, “but could you please put those guns on the ground? I can’t run and you took my gun off me. They make me incredibly uncomfortable.”

“What do you think, boss?”

“Typical American sissy. Hmh, I mean, what is the harm in it. The other men are barred inside that room.” He gave her a fake smile: “Only for you, beauty.”

They placed the rifles on the desk behind them and she started writing down the initial lines of the document. This was exactly why women made for excellent spies – they could demand something and their perceived softness would help them get their way.

Intercepted conversation between KGB and Soviet Asset in US

She waited until they were just in the right position. One of the men stood in front of Thompson’s barraged door, inspecting it with a self-assured smile. The big fellow stood to her right, close enough that she could take him out first. The third was checking the street for the returning agents.

‘Here goes nothing’.

.....

“Goddammit!”, Jack cursed, punching nothing but the wall. He had fallen for their trap – the theatre, that had been a set-up to draw out agents.

“Chief, if she can hold them off long enough for the 9 o’clock shift to arrive-“

“You don’t seriously think they won’t kill us before?”, Thompson hissed, “That’s why they came so early. They must’ve been aware of the schedule!”

“But if they need her-“

“Then they take her, Lee!”, Thompson interrupted, tearing his hair, “Fuck. Fuck!”

“Chief-“

“Just shut the hell up, Lee!”, Thompson raised his hand at his agent and silenced the man with a stare that could have killed.

He watched outside, through the glass, watching Y/N. She looked so focused, so absorbed, so aware.

So brave.

She looked up, just a fraction of a second. Enough to localise the position of the three men that were still in the room.

“No.” Jack’s voice broke. She’d die. They’d reach their weapons. She couldn’t be quick enough to strangle three men. Not when at least one of them towered over her like a giant.

This was a suicide mission. He was about to yell, yell to her not to do whatever she was thinking about doing.

But she was beyond asking for permission. That was the Y/N he had never seen before.

He knew the feeling he felt. It felt like back on Iwo when his buddy left their foxhole to man the machine gun whose gunner had just been killed. He knew that that was a suicide mission, but they had to try. And the minute his buddy left the protection of the foxhole, he was gone. But this felt even worse. Because whatever he felt for his buddy, that was brotherly love. And death of a brother hurt like hell. But this, this was no brotherly love. This was love that hadn’t yet had the chance to develop. He could feel his heart stop.

......

Y/N’s body tensed up in preparation. It was a split second that it took for her to be ready to attack. She leapt up from her chair, throwing her entire weight against the bear of a man next to her, puncturing his aorta, which resulted in blood spurting in all directions, but at least, he was dead in an instant. The next man was the one at the window who wanted to grab a rifle, but she managed to grab his arm, pull him towards her and shove the blade right through his throat. The third one knew he was done for – she was closer to the weapons than he was. She contemplated killing him nonetheless. But some part of her didn’t want to become what she knew she could be – a killer that didn’t care about her death toll.

“You’re all filthy, disgusting examples of humanity’s worst”, she spoke in Russian, taking handcuffs from the desk with her and immobilising him. Her fighting style looked different to Peggy’s – it was more targeted, more specific. It was, in essence, trained to be lethal.

Only then did she look behind her to see the cut-up bodies of the other two men lying on the ground. They lay in pools of their own blood. She looked at her hands that were covered in it, too. Grabbing a handkerchief, she got most of it off, enough so that she could clear the door to Thompson’s office without smearing it everywhere. Slowly, she started to regain her other senses. She could hear Jack yelling her name. She looked up to see him and the other three looking at her, eyes wide.

Her hands were shaking when she opened the door to his office.

“Y/N, oh God, Y/N-“ Jack grabbed her by the shoulders, looking at her face, “You alright?”

“Yes. Yes, I’m good, J-“

He squeezed her against his chest, and she wanted to inform him that he’d get blood all over him, but it was pretty clear that he didn’t care. “I’m so sorry.”

The door was opened, and the other two men came into sight, but only for a fraction of a second – when they saw the carnage, they took off running. Lee and Goldberg were about to run after them, but Thompson raised a hand: “If they leave the building, they’ll run right into our line of fire.” He pointed to the windows to their right and took the rifles left behind from the assailants.

Y/N watched him from behind. His hands were perfectly calm at the trigger, the weapon perfectly still settled into his shoulder.

Two rapid shots. One was shot in the back of the head, the other in the shoulder. Within a few seconds, neither were still breathing.

“Not bad”, she said dryly.

“I’m not a Marine for nothing.”

“And here I thought you were the Chief of the SSR.”

“That, too”, he replied dryly, “but I’ll never stop being a Marine.”

A/N: I know, it’s insane. It didn’t even take a week. I unfortunately don’t have a clear updating schedule, I’m sure it will slow down at a point. I do have good news though - I have two chapters in reserve, so it hopefully doesn’t take ages for those to be published either. I have a plan, I have an ending in mind, and I want it to be beautiful, terrible, sad, and delightful. Let’s see if I succeed at that. Do let me know your thoughts. Also, on a side note: I really try to do my research to the extent possible: E.g. I found it very important to hightlight that Jack is a Marine (not a member of the Army, or the Navy or Air Force), because it was mentioned that he saw action on the beaches of Iwo Jima, and that was a battle fought by the USMC. And yes. I read like 5 autobiographies of veterans of Iwo & Okinawa to get their education, vocabulary and so on down. Hope you enjoy these little insights into history!

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